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Patrick noticed the guy as soon as he entered the coffee shop.
It would have been impossible not to.
Even if Patrick hadn’t recently come to the conclusion that he was absolutely, one-hundred-percent into men, one look at this guy would have tipped him over the edge into complete and utter certainty about his sexuality.
The guy was beautiful in a way Patrick had never really considered another man could be. Tall, dark hair, expressive face, gorgeous eyes… all those things would have been enough to make Patrick sit up and take notice, but then there was the matter of the outfit.
Jesus fucking Christ, the outfit!
Tight black jeans, ripped at the knees—with just a hint of tan skin peeking through. An even tighter white t-shirt stretched tantalizingly across a broad chest. Patrick suddenly had an insanely strong urge to walk over and trace the muscles that rippled underneath. He caught himself flexing his fingers at the thought, so he forced his hand flat on the table and focused on staying in his damn seat before he stood and made a spectacle of himself.
Those two articles of clothing would have been more than enough to keep Patrick’s imagination going for days, but then this guy had gone and thrown a black leather jacket on top of the whole thing. For some reason that simple addition skyrocketed Patrick’s instant attraction into the stratosphere.
Holy. Shit.
The guy was hot.
So fucking hot.
Patrick squirmed on his seat and lowered the book he’d been reading into his lap. Yeah, this sort of situation had never happened to him in a public setting before, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do to fix it. It wasn’t like his—issue—was going to subside… not with the guy still existing in the same space as him. Patrick would just have to wait until the guy and his friend picked up their coffee and left.
Until that happened, Patrick did the most sensible thing he could in the moment—he focused on the guy’s friend. The guy’s very female friend. If anything could cure his—situation—it would be focusing on a woman. Ironically, that was a fact which had caused Patrick a great deal of despair when he was growing up, but now? Well, thank fucking god for his lack of responsiveness to the female persuasion. Maybe he could actually leave the coffee shop without being arrested for public lewdness.
She was pretty, despite her questionable outfit—baggy jeans and t-shirt with a wrinkled flannel thrown lazily on top. It looked like maybe she’d buttoned it wrong because one side hung lower than the other. Honestly, the two of them couldn’t be more different, but they still seemed to be really close.
Close, but not… close. That was encouraging.
Patrick didn’t think they were dating. They didn’t give off that vibe, at least. They giggled and talked in hushed whispers, gorgeous guy’s face expressive and fascinating as he alternated between giant grins and scrunched up looks of horror.
Patrick couldn’t look away, even when he knew he should be focusing on the woman to calm down his inconveniently raging erection. As Patrick watched the man talk, his hands moving gracefully through the air, silver rings sparkling, the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He glanced over at the woman.
She stared at him, a small smirk on her face, then glanced back at the guy, whispering something. The guy turned and locked eyes with Patrick.
Time stopped.
So did Patrick’s heart for a second.
A jolt went through his chest like he’d been speared by something sharp. He had the momentary, giddy mental image of a diaper clad Cupid flitting behind the register, shooting him right in the heart with a big, sparkling arrow.
He was so surprised at the sudden, unexpected vision that he laughed out loud, the noise bursting out of him like a gunshot. Gorgeous man’s face transformed from curiosity into a scowl. He looked away and hissed something at the woman, who bit her lip and glanced back at Patrick, her eyes narrowing.
Fuck.
That wasn’t the first impression he wanted to make. He wasn’t laughing at the guy.
Fuck, fuck!
He shook his head at the woman and schooled his features, mouthing, “Sorry.”
Her eyes narrowed more and she turned her back on Patrick, leaning in toward the guy, both their foreheads almost touching as they talked.
Shit.
He needed to fix this. Immediately.
He stood, his book falling unnoticed to the ground beneath the table. Making his way over to the register, he ordered another coffee he really didn’t need and edged closer to where the two stood, waiting on their own drinks, their backs still turned to the café.
He could almost make out what they were saying, but not really. He caught snippets of “him” and “cute” and “mid-range denim.”
He glanced down at his jeans.
Hmm. Interesting.
He scooted closer, leaning in, trying to overhear anything more.
Gorgeous guy’s arm shot out as he gestured about something, and Patrick was too close to move out of the way in time.
THWACK!
Pain exploded across his face and he yelped, stumbling backward and sliding down the counter to the ground.
“Oh my GAWD!” he heard gorgeous guy yell. At least he assumed the high, breathy voice was gorgeous guy. Patrick was currently in too much pain to open his eyes in order to double-check.
His hand automatically went up to his face, cradling his nose. Warmth covered his palm, the coppery taste in the back of his throat signaling he had one hell of a nosebleed.
“David! What the fuck did you do?” A woman’s voice filtered through Patrick’s pain filled haze, answering one of his questions, at least.
