by Alexa Land
“Don’t be. I’m fine.”
Jessie gave me a sympathetic smile and said, “No pressure. If you don’t want to approach him tonight, I can make sure you have another opportunity. Maybe you can both come to dinner at our place next week.”
“Thanks, but I’ve got this. I just need another drink first. I’ll talk to you guys later.”
I got up and went to the kitchen, which was just as crowded as the living room, and paused to look around. It was beautiful, with a warm color scheme, stone countertops, and maple cabinets, and would have looked like something out of a magazine if it wasn’t for the dozens of photos stuck to the refrigerator and dotted all around the room. They were my favorite part of the space and made the house feel like a home.
Yoshi was leaning against the kitchen island/booze station talking to Rollie, but Alastair was nowhere to be seen. They both turned to me when I walked in, and Rollie exclaimed, “About damn time!” He had a Louisiana drawl and a lopsided grin, and he was actually kind of cute under the messy hair and thick glasses. When I raised an eyebrow at him, he added, “Don’t bother lookin’ surprised. I saw the way you were glancin’ at Alastair, and I kept thinkin’ sooner or later, surely you’d come over and ask him to dance. But you never did! What the hell were you waitin’ on?”
“He could have just as easily come over and talked to me,” I said as I poured myself a shot of whiskey.
“Here’s what you need to know about my friend,” Rollie said. When he leaned in, he swayed a bit and had to steady himself with a hand on my shoulder. That told me he was drunk and probably about to venture into TMI territory. “Alastair comes across as supremely confident, but a lot of that’s an act. He was intimidated by the idea of approachin’ you, not only because you’re a babe, but because you were sittin’ with a group of your hot friends, and he didn’t want to strike out in front of them. Also, Alastair’s pretty inexperienced, so go easy on him. But you did not hear any of that from me!” He pointed at me around the highball glass in his hand and tried to look stern.
“So, where is he now?”
Yoshi said, “He was hoping you’d come looking for him, so he left a trail for you. Follow the breadcrumbs.”
“Not literally,” Rollie chimed in, “because Alastair thought it was poor form to throw food all over our hosts’ lovely home. So, follow the next best thing to breadcrumbs.” He tilted his head to the right.
In the corner, a tiny blueberry muffin was centered on the bottom rung of a circular staircase. I grinned and asked, “Follow the mini-muffins?”
“You got it.”
I tossed back the drink, then put my glass in the sink and retrieved the inch-high muffin. Its bottom half was encased in a tiny, accordion-pleated paper liner, and I wondered where someone would find wrappers that small. As I started to climb the stairs, I spotted another muffin up ahead and murmured, “Bonus points for originality.”
The muffin trail led me to the third floor. It had been divided roughly in half, and part of it was a cozy family room with bookcases, a TV, overstuffed couches, and stacks of board games. I followed the muffins past that room and through a heavy, glass-paneled door, then stopped in my tracks and took in my surroundings.
The room was striking. That wasn’t because of the ornate skylight that took up a lot of the high ceiling, or even the row of tall windows showcasing a sweeping nighttime cityscape, but because it looked like someone was losing a game of Jumanji in a big way. Dozens and dozens of plants, primarily orchids, were clustered on every available surface. The not-quite-greenhouse was warm and slightly humid, and smelled like soil and moss and something else, something organic and living.
As I wound my way through the plants, I spotted one more muffin on the sill of the last window in the row, which was open. I’d been collecting them along the way, and I arranged my baked good bounty on a rattan chair before sticking my head out the window. I didn’t see Alastair, but could hear someone singing along, badly and enthusiastically, to an Alicia Keys song. After a moment, I realized the one-man karaoke show could only be coming from the roof, and I murmured, “Interesting.”
I stepped up onto the sill and looked around. There was a trellis to my left, but I doubted it would support my weight. Instead of climbing it, I grasped the edge of the roof and pulled myself up. Good thing I wasn’t even remotely afraid of heights.
