by Lane Hayes
Dante stopped short in the doorway and then flung his arm open wide in invitation. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering our lunch. I didn’t know what you liked, so I asked Finn for a few pointers in case you were allergic to anything.”
“Oh. I’m—thank you. I’m allergic to cats, but not food. I—this is great,” I assured him lamely as I moved into the room.
The small linen-clad table positioned next to a window overlooking a private garden in full bloom was set with a generous platter of Italian meats and cheeses, a basket of fresh bread, and a bottle of prosecco. The ambience screamed elegant refinement. I felt like I was being wooed, which had to be my imagination because seriously…I was a nobody. Dante Crowder didn’t have to do anything more than open the freaking door to impress me. What did I know? Maybe he ate like this every day.
“So tell me about yourself, Josh. Finn mentioned you’ve been at the Modern for a while. What did you do there?” Dante asked as he sat, gesturing for me to take the chair opposite his.
I obeyed and immediately reached for the glass of water near my plate. I took a quick sip before launching into a detailed description of a typical day in between installations, including grant writing, research, and basic operation duties.
“Honestly, I never cared what I was doing as long as I was able to spend some portion of my day on the floor soaking in the atmosphere. I love the space, the flow, the light, and I love the art.”
“Me too,” he said with a grin. “Why, though? Tell me everything. Your favorite artists, museums…and please help yourself. Would you like some prosecco?”
“Just a touch. I have to get back to work in forty-five minutes, which probably doesn’t give me enough time to bore you with my favorite artists or museums.”
Dante chuckled softly. “Bring it on. If we run out of time, we’ll have to continue our chat after regular business hours.”
His lighthearted tone wasn’t overly flirtatious, yet there was an unmistakably seductive glint in his eye. I might have imagined it. Either way, it was nice to talk to someone new about my favorite subject. Yet as I spilled my guts out about my love of art and how I hoped to contribute to something I adored but had no talent for, I found myself comparing him to Finn and wondering if what Nick said was true. I wanted to turn this around and ask a few pointed questions about the nature of their friendship. Yes, I loved Picasso, de Kooning, and Rothko, but I was more interested in examining this new puzzle piece. This interview felt less like a business meeting than another random clue giving me an inadvertent peek into Finn’s life.
I wanted to know how long they’d known each other, how intimate they’d been, and if there was any spark still between them. I should have been doing my best to impress a potential employer but frankly, my mind wandered from Franz Kline and Jackson Pollock back to Finn at every turn. I felt like a schmuck who couldn’t stop thinking about his ex while on a date with a sexy new guy. But this wasn’t a romance. This was real life and if I was lucky, this man might be my new boss.
By the time the lunch hour was up, my butterflies were long gone. Nerves had been replaced by an avid passion I couldn’t hide, and I knew I had Dante’s full attention. The position I was interviewing for wouldn’t be available for a few months, but he promised to contact me again soon. We shook hands and parted like old friends and then I made my way back to Kostas Realty. It was a successful meeting by anyone’s standards. Except for the fact that I’d spent the entire fucking time thinking about Finn.
Procrastination was one of my better skills. I was a master at putting off what I probably should have done yesterday. Or the day before. Guilt was usually the catalyst for coercing me into checking off my list of “To Dos.” Tuesday evening, I finally mustered the courage to call my dad and ask him if Lars and he were free to meet for breakfast or a cup of coffee the following weekend.
“We’d love to, son. But why don’t you come over for brunch instead? Feel free to bring a friend.”
I didn’t respond immediately. I was still mulling over the word “brunch.” The dad I knew guzzled coffee and cold pizza for breakfast. Brunch wasn’t his thing. I rested my hand on my forehead and stared unseeing at the computer screen for a moment, willing myself to be open to this new version of someone I thought I knew.
“Sure. Brunch sounds good,” I said. “I’m not seeing anyone though. It’ll just be me.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean a date. Bring Grant or one of the guys. Or come alone. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
The kindness in his voice unnerved me. It was quintessential Dad to be playful with a casual air one second but then pull you aside to make sure you understood he was joking. I smiled wanly, glancing up when Grant waltzed into the office. I waved at him distractedly then swiveled my chair toward the wall for a modicum of privacy.
“Thanks, Dad. So…Sunday?”
“Perfect. Sunday at ten a.m. Let me give you my new address.”
I scribbled the Castro address on a Post-it note, wincing when I realized he really did live just three blocks away from me now. I said good-bye and turned back to find Grant perched on the corner of my desk, looking hotter than the average real estate agent in a sharp navy suit and shiny black dress shoes.
“Sell any houses today, dear?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.
“Not yet, hon. But I’m working on closing a twelve-mil deal this afternoon.” Grant made a subtle sign of the cross before flashing a boyish grin at me. The guy was religious, superstitious, and seemingly didn’t have a clue how damn handsome he was.
I raised my brow and returned his smile. “Break a leg, boss.”
Grant huffed. “Thanks. I don’t want to count my chickens before they’ve hatched but…what are you doing after work? I may have cause to celebrate.”
“Tonight is my first night of Conversational French. I don’t get out of class until nine, but I could meet you for a drink afterward.”
