Essence of Time (Stewart Realty)

by Crowe, Liz

  “Why is that,” Rob kept his lips close to Blake’s skin, ran long fingers down his throat, making Blake shiver.

  “I’m quitting my job. Gonna need to find another one. Somewhere, oh shit, if you keep that up we will never get out of here. Just saying.” He sighed as Rob stepped away.

  “Quitting?” Rob stepped back, ran a hand over his face. “What for?”

  “Ah, you don’t want my sob story, trust me,” and for some reason he had no desire to share it. All he wanted now was more of this man. And he planned to get a lot more of it. Tonight. Anything to quell the anxiety that was starting to rise in his gut at the thought of hitting that damn festival again.

  “Fine. So about that date…” Rob gave him a long look.

  Blake grinned and buttoned up the shirt Rob had loaned him. “Sure.” He grabbed Rob’s phone and programmed his number in it. “But a warning, fair Robert.” He smiled as the man glanced over at him. “I am in no position to give much more than…”

  “Say no more, dear Blake.” Rob swept him into a hug that included the lovely sensation of the man’s half hard cock pressed into his own. “I don’t do relationships. Not anymore.”

  “So we are on the same page then,” Blake broke away, laced up his shoes. His heart pounded hard, then calmed. “I will say, I like you so far and I’m absolutely not in the market for a relationship. Sounds like a match made in heaven to me.”

  Rob had gone back and retrieved his Jeep earlier in the day, parked it by the curb risking all manner of expensive tickets. But today seemed to be his day as the windshield was devoid of violations. Blake climbed into the passenger seat, conversing with someone on the phone, making assurances. “Yeah, yeah, Cal, tell Evan I’ll be there in…” He glanced up at Rob. But Rob had stopped thinking after hearing the name Evan. Holy shit. He gripped the steering wheel, reliving his brief text exchange with Jack the week before.

  Blake. Evan. Suzanne. This was the guy. The one she had…

  “Fuck. Me.” He muttered, truly astonished at the small world he inhabited. He snuck a glance over at Blake, taking in the near physical perfection of his profile. Yep. Nice one. Drop him off, let it go. Forever. This is not a minefield you want to traverse. That whole thing had imploded leaving his friends shattered, and this kid, well, according to Jack, he’d been blindsided and dealt a near fatal blow, emotionally speaking, by their old friend.

  That would account for the sadness in his eyes.

  Rob gritted his teeth and pulled into the vendor parking for the event, already crowded with various trucks and trailers supplying the huge festival. Blake sat a second, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Get some food,” Rob advised. “As many complex carbs as you can. It will help soak up the rest of the…” He stopped, surprised by the hand on his shoulder that slid up his neck, pulling him close.

  “You are amazing, Rob,” Blake whispered. The world narrowed, became two people. Rob smiled, allowed himself a brief brush of lips before pulling away.

  “Not really,” he insisted. “You needed help. I gave it. You good now?” Everything in him screamed for more; to touch, kiss, take away the awful edge of pain in Blake’s eyes. It was an odd feeling, and one he didn’t necessarily care for. So, he climbed out of the Jeep, waved at Blake who still sat, seemingly shell-shocked before moving into the crowd, putting as much distance between them as he could. He had a second of panic, then gripped the phone in his pocket. The phone Blake had put his number in. Missing the kid already, and smacking himself for initiating a date he’d have to break he stomped away, trying to forget him already.

  Part III: Rob and Blake

  Chapter One

  Blake took a long breath. The day had been a blur of what he kept excusing as hangover recovery but was really more like “holy shit I gotta see that guy again-itis.” His his head pounded, and he kept looking up from either his tasting tables or their company’s booth hoping to catch sight of those chocolate brown eyes, that amazing shock of white blond hair. Rob. He shivered. By six o’clock however, exhaustion stole over him and with it came despair. The sadness born of loss that he’d been clutching close for so long. But for some reason, it was not as acute as usual and when his phone buzzed with a text, he knew it had to be.

  Rob: “Hey. You ok?” Blake started to type a reply, then smiled at the next message. “Oh, Rob here btw.”

