25. Vincent

TWENTY-FIVE

"So, does this mean we're dating?"

Kent's question catches me off guard as I unpack our takeout on the kitchen island. I open the napkin drawer and procure three … one for him and two for me.

"Excuse me?"

"The first date do-over. LEGO Discovery Center. The kissing in my office. The … shower and what just happened in your bed. Does it mean we're dating? Because Corrine is going to want to know. And Ruth is already asking if we're ‘friends with benefits,' or something more and I'm not sure myself."

"Well, we're friends." A ribbon of anticipation twirls inside my stomach.

"Um, yeah, but friends don't typically sit on my face." Kent cocks an eyebrow.

"Noted."

He comes up behind me. His hands wrap around my stomach and travel to my chest, cupping my pecs. He pulls me close, his beard tickling my neck, and I smell the minty freshness. The man brushed his teeth. Before eating dinner. After eating me.

"Would you be okay if we said we're dating?" He kisses my neck softly.

"Why would you want to date me? I'm …" I stop talking and grab another napkin from the drawer. I place it between our two plates, just in case. All the time we're spending together, the bubbling emotions, Marvin saying we're bashert … does Kent want more? With me?

"Sexy. Amazing. Kind. Sweet. Did I mention sexy?" Kent's hands grab my chest, and he gently massages.

My heart pounds, and in the quiet space, I can almost hear it thumping. I reach for my glass of water and take a sip, the cool wetness pacifying my parched mouth.

"But, I'm the extra napkins guy. The joke you tell friends at a party."

Kent kisses my neck four times and whispers, "Vincent Manda, you are not a joke."

"Kent, I've never had a boyfriend. I'm forty. I've kind of given up on romance."

"That's not true," he says, spinning me around on the stool, our faces inches apart. "You go on all those first dates. You know what that tells me?"

He waits for me to reply. I'm silent, laying my head on his shoulder. Closer.

"It tells me you're hopeful. Optimistic. You keep trying. That's not someone who's given up. Sometimes it takes time for the right person to wander into your life."

An itching tingles my ass, a reminder of Kent's beard. My stomach churns, the bulgogi taco salad taunting me.

My head rests on Kent's shoulder, facing away. I take a breath, and the security of his closeness allows the truth to pour out.

"You'll be the end of me. Once you figure out just how damaged I am, you'll run for the hills." Finally, I'm able to admit my genuine fear. "And honestly … I'm not sure my heart could take it."

Tears sting the corners of my eyes. Sharing my vulnerabilities with Kent is a mix of relief and a sense of being overwhelmed, like treading water in an endless ocean.

"Vincent Manda. Look at me. Please."

I lift my head and catch his eyes. Unable to contain them, salty drops stream down my cheeks. And certainly, this will be the icing on top of the chaos cake that sends Kent running for the hills.

He reaches up, wipes a tear away with his thumb, and says, "Oh, my sweet Vincent."

I blink, waiting for him to continue.

"Don't you understand? I already see you. All of you." He pokes my chest. "And I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. Look at me. Tripping over my own feet. My hair will be all salt, no pepper soon. Who else would want me?"

"I love your hair," I say, running my hands under his V-neck. The softness under his shirt creates a charge when my fingers graze it. "It's soft and cozy and fuzzy. Just like you."

"Well, my hair loves you."

Kent smiles, and I gently kiss him. His hands wrap around my neck and then migrate to my head. He pulls me closer, deepening the kiss, and my heart melts a little. We stand in my kitchen, our food and LEGO Paris in the background, and connect. With our mouths. Our words. Our hearts. Being honest and open with Kent might not end me. Maybe being truly vulnerable will save me.

"Are we ready for training?"

Hunched over his laptop in the conference room, Geoff's brow furrows as he completes the back end of the test data prep. This is where my expertise wanes, and I'm grateful for Geoff's technical brain. I've gathered the requirements and data from first grade. We'll use that for testing and training. Kent downloaded the data from the school's current legacy system, GradePlus. It's an antiquated, manually coded system, and each data point needs to be mapped and then meticulously transferred to the corresponding Hopscotch field. That's my job, and being anal is my forte. Well, where work is involved.

"Locked and loaded," I say. "I logged in this morning. Load times were acceptable. The test data looks good."

Geoff glances up from his screen and cocks his head. "And you're ready for the training? The principal knows what to do?"

The principal. Kent. He most surely knows what to do. With his hands. His tongue. His cock. Sweat pools on my brow, and I grab a napkin from my pocket to wipe it.

"He knows. Or he will. I'll make sure."

