Hearts Under Fire

Chapter 1-3

It was maddening. Absolutely maddening.

Well then. Only one thing for it. If you don’t know? Ask.

“Here you go,” Clark said, putting down the folder and resting his hand on top of it. “It was nice to get to know you a little, Daniel.”

Daniel looked at the folder and then at Clark. “It was nice to talk with you as well, Clark.”

Clark c****d a brow and snorted. “You…are quite the enigma. And since I can’t figure out what’s going on here, I’ll just speak my piece and then leave you be.” He smiled the kind smile that showed off the dimple in his right cheek. “I like you. I think you like me, and I think you’re tired. Wedding, work, shopping, I don’t know, but…” Clark shrugged. “I have a nice cure for tired: wine, talking, and other things if you want them. Nothing else if you don’t. I’d be happy if it was tonight, but you seem to have somewhere to be. If that sounds at all appealing, I’d love your number. I can promise you I will absolutely call.” Clark’s smile widened as he waited for a reply, wondering why his heart was beating so damned hard. Granted, this speech was a little more honest than some he’d given, but still.

Daniel studied Clark’s face, and Clark swallowed hard. For some crazy reason, he wanted to apologize, though for what, he wasn’t entirely sure.

Daniel shook his head, and Clark’s heart skipped a beat. “I’m sure you would call, and I am flattered by your desire. However, I’m not going to give you my number. I’m not one to be wooed in that manner.”

Reaching over and brushing his fingers against Clark’s hand, Daniel pulled the black folder from under the weight of it. Clark let Daniel do it, feeling numb and confused. Daniel glanced at the bill, pulled out his wallet, and put in plenty of cash to cover with a good tip. “Thank you for the much-needed meal.”

Clark was familiar with the phenomenon of wanting things he couldn’t have, and here it was again: suitably painful, sharp, tart, and—in this case—surprising. This man did want Clark. He would put money on that.

The hell does he mean “wooed?” Yes, that’s sort of the point, but he makes it sound like a bad thing.

The shock lasted for a split second, and then the smile was back. Clark nodded his head and grabbed for the discarded towel. “Of course. Best bar food in the city.” Clark winked and played hard on the no harm, no foul line.

Daniel nodded, got off his stool, gathered his things, and walked toward the door. Clark didn’t watch Daniel leave; instead, he kept his gaze down on his hand rubbing slow circles with the towel. He went utterly still for three solid breaths, and then he grabbed Daniel’s dirty dishware and put it in the sink beneath the bar. Clearing his mind was more difficult than usual, but he helped himself by cheerfully pouring another beer for a regular.

Heather came to help Clark manage the influx of patrons, but she said nothing. Jeffrey worked the floor and refrained from even making eye contact with Clark for the rest of the night. Clark was grateful for understanding coworkers, and he felt a prickle of pride in his ability to hire such people. Unusual and occasionally troublesome, yes, they were, but they also gave Clark space when they knew he needed it. Clark didn’t think they understood why he needed distance; they probably thought it was something basic and simple. Daniel had rejected him. Clark didn’t get that often, and so he was moody.

In reality, however, Clark’s brain was sequencing the entire evening like a computer mapping DNA. The rejection was part of the puzzle, but not its point. Something about Daniel gave Clark pause, and not many people did that. Daniel was a mystery that Clark needed to solve, and he went through the actions of the Good Bartender That Could while he mulled everything over.

Glow shut down at one, and by half past the hour, Clark was sitting in his office, legs on the desk and a pen in his hand. Slowly he twirled the ballpoint over his fingers, clicking it at the end of every rotation. He gazed at nothing as he tried to figure out why he found Daniel so intriguing, why he reacted so strongly to Daniel’s rejection—

The words: he implied that this wasn’t how he played. Not the way to approach him. What the hell did I do wrong? Why is it bothering me so much that I did, apparently, do something wrong? This is not my first rodeo; better men have turned me down. So why does this one make me—

“Boss?” Jeffrey’s tentative voice said from the doorway, pulling Clark out of his reverie.

“Mm?” Clark replied, and he made himself look away from the wall. “You out of here, kid?”

“Yeah…but…” Jeffrey stepped over and put a piece of plain white paper with frayed edges on Clark’s desk. Smiling, Clark studied the drawing. The man was truly beautiful. Jeffrey had managed to capture the come-hither in his gaze and the tilt of his pelvis along with the large eyes and hesitant smile. It was a simple sketch—pencil and ink—and Clark wanted to frame the thing.

“It’s amazing,” Clark said.

“You think so?” Jeffrey asked, barely containing the eager need for praise in his voice.

“Absolutely.” To prove the point, Clark rolled his chair to the corkboard on his wall and tacked up the drawing. “Something I wouldn’t mind staring at after a hard day.”

“A hard day with blue balls thanks to Professor Germain, huh?”

Clark forced himself to turn at a normal speed to face Jeffrey. “Professor Germain?” he asked mildly.

Jeffrey chuckled and rolled his eyes and hips. “Jesus…he didn’t even give you his name? Guy is seriously a hardass.”

“I got ‘Daniel,’“ Clark supplied.

“And that means you got more than most.” Jeffrey’s eyebrows went up and down in sympathy.

