Page 16 of Burning Obsession

“Stellan,” I say right as I answer.

“Jake,” he says stiffly. “So formal, please tell me you felt as crappy as I did this morning.”

“Worse,” I reply with a soft, broken chuckle. “And I didn’t have any coffee. I had to get an Uber to the bar to get my truck, then go get some.”

“Yeah, I just got back from getting mine and saw yours was gone. That was some night, wasn’t it?”

“What I can remember.” I scoot back on the couch, my legs propped on the coffee table once more, and take a bite of my quesadilla.

“Don’t worry, friend. I have pictures and videos to jog your memory if you need a refresher.”

Of course he does. And something tells me that by the time I get back to work, everyone will have seen them and will have commentary for me. Sometimes it’s like a damn soap opera around there. Secret? Yeah, they never heard that word. If they did, they have no clue what it means.

“That’s okay. We can leave last night in the past.”

“You sound a little too cheerful for someone who woke up with a hangover. Especially if it’s anything like mine.”

Do I? I mean, it was a good day.

“No clue what you’re talking about, Stellan. I'm always happy. The life of the party,” I remind him. Is it true? Meh, maybe not the life of the party, but I’m rarely in a bad mood.

“I call bullshit. There’s something else? So spill.”

I debate just blowing it off and telling him it’s nothing. But maybe he can give me some advice on what to do. What the proper protocol is for messaging someone you just met. I’m sure there’s some unwritten three-day rule, but I don’t want to wait that long.

I blow out a long breath of air. Here goes nothing.

“Fine. I went and got coffee.”

“Did your admirer run into you at Fifi’s? Did you finally convince them to stop?” he blurts, cutting me off.

“No. I wasn’t at Fifi’s.” I don’t elaborate the reason I didn’t go there is because I didn't want to risk running into whoever it was.

“Then what?”

“If you’d stop butting in and let me finish, you’d know.” I laugh, then continue. “While I was sitting at the table, the hottest guy I’ve ever seen asked to sit down with me since the place was packed. We hit it off and had a great conversation. Then I asked for his number so I could take him out and he said yes.”

“Holy fucking shit!” He all but squeals, his voice raised an octave. “It’s about fucking time, man. Tell me everything. What does he look like? When are you going out? Details. I need details.”

“His name is Victor, and he’s tall, blond hair, five o'clock shadow and he’s an accountant.”

“Victor and Jake, sitting in a tree,” he starts singing like a fucking kid, and I can’t help but smile so wide my jaws start to hurt.

“Seriously, man. I’m excited for you. It’s about time. You deserve to find someone. So, when’s the date?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t messaged him yet.”

“Why not?”

That’s the thing. There are so many reasons.

“What if he’s just being nice and doesn’t really want to go out with me? He has my number, but he hasn’t messaged me.”

“Jake, don’t sabotage yourself. He gave you his number because he wanted to. And have you ever stopped to think maybe he’s waiting on you? You just met today, but maybe he’s been busy and hasn’t had a chance to.”

Victor did say he had to leave to take a work call. I wonder if he’s panicking over all the same things I am.

“I get it. I just haven’t dated in so long I don’t know what the protocol is. Is there a waiting period before I reach out to him and ask him out? Give me some advice.”