Chapter 3

3

GRAHAM

I’m going to die. Die trapped in this small space with this gorgeous man who watches my ridiculous cooking videos and is a closeted gay who admits to getting no action.

“I didn’t want to let the loneliness win.” Add in the raw honesty and vulnerability in his words, and this guy is sure to steal someone’s heart in an instant, given the chance.

I didn’t mean to get in this close proximity to him but somehow, I did, drawn to the cadence of his voice, the citrus scent clinging to his skin either from cologne or body wash.

I lean back, to clear my head, but also hoping he doesn’t feel like I’m crowding him. My back is saturated with sweat, and I want to strip down for some needed air, but that might be taking it a bit too far.

“Don’t want to freak you out, but I need to get some relief.”

“What do you mean?”

“Thing is, I’m a clammy mess, and as soon as those doors open, I have to attend a wedding and fulfill my best man duties and I don’t have a change of clothes. I’ll look totally ruined.”

He flips on his flashlight again.

“It’s hot as hell in here. If you’re stressed about your shirt, do what you need to do.” He averts his gaze and fans the fabric of his own shirt away from his chest. “Don’t worry about me.”

My hands reach for the rest of my buttons, hesitating a second because I can feel his gaze pressing in on me again. Is he as attracted to me as I am to him, or am I just imagining his intense scrutiny?

Or more than likely, his curiosity is due to watching me online for months and reconciling seeing me in person. Caleb flips off the light, possibly to give me some privacy, and I’m grateful for it—mostly. It’s been a while since I’ve been in this type of scenario—not the whole elevator breaking down scenario, but one where I’m in the presence of a very attractive man with time to kill.

When my last button is undone, I open my shirt to allow some needed air against my clammy skin, but it’s not enough relief. Given that he can’t see me, I decide to take it off, squatting down to fold it carefully on top of my jacket along with the bowtie.

“So what made you take up cooking?” Caleb’s voice is gruffer now and it makes my dick pay attention. Christ, much longer and I might combust being in this small space with this man.

“I learned everything I know from my grandmother who raised me after my mom passed away. I mean, my dad helped too, but he was always at work, and most of my memories consist of him coming home when I was already in bed.”

Dad would enter my room to say good night if I was still awake, or to kiss my forehead if my eyes were already shut. Sometimes I’d try to stay conscious long enough to get those five minutes of quality time with him. Huh, maybe there is something to my choosing unavailable men.

“Shit, I’m sorry about your mom,” Caleb replies, his voice thick with real emotion. “I can’t imagine losing my mom, she practically raised me on her own. My dad played hockey too, always traveling. The schedule professional hockey players have to keep is… grueling, to say the least. He tried to make up for everything in the off season. He was a good dad, and I know he loves me, but at the end of the day our relationship was more like coach and player, and less like father and son.”

I frown. “Yeah, I hear you. I know my dad loves me too, but he became more distant after we lost my mom. Almost like he was burying his grief in work.”

He sighs. “Hopefully, we’ll be better at it all—if we ever have kids.”

“No, thanks,” I retort, and he chuckles. “I have a hard enough time taking care of myself.”

“Yeah, I’m not really sure yet myself.” The space grows quiet again. “Anyway, you were telling me about how you started cooking?”

“Oh yeah…well, I would help my grandmother prep practically every meal and carried on the tradition when I moved out on my own. I still look forward to getting home and cooking dinner, even if it’s only for me. Besides, it means plenty of leftovers.” I think about how content I am in my apartment with my newly remodeled kitchen that was worth every penny. Lots of my subscribers remark on my colorful backsplash and stainless appliances. “I even enjoy hosting dinner parties for friends, which is how Jace and Rob met.”

“Look at you, a regular matchmaker too.”

“Sure am,” I tease. “Come to one of my parties and I’ll set you up too.”

“Yeah…no, thanks.” His tone sounds grim. “More trouble than it’s worth.”

“Is it? But you have needs too.”

“I’ll just have to stick with hookups.”

“That, according to you, don’t really happen.”

“Maybe I need to seek them out more,” he replies and my stomach flutters.

“Like in a dark elevator?” Did I really just say that out loud? “Just kidding. Sometimes my mouth works faster than my brain.”

“Don’t tempt me…” he trails off and I swallow hard. I think of something to say to break the tension when his voice booms in the small space. “So, what’s your day job?”

I suppose I’m glad for the change of subject. Sort of. “Ugh, not something I enjoy, which is why I started the videos, to give me something to look forward to after work. I’m in sales…I sell insurance.”

He’s quiet for a long beat, then says, “I didn’t picture that for you.”

I get that a lot. Still, I’m curious. “Why not?”

“You’re so vibrant in your videos with your painted nails and self-deprecating sense of humor.”

“Huh. Maybe that’s why I always meet my sales thresholds. You’re looking at employee of the month right here,” I tease, but there’s no heat to it. Smugness, either. It’s literally the most boring job in the world, but it pays my bills. “Anyway, thanks.”