“You know him?” Clark picked up the pen and rubbed the shaft with his thumb.

“Yup,” Jeffrey said with a knowing nod. “He teaches computer stuff at NAU. I had him a couple semesters ago for a graphic design course.” Jeffrey snorted. “It, like, had nothing to do with design. Digital mapping of data and…bleh.” Jeffrey shuddered. “I barely made it out alive. Final project was a b***h, man.

“But anyway, everybody wanted to take the class ‘cause Germain is this genius-type and hot as hell. I swear to God, Germain’s ass brings all the boys to the damned yard. Girls, too. And nobody could peg him for anything: gay, straight, bi…whatever, you know?” Jeffrey threw his arms up, and Clark watched and listened, analyzing.

Jeffrey grinned. “Though after tonight, I think I know what team he likes to do.” He laughed. “But seriously, you were totally the victim of the classic Germain Rejection. And he was, like, kinda nice about it. He does this fantastic glacier impression. And the going theory is he’s some sort of spawn-of-Satan sadist. The man is scary, boss, just…scary. I was too chicken-s**t even to talk to the guy when I needed help in his class, so power to you.” Jeffrey pointed both index fingers at Clark and then gave him a mock salute.

“I see,” Clark said.

“So, it’s nothing against you is what I’m saying,” Jeffrey said. “We all know you’re mad hot with skills, boss.” Jeffrey grinned, and Clark smiled back, genuinely appreciative of the attempt to make him feel better.

“Thanks, Jeffrey. And thanks for the drawing, too. Now get out of here and get some sleep.”

Jeffrey made a scoffing sound. “I think you mean, ‘get some real work done.’ Still doing that oversized canvas thing, and it’s kicking my ass.”

“Kick it back, Jeffrey, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.” Jeffrey vanished, and Clark settled back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head.

Professor Daniel Germain. Does a great impression of an iceberg and has something against being seduced. Or hit on. Both? He seemed to like it just fine when he was tracing my hand.

That thought nagged at Clark’s brain, and just as he felt close to figuring something out, Heather appeared with the deposit for the night. She laid it on Clark’s desk without a word. Eying the drawing on the corkboard, she hummed, and her lower lip and jaw jutted out in appreciation.

Clark sat still with his eyes half-closed and waited for it.

“You’re doing that thing.”

Smiling despite himself, Clark played along. “Thing?”

“You know the thing.” Heather moved to stand in front of the desk with her arms crossed and hip c****d.

“Enlighten me.”

She snorted and tongued the silver bar through her lower lip. “You get this look on your face right before you feed me some line about needing time off and pull the, ‘But Heather you’re so good at running the place by yourself’ bullshit.”

“But Heather…you are so good at it.” Clark looked at her earnestly. The returned stare would make lions nervous.

“Fine,” Heather said with a put-upon sigh. “Run off to your other glamorous job and leave me all alone with Jeffrey.” She spoke the name like it was a rare and extremely offensive type of fungus.

“You like the kid,” Clark told her. “And the only glamour to any of my jobs is you, my love.”

“Oh, for f**k’s sake.” Heather waved one hand and headed for the door. Then paused. “And don’t you mean that the only glamour to your job is Lucian?”

“Heather,” Clark said in warning.

“Sorry,” she apologized, ducking her head with her back to Clark. “I just wish you’d, like…really trust me. Not just pretend-trust me.”

“Heather,” Clark said, sitting up in the creaking chair. “I do trust you. You know more than most people not directly involved about what I do. But you don’t need to know any more.”

Heather turned around. “Yeah?” she said. “You’re not just saying that so I get out of here and you do…whatever it is you do here after hours by yourself?” A bit of playful banter crept back into her voice, and her eyes sparkled. Clark caught himself wondering if she was Daniel’s type.

“I mean it,” Clark replied. “I trust you with my bar—my livelihood—while I go do my business with Lucian. That’s a lot, Heather.” Clark studied her, forearms on his thighs.

“…’Kay.” Heather blew out a breath. “Still doesn’t make it easier to manage Jeffrey.”

“Make Ken do it.” Clark grinned.

Heather laughed. “You just enjoy torturing that poor man.”

“More than you know.” Clark winked.

“Fine, fine. ‘Night, boss. Let me know the deal on hours, okay?”

“Of course. Much appreciated as always.”

Heather nodded and backed away before turning to leave. Clark breathed a sigh of relief that she was gone without pressing any harder. He was grateful that she was smart enough to press in the first place. Heather didn’t enjoy being out of the loop on anything, but she was also cautious. The caution kept her working for Clark.

Well. That and the quick wit and efficient work ethic.

Standing up, Clark grabbed the deposit bag and clicked off the light in the office. He created a mental list of phone calls to make tomorrow, and he felt guilty that Heather was only partially right. Clark was getting ready to do work involving his side career—just not for Lucian. No. This bit of fun and games was all personal.

Mr. Germain? I want to know what makes you tick. And I meant it when I said I’m just that good. At a lot of things.

Whistling, Clark locked up the bar and headed to his car. Deposit, home, nightcap, and sleep, perchance to dream of one blue-eyed mystery.