  “Whew. Thought it might be my other stalker.”

  “Very funny.”

  He got no reply, and the tension nearly killed him. After six long hours of standing, talking, tasting, explaining, talking and explaining some more, his feet and throat ached. He shifted from foot to foot, keeping an eye on his phone. Realizing that for the first time in months he wasn’t obsessively checking for a message from Suzanne, but from Rob, he smiled at himself.

  “She must have been hot stuff boss,” Cal handed him a cup of a stout from the next table over. Blake set it down. He was still weak in the stomach from yesterday’s over indulgence.

  “What? Oh, yeah, it was, ah, intense.” He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “You know me, got one in every port.”

  “I’ll tell ya Blake, that may not be true but we are all relieved you are getting over Suzanne. That whole thing,” he made a circling motion with his finger. “Muy caliente and muy loco. You’re better off without her.” Blake shot him a look and the guy had the good sense to blush and look away. “She is a fine woman, Blake. But too many issues. You’re a young man, with lots of good years ahead of you…”

  “I get you,” Blake muttered, squinting into the later afternoon sunlight, a sudden tightening in his chest at the realization that his relationship with Suzanne was fodder for company discussion. His phone buzzed and he grinned as he saw the message from Rob: “I’m done here. Heading to the market, then home. Will make dinner. Remember, I am not doing this to impress you. But would welcome your company. You know the address.”

  He typed out a quick reply: “I don’t impress easily. And am starving. Will see you in about an hour.” He stared at the screen a minute longer, then typed one more word: “Thanks.”

  The reply came back fast: “What was I going to do? Leave you lying in your own puke on the street? Give me some credit.”

  Blake smiled as he tapped his reply. “I do. Although I did think you could have been a serial killer, preying on young drunk men.”

  “For all you know, I still am. Maybe I like to play with my food before I eat it.” Rob shot back.

  “Well, if your play continues as it started I shall die a happy man.”

  “Then get your ass over here. Soon.”

  It took a couple of hours to wrap everything up and break free. By the time they had the bar broken down and loaded into the trailer, Blake was surprised to find himself antsy with anticipation of Rob—his lips, hands, and more. The guy was funny, hotter than any many had a right to be, and Blake couldn’t wait to get back to him. He knew his heart was seeking something to fill the black hole Suzanne had left there, but he’d have that discussion with Rob again, tonight. No relationships. Just some seriously hot sex, and a lot of good food—the guy was a French-trained chef after all. He smiled, waved at the crew from Big House and climbed into his truck, headed in the opposite direction of Ann Arbor.

  Before he knew it he stood at the door as mouthwatering smells drifted past him. Garlic, oil, something tangy, all reminded him he had not really eaten much that day. Rob’s advice about finding the breadiest possible food had been well taken, but the reality of an event like today’s meant little time to yourself, and certainly not much to eat. His body pulsed like one huge, exposed nerve ending. And he wasn’t positive which urge was the strongest, to eat or to fuck.

  The door swung open and Rob stood, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the delicious odors following him, spatula in one hand. Blake took a breath, “Hi.” He barely managed even that. The vision before him was one of tall, male, blond perfection and Blake had to bite his tongue to avoid begging him for a kiss. Ins
tead, he followed him into the kitchen, accepted a glass of rich red wine and leaned against the counter. Alt rock flowed around them from unseen speakers. The sounds of a busy Chicago street filled in around the edges. Blake had a split second of sheer joy, imagining the amazing vision of this man in the kitchen, wine, music and shared happiness on a regular basis.

  Oh hell, get a grip. He invited you over to fuck you, remember?

  At that thought, his body responded in kind and he moved closer to Rob’s tall frame hunched over a couple of large cast iron skillets. Sounds faded as he leaned in to sniff the incredible mix of fresh vegetable and what looked like scallops. “Hmm.” He reached across and stuck his finger in the mix, putting it to his lips, never taking his eyes from Rob’s. The moment spun out between them. “Needs more garlic.”

  Rob frowned, stuck his own finger into the perfect blend of ingredients and tasted it. Blake stepped back, then was surprised when Rob smiled, grabbed what looked to be another four or five cloves already minutely chopped beside the stove and tossed them into the pan. Blake sipped his wine and shrugged.

