Love in Tandem Read online

  “And they’re just playing along,” Eamon spat, connecting the dots Kevin was offering him. “What I wouldn’t give to go have it out in person...”

  “But that would only serve to exacerbate their suspicions of you,” Kevin pointed out. “You have to bide your time. I’ll keep you updated about today’s board meeting.”

  “There’s another one?” Eamon put his head in his hands, drooping over the phone where it rested on the table. “Why wasn’t I informed?”

  “I think it’s an informal sort of affair,” Kevin said. “Not a full meeting. But there will be board members there, so...”

  “And you too, thankfully,” Eamon huffed. “Well, keep me updated then.”

  “Of course.” Kevin sounded surprised that Eamon would even think to mention it.

  “I’m glad I have you in my corner,” Eamon said suddenly. “Thanks a lot.”

  “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done for me,” Kevin said, sounding a touch uncomfortable with the abruptness of Eamon’s emotions. “This is my dream job.”

  “Mine too,” Eamon told him. “I’m glad some of us are paying attention anyway.”

  There was a rustle on the other end of the line. “I think that’s my PA,” Kevin said.

  “Then you should get going.” Eamon’s fingers tightened on his mug of coffee. “Thanks for the update.”

  The line clicked off and Eamon downed the now-cooled mug of coffee in one gulp. It was better to be informed, he told himself. Even though everyone kept telling him that he was burnt out and needed a break, it was too hard to manage without any kind of information. Everyone telling him to rest should be proud of him. He was letting Kevin keep the drip of facts to an infuriating trickle. He was barely even looking anything up, not that his team was dumb enough to put these issues online, where a client might see them.

  Unfortunately, this still left him with a lot of time to spare. Now that the house was back in a livable state with the dust sheets banished to the basement and the fridge regularly stocked by grocery delivery, there wasn’t much here to occupy his time. He could go back out on the bike, of course, but... His quads twinged as he climbed down gingerly from the barstool. Maybe not today.

  He used to have more free time, didn’t he? What had he done with it then? He yanked the fridge open, grabbed a little carton of yogurt and sat down to eat it.

  Admittedly, that had been a long time ago. CarreSys had wormed its way into all of his free time since then. Eamon had made an effort, sometimes, to carve out space for himself – or, more likely, for an ex-boyfriend. But none of those boyfriends had lasted, all of them swallowed up in the wave of work, and the things he’d done with them seemed out of reach now, as though the pain of Greg’s final voicemail had erased the fun he’d had at all the film festivals Greg had dragged him to, or the shock of coming home to find Noah’s side of the bedroom all cleaned out had overwritten the time they’d spent learning to hike together.

  Not that Eamon was likely to find either film festivals or hiking in this small town. The closest he was likely to get was walking around the marsh, and however nice the boardwalk was: the very fact of a boardwalk made it a little less than a real hike. Or the one-screen theatre downtown. If it was even still there, and if Eamon had any idea what was likely to be playing there. Something for kids, probably. That’s how it had always been when he was little. Or some rom-com he had no idea how to relate to and didn’t even want to try.

  In any case, he was now up early, vibrating with caffeine, and with exactly nothing to do.

  He wished those guys from the pub last night who were so impressed by his sabbatical could see him now. Or not, really. He’d let himself bask in their admiration, laughing internally at how little they understood just how pathetic he really was. How badly he’d failed.

  Scott had seemed more understanding. He had his own business after all. It wasn’t the same as CarreSys by a long shot, but he’d understood that too, which was rare. His parents’ friends always wanted to make a huge deal out of every managerial post they’d ever had and give him advice, but Scott had kept his advice to himself. Plus, that jawline... A man could wreck himself upon that jawline.

  Not that Eamon seemed likely to get the chance to do so. He’d made the offer of drinks to Scott on the spur of the moment, thinking only that he needed to see a friendly face and get out of the gloom of his parents’ old house. That Scott had accepted had seemed a minor miracle on its own, without dragging the faint hope that he was flirting into the mix.