David. His name is David. That’s a good name.
“Oh my god, are you okay? What the fuck were you doing right there, anyway?” The breathy voice was right in front of him, so close… the tone a mixture of horrified, concerned, and mildly irritated.
Patrick gingerly opened one eye. Fuck, that actually hurt. His nose was totally broken. He’d recognize that familiar pain anywhere.
Gorgeous guy—David—crouched in front of him. So close that Patrick could see the different shades of brown in his inky eyes. God, he was pretty.
“I think you broke my nose,” Patrick muttered, his voice rough.
“What? You don’t know that,” David gasped, rearing back, alarm written all over his face.
“Ohh, I know.” Patrick lowered his hand and stuck it out. “Name’s Patrick, by the way.”
David reared back even more. “If you think I’m shaking your bloody hand, Patrick, you’re sadly mistaken. This jacket is Rick Owens.”
“You name your clothes?” Patrick asked, putting his hand back up to his nose, face burning. Had he just offered to shake David’s hand while his own was covered in blood? What the fuck was wrong with him?
David’s face scrunched up more. “Okay. I’d be highly offended by your lack of fashion knowledge if I hadn’t just punched you in the face. You get a free pass this time, I guess.”
“This time?” Patrick perked up. “Did you plan on making a habit of breaking my nose?”
David’s eyebrows shot up and dimples flashed before he bit his lips to try and hide a smile. “I mean, anything is possible.” He stood for a second and reached behind Patrick, then lowered himself back to a crouch in front of him. “Here.”
Patrick looked away from David’s face and tried to focus on his hand. It was a very nice hand, covered in chunky silver rings, currently holding a huge wad of napkins.
Oh. Napkins. Right, that might be a good idea.
Patrick reached out and grabbed them, placing the wad against his nose. “Thanks.”
“Well, it’s the least I could do. Why are you so sure your nose is broken, anyway? It could just be bleeding.”
“Because it’s happened before, a couple times. The first time, I was in the second half of a double-header, and someone hit a spitter right up the middle. The ball smacked me super hard, right in the nose. Broke it, and it felt just like this.”
David’s face went on a journey from confused to delighted, a grin overtaking his features. “I don’t know what any of that means, but I’m going to want a very detailed explanation once you’re not so bloody.”
Patrick laughed, forgetting how bad he hurt. Wincing, he tried to stop giggling. He felt like he was twelve. “Baseball, David. I played a lot of baseball. But, I’m willing to explain anything to you, in length, whenever you want.”
David’s eyebrows raised even higher and he smirked, dimples deepening. “Are you really flirting with me right now? Covered in blood? After I assaulted you?”
“Would we call it assault? Or just a lack of spatial awareness?”
The smirk disappeared, replaced by a half-hearted scowl. “You’re extremely sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
Patrick shrugged, then winced again. “Just calling it like I see it. And, for the record, I’m one-hundred-percent flirting with you, David.”
David laughed, his eyes widening as he covered his mouth with his hands. “Oh!” The sound was muffled and his face reddened slightly. “Well. That’s—“ He dropped his hands and looked Patrick up and down. “Relatively unexpected, actually.”
“Unexpected good, or unexpected bad?” Patrick asked, bracing himself for the answer.
“Unclear. The case could be made for either option.”
“What do I have to do to tip the scale in favor of you going to dinner with me later?”
“Um, take a shower, for one. Also, I’m not sure how I feel about going out to dinner with someone who looks to be working on a couple black eyes. Especially since I put them there.”
Patrick shrugged again and frowned. “They’ll be gone in a week or so. Then I’ll just look rugged. How about then?”
David smiled. “This was a very elaborate and unnecessary way to ask me out, Patrick. You could have just talked to me like a normal person.”
“Well, where’s the fun in that? I’m not above a pity date with someone as hot as you.”
Jesus. The pain had to be making him loopy. Did he really just say that? Out loud? To David’s face?
David didn’t seem to mind. The smile morphed into the brightest, most honest grin Patrick had seen thus far from him. “Trust me, I don’t date out of pity.”
“So… that’s a no to dinner then?”
David shook his head. “I didn’t say that.”
Someone above them cleared their throat and Patrick looked up to see David’s friend staring down at them, an amused smile on her face.
“I hate to break up the love fest, but the staff here have informed me that they’d really appreciate it if you two moved this away from the counter. Something about blood not meeting health code.”
“Fuck,” Patrick muttered. “Right.” He scrambled to stand, but David stood and held out his hand. Patrick glanced up at him in surprise. “What about Rick?”
David laughed. “Rick will wash. But, you’re going to pay for the dry cleaning.”
Patrick nodded and took David’s hand, joy at war with the pain in his face. “Totally worth it.”