Tonight's dinner experience was pasta with marinara sauce; while not haute cuisine, there was no question it had turned out delicious. Dessert would come in the form of cookies baked by his second-floor neighbor, whom Josh had never met in all his years living there; irrevocable proof that Emery was more likable than he believed himself to be, and that said neighbor's son was doing better at math.
"Oh, this is good," Josh praised, eating another forkful. "Really good."
Emery preened. "I agree, it turned out well."
"Please say you made enough that there'll be leftovers for lunch."
Emery gave him A Look from across the couch. "Yes, I've learned my lesson. Nothing is quite as appealing to you as eating the same meal twice in a row."
"It always tastes better the next day." He wiped his mouth and took a sip of water before setting both napkin and glass on the coffee table. "That's just how the world works."
"Your world, perhaps," Emery said, patronizing tone made softer by the mirth dancing in his eyes, "but then your world is one where men have marinara sauce on their faces."
"There's sauce on my face?" Josh set his bowl down and dabbed at his face with the napkin again.
"A little to your left— no, up. The— to your right. Stop."
Emery leaned across the space between them and took the napkin from him, gently wiping the sauce away. His fingertips were warm where he held Josh's jaw.
It shouldn't have hit him that hard. They touched one another often enough these days, brushes of hands, pats on their backs... He'd remained true to his intention to offer Emery as many chances of casual contact as possible.
This — Emery leaning slightly above him, touching his face, eyes focused on what he was doing and not even noticing the effect he was having — shouldn't have affected Josh so deeply.
When Emery looked at him it became hard to breathe. Warm brown eyes widened when they met his, lips slightly parted. It would be so easy, so astoundingly, ridiculously easy to reach up and kiss him now. To finally know how it would feel —wouldn't that be something?
Yes. It'd be something that would make Josh unable to face his reflection in the mirror; it'd be something that would make him pathetic. He needed to do whatever it took to get Emery out of his system once and for all.
He rose abruptly, dinner forgotten, trying — no doubt failing — to look casual. "I think I'm in the mood to go out, maybe have some fun — just going to have a quick shower before I go."
Looking back to see Emery's reaction was out of the question; he hid in the shower, resisting the urge to bang his head against the tile. Nothing in him really wanted to go out tonight, but he'd become too accustomed to having Emery around, and Emery's company wasn't a reliable substitute for any sort of craving, whether physical or emotional. Josh had to get started on living the rest of his life.
He took his time getting ready — blow-drying his hair, selecting the clothes, the aftershave — only because it lent credibility to the idea that he was going out to meet someone. Josh didn't know who he was trying to convince: Emery or himself.
Emery had retreated to his bedroom by the time Josh was ready to leave, much to his relief. After a quick text to tell Mark he was heading to Chelsea — another one of his mother-hen impositions but, since Mark did the same whenever he went out, Josh could hardly complain — Josh grabbed his jacket and fled.
#
Josh sat by the counter, soda in hand, lost in thought. He'd come here before — a number of times over the years, when he wanted meaningless fun more than he wanted to consider being in a relationship. Truth be told, he hardly ever wanted to consider being in a relationship — it had happened on its own a few times in his life, most notably with Brian, but it wasn't something he actively sought or missed. Not until he'd crossed paths with Emery.
His other hand clenched on the dark mahogany counter, the wood worn and real under his palm. Josh traced the deep groves embedded into it from over a century of use, forcing his mind away from what he'd come here to forget. He liked it that they hadn't tried to modernize the counter, replace it with the smooth shiny finish other places seemed to favor. It had a noble feel to it, like it'd borne its scars with grace over the years — it reminded him of Emery, in a way.
Damn it. There was pathetic and then there was this.
Unclenching his hand was a conscious decision; it didn't seem inclined to let go of the countertop on its own. Features composed into something he hoped would be more pleasant, Josh took another sip of his drink and looked around, making an effort to scan the room. The lighting was dim, but enough to make out interesting features in whatever faces he rested his eyes on, if only he rested his eyes on any at all. Meaningless fun felt like hard work tonight.
Somewhere in this room, perhaps sitting at one of the cozy tables near the wood-paneled walls, or further back by the uneven exposed reddish brick wall, there had to be a man who'd catch his eye. Emery was many things, but he damn well wasn't the only enticing man left in the whole of New York City.
