Page 43 of Flare

I shrugged. “I’m not either. I have to deal with it for my job, but you’d be surprised how many designers are introverts, much like other creatives. Most of the time I’m happy with my own company, a beer or wine, and my sketchpad.”

He swivelled in his seat to look at me. “I wouldn’t have guessed that about you. I had you pegged for a club regular, schmoozing with the social elite and all that.”

I snorted. “Well, there is a bit of that for sure, but it’s work, not pleasure.”

He stared a bit longer. “Good to know.”

I studied him in return. “I wouldn’t have taken you for an English professor, so I guess we’re even.”

“’Cause I’m a big guy?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Oscar Wilde was six foot two. And Roald Dahl was six foot six.”

“Really? Oscar Wilde was the gay guy, right? Irish. Convicted for being a homosexual.”

“Very good.”

“My mama taught me well.” I laughed. “She made sure I knew my history where it counted. He’s the only poet I know. You love your work, don’t you?”

His face split in a wide grin and he played with the coaster, pushing it around the table. “I do. I know it’s strange for some people to understand, but curling up with a good book of poetry in a comfortable chair has all the makings of a great day for me. As a kid, I spent most of my damn life in my room with a book, although not usually poetry. That came later. It’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but it suits me.”

“Do you write as well?”

His gaze slid away. “Some. I’m not very good. I’m a much better teacher than poet. I’d like to write a book one day though. Fiction. I have a few plots in my head.”

“I can see you doing that.”

He turned back. “You can? Most people just smile in that‘yeah, right’kind of way.”

“I’d like to hear some of your ideas one day.”

He smiled. “Maybe, one day.”

“So, who’s this Rafe fellow?” I tried to make it sound casual and followed with a long swallow of my beer.

His lips twitched and I guessed I wasn’t fooling anyone. “Rafe is a goodfriend.He teaches physics at the university, and we’ve known each other since high school. We’re not, nor have we ever been... whatever you might have been thinking.”

“I’m sure I wasn’t thinking anything,” I said tartly, then smiled and took another long swallow. “Much.”

“I knew it. Just like I was most definitelynotthinking about who the handsy photographer was today?”

I snorted. “Hunter Donovan.Alsoa long-term friend from childhood, although not quite as squeaky clean as your friendship with Rafe. We did fool around a little in our very early teenage years when we both realised we were gay—safe exploration, if you like—but it didn’t feel right for either of us, so we stuck with being friends.”

Beck squinted against the lights of an oncoming truck making its way up the hill. “So, no boyfriend... or girlfriend?”

I shook my head. “Only men for me, and no. You?”

“None currently. Only men, and also, no. A few boyfriends in the past but no one serious for a long time.” He wrapped his lips around his beer bottle and took a slug, which distracted me for a moment, and when I looked up, he was staring at me.

“What?” I shrugged. “Then don’t be so fucking sexy if you don’t want the attention.”

For a second, he looked flummoxed. “I, um, okay.” His brow creased.

I searched his puzzled eyes and shook my head. “You honestly have no idea, have you?”

“About what?”

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