Clocks: MLM Short Fiction
Five minutes in, Bryce was furious his date didn’t show up. But after 15 minutes, he hates that he did.
The sharp edges of his belt dig into his waist. It looked good in the mirror, but now the resulting pain didn’t feel worth it for the man slurping his cocktail in front of him.
He is talking about something. In between slurps. Bryce tries to pay attention. He can't be as boring as he seems.
“That’s how the clock mechanism...”
Okay, maybe it is that boring.
It is his forth date this month so far. And it isn’t even the worst one.
The worst one. It was with Ben. Benjamin, as he required Bryce to call him. The least infuriating thing about him.
His dark hair. His dark eyes.
His heart rate picks up. His current date’s monologue drifts past Bryce’s ears as his fingers catch the continuous condensation falling from his glass. The coolness softening his quickly heating body.
Benjamín. He had called himself a creative director. He said he owned a place in Brooklyn. Even invited Bryce back to see the place.
“Creative director?” he had asked. “What does that mean?”
Benjamin's eyes had sharpened. The gaze feeling like touch. Each part of Bryce’s body betrayed him. Shivering.
He never answered the question. Probably unemployed.
Justin or Jace, or something else starting with a J, stops slurping and clears his throat, dragging Bryce back to the restaurant. He has almost forgotten about the man in front of him.
“Sorry, I’m probably boring you.”
“No, of course not,” Bryce says before he can think. A reflex. “If you don’t mind, I’m just going to find the restroom.”
He stands up and walks toward the back of the stuffy restarant without looking at Jacob’s face.
He seems nice. He seems safe. Something he has told himself he wants.
And he is cute. And he seems to know a lot about clocks. He imagines living in a small house with Jared or Jacob, or whatever his name is, letting him fix things as they break, waking up each morning to coffee and a small smile.
He shuts the bathroom door behind him and falls back against the door. His eyes close tight, trying to suck the imagery of his life as Jace’s husband back into his brain. That is what he wants. That’s what he needs.
But the image of a dark haired man with the power to leave him breathless with only his stare filters through the gaps in his resolve.
His hands run down his body. Putting himself back in place. Trying to calm his breath. Willing himself to calm down and return to the man waiting for him. The one he should pick.
He takes a deep breath and opens his eyes. The starting thread of an idea begins to cross into his mind. His history of self sabotage. His bad choices. Especially in relationships. He tries not to pull the thread, but he knows he doesn’t have to. The thought is ready to unravel. A ball of self-hatred at the ready.
Two hard knocks at the door save him. His heart jumps, but he keeps the knots from unraveling for the moment.
“Sorry, one second!,” he replies. His voice is too high, breaking and tumbling out of him.
The person knocks again. Harder this time.
He thinks about throwing the door open and screaming at the person waiting. Instead he rubs his hands by his side, calming himself down before he returns to Justin.
Heat pools in his chest. His resolve is breaking. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
His throat closes, stopping the words from falling from his lips. His head buzzes with excitement and fear. His hand comes to his heart.
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2087
