Page 5 of The Mogul: Leonard

“Come on, guys. You’re not even believable anymore,” the guy behind the counter of our favorite Mexican place complains.

I stuff my mouth with a burrito sample and smile at him. “What do you mean?” I ask with a grin when I swallow.

He puts his hands on his hips and stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t be a smart ass with me. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“We’re just two tourists deciding what we want to eat!” The smirk on Spike’s face is irksome. Jesus! Could he be any more arrogant?

“Is that right? Considering I’ve seen you here several times in the last year, that’s a very long vacation you’ve got going on,” the guy points out, and the tourists start to stare at us during the conversation.

Spike puts an arm around my shoulder. “Aren’t we two lucky bastards?” His tone drips with annoying arrogance.

I roll his hand off of my shoulder and walk away from the stall.

“What are you doing? We could have snatched a few more samples,” he complains, walking beside me.

“I’m not hungry anymore,” I growl, and his smile disappears.

“Well, I am, and you ruined it,” he spits.

“You should have thought about that before you acted so cocky. They’re working their asses off to provide for their families. You shouldn’t be so disrespectful!” I counter with more venom than I wanted to.

A glimpse of hurt crosses Spike’s eyes, and I immediately regret being so harsh with him.

“Sorry, I just got a message from my mom this morning asking if I wanted to go back to their place until I find a decent job,” I confess.

Spike stops dead in his tracks. “Are you seriously considering going back to the Pacific Northwest?”

Am I? I moved to Los Angeles to be near my sister, whom I found again after years apart. But she’s married to a senator, always busy with something important, and I don’t see her as much as I want to.

“I don’t know. I barely make ends meet, and going back would mean saving some money,” I reason.

His face drops, and he sits remarkably close to me on the bench beside me—uncomfortably close. It’s way too intimate for two people who are just friends.

“If you need money, I can pick up a few more shifts at the café and help you out with rent,” he suggests, nudging my knee with his.

I turn toward him and see equal parts hope and hurt in his eyes. I don’t know how to react. I know his feelings for me are stronger than just a roommate’s, even if he’s never said it out loud, but he really is just a friend to me, and I have no idea how to make him understand I’m not interested without hurting his feelings.

“Spike, how long have you been working there?” I raise a questioning brow.

He looks a bit ashamed. “Three days.”

“And how many times have you asked to switch shifts because you had other things to do?”

“Twice,” he murmurs, knowing exactly what my point is.

“Shouldn’t you work your regular shift before asking for more?” I point out the obvious, but sometimes he needs to hear these things out loud to understand the whole point of our conversation.

He lowers his head and says nothing.

“I haven’t decided, Spike. I don’t want to go back, but sometimes I feel it’s the most reasonable choice.”

He nods and smiles sadly. “I would miss you.”

“I know, but I haven’t packed yet. Don’t ruin your day because of a text from my mom.” I try to cut this conversation short before it makes us both uncomfortable.

“Okay, yeah. But I’m still starving, and you ruined my chance of getting another bite from that stand,” he complains with a grin.

I roll my eyes at his dramatics. “Do you want to share a burrito? My treat.”

---