“You must have a plethora of rabid fans who are gay men.”

I smile. “Mostly women, but yeah, I’ve gotten a DM or two.”

I can hear him scoot closer. “What kind of DMs?”

God, what kind haven’t I gotten? “I’m sure you can use your imagination.”

“Dick pics?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you return the favor?”

“Hell no. That stuff is forever.”

“No kidding.” I have a feeling there’s a story there. But before I can ask, he says, “Why not go to cooking school or work in a restaurant?”

“Good question. For one, I’m just an amateur cook, and second, I’m afraid if I do it for a living, I’ll lose the passion. Sort of like my current job situation, not that I ever had any passion for it to begin with.”

“Guess you won’t know unless you try. Sometimes mixing your passion with work is a good thing.”

He’s obviously referring to his own career. “So it’s a good thing for you?”

“Absolutely. I mean, it has its drawbacks.” He mutters, “Not being out, for one.”

“No doubt you have plenty of admirers too,” I point out. “How do you handle it?”

“It can be challenging. Teammates hooking up left and right with female fans. I flirt, but that’s the extent of it.”

“That would be tough.” I frown, considering the likely similarities between our co-workers, mine just happen to wear suits and ties all day. “I’m out at work, but I don’t really care what those idiots think. That said, I understand your dilemma in a sport that sounds homophobic, but is also very public.”

Plus, his salary is well above my pay grade. And that only makes me wonder how decked out his kitchen is. Or his bedroom, for that matter.

My gaze springs to the ceiling. “Hey, did you hear that?”

“What?”

“I think… I swear I heard something.” I stand up and find the elevator doors. “Help!”

When we’re met with silence, I scramble to think of a different way. “Can you lift me up? Maybe being closer will help.”

“Good idea.” I hear the squeak of his sneakers as he shifts closer. “I can definitely try.”

Now we’re standing nose to nose, and I can feel his breaths puffing against my lips.

“How should we do this?” he asks, a little breathless.

“Maybe, um, you grab onto me and lift me as high as you can? I can use your thighs for leverage if you bend your knees a little.”

“Sounds good.” He fumbles with something. “Let me use my flashlight again so we can see what the hell we’re doing.”

I blink as the elevator is dimly illuminated again, momentarily throwing me off. He sets the phone on the ground, the beam of light shining up at us.

“Wait, when did you take your shirt off?” I ask.

“Oh, a few minutes ago, the heat… and I figured since you did I… I can put it back on if it makes you uncomf?—”

“No need.”

His eyes briefly travel down the front of me, and I almost want to cover my chest with my arm, wondering what he sees. He’s the picture of athleticism with his chiseled abs and defined hip ridges that disappear under his waistband. I’m lean, but certainly lacking any sort of muscularity. But if he’s underwhelmed, he doesn’t show it. Instead, his gaze travels up to my mouth, lingering there a moment before he says, “Let’s do this.”

I blow out a breath and refocus on getting us out of here.

His hands clamp onto my bare waist, and I try not to focus on how strong and warm they feel. He bends his knees and then lifts me up in the air. I scramble a little trying to get my footing on his thighs. He stays steady, which is impressive, and lessens my worry that he’ll drop me. At least I won’t have far to fall.

My groin is level with his face, though, and I pray to the elevator gods that I don’t plump up. Jesus fucking Christ, focus.

His voice is strained when he asks, “Are you close enough?”

I feel guilty when his arms shake from the exertion. No way I could return the favor with the weight difference between us. “I think if I grab onto the lip, I can lift up a little more.”

I feel a sliver of air filtering in from the misalignment between the floors as he pushes me higher. As soon as I’m able to grasp on to the edge, I yell, “Hello? Anyone there?”

My plea is met with silence.

Goddamnit.

“If anyone is out there, we’re stuck in this elevator!”

That’s when I hear it—another muted voice calling for help, same as us. I don’t know why that hadn’t occurred to me before now. Suppose I was hyper focused on Jace’s wedding and okay, Caleb too. How could I not be? Even now, I can’t ignore how my skin is prickling being this close to him.

“I think there are other people trapped too,” I call down to him.

His breath is labored as he says, “Looks like we’re going to have to wait it out. No doubt the hotel is aware that people are stuck on these elevators.”

“I think you’re right.” His hands begin slipping and then I’m falling, but Caleb catches me before I hit the floor.

I lose my footing, but he hangs on, helping to steady me. We’re toe to toe again, panting softly in the space between us.

I have the urge to seal our mouths together, if only to give him a taste of something he’s missing. Never mind the clandestine atmosphere and the fact that he’s fucking gorgeous.

I’ve hooked up for less, and sometimes, just to get off.

“So…what should we do while we wait?” I ask, my voice huskier than anticipated.

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath. “You’re driving me crazy.”