Heart on the Run (2 page)

Dermot didn’t even look at him. His eyes sort of glazed over, and his lips moved silently.

“
Ahem. Okay then.” Chaz turned toward the board, hiding his furious blush and cursing his auburn hair and pale complexion. “Never mind.”

“
Leave them on my desk before you go home tonight.”

It was more than he’d expected, but less than he’d hoped for. Chaz squeezed the dry-erase marker tight in his hand and carefully wrote in the menu change. When he was sure it said beet and not goat, he capped the pen and set it on the ledge of the board.

A glance to the left showed him Sprocket hadn’t vanished, given up, or wound down. He’d just found a new outlet for his enthusiasm in the form of his boss, the ever cheerful and exuberant Xander Leahman. Leahman stood at the door of
Alimentaire
, holding what looked like Chinese takeout boxes, but couldn’t be, because even Leahman wasn’t brave enough to bring outside food into
Alimentaire
, an amused smile on his lips, watching Sprocket’s antics.

“
Maybe I can slip past…” Chaz murmured, wiping his damp palms on his khaki work pants. “Or go through the kitchen…” But that would add more than ten minutes to the whole “get me some coffee, minion” demand, and…

And bottom line, Sprocket was a damned persistent man.

Odds were, he’d be standing there, chatting up someone new when Chaz returned.

Shoring up his defenses, Chaz dragged in a deep, calming breath, counted to ten, like his mama taught him, and threw himself out into the fray.

The jangling bell attracted both Xander’s and Sprocket’s attention. Xander’s smile widened, his mouth parted to utter a greeting. Before any words came, though, Sprocket whirled with an excited squeal.

Chaz saw it coming. He held up a hand, as though that would do any good.

Xander saw it too. He stepped back and raised his Chinese takeout boxes.

Even Sprocket saw it coming. The squeal died. His cute little bow of a mouth turned into a startled “o” that triggered filthy memories Chaz had been suppressing for months.

The breeze caught one plastic lid, swirled it in a delicate dance of passion and denial, then swept it off down the street. A pumpkin and spice scented arc of coffee, thick and creamy and scalding hot, whirled up from the cup like a genie from a brass lamp, seemed to hover in midair, choosing its target, before darting forward and tagging Chaz squarely in the chest.

He dropped his hand, squeezed his eyes shut, and counted again.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten.
He opened his eyes and reassessed the situation. “Hello, Sprocket, Xander.”

“
Hi there, Chaz.” Xander’s eyes danced merrily, and his lips twitched.

“
I’m so sorry!” Sprocket reached, coffee cup in hand to help. “Let me
—
”

“
No. I’m fine.” Instinct kicked in, self-preservation…whatever. Chaz backed away from that reaching hand, ignoring the hurt in Sprocket’s gaze. “Got to get the boss’s coffee.” He bolted around the two, aware of their voices as the distance between them increased.

***

Sprocket tapped his tongue against the double studs in the left side of his bottom lip as he stared at the quickly disappearing figure. He was ready to throw in the towel—which would’ve come in seriously handy a few moments ago—with trying to patch things up with Chaz. Anybody else he probably would’ve. If someone wanted nothing to do with him fine, so be it.

Except, losing an associate didn’t bug him as much as this chasm between him and the sous chef. Who knew their light friendship meant so much to him?

He stared at the entrance to Prudence’s coffee shop where Chaz had disappeared.

Yeah, Sprocket missed the easy conversations they used to share, the jokes and laughs. He didn’t understand why everything had suddenly screeched to a halt.

Okay, technically he did understand it. Some people couldn’t differentiate between sex for pleasure and sex for forever…and maybe Chaz was one of those people. But if Sprocket had known that their one time almost a year ago would fuck up their friendship…hell, he didn’t know. Would he have stopped Chaz from talking him into going over for a homemade dinner on the house? Would he have stopped Chaz when the lean, handsome auburn-haired man started undressing him? Would he have stopped Chaz when the man dropped to his knees and stared up with those intense sky blue eyes?

No
.

Sprocket couldn’t say he would’ve. Which proved he was a certified dick who deserved the cold shoulder he’d received. Sure, at least Chaz was talking to him now, something he hadn’t done for months after their night together. But it was the difference between answering, “Fine,” when someone asked how you were instead of stopping and really explaining that you were shitty because someone who used to enjoy your company and smile at your jokes now found you the most unfunny person in Parkerburg.

Sprocket sucked donkey balls.

“
Care to explain what just happened?” Xander broke into his thoughts with a gentle nudge of his shoulder.

Sprocket released the studs he’d been reflexively teething. “It’s a tale as old as time… He came then he ran,” Sprocket mumbled, turning to walk to Craft Time, the craft store where he worked as assistant manager.

“
Wow…you and Chaz?”

Sprocket snorted, though it didn’t hold any of the humor Xander—the perpetually happy manager at Craft Time—exuded three hundred sixty-five days a year. “There never was a me and Chaz.” That was the problem.