After getting to my feet and wiping my hands on my black jeans, I admired the excellent view for a few moments. Not the city’s skyline, which was actually behind me. Instead, my attention was riveted on Alastair’s butt, which he shook with abandon in his snug white pants.
He was near the front of the flat roof, dancing in a pool of light spilling from a neighboring building and singing in an adorably tone-deaf falsetto. Alastair spun around while belting out, “This girl is on fi—” He almost tripped over his own feet and cut himself off as he exclaimed, “Blimey, you actually followed me onto the roof!”
“I did. Way to make me work for it.”
He smiled flirtatiously as he tapped the phone in his hand and turned off his musical accompaniment. “You bet your arse I made you work for it, after the way you’ve been teasing me with those smoldering looks all evening! Would it have killed you to ask me to dance when we were both downstairs?”
“Would it have killed you to do the same thing?”
“Oh no, that’s not how this works. If you want me, you have to come and get me. I’ve learned over the course of my short, tragic dating history that it’s far better to be chased than to be the one doing the chasing. The latter is bloody exhausting.” His British accent was sexy, no doubt about it.
I stepped around the large skylight, and he held his ground as I slowly approached him. My voice was already low, but I dropped it even lower as I asked, “So, now that you’ve been chased down and cornered, what do you suggest I do with you?”
“Anything you’d like.” He tried to sound confident, but he fidgeted a little, as if his own boldness made him uneasy.
I came to a stop maybe a foot from him. Alastair was tall, but I was taller, by a good three or four inches. When he looked up at me, his full lips parted and he leaned toward me ever-so-slightly. God, so sexy.
He was absolutely striking, with high cheekbones, a long, lean body, and thick, dark blond hair, which was swept back from his forehead in a perfect wave, as if a stylist had just dropped by and arranged it for a photoshoot. I was so taken with him that I forgot what we were talking about for a moment. Finally, I murmured, “Um, my name’s Sawyer MacNeil.”
“I know. I’m Alastair…Wilde.” There was the slightest hesitation between his first and last name, and his gaze strayed from mine for a split-second. I knew with absolute certainty that he’d lied to me, but I didn’t call him on it.
“Well, Alastair Wilde, can I have this dance?”
“There’s no music.”
“You’re holding the solution to that in your hand.”
“Oh, right. Forgot all about it.” He fumbled with his phone and almost dropped it. I liked the fact that I rattled him. When ‘Sabotage’ by the Beastie Boys started to blast from the tiny speaker, he exclaimed, “Shite, I didn’t mean to click that,” and turned it off with a quick jab.
I took his hand in mine and turned it so we could both see the screen. He had a staggering number of songs in his phone, and as I scrolled through them, I said, “You know, a lot of people claim to have eclectic taste in music, but you’ve taken it to a whole new level.”
“Last year, I had this idea that I wanted to expand my musical horizons,” he said, watching me instead of the screen. “I bought dozens of songs from every decade, from the 1920s to the present. I found that, in addition to the modern stuff, I had an inexplicable affinity for music from the 1960s and the 1980s. I’m not sure what that says about me.”
I found his 80s playlist and tapped my selection, then slid the phone into the pocket of his pink button-down shirt. As I drew him close and took his hand in mi
ne, ‘Time After Time’ by Cyndi Lauper began to play. When we both tried to lead, he grinned and said, “Sorry, force of habit. Years of ballroom dancing classes with my cousin Abigail as my partner. Not my idea, I swear.”
Both of us began to sway to the music, and he felt wonderful in my arms. After a minute, I said, “I probably should have let you lead. I just realized the last time I slow-danced was at an awkward eighth grade mixer.”
I grinned at the memory, and Alastair smiled and said, “I bet the girls were falling all over you.”
“Nah. I didn’t hit my growth spurt until the end of high school, so I was one of the shortest kids in my class. I also had a mouthful of braces. That dance was a lot of fun though, which can’t be said for most of the social functions I was forced to endure back then.”