“I’ll text you. I may be going out with Steve later. I’m not sure.”
When his speaking voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper I glanced at Talia who was engrossed in a professional-sounding telephone conversation on the far end of the office. There was no way she could have overheard him. I couldn’t help thinking Zane was right. Families were weird. I’d been out and proud for twelve years but was struggling to process my dad’s revelation while my friend avoided talking about his love life within earshot of prying family members who still held hope he’d meet a nice Greek girl and settle down one day.
I wanted to tease him and make light of the absurdity of two grown adults whispering like we were in church, but I knew better than to challenge him. Especially in my current headspace. I was a contradictory mess. I nodded instead then leaned forward to grab my wallet from my back pocket and slip the sticky note inside.
“By the way, Dad invited you to brunch this Sunday. Wanna meet Lars with me?”
It was a lame attempt at changing topics, but it was the best I could manage. I’d shared my father’s news with Grant when he got back from Toronto a couple of days ago. He was as flabbergasted as the rest of the guys were…maybe more so. However, he adored my dad and if nothing else, I knew he’d be curious to meet our new neighbors.
“Oh, wow. I wish I could but it’s my cousin Nico’s birthday. Trust me, I’d rather go to your party.”
“It’s not a party, smartass. It’s brunch,” I retorted. “Damn, that’s…gay, isn’t it?”
Grant cast his gaze over at Talia before answering. “Nothing wrong with that.”
I let out an amused huff and shrugged. “Nothing at all. I’ll brave my dad and my new stepdad on my own.”
“Why don’t you ask your friend Marley?”
“I don’t think so. I should bring a gay date…you know, for solidarity.”
“That’s ridiculous. Your dad is cool. He won’t care who you bring or if you bring anyone at all. You’re a lucky guy, Josh. Once you get over the shock, you’ll
realize it.” Grant stood and ruffled my hair. “I’m outta here. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it. You’ll be fabulous,” I gushed in a campy tone.
I snickered when he growled and flipped me off. I turned back to my computer and made a supreme effort to refocus. It wasn’t easy. This work was so dry. Inputting numbers, double-checking addresses and zip codes and forwarding the information to the appropriate party. And then repeat. I was halfway through the first page of listings when Talia jumped up and proclaimed she was heading out to lunch.
“Want me to grab you something to eat?” she asked as she pulled on her black raincoat.
“No thanks. I’ll wait ’til you get back.” I flexed my fingers then stretched my arms above my head and smiled. “See ya.”
Talia stopped with her hand on the doorknob and gave me a wink before gesturing in my general direction. “Whatever you do, don’t change that ringtone. It cracks me up every time.”
I furrowed my brow and automatically reached for my cell to silence the Air Supply classic. I glanced up to give her a sheepish grin, but Talia was gone and for the meantime, I apparently had this wing of the office to myself. Nice. I pulled my headphones from my desk drawer and attached them to my iPhone. Any monotonous task was marginally more pleasant when accompanied by some jammin’ tunes. I perused my playlist and had just decided to start with Bob Marley when Air Supply chimed in, alerting me I had another call. I didn’t recognize the number but I answered it anyway. Two missed calls in a row meant someone wanted my attention.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Josh. How are ya?”
Damn, just the sound of Finn’s voice did things to me. I swiped my sweaty palm on my khakis then sat back in my chair, hoping a modicum of cool would kick in soon.
“Um. I’m fine,” I replied. “You?”
“Good, thanks. I wanted to see how your interview went.”
“I thought it went well. Did you ask Dante?”
“Actually, I did. He liked you.” He paused before adding, “Quite a bit.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounded jealous. I stood and paced toward the window. The fourth story view of Montgomery Street wasn’t particularly exciting, but any diversion was better than nothing.
“Cool. I liked him too, and I’d love to work for him if the opportunity opens up. In the meantime, I’m pretty busy. I should get back to real estate mumbo jumbo. Thank you for intro—”
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Finn interrupted in a low sexy timbre that moved through me like a knife through warm butter.
I gulped and clandestinely adjusted my dick in my khakis. “Why?”
Finn’s low chuckle made me smile. “The last time we saw each other was eventful for both of us.”
“That’s right. You were engaged. How’s that going?”
“It’s not going anywhere, as you well know. Let’s meet for a drink. You can tell me about your lunch with Dante and—”
“No. I—I can’t. I—” I stopped suddenly and placed my hand on the window as if to steady myself when those enigmatic puzzle pieces taunted me, silently encouraging me to ask a million questions at once. I knew I should stay away from Finn, but something had a hold over me. Surely, I wasn’t responsible when I opened my mouth and said, “What are you doing Sunday morning?”
“This Sunday?”
“Never mind. It’s not a good idea and—”
“I’d love to.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.” I counted umbrellas on the sidewalk below to keep my pulse steady and hopefully slow the thoughts spiraling in my brain.
“Well, you said Sunday morning so I’m going to guess you want to go to church together.”
I burst into laughter then rested my forehead on the cool windowpane and shook my head. “No, that wasn’t it.”
“Hmm. Then it was probably coffee, breakfast or—”
“Brunch.”