  It should be pretty conclusive that a guy didn’t want to flirt with you when he literally called over some other friends to be a barrier to your discussion. Granted, Scott had seemed surprised when Tony and Lennox had shown up, but he was the one who’d called them over.

  Unless, of course, he was the kind of guy who thought you should meet his friends before he made a decision about you. Eamon had known guys like that, and frankly, found it kind of annoying. But from a guy with the ass of a god, the arms of a mechanic, and a hint of golden stubble on a lantern jaw, he might be able to take it. It was almost cute.

  If that was what had been going on, which was unlikely.

  More probably, Scott had taken pity on a guy who’d literally told the first stranger he met that he was all alone, and that was going to be the end of it until Eamon eventually had to take the bike back. But reality couldn’t hold a candle to imagination. Especially the kind of imagining that involved a strong pair of arms and ended in a messy tangle of sheets.

  Eamon sighed.

  Uncomfortably aware that he was daydreaming in the middle of his kitchen, he pushed himself to his feet, tossing the empty yogurt pot into the trash.

  He’d have to find something to do with his time or he was going to go mad.

  8

  Scott

  Scott’s Thursday was also rental-free, but he had a few repairs to do. Spring was the season for that: the moment when people dragged their bikes out of a damp basement where they’d been resting for a season – or several – and realized just how badly they’d been treating their poor machines. Nothing very difficult to fix, but definitely his bread and butter.

  Good thing too, after the night he’d had. It wasn’t that he’d left the bar particularly late, and he definitely hadn’t had someone to stay up late with as they spent the night together, as much as he might have wanted that. But apparently all it took was a single text to have him tossing and turning in his bed until all hours of the morning.

  In this case, the text came from Lennox and read: Did we interrupt your date? Ramona read us the riot act after you guys left. Sorry, bro.

  So had it been some kind of date then? Ramona was no slouch: she’d seen a million dates from behind the bar. Presumably she knew what she was talking about. On the other hand, did it matter when Scott had clearly ruined everything by letting his friends show up and talk at the two of them all evening?

  He didn’t even have Eamon’s number, for fuck’s sake. Scott was pretty sure it didn’t count as a successful date if you didn’t have the guy’s number before or after it. The fact that Eamon would eventually have to return the bike he’d rented was a cold comfort.

  And why did any of this matter when Scott had decided once and for all that, however handsome Eamon was, the two of them just weren’t compatible!

  Which was all very well to decide, but didn’t do anything to remove the question that kept circling through his brain: had it been a date after all?

  Hard work and hard rock, Scott decided, would be the trick to get rid of it, and he flicked on the radio, throwing himself into the minor repairs on his schedule with fervor.

  He was well ahead of his planned schedule by lunch time, which meant that he had all afternoon to fight with his greater enemy: the website. He’d peeked at his schedule earlier, in the hopes that there were appointments on it for today, and discovered that the bugs involved had gone from merely failing to add rental appointments to his schedule, to act
ively eating the appointments Scott knew he’d carefully input by hand. The appointment in question was for Saturday, and he still had the email somewhere in his inbox, so that would be fine, but if he couldn’t trust any part of the software at all...

  Honestly, the notebook and pen solution was looking better and better.

  Four hours in and seriously considering deleting and reinstalling the whole shebang, Scott was surprised when a figure loomed over the desk where he sat, swearing at his computer. The bell on the door must have been muffled by the music still pounding away in the small room, and Scott reached sheepishly to slap the radio behind him off before looking up at the figure in front of him.

  “Hey,” Eamon said, looking amused.

  Scott grinned back, his mood lifting almost at once. “Hey, yourself. Don’t tell me there’s a problem with the bike already?”

  “The bike?” Eamon said, taken aback. “Oh, no, the bike’s fine. I was just wandering past and thought I’d stop in to say hello.”

  “Oh?” Scott leaned forward, tipping the stool he sat on onto two legs. “Couldn’t get enough of me, huh?”

