Page 5 of Axes and Ohs

Carlos looks up at me with surprise and a little suspicion… and possibly a little relief. “You think?”

“Do I think anyone worth dating would want to support their partner through a family crisis and not complain about it being inconvenient for them? Yes. Do you miss her?”

“No.” He winces. “God, that sounds shitty.”

“It doesn’t. It sounds like you made the right choice, even if it didn’t come about the way you wish it had. So, that doesn’t count as impulsive. That was just smart.” I dust my hands. “Pretty sure this puts me way ahead. One rodeo ride gone wrong doesn’t make you the king, buddy. Try harder.”

He taps his chin thoughtfully. “Okay. Alright. I see I’m gonna need to pull out the big guns.”

I make a big show of examining my nails. “You can try.”

Ames slides Carlos’s plate of cornbread across the bar before heading back to the kitchen, and the smell makes my stomach growl instantly. Carlos notices and pushes the plate between us without a word, then goes back to his chin tapping.

“Thanks,” I say, tearing off a piece. It’s warm and sweet, exactly what I didn’t know I needed. When I lick a crumb off my thumb, I notice Carlos’s eyes tracking the motion. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows his beer.

Fuck. What is wrong with me? Every single thing about this cutie is screaming straight, but it’s like I’m determined to misinterpret him. Probably because I wish so badly that he wasn’t.

I clear my throat. “Don’t let me hurry you, but I am aging over here, so if you’d like to concede defeat right now…”

He laughs and tells me more funny stories—times he shaved a lightning bolt into his hair, bought a truck sight unseen, drove all night to get to some beach and then fell asleep on the sand and got sunburnt.

I try not to laugh, but he sounds so adorably rueful about it all, I can’t help it. “Damn. Okay,” I admit. “You’re clawing back points.”

“Clawing back,” he scoffs. “I think the word you’re looking for is ‘winning,’ baby. Unless you have more stories to share.”

Baby? Do straight guys say that casually to other guys? I mean, they do. They must. Right?

He’s looking at me expectantly, and… Jesus fuck, I cannot remember the last time I was so flustered. I know my face is as red as the fake autumn leaves Ames hung around the bar, and I can’t quite look Carlos in the eye anymore. It takes me a minute to even realize what he’s waiting for.

“Oh. I, um, already said the thing about… about wanting to teach preschool, right?”

He laughs. “You did. And since my brother-in-law’s sister’s a preschool teacher, I’m calling bullshit. Wanting to work with kids makes you a hero in my book. Nobody ever decided that impulsively.”

“Tell that to my father. I chose to major in early childhood education, and he claims it was me ‘acting impulsively’ and ‘wasting my potential.’”

“It’s yours to waste,” he says matter-of-factly, and the conviction in his voice is sexy as fuck. “Your life, Erick. Your choice. And I also call bullshit on you thinking a four-year degree in something is an impulsive decision.” He leans closer and whispers, “And I make the rules since I’m the king.”

This is the silliest conversation I think I’ve ever had with anyone. There is no logical reason why I feel so much better than I did when I sat down tonight.

Better, frankly, than I have in months.

There’s also no logical reason why I take a deep inhale of Carlos when he leans close and find the scent of him relaxes me further.

“Okay, how about the time I was sixteen and thought I was about to make my big modeling debut?” I manage.

“You modeled?” Carlos tilts his head and looks me up and down, and I can feel that gaze like a physical touch. “I can see it.”

I shift on my seat. “Er. No. Not exactly. My mom was a model back in the day, so she called in a favor with a photographer friend.” I roll my eyes. “I told literally everyone I knew that I was about to be the next David Gandy.”

“Okay. Whoever that is.”

“Then I realized we had to strip down to our briefs for the shoot.”

“Ah.” His head goes back, and he nods. “You got shy. I would too. That’s hard.”

I snort. “Oh, it was definitely hard. There were, like, ten of us prospective models, in our underwear.” Carlos doesn’t seem to get what I’m saying, so I fix him with a look. “Let me repeat. Me, a red-blooded and very gay sixteen-year-old, in a room with nine gorgeous and scantily clad men⁠—”

He chuckles, and his cheeks go pink. “Fuck.”