“What made that one different?”
“I asked Gretchen Reiner to dance because no one else would, probably because she was a foot taller than every boy in our class. After that, all her friends on the girls’ basketball team took turns dancing with me, and then we all hung out in the parking lot telling dirty jokes for the remainder of the evening.”
“Fantastic.”
“It was. I think it’s poetic justice that Gretchen’s now a supermodel living in New York. All those dumb straight boys who shunned the tall girl back in middle school would probably kill for five minutes of her time now.”
“I’ve seen her on TV, she’s fabulous!”
“Yup. Nice as can be, too. We still keep in touch.” I spun us around and smiled as I said, “Heads up, I’m about to get fancy.”
“As long as you don’t Mission Impossible me through the skylight, have at it.”
“I’m saving that for the grand finale. But first, I’m planning to dip you in three, two….” He whooped with delight, and I swore vividly and burst out laughing when he kicked up both feet in the middle of the dip, turning it into a swing dancing move.
I managed to right us both somehow, and when the song ended, we leaned on each other as we chuckled and caught our breath. “Next time, you’re leading,” I said, “and I’m going totally off plan in the middle of it and leaping at you like we’re starring in the gay remake of Dirty Dancing.”
“Bring it!”
“Oh man, I’m picturing that. It’d be exactly like a scene from a Road Runner cartoon. You’d be standing there, and a huge shadow would fall across you, and then blammo! You’d disappear when I landed like a ton of bricks.”
“If you didn’t have about sixty pounds of solid muscle on me, I’d suggest we try it,” he said, running his palm over his forehead. “Oh, and before I forget to mention it, I adore that Cyndi Lauper song. I was a bit surprised when you selected it.”
I leaned against the brick chimney and said, “One of my dad’s ex-wives, who actually still lives next door to us in our duplex, was a big influence on me. They were only married two years, but I think that’s right when I was developing my taste in music, and she was permanently stuck in the 80s.”
“One of his ex-wives? How many times has he been married?”
“Four, and yes, he’s in the market for lucky number five. But let’s not talk about him.”
“Deal. Are you thirsty? I brought us refreshments, on the off chance you’d actually follow me up here.” He retrieved a bottle of champagne that was stashed beside the chimney and peeled off the foil as he explained, “I brought a case of this to the reception. I only mention it because raiding our hosts’ liquor supply must seem tacky.”
“How’d you climb onto the roof while holding a bottle?”
“I possess the skill and grace of a ninja.” When I raised an eyebrow at him, he admitted, “If you must know, I took off my shirt and fashioned it into a booze sling before climbing the trellis.”
“Nice. I’m sorry I missed that.” As he untwisted the metal cage over the cork, I asked, “Why the roof, exactly? We could have danced and gotten drunk indoors, too.”
He flung his arms out and said, “Because it’s fantastic up here! I think the Drifters said it best, hang on.” He flipped through his playlist, then returned the phone to his pocket as ‘Up on the Roof’ began to play.
“A song for every occasion.”
“Absolutely. Life should be more like the movies, especially the ever-present soundtrack.” He launched the cork into space, and as he handed me the bottle, he said, “Slàinte mhòr agus a h-uile beannachd duibh.”
“Right back at you. Was that Klingon?” I took a sip and handed it back to him while he flashed me a smile.
“It’s what a Scottish classmate taught me to say when we’d raid his parents’ liquor cabinet. It’s basically ‘great health and all good blessings,’ but that sounds far more interesting in Gaelic.”
“And Klingon.” He took a drink as I sat down on the roof with my back against the chimney, and I said, “So, Alastair Wilde, tell me about you. I only know a little through our mutual friends, including the fact that you go to college and are a street racer.”
“About sums it up. I’ve heard you’re in the Army. You on leave?”
I shook my head. “I finished my four-year commitment and got the hell out.”
“So, what now? College?”
“I don’t know. I got my A.A. before I enlisted, and I haven’t made up my mind about going back for my bachelor’s.”
