Coda 02 -A to Z

in the little hollow at the base of his throat.
    I was getting hard again.
I really needed him to put his shirt back on.
    “Hey, it’s almost dinner time anyway,” I said to him. “Let’s go back to the motel and get cleaned up. I could use a shower.” A really, really cold shower.
    He shrugged. “Okay.”
    First we had to clean the brushes, or they’d be worthless by the time we got back from dinner. We crowded into the mop room and stood next to each other at the utility sink, rinsing out brushes and pans and rollers. There wasn’t much room, and his arm kept brushing mine. At least he had put his shirt back on. Still, I could smell him. He smelled like sweat and shampoo, and paint, and it was sexy as hell. Just standing next to him had me hard all over again. Had he rolled in pheromones that morning or something?
    He was talking again and I was finding it very difficult to pay attention.
    “The thing I never got ’bout Gone with the Wind was why Scarlett was so crazy over Ashley anyway, you know? Here she’s got Rhett on the line, and all she can think ’bout is Ashley, who’s a total fuckin’ pansy.”
    “I never watched it.” I was watching his hands. He was washing out his paint brush, his long, thin fingers working through the bristles, and I thought about what it would feel like to have those fingers tangled in my hair. While I licked paint off of his stomach.
    Seriously, this was getting weird.

    He turned and looked at me with his eyebrows up in surprise. “You never saw Gone with the Wind ?”
    I had to make myself look away from his hands and look at his face. “Seemed like a stupid chick flick.” I hoped I sounded casual, because for some reason, I didn’t feel casual.
    He gave me that lopsided smirk, and something in my chest flipped over. “It’s a classic. I still can’t believe you own a fuckin’ movie store, and you never watched any of the classics.”
    What were we talking about again? When did I suddenly become incapable of carrying on a simple conversation with Angelo? He tucked his hair behind his ear. I could see the soft skin on the side of his throat, and I wanted to put my lips on it. “It’s about the Civil War, right? But I read once that it didn’t actually have a single battle scene in it, so I never watched it.”
    “It takes place during the Civil War, but it’s not about the Civil War. It’s about love.” He shook his head. “You have no sense of romanticism.”
    I didn’t know about romanticism, but I definitely had a sense of something growing inside of me. It felt like an epiphany. Everything was starting to make sense. Everything was suddenly coming into focus.
    All this time I had been blind to his feelings for me. But it seemed now that I had been even more blind to my own feelings for him. Wasn’t I the one who invited him over every night? Who practically begged him to go to Folk Fest with me? Who assumed that wherever I went, he would be there with me? Wasn’t I the one who couldn’t imagine moving to Coda without him? And while it seemed melodramatic to say that I couldn’t live without him, I knew at that moment that I didn’t want to try.
    I was still staring at him. He seemed so young and wild and beautiful—like something not even of this world. How could he possibly want someone like me? “So Scarlett doesn’t love Rhett?” I asked. I didn’t actually care. I just wanted him to keep talking so I could keep looking at him.
    “Not at first. Even after she marries him, she still wants Ashley. She doesn’t love Rhett until the end, really. But,” he said, glancing sidelong at me and blushing, “by then it’s too late.”
    Was I too late? The thought was enough to make my heart stop beating.

    “Ang?”
    He turned to look up at me through his bangs. I had to touch him. I reached up and brushed his hair out of his eyes. He had the longest lashes I had ever seen on a guy. He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Just looked at me.
    “Angelo, I know I should have asked. I know I’ve been an idiot. I know I should have figured it out sooner.”

    “Not sure what you’re talkin’ ’bout, Zach.”

    “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m blind. Or I’m stupid. Or both, I guess. I must be. I really don’t know.”

    “Still not sure what you’re talkin’ ’bout, Zach.” But there was a slight tremor in his voice as he said it.

    “I can’t stand for you to leave, Ang. I can’t stand to move here without