8. 8

By Monday morning, Joq had to concede that Chris had let it go with a lot more ease than he thought he would.

Well, it'd been a good start to moving on, he thought as he went to get coffee.

It was only after he'd taken his coffee and walked back into the laneway, eyes searching both ways, that he had to acknowledge he'd come there with the hopes of running into him.

He was pathetic. He was not doing this again. Falling for some guy. Maybe he could take up sailing. He'd always wanted to try it and why not? He had money and nothing keeping him in Melbourne. He could sail around the world and win a fucking trophy of his own for once.

Did people get trophies for that? He pondered it as he made his way to work.

He was definitely not scanning the guys in their well-tailored suits as they made their way into the heart of the CBD while he went the opposite direction.

Not looking at all.

He got a call from a private number on Wednesday. He was walking home and his heart fluttered stupidly when the phone rang before he saw the absence of the name.

He answered it anyway with a clipped, "Hello."

A breath and a hang up.

"For fuck's sake," he said under his breath, heart plummeting, he really was pathetic.

He could call. He could text.

But as he crossed from the bay side to the houses to head down his street, the afternoon sun warm with the fresh feel of a newly arrived spring, he had to admit it was ridiculous to miss Chris. To wish he'd tried harder than three messages.

They'd both been upfront. They'd agreed to what it was they were doing.

So they'd had a connection and watched TV together—so what? They were nothing and it really was nothing.

He let himself in, the place still and quiet and just as he'd left it, and thought about getting a cat.

He was scrolling through cat pictures at the local shelter on Saturday morning, still in his sleeping trackies and white shirt, his mug of coffee steaming beside him, his interest constantly returning to a fluffy grey female—she was rough looking, and apparently she had a terrible personality (‘standoffish' could only belie so much couldn't it?), when there was a knock on the front door.

He tossed his phone aside and got up, planning to tell his mum he loved her but she really didn't need to drop in, he was fine, but as he opened the door and saw Chris standing there, looking disturbingly good in a suit, his hair a tussled mess, eyes shadowed and expression guarded as he breathed out, "Hey," Joq thought, he secretly liked her drop-ins and had even bought the tea she liked the day before.

"Hi?" he asked and wondered why it was a question, the thought of his mum evaporating.

"You never messaged me back," Chris said. He looked really fucking tired.

"I," Joq started and realised he had nothing else.

"Why?" Chris asked when Joq didn't go on.

Joq swallowed. He hated being this guy. "You didn't try that hard, Chris. C'mon, three texts? You didn't even call." And he hated himself a bit more for that, but he was not going to feel worse for what needed to happen here.

"I went to your work. I didn't want to hound you, but I did call—"

"No, you didn't." Joq could read a contact on his phone.

"I did. I just," Chris looked away, "hung up when you answered."

"I have you as a contact in my phone."

"I used my office phone."

"Why?" Joq leaned in the doorway.

"So you wouldn't know," he waved his hand between them.

"So I wouldn't know it was you?"

"Well," Chris met his eyes and straightened. "Why didn't you reply? Why didn't you call?"

"Because I didn't want to give you the wrong idea," Joq said.

"And what idea is that?" Chris replied, bracketing his hand on the door; he smiled with a hint of cockiness.

"That I want to see you again," Joq replied.

The cockiness evaporated and he looked hurt. He dropped his hand and stepped back.

"Right, sorry," Chris tucked his hands into his pockets, his hair falling in his eyes and when he looked up, Joq remembered how handsome he was—even tired and dishevelled, he was striking.

"I didn't mean, I'm sorry—"

"No, I get it," Chris nodded his head, looked away. "Sorry to bother you."

He turned to go and Joq told himself to let him, he couldn't do this and Chris was a decent guy.

"Wait," Joq called after him.

Chris stopped and looked over his shoulder. Now that he was literally doing what Joq asked—waiting, expression curious but still downcast—Joq didn't know what to say.

"It's alright, Joaquin," Chris said, voice resigned. "I get it, you know? More than you realise."

Joq nodded.

Chris sighed, looked away at the bank of trees shielding the apartments from the neighbouring block. He didn't move.

