Stray for You (Rainbow Rescue Cat Café #3)

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Julian

IT HAS BEEN TWO full days since I’ve seen Cameron. Not that I’m counting. Monday arrives with the bleak news that I’m going to be stuck in the convention center listening to lectures all day instead of somehow luring Cameron back to my hotel. We’ve been texting all weekend, which is a minor miracle in my book, but I’ve tip toed around asking to see him again. Though, at this point, what do I really have to lose? I fly out on Wednesday afternoon. I have two nights left.

An elbow to my side jolts me from my thoughts. Jessica, the tech company rep and my current best lead, leans close, her cherry red lips nearly against my ear when she says, “We’re all going out for drinks after this. Join us?”

She’s holding out her phone. I glance down, catch the name and address of some sports bar kind of restaurant a couple blocks away. Crazily, I want to say no. I riffle through my brain for an excuse, but this is literally what I flew three thousand miles for. I’m supposed to smile and go out for drinks and flirt and secure some sort of handshake agreement that makes my bosses a bunch of money and boosts the company’s stock price half a percentage point.

I nod, using the ongoing lecture as an excuse not to speak my answer aloud. Jessica seems placated. She leans away so we can pretend to listen to a speaker talking about ethics in contract negotiations — as though anyone here gives a shit about ethics. They stuck a bunch of beautiful people in suits so we could flirt our way into multi-million dollar contracts; ethics has nothing to do with it.

Normally, it’d be a weird sort of thrill for me. I know the steps to this dance better than anyone. But today I look down at my phone, hoping against hope I’ll have a text from Cameron.

I don’t, and for the rest of the lecture I have no choice but to pretend to listen. A couple times, Jessica bumps her shoulder against mine and smirks at something the speaker says that could be construed to be vaguely suggestive. I slap on the smile she expects and wonder why the hell I’m not trying to sleep with the gorgeous and eager woman beside me, but the answer is obvious.

I shake off the thought. Things will go back to normal when I return to the East Coast. I mean, they have to go back to normal, right? I can’t pine after Cameron from so far away. We have to return to our silent stalemate and forget about each other.

That might be simple for him, but I’m beginning to fear it won’t be quite so easy for me.

The lecture ends, and I have no choice but to follow Jessica out of the convention center. We chat as we follow the flow of foot traffic tangling on Seattle’s downtown streets. Cars bump along in traffic. Buskers play music on street corners, instrument cases open before them. I throw in a couple bucks as we pass a man playing a violin, but the way his hands move along the neck remind me instantly of Cameron with his guitar.

I shiver and keep following Jessica. Noise spills from the open doors of the sports bar she leads me to. A table of people in suits like mine wave at us when we enter. They already have drinks in front of them as they cluster around a chest high round table and shout over the music blasting through the place. Baseball plays on the televisions while arcade games clamor in the back of the establishment.

I want to run instantly.

What is happening to me? This isn’t me. I’m the guy who sets up these gatherings. I’m the guy who thrives in social settings. I’m the guy who makes everyone in the room fall in love with him with little more than a wink. Yet here I am fading into the background, losing the thread of the conversation, wilting against the edge of the table like a flower without water.

I escape to the bar with the excuse of needing a drink. I suppose it’s not really an excuse when I genuinely need some sort of liquor to boost me through this experience. Jessica, the only other person without a beverage, follows me. She stands so close our shoulders touch as we flag down the bartender and order wacky slushy concoctions.

“I haven’t had a boozy slushy since college,” she says.

“Me neither, but it sounds fun,” I say.

She smiles over at me, and some part of my brain manages to register that she truly is stunning and that I’d be a lucky bastard punching way above my weight if I made good on the proposition glinting in her eyes. This isn’t even about work. We’re simply two attractive people almost guaranteed to have a good time if I could only get out of my own damn way. But when our drinks arrive and we clink them together in a toast, I quickly go for the straw so I don’t have to say anything to her. It isn’t anything she’s done. I’m just a wreck tonight.

We rejoin our comrades at the table. They promptly make fun of my drink.

“I’m not choking down that crap you drink so you can judge me sufficiently masculine,” I shoot back.

“Yeah, yeah,” a guy named Dom says, “but a slushy? Come on, man.”

“Slushies taste good,” I say, sipping shamelessly from my straw.