  Was that a flush dusting the tops of Eamon’s cheeks? Was that a good sign, or did Scott really need to learn to keep his mouth shut?

  Either way, he pressed forward, hoping enough words would hide his faux pas. “Did you have a good night last night?”

  “Definitely.” Eamon was still smiling at him, so he couldn’t be fucking up too badly, right? “You were right about the shepherd’s pie.”

  “Of course I was right,” Scott boasted. “I know the best places for everything in this town.”

  “And where might someone go for a good cup of coffee?” Eamon asked, putting one hand on the counter and leaning forward himself.

  “The Pie Chart, definitely,” Scott said automatically. “Sounds too cute for words, but their stuff is actually top-notch.” He heard himself speak, watched Eamon’s open expression settle into something more restrained, and realized he was being an idiot. “I’d show you myself,” he added, looking up at Eamon with his most winning smile. “But I really have to get this website problem sorted out.”

  “Oh, yeah.” Eamon’s expression cleared up at once. “I remember you were saying last night that something was wrong with it.”

  “And it’s gotten worse since then,” Scott lamented. “Do you think computers can hear you talking shit about them and take revenge?”

  “Sounds plausible to me.” Eamon nodded sagely. “I wouldn’t take the risk.”

  Scott groaned aloud. “I’m screwed then. I’ve complained about this piece of trash to every third person in town, probably.”

  “It sounds like a real pain in the ass,” Eamon agreed. “You, uh, you want a hand with it?”

  “Really?” Taken aback momentarily, Scott didn’t know what to make of the offer. Most people agreed that it sounded terrible and then left him to it.

  “I was a programmer not too long ago,” Eamon protested, clearly taking Scott’s surprise the wrong way. “I can still fix some faulty code if I need to.” Dropping his voice as if sharing a secret, he leaned in closer. “And I’m going stir-crazy in this town. I need a project.” He straightened back up. “So what do you say?”

  “Please,” Scott blurted out. “I could use the help. I installed the thing okay, but I have no idea how to deal with this problem.” He laughed awkwardly. “Free bike rentals for life if you can sort this one out, I’m serious.” It was a pittance, frankly, but wouldn’t anything he could offer be a pittance? Scott couldn’t even imagine how much CEOs made in an hour – and he was pretty sure this was going to take more than an hour.

  “Oh, don’t worry about that.” Eamon looked vaguely embarrassed. “So, when are you free to let me take a look?”

  “There isn’t really room for two people back here,” Scott said, thinking aloud as he surveyed the cramped space behind his desk and his single stool. “You want to come over and work on it? It might take a while.”

  “Sure,” Eamon said easily. “On the weekend maybe?”

  “The weekends are my busy days!” Scott said with a laugh. “Want to come over Friday night?” Monday was his day off, but he didn’t really want to tell Eamon that he liked to spend it sleeping until two in the afternoon. That didn’t seem like the kind of thing CEOs went for.

  “If you’re sure I’m not dragging you away from something else?” Eamon asked.

  “Yeah, about that,” Scott said with a shrug. “Last night at the Wick was about as much nightlife as this town gets, I’m afraid.” No wonder Eamon was going stir-crazy, he added to himself. Why was this guy even bothering to stick around if he was so bored by everything? But he knew better than to pry like that and besides, he really could use Eamon’s help. “I’d love something to do with my Friday nights.”

  “Sounds like a plan then,” Eamon said.”

  “Awesome!” Scott remembered something. “Oh, you want to give me your number? I can text you my address and shit.”

  “Only if you give me yours.” Eamon’s eyes crinkled as he smiled.

  “You have it,” Scott told him, pushing the little box of cards on the counter closer to the other man. “It’s on the business cards. Only got the one cellphone, you know?”

  “I know that feeling,” Eamon said, with surprising emotion. Scott would have thought fancy executives could have all the cell phones they wanted, but maybe not? Weird.

  They swapped numbers, Eamon’s hands flicking across the screen of his phone faster than Scott could type in a million years.