“You seem young to have done all that.”
“I’m twenty-three. I took the high school equivalency exam at sixteen, spent two years getting my associate’s degree, and enlisted when I turned eighteen.”
He said, “Sounds like you had it all planned out.”
“My dad was the one with a plan, not me. I was supposed to follow in his footsteps with a career in the military, starting as soon as I graduated. I wanted to continue my education, but all I could afford was two years at a junior college.”
Alastair looked surprised. “I didn’t expect us to have so much in common, based on what I knew about you from our friends.”
“We have something in common?”
He nodded. “We both sped up our lives to go to college and do what we wanted before getting crushed under the weight of family obligation. Not unlike the coyote in those cartoons.” He raised one hand over his head, bottle and all, and let it fall into the other, pantomiming the moment of impact.
“What does your family expect of you?”
“On my next birthday, I’m to return to London and begin being groomed to take over the family business. Say hello to a future captain of industry.” He gave me a little salute, then took a long drink before handing the champagne back to me.
“Is that what you want?”
“What I want is irrelevant. That’s what’s happening.”
“So, you must be a business major.”
“God no, astrophysics. The deal I struck with my family was that I could go to the U.S. and study whatever I wanted, as long as I understood I’d be coming home and buckling down at twenty-one.”
I asked, “Will you be able to finish your bachelor’s degree by then?”
“I already did, and I’ve started on a PhD. I decided to begin the program anyway, even knowing I’ll never complete it.”
“And now I feel like a total slacker with my A.A.”
“Don’t. You found a way to work in two years of higher education before you turned eighteen. That’s admirable.”
He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, and I said, “Why don’t you sit down?”
“Because I’m wearing white trousers, and when we eventually return to the party, I don’t want to look like a chimney sweep.”
My legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankles, and I indicated my thigh and said, “Sit here.”
“But that’ll be uncomfortable for you.”
“It’ll be fine.”
Alastair straddled my legs and sat down facing me. We watched each other as we took turns with the champagne, and after a moment, he said, “You’re extraordinarily handsome,
Sawyer. I hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
I couldn’t resist a bit of lighthearted teasing. “You didn’t think so when we first met. In fact, you barely spoke to me. Do you remember when that was?”
“At Jessie and Kai’s wedding. I thought you were gorgeous then too, but at that point it was a negative, because I incorrectly assumed we were both vying for Zachary’s attention. I had a grand plan for making him my boyfriend back then. Since we watched him get married today, you can see how well that worked out.”
“Do you wish things had turned out differently between you two?”
He shook his head. “Everything happened just as it should. Zachary and TJ are perfect for each other. I didn’t think so at first, because I only saw their substantial age gap, but the love between them and the way they understand and support each other is exactly what each of them needs. Plus, they’re both good friends of mine now. That’s something I’ll get to carry with me, even after I return to the UK.”
“And the hunt for a boyfriend goes on?”
“No, that ship has sailed.”
“What do you mean?”
“When I first met Zachary, I was just eighteen,” he said. “By the time I got him to agree to go out with me, which was actually at Jessie’s wedding, I’d already passed my nineteenth birthday. Still, I thought he and I could date for a while and keep it light, yeah? I liked the idea of someone to spoil, to take out to dinner and away for the weekend, that sort of thing. It was the one missing piece to my time in California, getting to be in an openly gay relationship with a cute boyfriend and just having fun together. But it would have been a mistake, I know that now. What if Zachary and I had gotten attached to one another? It might have hurt him when I had to go back home. And now, there’s not enough time left to get involved with anyone else.”
“So, what’s the new plan? Random hookups until you’re called back to jolly old England?”
“If only I could be that guy! But, as it turns out, I hate trying to be intimate with strangers I meet in bars or on the internet. It’s far too impersonal.” After he took another sip of champagne, he added, “Zachary says what I need is a fling, just a bit of fun with someone willing to keep it casual during my last few months here in the U.S.”