  “It really is the simplest meals, made with the fewest, freshest ingredients that are the best.” Rob’s words interrupted his mental fantasy loop of mutual nudity.

  “Yeah, I agree. Same with beer, frankly. All this faddish ginger root, saffron-infused, chamomile tea, Muscat-grape bullshit makes me want to hit somebody. If you can’t do something interesting with water, malt, hops and yeast, you need to find something else to do.”

  Rob glanced over his shoulder, making Blake shiver. He forced himself forward, plucked a plump, buttery scallop from the pan and popped it into his mouth. It coated his tongue with richness, slid down his throat with garlic infused perfection. “Needs something…” He couldn’t help himself. Ignoring Rob’s frown he opened the giant fridge and pretended to poke around seeking the perfect addition while his body cooled from the whoosh of air. Rob’s hand on his shoulder made him jump.

  “What about this,” Rob’s arm stretched in front of his face, reaching for something, Blake no longer cared what, as long as his amazing skin was close to his lips. He pulled back, holding a bottle of capers. “I mean,” he opened the jar, dipped in and plucked out a few of the salty tidbits and threw them into the skillet. A delicate vinegary essence underscored the symphony of odors already suffusing the air. “I think you’re right. It needed…something.” He smiled, setting the jar on the granite counter. Blake nodded sagely, as if he would have chosen that very thing.

  “Since you are such an expert, tell me what you think of that.” Rob pointed to a bowl of perfect-looking guacamole alongside what had to be homemade pita chips.

  “Where did you get it?” He teased knowing damn good and well the labor intensity behind a decent guac. “Whole Foods?”

  Rob scowled at him turning back to flip the scallops once more, throwing another splash of what had to be fifty dollar olive oil on the mix of rich shellfish, zucchini, sweet onion, red pepper and sun dried tomato. Blake looked around and took in the pasta press, the floured surface of a stainless steel section of countertop. “You don’t fuck around with this do you?” He dredged a crisp pita chip in the mix of avocado, and tomato, loving the explosion of flavor on his tongue.

  Rob poured him more wine before turning back to pull the pasta from the stove. “Check that will you? See if it’s properly al dente?”

  Blake nodded, rising to the challenge. He tasted, found it perfect. “You know, it probably could have used another minute or two.” He sipped and watched the blood rise in Rob’s fair cheeks. He had no idea why he felt a need to provoke but loved it. “I’m sure it will be fine.” He turned away, lest he yank the tall handsome god-like man to him and do something foolish. The table was set, with no-fuss white ceramic dishes, simple flatware and one candle.

  They shared a few anecdotes about random drunk idiots that peopled every decent beer festival as Blake sat on the couch and tried to summon self-control. He had no business here. The odd connection he felt with Rob was surely born of nothing but simple lust. But while his body continued to thrum with erotic anticipation of what would no doubt be an amazing lay, his heart had relaxed its tight, anxiety-ridden contraction for the first time in nearly a month. This man might be exactly what he needed, on a physical level at least, but the promise of more gave him some pause.

  By the time Rob emerged from the kitchen, a bowl of the pasta tossed with the amazingly prepared simple fish, vegetables, garlic and cheese in one hand and a basket of no-doubt fresh-baked bread in the other hand, Blake had to grip his knees to keep from launching across the room at him. He stood, slowly, stretching, trying to stay non-committal and uninterested.

  They sat in uncomfortable silence, clinked wine glasses and sipped. Blake was relieved that Rob seemed as flustered as he was, at least for now. Once they started eating and the true supremacy of the man’s kitchens skills became apparent, Rob seemed to visibly relax. He speared a fat scallop, held it to Blake’s lips. Blake took it, bit down and let the oily, sweet, rich concoction fill all his senses once more. He shut his eyes, chewed, swallowed, then opened them.

  “Pretty good. But a bit over salted, wouldn’t you say?” He grinned and kept eating, breaking bread into small bits and dragging them through the garlic oil at the edges of his plate.

  Rob frowned, then lifted his chin, eyes narrowed. “You’re a smart ass, you know it?”

