Page 2 of Axes and Ohs

I open my mouth to ask further questions when someone settles onto the stool beside me.

“Ames,” a strangely familiar voice teases. “What’s this? Tending your own bar tonight? Thought restaurant owners didn’t lower themselves to do this stuff.”

Ames’s smile is a little brittle, but he heaves an exaggerated sigh as he wipes down a glass. “They do when the rest of their employees begged for the night off so they could go to the Hello, Winsome pageant and watch my brother humiliate himself in the name of love.” He shakes his head, aggrieved. “Holden better be filming, damn it, and not do that thing where he forgets he’s recording and shoots a thirty-minute video of the inside of his pocket. It’s the first time Beckett’s ever been in love. Baby’s first romance.”

The guy beside me chuckles, a rich, warm sound. “Yeah, I’m gonna need a copy of that Beckett video if it exists. Leverage for next time the boss tries to make me do equipment maintenance.”

I turn my head just slightly, and my stomach does a slow flip when I recognize the man on the stool.

He’s the lumberjacky guy who rescued me at Griffin’s house earlier today. The one who’d given me an encouraging smile while I delivered my apology… and then a ride to town after I sent my father back to the city alone. The guy who saved me from my impulsive behavior.

The guy turns to me and nods, and his coffee-dark eyes don’t seem surprised to see me. “We meet again.”

“Oh!” I summon a smile. “Carlos, right? I’m⁠—”

“Erick. Yeah. I remember.” He blushes a little and shoots me a boyish grin that’s kind of infectious. “This morning was, ah… weird. So I wanted to come over and check on you. See how you were holding up.”

I frown. “You’ve known me a total of ten minutes.”

Carlos shrugs. “So? There a rule about being friendly where you’re from?”

The question hits me funny because… yeah, where I’m from, there are rules about everything. Rules about who to know and who to be seen with. Rules about what you can get away with—just about anything, if you have enough money. Rules about what you’re allowed to do with your life—pretty much what you’re told, if your money isn’t yours but your family’s.

Genuine concern from a stranger isn’t just rare in my world, it’s downright suspicious. But looking at Carlos’s face, I truly believe he’s not angling for anything. He’s really just… being nice.

Carlos orders a beer and something called maple cornbread, and while he’s talking to Ames, I steal glances at him out of the corner of my eye.

The man’s ridiculously attractive, but in a way that’s completely different from most guys I know.

He’s tall and not exactly thick or thin, but somewhere in the perfect, muscly middle… which I guess makes sense for a lumberjack. His hands are scarred and calloused, presumably from doing whatever the heck lumberjacks do all day. Swing an axe? Is that still a thing? The dim, golden light of the bar glints off dark hair with just a hint of curl at the end and makes his skin glow. When he reaches for his wallet, his worn flannel shirt lifts to reveal a strip of tanned, toned stomach, and a burst of his scent—pine sap and clean man—hits me full-on.

Other things about him are… well, harder to gauge.

Ordinarily, that blush, that little smile, the fact that he took the seat right next to me in an otherwise empty bar, the way he holds my gaze just a beat too long when most straight guys would glance away… those would all be signs a man was interested.

But this guy’s giving off zero meet me in the bathroom energy.

The idea that he truly came here to check up on me is so sweet, it gives me a sugar rush.

“Sorry,” I tell Carlos when he’s done ordering. “I didn’t mean to sound snippy.”

“You don’t have to apologize, man.” He wraps both hands around the beer bottle Ames places in front of him, which looks comically small in his hands. And I have this moment where I stare at his fingers and wonder what they’d feel like against my skin.

No, Erick. Bad, Erick. No more impulsive decisions.

“So, uh, this afternoon, I couldn’t help but overhear you come clean to your dad about messing up the ad campaign and letting Griffin take the fall for it. Takes balls to admit you did wrong.”

I huff. “Not really. What would take balls is coming clean right off the bat. Coming out with it months after the fact because I couldn’t live with myself anymore? Eh.” I tilt my hand up and down.

“Still counts.” He turns on his stool to face me more fully, and our knees bump. Instead of pulling away, though, he stays put, and the heat of him seeps through his jeans and my suit pants. “What made you confess?”

I shrug, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me. “I don’t know, exactly. Dad called a meeting in his office yesterday for all the VPs, senior staff, and me so he could tell us about this cereal company he wants to woo as a client. He’s all Embracor is amazing, Embracor is cutting-edge. But I swear the CEO of Embracor is even more homophobic than the CEO of Rise Athletics, the client I, um…”

“Turned into a Times Square dick joke because they were a bunch of family-values assholes?” Carlos supplies. “I heard Griffin’s story. Town gossip.”

“Yeah.” I run a hand over my face. “Anyway, all of a sudden, the words came tumbling out of my mouth in front of everyone, and I couldn’t stop it. Like an intrusive thought come to life.” I lift my gaze, and suddenly, I’m drowning in deep, dark, bracing coffee. He’s closer than I expected, close enough for me to see these little flecks of gold in his gaze. I clear my throat. “I’m the king of impulsive decisions.”

“Oooh, the king.” Carlos snorts. “Impressive.”