Besides providing the data dump, Kent's job is to champion and cheerlead the process. People don't love change. Teachers are busy. Any way we slice it, this is a pain in the ass for them. I need Kent to sell it and bring teachers up to speed quickly.

Shreya arrives, holding a carrier with coffee and a white paper bag. She's wearing a yellow and purple plaid dress belted at the waist and her signature black combat boots. The short sleeves let her tattoos shine, and she's pulled her hair up into a messy bun.

"Coffee and cronuts," she says, placing the tray on the conference table.

"What the hell is a cronut?" Geoff asks.

"What are you, a Neanderthal? It's a croissant–donut hybrid. Flaky. Sweet. Heavenly," she says, opening the bag. "I was up most of the night coding. Why I thought going live with Avandia and a project here at the same time was a good idea is beyond me." She pulls a large pastry from the bag. It looks like a donut on steroids. "If you don't want yours, I'll eat it. Or split it with Vincent." She gives me a mischievous grin.

"Oh no, I'm good," I say, patting my stomach. The sticky, crumbly treat would require a truckload of napkins.

"I'll eat it." Geoff grabs the cronut, shoves it in his mouth, and resumes typing with his free hand while the other holds the treat.

"Okay, well, I'm going to make sure Kent is ready," I say, heading to his office.

When I arrive, Kent and Ruth, the PE teacher, sit at his table, so I knock softly.

"Am I interrupting? I can come back."

"No, come in," Kent says, standing, "and shut the door."

"So, this is the famous Vincent." Ruth stands and extends her hand. I shake it, and the woman could strangle a rhino into submission with that grip. Her bicep flexes and expands as we greet each other, and I make a mental note not to piss her off.

"Oh, there's nothing famous about me," I say.

"This guy," Ruth says, motioning her thumb toward Kent, "would disagree. He hasn't shut up about you."

"That's not true." Kent's face tinges pink and, fuck he's adorable when he's embarrassed.

"Um, excuse me," she says, sitting. "We've barely talked about my escapades for weeks."

Kent nods to the empty chair, and I join them at the table.

"I used to be the one with all the action," Ruth says. "At least, more action than this one. But now? Who cares about an old lesbian when the principal is shtupping the hot software guy?" Ruth laughs, her bright teeth shine, and I glance at Kent to gauge his reaction and how to respond.

"Ruth Parrish, first, you are not old," Kent says.

"I'm going to be fifty."

"In three years. You're a forty-seven-year-old ex-Olympian with a body most thirty-year-olds would envy." Kent dips his chin, and a shadow of a smile peeks from behind his beard.

"Quit objectifying my body, Mr. Lester." Ruth smirks, and Kent chuckles. "Anyway," she says, giving me the once-over, "I can see why Mr. Lester has been so smiley lately. You're gorgeous."

My face flushes, followed by my ears, and finally, the top of my bald head warms like a radiator. I know I'm not unattractive, but with all the issues I deal with, my appearance never seems to be the focus.

"Th-th-thanks," I stammer.

"You're embarrassing him." Kent places his palm on the small of my back, rubbing little circles. I silently count each pass around. One, two, three, four, five …

"He's a keeper," Ruth says. "I can tell. I know queer people, and this one's special."

"For sure. He's a mensch." Kent nods, stopping the circles on my back at odd number seventeen.

"When are you meeting the wife?" Ruth says, and my eyes go wide.

"Ex-wife," Kent corrects. "And we haven't talked about it."

"You have to meet Corrine. She's lovely." Ruth takes a sip from her water bottle. "She'll adore you."

I look at Kent and give a small shrug. He pats my back twice. The pressure soothes me, but I wish he would press even harder.

"Well, gentlemen, I'll leave you to … be gay."

I smile, and a laugh escapes. "I'm quite good at it," I say. "Years of practice."

"Oh, Kent. I like him."

Ruth heads for the door but turns back before leaving. "Have a dinner, Kent. Invite Corrine. And me. I want to see her face when she meets this hot man."

"Um," Kent mumbles. "Sure. Okay."

Ruth leaves us, and Kent removes his hand from my back.

"You up for that? Meeting Corrine?"

"Sure. She won't hate me, right?"

"Vincent, I can't imagine anyone hating you. Ruth is right. Corrine will adore you. Mainly because I do," he says with a wink.

I nod quickly.

"I'll arrange it." Kent jots something on a sticky note.

"Now, let's talk about this training," I say, opening my laptop, firing up the presentation, and attempting to shift gears. Meeting Kent's ex-wife definitely means something. Sure, the stress might be triggering, but Kent will be there. If Kent and I are going to be more than friends, meeting the ex-wife he's still close with probably needs to happen. Deep breaths. I've totally got this.