Joq waited for him to leave with an inexplicable sadness he wanted nothing more than to get away from.

Only, Chris turned back, something halting in his movements. "But I couldn't stop thinking about you all week," he said quickly like he really wished he could stop thinking about him.

"Look, Chris, I—" he wasn't going to say he couldn't stop thinking about him either, instead, "I'm busy right now—"

"Is someone else here?" Chris asked, his face transforming from unsure to pissed off.

Joq bristled. "What? No. Of course not. I'm busy buying a cat." He cringed inwardly after he said it.

"A cat?" Chris replied disbelieving.

"I'm serious, she's beautiful and I need to go do that before someone else gets her, so," he started to shut the door but his stomach flipped as Chris' smile grew.

"Can I come?" Chris asked.

"Where?"

"To look at the cat."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. No," Joq shook his head. Once upon a time, he was articulate and sure of himself. Fucking George, he thought viciously; but all the heat went out of it just as quickly. He was so tired of this. He'd been sure of who he was once—now he had no idea, or he felt unsure in his decisions.

Chris nodded, accepting, but his eyes bore into Joq's and Joq got a glimpse of what made him the successful business man he clearly was if he was running his own company at twenty-seven.

"Okay, I'm going to go, but do me a favour?"

Joq waved a hand for him to go on.

Chris took a deep breath. Exhaled. "Think about it, me I mean. Think about seeing me again like we were before and don't—"

He cut himself off, shook his head.

"Don't what?"

Chris met his eyes, tucked his hands in his pockets and rushed out the words. "Don't fuck anyone else."

Joq raised both eyebrows. "I'm not sure where you got this idea I'm out fucking half of Melbourne, but if I wanted to do that, I could."

"Of course you could," Chris readily agreed. "I'm just asking you to be exclusive with me when you're with me."

"I'm not with you."

"While you're considering being with me then."

"I'm not interested—"

"Being with me like hooking up."

Joq sighed. It's not like he was going to fuck anyone else anyway. "Yeah, okay."

"Yeah?" Chris brightened so much, you'd have thought Joq agreed to marry him.

"Yeah, really, I'm not actually the man-whore you seem to think I am." Well, not anymore, he thought ironically.

Chris smiled. "Good. I'll text. And you'll reply?"

"I," Joq hesitated, images accosting him of the absolute shitshow his life was, of watching George falling in love with another guy. But Chris wasn't George. And this was a hook-up. A good hook-up. "Yes."

"Thank you," Chris breathed out.

Joq frowned. "I'm not giving you much here."

"You're giving me everything I want," Chris replied, so sure of himself.

Joq shook his head. "Alright, well, I guess I'll see you later then."

"You will."

Chris rocked back on his heels and smiled, something shy and pleased about it.

It made Joq's heart thump and nerves flutter in his stomach.

"Alright, well, I better?"

"Yeah, yeah, course," Chris stepped back, still smiling.

"Bye, Chris."

"Later, Joaquin."

Joq made himself shut the door. He leaned against it like a dramatic heroine and listened for Chris' footfalls. It took a minute, but eventually, he heard him leaving.

Cat. He was buying a cat. He was doing that. It wouldn't interfere with his sail around the world plan because he'd seen people with their cats onboard. Perfect.

His phone dinged.

He went into his room, scooped it up and read the message on the home screen.

Thanks xx

Joq groaned and went over to the window.

Chris was waiting by what looked like a latest model BMW SUV—Jesus, what did he actually do?—smiling up at Joq's apartment.

Joq looked back at his phone and felt sick with nerves when he thought about how to reply. He didn't get what was wrong with him. He wasn't this guy.

He sent a thumbs up and cringed.

As he watched Chris looking at the notification and smiling, he felt butterflies; but it was chased by that same desire to flee.

Later that morning, Joq got to the shelter and the woman raised an overly plucked eyebrow at him when he told her the cat he wanted to see.

"You want that one?"

"Yes," he replied steadily. How bad could she be?

Several hours later, he had a cat and, it would appear, he'd lost access to his bedroom—the feral maniac hissing bloody murder when he so much as cracked the door open.

Well, he didn't mind sleeping on the couch.