  “Yeah. So I’m told.” Blake ate two entire plates of the amazing stuff, and they relaxed into conversation about beer, wine, food, the restaurant business, segued into Blake’s gastro pub dream for a moment. Finally, they pushed their plates away, appetites for food sated.

  “So, after years of training, practice and food science I stand by the mantra: the simpler the better,” Rob declared, holding his wine glass up to the light, letting it catch the thick legginess that slid down the inside of the bowl. Blake nodded, allowed himself a small second of contact between their legs at the small table before leaning back so he could better observe the man with whom he was prepared to … “Except of course,” Rob interrupted his reverie. “When it comes to dessert.” Rob stood, put a hand on Blake’s shoulder. “Because real desserts are truly a perfection of complexity.”

  “Of course, there is the simple perfection of a strawberry dipped in chocolate.” Blake insisted, the contrarian in him rising to the bait. Rob chuckled, and emerged with two ramekins of crème Brule and a blowtorch. Blake grinned.

  “What a showoff,” he mumbled, standing and cupping a hand behind Rob’s neck. “Now kiss me before I’m intimidated by your kitchen prowess and run screaming into the night.”

  Rob’s entire body felt hot, enervated, oddly at peace and at once revved beyond belief. As his lips met Blake’s the sense of transcendence, of actual fulfillment overwhelmed him. This, the man in his arms, was what he wanted, what he required. That thought cut through all his usual avoidance bullshit like a god damned Ginsu knife. He gripped Blake’s shoulders, slid his hands down his back, pulled him close and swept into his mouth, loving the way the man met him halfway. No, not loving it, needing it like he had never needed anything before.

  “God,” Blake gasped as they broke the kiss and Rob licked his way down the extreme beauty of Blake’s neck. “Seriously. I’m…ah…” Rob ran his hands down Blake’s torso, gripped his ass, and then moved back up, unable to settle on any one expanse of flesh. All of him was so amazing. So fucking perfect. Blake struggled out of his arms then.

  Blake stepped back, stared at Rob, chest heaving. “I…don’t think I’m ready.” He muttered, running a hand down his face.

  Rob took a breath, grabbed the blowtorch and crystallized the top of the custardy desserts for them. He sat, dipped out a spoonful and held it to Blake’s lips. If the man wanted to go slow, then go slow he would. Because the sudden piercing light of actual attainment was making him dizzy. Blake was his, or would be very soon, of that Rob was certain. He smiled as the young man took the bite
of creamy dessert, watched as he swallowed it, then dipped out yet more, feeding him the entire bowl reveling in his youthful appetite.

  Slow down Frietag. This guy is just that. A guy. A piece of ass. A fine one, to be certain, but nothing more.

  They polished off a second bottle of expensive Italian wine, the other dessert and nearly dissolved in a boozy pool of lust. But just as Blake was reaching for his zipper, Rob put a hand over his, kissed him once more and moved away. “No, Blake. Not yet. I’m sorry. You aren’t the only one not ready.”

  His heart convulsed at the look in the young man’s eyes. The grateful, nearly teary gaze made Rob catch his breath; he put a hand along Blake’s rough cheek. He had no words, or if he did, they didn’t need saying. Not yet. Dear god, but he wanted to say them. Blake shifted further away from him and stood.

  “Okay, I’m gonna go. Before we do something neither of us is ready for and both of us will regret.”

  Rob shot to his feet. Putting his hands on either side of Blake’s face he kissed him, hard, loving the way the other man’s body molded into his. Then he stopped. “Okay. Good plan.” In spite of every living piece of him screaming to toss Blake over his shoulder and throw him into his bed, he moved back, walked to the door. Going slow was something new, and if he were honest with himself, it worked. On a level separate from his aching balls, of course. Blake smiled, stuck his hands in his pockets. Rob had to bite the inside of his cheek nearly raw to keep from going with his primal instincts as they exchanged one last lingering kiss, and he watched the man head to the elevator. “When will I see you again?” He called at the last minute.

  “Soon,” Blake leaned against the elevator wall, winked and disappeared behind the closing doors

  Chapter Two