“
But you want…”

Sprocket knew what Xander was fishing for, but he wasn’t in the mood to bite. He’d been so excited over pumpkin coming back he had to share it with Chaz. It was only fitting, considering the pumpkin latte was what they’d bonded over last year. This was a small town and they worked on the same street, so of course they’d seen each other around, but those moments in line waiting for their favorite autumn-time flavor, they really got to know each other.

“
I just want my friend back. Why do skin and body fluids have to ruin that?” He mumbled the last part, but from the chuckle Xander tried to cover up with a cough, Sprocket knew his manager had heard him.

He threw both cups of coffee in the plastic-lined, wrought iron trash receptacle attached to the matching lamppost and stomped away before his boss could counter his comment. Sprocket wasn’t in the mood to hear it, whatever it might’ve been.

Luckily, Xander didn’t follow him, though he really didn’t expect the man to. While Sprocket attempted to get Chaz’s attention, Xander had strolled up with some of the best Chinese food within a hundred mile radius. He was determined to rile up his lover and sneak it into the restaurant somehow. It was for the best Sprocket made a hasty exit. Dermot Alasdair liked to butt heads with him, and not in the fun skin and body fluids type of way.

He tugged open the door to Craft Time and heavy footed it past the front counter with the registers.

“
Hey, I thought you were getting coffee,” Thom questioned.

Keeping his speed up and his eyes down he answered, “No coffee.”

“
You mean Prudence was completely out of coffee?”

“
Yeah, and the bookstore is out of books.” Sprocket rolled his eyes but still didn’t stop.

“
Really?”

Sprocket entered the office, not answering.

“
Whoa, where’s the fire?” Shawna, the owner of Craft Time, asked while throwing her palms up and facing him.

“
Thom’s an idiot.” He peeled off his coat and tossed it to the right corner of the room behind the door. It levitated in the air for a couple of seconds before landing on the top peg of the coatrack. It wasn’t perfectly hung, but it did the job.

“
Funny, people have said that about you for years.” Shawna laughed, sipping from her can of Coke.

“
Yeah, well, people are right.” He threw himself into the spare office chair, his momentum rolling him across the room to lightly tap the wall on the far side.

She crossed her arms under her well-endowed chest and stared at him with purpose in her eyes. “Well, it must be getting close to Christmas, that seems to be the only season when my employees become disgruntled.”

“
It is the holiday with the highest suicide rate.” He wrapped his hands around his tattooed throat and lolled his tongue out of the corner of his mouth.

“
Christ, morbid much?” She shook her head, but returned to her spreadsheet on the computer. “You sure you don’t want to do these numbers for me? I’ll cover the store.”

“
Xander threatened to ink my jewels if I kept doing them. That is one part of my body the needle is off limits to. Anyway, I already know the programs, you still need to learn them.” He rolled his chair over to her and grabbed her can of soda, shaking it. There was only one more good swig left sloshing around inside.

“
Sprocket, don’t you dare,” she warned.

Too late. He smiled before tossing the can back and finishing the last gulp. Afterward, he crushed the can in his hand and let out a nice long sigh of refreshment.

She slapped him on his arm, hard. “I can’t believe you just did that. I backwash, you know.”

He shrugged. “The last sip in any can is pure, unadulterated backwash. Should we discuss all the interesting things my gastric juices can conquer?”

She pointed to the door, not quite able to hide her smile. “Out.”

He chuckled humorlessly. “Yep, time for me to cover the floor and earn this extra money you’re paying me.” He tossed the empty can over his head and across the room. It bounced off the rim of the wastebasket before plunking in.

There seems to be a theme to my day
…
skin and body fluids.

Chapter Two

Beet juice stained his fingers purple and he’d forgotten his gloves. Chaz scrunched his hands into fists and rammed them into the pockets of his down jacket. The wind held a bitter chill, but the night sky was clear as…something black and clear. “There’s a word for that…” Sprocket probably knew the word. His former friend and one time lover knew all kinds of strange, random things. He was a college student majoring in something cerebral; the brown-eyed man wasn’t just a pretty face.  

In passing, Chaz cast a brief glance at the brilliantly lit Craft Time shop where a few employees were visible through the windows, straightening shelves and vacuuming. Sprocket was in there; he usually was on Friday nights. Chaz hunched forward and strode briskly down the street toward the parking lot where he’d left his car that morning.

He’d wanted to stay at
Alimentaire
, talk recipes with Dermot, help Percy wash dishes and Melrose clean the dining room, but Dermot had been adamant in his refusal. Ten hours a day. That was all Chaz was allowed to work, and he’d already gone over his allotted forty for the week because Dermot had called him in on Tuesday and Wednesday. Chaz wanted to protest that he didn’t need the extra money, he’d stay late for free, but he recognized Dermot’s pride. Knew his crusty boss well enough to realize he’d insist on paying Chaz for every second he was in the kitchen. So here Chaz was, leaving the others behind.

It felt more like they were leaving him, though.

With the restaurant being closed to the public on Mondays, he had an unexpected five-day weekend, and nothing to do but wish he were at work. He’d go back to work on Thursday morning and find out what the specials had been, discover that Dermot had created some amazing new soup or unique sandwich combination.