Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 10

remembered: gloomy, stuffy, and loud. Dark wood lined the walls, and dimly lit fake stained glass lamps hung low over each table. There were so many tables packed into the tiny restaurant that two things always came to mind—one, did this layout break a dozen different fire codes, and two, how the hell did anyone move, let alone meet people?
    It was a small room, so it didn't take me long to find Wolfgang. He stood behind the bar, both hands on the counter, leaning close to yell over the din of too many voices. The man he was talking to smiled and covered Wolfgang's hand with his own. My heart leaped into my throat, and I saw red. I had no business getting jealous, but I'd be damned if I had to battle Wolfgang's hurt feelings and the guy who obviously wanted the next shot at him. The bastard was handsome too. I'd flirt with him if I didn't have my sight set on the same vibrant-haired fallen angel he did.
    As I watched, frozen with inaction, and yes, jealousy too, Wolfgang's shining, expressive eyes went cold and hard. I caught my breath. I never wanted that void to fall on me. From across the room, I felt an icy chill. Suddenly, confronting him seemed like a very bad idea. I wished I could read lips when Wolfgang said something and his pursuer paled, shoved to his feet knocking his stool over, and then spun around and strode angrily toward the door.
    "Shit," I mumbled.
    "I warned you."
    I glared at Sam who'd stopped just in time to witness my indecision.
    "Ready to go now?" he asked.
    As it always had, his mockery steeled my nerves. No way I'd back down now. He knew it, and for a brief moment I forgot my intentions as I realized Sam might actually want me to succeed tonight. Maybe. Shit, I had no idea what whirled through his head.
    Sam placed a hand on the small of my back, guiding me toward the office beyond the restrooms. Once inside, with the door closed, I crossed my arms and glared at Sam. If he wanted to fix this—any part of it—he'd have to put forth the effort. I would not offer the first step.
    "I get it," Sam said. "You don't like practical jokes."
    Well, at least he'd been thinking about it. I lowered my arms, but waited warily for him to continue.
    "You really need to work on your sense of humor, bud." My fingers curled into fists. I ground my teeth to keep from saying something stupid and storming out of there. "I mean, it had to be pretty funny… all tied up and this hot twink all over you, and you not knowing who he is or anything." With every few words, Sam's voice went up las if he were holding back laughter. By the time he finished, he was laughing. He slapped his thigh. He tried to slap my shoulder too, but I wasn't having any of his buddy-buddy crap.
    I punched him. No wild hook or rusty wrestling move, just a straight out jab. As Sam reeled back, clutching at his nose and swearing gurgly, bloody-sounding words, the office door swung open. Wolfgang wasn't a big guy, but the anger that roiled in with him filled the doorway. He started off glaring at me, but his gaze shifted as Sam stumbled and fell against a stack of boxes. Wolfgang's eyes widened, and he looked back at me.
    For what seemed like an eternity I stood there, second guessing myself, desperately searching my mind for something—anything—that wouldn't sound pathetic, desperate, or otherwise asinine. All my thoughts fled, leaving me stranded, floating in the twilight sky of those eyes. Like a pending storm, his gaze darkened, and then he turned away.
    Shit. Goddamn. Hell. Fuck. Now what? I ran for the door. "Wait! Please, Wolfgang."
    I jumped through the doorway and nearly ran into him. He waited, his arms crossed and his feet wide. Defensive and angry and intimidating. I stopped and took a deep breath. "I don't know what Sam told you, but it was probably slightly twisted." I tried a small smile but didn't get a reaction. The look in those eyes dug right through my every nerve. "I'm sorry, Wolfgang. I truly didn't know." I shook my head. "Sam didn't tell me that you were a friend of his. He didn't tell me anything at all. So when you said you were my birthday present…" I shrugged, hoping he'd fill in the blanks. It was embarrassing enough without having to say it out loud.
    "You should go," he said flatly.
    Ouch. I reached for his hand. His gaze darkened further, and suddenly I remembered one of the interesting things we'd talked about had been his martial arts training. He'd joked that he wouldn't tell me what styles he'd