I suck down the sugar a little too fast, giving myself a brain freeze that amuses the entire table. The booze hits my brain next, soothing my turbulent thoughts. As the focus of the conversation shifts away from me, I sneak a look at my phone. Still no messages, so I scroll through the ones from over the weekend. A lot of dumb banter. A lot of casual flirting. The kind of stuff I should be doing with the sales reps around me; the kind of stuff I should be doing with Jessica. I scroll up high enough to find a message from Saturday afternoon about the Seattle Underground. Cameron didn’t know anything about it, and I let the matter drop, but now the thought sticks in my head. I do a quick search on my phone, but the website could have come straight out of the nineties, and it doesn’t tell me all that much.

“Got a work thing or something?”

Jessica’s voice interrupts my scrolling. I jerk my head up to find everyone else watching me as well. A couple of them look confused. They know me from other conferences and expect a very different Julian than the one they’re getting today.

I stuff my phone into my pocket. “No, it’s nothing,” I say.

Thankfully, the conversation turns away from me. I get myself a second slushy, and when I return to the table, everyone’s talking about the ethics lecture from today and laughing openly at the very notion of giving a shit.

“I get that they have to say that stuff, but do they have to force us all to listen to it?” Dom says.

Everyone laughs in agreement.

“Would have been more interesting if that one chick was leading the panel. The redhead?”

“Marcie? Marie? What was her name?”

“Mikela, I think.”

“Yeah, that one. She could read me the phone book.”

“That chick Betty was even better. You see her?”

“You’re crazy, man. No shot.”

“Excuse me, can we be equal opportunity here at least?” Jessica cuts in. She’s not the only woman at the table, but she’s definitely the boldest. “Eric wears the tightest pants I’ve ever seen a man try to get away with, and he does get away with it, thank God.”

Dom smirks. “See, this is why I always say women are just as nasty as guys. Sick minds, all of you. You’re just good at hiding it.”

Jessica flips her hair over her shoulder. “It’s called poise. Sorry you neanderthals never figured it out.”

Dom gives a mocking little bow. “I defer to the master. Maybe some day I’ll learn from your example. But what about you, man? Our resident bisexual needs to weigh in and settle this for us.”

All eyes turn to me. I make no secret of my sexuality. In fact, I usually flaunt it at these kinds of conferences. It can often play to my advantage. What’s better than flirting with some people? Flirting with everyone and having them all believe it’s sincere. Naturally, it doesn’t always work. There’s always a few men you have to be careful around in these situations. But I’ve learned how to dance between those lines and give everyone what they want, especially myself.

“I was … kind of zoned out, to be honest,” I reply.

Dom wags his eyebrows. “Good weekend? You seem zonked today.”

I accept the easy out. “Yeah, you could say that.”

Knowing smirks and looks pass around the table. A few eyes even go to Jessica beside me, but I stay as neutral as possible.

I can see them wanting to dig deeper, wanting to press me for juicy details and gossip they can trade around for other gossip, but I’m not in the mood. Normally, I spin them some sort of story consisting of just enough truth to be unassailable, but today I want to steer them as far from the subject as I can.

An idea strikes me.

“Hey, have any of you heard of the Seattle Underground?”

Confusion flickers through every face. The conversation dies for a beat, until Pete, a guy who’s actually from Seattle, speaks up.

“I’ve heard of it,” he says. “It’s a tour or something.”

“Is it any good?”

He shrugs. “I mean, I guess. I’ve never bothered doing it, but I have some friends who have and they seemed to like it. Said it was better than they expected.”

“You escaping to the underground on us?” Dom jokes.

Laughter resumes, and I try to join in, but my mind is whirling. I wait just long enough, then escape to the bathroom. I ignore the urinals and shut myself in a stall, immediately going for my phone. Within minutes, I have two tickets for a tour tomorrow night. Pete’s friends better be right about this.

I got us tickets , I text.

What??? Cameron replies.

Seattle Underground. It’s a tour. It’s supposed to be good. I got us tickets for tomorrow night at six.

You could have asked if I was free.

I’m asking now. Come with me. It’s my last night in Seattle.

And that’s seriously how you want to spend it?

No, I want to spend it exploring every inch of him. I want to spend it with him in my bed. I want to spend it memorizing each one of his eyelashes, every crease in his lips, every blemish on his skin. But I don’t think I can say it to him that way, so instead I say, Yes, that’s how I want to spend it.

Did all your weird co-workers turn you down or something? he texts back.

You’re my first choice.

Yeah, sure. Whatever. You’re lucky I don’t have work or band practice.

Is that a yes? My heart thumps in my throat, my fingers shaky as dots appear to let me know he’s typing a response.

Fine. Yes. I’ll see you there.

I all but float back to that table full of beautiful sales reps. I think they talk to me, but whatever they say slides off my brain. I have one more date with Cameron before this is over, one more chance to change the trajectory of our acquaintance. And I plan to make the most of it.