Josh's fist tightened around his glass, bringing to mind a different night. It had been a can in his hand then. Was he really so pitiful that he couldn't think of anything except Emery?
He wished he could hear the music enough to know whether he enjoyed it. By design, it was pleasing without being too good or too loud, something Josh appreciated when he came with the purpose of taking someone home, but that seemed to be annoying him today,
He tried to ease his scowl and made another valiant effort to scan the room.
"Hi there," said a pleasant voice. Its owner was close to Josh's own age, with a lightly toned body, a full head of salt-and-pepper hair and interesting pale blue eyes. Someone Josh could easily go for. "Is this seat taken?"
Josh gestured to the seat. "Help yourself."
The man extended a hand. "Name's Zach."
"Josh," he replied, shaking it with a firm grip.
"So, Josh." Please don't ask if I come here often. "I'm getting some mixed signals over here."
"Mixed signals?"
"Yeah. As in you being here is one kind of signal, and then you glaring at everyone in the room is a different kind."
Josh laughed so he wouldn't scream. "The glaring isn't intentional, there's just... something on my mind. I was hoping not to think about it tonight."
"Well, let's see if I can help you with that," Zach replied with a grin.
It wasn't Zach's fault, it really wasn't. Under different circumstances, he would have been pleasant company, and Josh would have thoroughly enjoyed losing himself to the physical aspect of it. The problem was that Josh's mind was a million miles away, and not thinking about something was much harder than allowing himself to dwell. He suggested they get out of the bar, hoping something a little more prolonged than a bathroom encounter might make his thoughts blank for longer. The crisp night air would do him well and as for the rest, well... It'd been a while since the last time, so that bit would be welcome.
"—and in the end, I just quit that job, and it was the best thing I could have done."
Damn. He hadn't been paying attention. He smiled and nodded encouragingly, hoping it would be enough. Just another block to get to Zach's, he'd said.
Tomorrow he'd ask Mark to keep an eye on any potential clients for him — a stint out of the house was exactly what he needed. A time to focus on someone other than Emery, to lose himself in caring for another. Emery was certainly well enough these days to be by hi—
Ugh.
Maybe he ought to call Mark tonight. Yes, that'd be better. If his thing with Zach didn't take long he could—
Fuck.
He froze in his tracks. What was he doing? Since when was sex something to be endured, something he wanted to get out of the way quickly so he could go on about his business? What was the point in it then?
Zach stopped and turned when he noticed Josh wasn't following. "Anything wrong?"
Josh let out a breath. "Zach. You seem like a great guy. I'm... I'm sorry for wasting your time, but I can't do this."
Zach cocked his head. "Does it have to do with whatever you're not thinking about?"
"Pretty much." A huff that could barely pass for laughter. "Cliché as it sounds, it really isn't you, it's me."
"If it's any help I didn't come out here tonight looking to get married."
Zach still thought there was a snowball's chance in hell they'd go through with it. Josh needed to get out of this conversation before he snapped and said something unkind and unwarranted. "Yeah, I... I can't. I'm sorry." He turned on his heels and, for the second time that night, fled.
When he finally reached his car, he kicked the wheel closest to him as if it were to blame for any of this. He locked himself inside the car and sat there for a while, running a hand through his hair and pulling when frustration got the better of him.
What kind of man was still pining for someone who'd deliberately played him for a fool? What kind of man was still hoping there was a conceivable way of forgiving Emery's behavior while still being able to respect himself? Would it always be like this, this yearning, would he never be able to let go of it?
Every time. Every single, stupid, fucking time Emery looked at him and smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, Josh hoped there was a magical explanation that would somehow make it all okay. And if he'd had any hope of Emery not noticing, well. Fleeing in the middle of dinner and saying the equivalent of "going out for sex with not-you, kthxbai," only to return an hour later looking as he did now was a sure way to broadcast it.
He might as well tell Emery he charged a cent an hour, for all the self-respect he was feeling.
As usual in a crisis, his fingers pulled up Mark's contact. His best friend answered on the second ring. "Hey."
"Hey. I was wondering if I could stay at your place tonight."
"You didn't go through with it, and now you're hiding from your boy toy?"
He sometimes hated how well Mark knew him.