  “I close up at six on Fridays until summer really hits,” Scott said, “And I live pretty close to here.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Eamon’s smile really was intoxicating. Enough to make Scott wonder if it was a great idea to invite this bad idea back to his place. But he did really need his website fixing. And Eamon wasn’t exactly brushing off Scott’s clumsy flirting, despite how ludicrously last night had gone.

  So he wasn’t going to say no. He was just going to be as business-like as possible. Shouldn’t be too hard. Weren’t CEOs used to professional behavior and shit?

  “I’ll see you then.” Eamon’s voice cut through Scott’s thoughts as he took a step away from the counter. He grinned at Scott. “Text me if you have any wine preferences, okay?” And he was gone, vanishing through the door, the bell ringing loud in Scott’s ears.

  Wine? What was that all about? What happened to professionalism?

  9

  Eamon

  Given the relatively small selection of wines at the Sellis Creek liquor store, Eamon spent an embarrassingly long time picking one out. What on earth had possessed him to make that promise to Scott? He didn’t even know if Scott liked wine.

  He’d barely been thinking, buoyed up by the fact that Scott was accepting his help and the universal truth that late-night coding sessions always went better when gently adulterated with alcohol, but that didn’t make him feel less silly as he walked over to Scott’s place with a paper bag in hand.

  The house was small, but well-kept, tucked between two larger houses like a secret, just a little bit further back from the road. The lawn stretched out in a sheet of spring green, dotted with a sprinkling of long leaves where the spring bulbs were clearly preparing to come up. The main thing that set it apart from the other houses in the area was the bike rack on the front porch, and Eamon couldn’t resist a smile as he came up the porch stairs and rang the bell.

  “Coming!” The sound of thumping feet from inside the house. Eamon stepped back involuntarily as the door swung vigorously open, revealing Scott’s cheerful face on the other side. “Hello! Come in, come in.”

  He kicked shoes out of the way as Eamon stepped inside, talking a million miles a minute about how he’d been in the back doing something when he heard the bell and thanking Eamon repeatedly for coming to take a look at his little tech problem.

  “Sounds like it’s screwing up all your stuff to me,” Eamon said.
“That’s not a little problem.”

  “I swear, you’re going to take one look at it and it’s going to settle right down,” Scott replied, rolling his eyes. “That’s how tech stuff always works. Just broken enough to make me look like an idiot.”

  “Spoken like a man who’s never had to untangle someone else’s code,” Eamon said with feeling.

  “Who, me?” Scott smiled wide. “You’re damn right.”

  His smile, even in the dimness of the front hall, seemed to brighten the room and make Eamon clutch harder at the bottle in his hands, the paper bag crinkling under his grip.

  “I brought this,” he said, shoving the bag in Scott’s direction. “It’s traditional when you’ve got a shitty code problem to fix.” Technically, the cheapest possible beer was traditional, but Eamon hadn’t drunk shitty beer in a long time, and he wasn’t planning to start again. A nice bottle of wine was a better gift, and frankly, a nicer thing to drink all evening as they figured this problem out together.

  Scott looked surprised. “Thanks, man. But shouldn’t I be buying you a drink instead of the other way around?”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Eamon waved the objection away. An awkward beat of silence. “So, your computer problem?”

  “Right! Of course.” Scott gestured towards a doorway. “I thought we could work on it in here.”

  In here turned out to be a living room. Behind Eamon, Scott was mumbling vague apologies for the mess, but it didn’t look untidy to Eamon’s eyes. The scatter of cycling magazines on the coffee table and the jumbled mix of DVDs on the low bookshelf spoke to a house well lived-in, unlike the sterility of his parents’ place, carefully packed away by teams of cleaners. A laptop rested on the couch, already open as though Scott had been trying to do some work himself before Eamon arrived.

  “We can bring it over to the dining table, if that’s easier,” Scott said. “I was just trying to see if I could do something now, because it’s honestly been driving me crazy all day.”