The week whizzed by. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told Finn I was busy. Between work, my online class, and two nights spent hacking away at the French language in my new Conversational course, I didn’t have time to overthink my invitation. Part of me thought there was a fair chance he’d leave me a voice message or a politely worded text telling me something came up. I’d harbor no ill will whatsoever. In fact, if I could figure a way out of brunch with Dad and Lars while still assuring them I fully supported them and was all in favor of their big gay love story, I’d take it too.
But there was no easy out. This required a human touch, complete with face-to-face interaction, handshakes, hugs, and whatever other means of communication fit the moment. I hoped to avoid clumsy emotional displays and that alone was why I didn’t do Finn a favor and un-invite him. He was the perfect neutral party. He was outgoing, interesting, and easy to talk to. He knew Lars, but they weren’t tight friends. Nor were they work associates who might potentially monopolize the conversation and leave Dad and me in the cold.
He was a better choice than Grant. Dad knew Grant and the rest of the guys too well. We’d end up playing a familiar role where my doting dad joked with my friend and reminisced about past visits to our house. I could just hear him breaking out the one about catching Zane, Grant and me on the roof smoking cigarettes and chowing on In-N-Out burgers. The episode wouldn’t have registered as significant, but it became family lore when we accidentally ignited the wrappers with a lighter and started a mini bonfire that left us with singed arm hair, blackened T-shirts, and a ruined box of fries.
After we calmed my mother down, we all had a good laugh. And in my family, any story involving a good laugh had stamina. Fourteen years later, my dad brought that one out whenever I brought my friends by. For all I knew, he might still regale Lars and Finn with a few tales of Sheehan hijinks that would surely embarrass the hell out of me. But I doubted we’d stray too far from polite conversation.
I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not bad. I adjusted my collar and cocked my head. The navy gingham oxford shirt was a safe “meet the boyfriend” choice, and almost no one looked like a schmuck in dark blue. My hair was another issue. It was particularly wild this morning. I’d have to sneak some of Grant’s high-end gel to tame it so I didn’t look like I got stuck in a thunderstorm storm. I hurried into his master suite and grabbed an expensive-looking tube from his counter. I studied the script and tried to decipher the words but a few French classes hadn’t taught me anything more than “avec” meant “with.” I started to reach for another tube when a steady knock startled me. I took both tubes with me and rushed to answer the door.
Wow, he looked good. Finn was dressed like me in a blue checked oxford shirt and perfectly pressed khakis. Unlike me, he could have stepped out of one of those men’s magazines featuring rugged, muscular dudes. Field and Stream without the fish and mosquitoes.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Uh…come in.” I stepped backward to make room for him to enter then lamely added, “You look nice.”
“Thank you. So do you,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “We actually look a bit alike. They may think we went shopping together.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I snickered as I led the way through the foyer to the great room.
“Are you ready to go? You did say ten o’clock, right?”
I glanced at my watch and nodded.
“I did, but I have a major emergency to take care of first.” I pointed to my mop of hair, forgetting I was still holding the gel. “I have to fix this mess.”
Finn knit his brow and then rolled his eyes. “You look fine. I like your hair the way it is.”
“Yeah right. This is no time to placate. I know what I’m dealing with here.” I shoved one of the tubes at him and gestured meaningfully. “All of Grant’s products are French. It must be a Canadian thing. What does that say?”
His eyes creased with instant humor as he turned the tube over. He cleared his throat theatrically and winked. “It says this is made
with jojoba extract.”
“Okay. What else?”
“It’s a long-lasting, silicon-based lubricant.” He gave me a knowing look I couldn’t quite read.
“Go on. How much am I supposed to use?”
“I suppose that varies person to person, but you’ll be glad to know it’s condom compatible and…it was especially developed for the anal zone,” he finished with a smirk.
“What?”
“It’s lube, Josh.” This time he couldn’t contain himself. He burst into laughter, doubling over when the hilarity hit him in a fresh wave a few seconds later. “You were about to slather lube in your hair. That’s fucking priceless!”
“Yeah, yeah. Hysterical. What about this one?”
Finn’s shoulders shook with mirth. He fought to regain control of himself before reading the other bottle. “This one is body lotion, but you never know…it might do the trick. Actually, I bet the lube would work too. Which do you want to try?”
“Ha. Ha.” I shot him a dirty look then grabbed the lotion and motioned for him to follow me back to Grant’s room. “Help me out. I don’t want to be late and I can’t read the hieroglyphics on my own.”
Finn gamely complied. He perused Grant’s well-organized cache of guy products then chose a slim black bottle. “I’m not sure but I think this may be it. Take a look.”
He pointed at the words “hair gel” clearly marked along one side and chuckled. I gave him a dirty look and snatched the gel from him before popping the cap and pouring a liberal amount on my palm.
“That’s far too much. Here. Give me a bit of that.” Finn grasped my wrist and swiped his palm over mine, transferring some of the goop to his fingers. Then he motioned for me to face him.
“What are you going to do?” I asked warily.
“I’m going to put this in your ears and up your nose. What do you think I’m going to do?” he snipped. “Cooperate, please and stop asking twenty questions at a go or we will be late.”