Essence of Time (Stewart Realty)

by Crowe, Liz

  The next morning Rob sipped the espresso he’d developed a taste for since his time with René, and let Blake sleep in. Which gave him time to figure out how to broach the delicate subject of Suzanne and how well Rob knew her. He pressed out some dough he’d made the day before, crumbled real butter, cinnamon and pecans onto it, rolled it up and cut it into giant rounds of future deliciousness. He slid the tray into the expensive convection oven.

  Trying to distract himself and to keep from going into the bedroom and waking Blake the way he really wanted to, he flipped open his laptop and studied a few emails. Jack had fallen right off his radar, dropped himself feet first into real estate, turning deals and hiring a manager for his father’s construction company in a flurry of success already. He missed his friend, but understood the compulsion. God knows he hadn’t been the chattiest of pals either. He hesitated over the keys, nearly ready to send a note to Suzanne, but stopped at the sound of a jaw-cracking yawn.

  He closed the device, and smiled up at the sleep disheveled young man in his kitchen. His heart sped up but he forced himself calm. He felt great, never better, had come off two years of perfectly clean cancer scans. His doctor here was ready to move him to yearly checkups as opposed to every six months. Why not commit? The chemistry between them was undeniable. But, then again, he knew the kid was coming off a very tough emotional ride. He handed Blake a small cup of strong coffee and sat back down and took a deep breath.

  “I went to college with Suzanne. We have a ton of friends on common still, including Evan.” Blake stared at him, the look in his eyes one that did not bode well for Rob’s plan for the day. “You need to know that.”

  “What the fuck?” Blake put the cup down without drinking any, ran a hand through his bed-messy hair and down his face. Rob’s heart ached for the guy, but he didn’t want him to hear about it from Evan, or worse, Suzanne herself.

  “Yeah, I know.” He toyed with his empty cup, let the soft cinnamon smells envelop them a minute. “I didn’t realize it was you at all that day.”

  “You didn’t realize what? That I was the loser who tried to kill her abusive asshole spouse, didn’t quite manage it, then fell head over heels in love with her? Only to get summarily dumped on my ass? You didn’t realize I was that guy?” He made a noise in his throat, and then walked across the large room to the door wall. Sunday morning street noises floated up from below. Rob forced himself to stay seated. Blake turned, his eyes bright with anger and disappointment. “I can’t fucking get away from her can I? Jesus!” He grabbed his jeans and tugged them on over his boxers, yanked his shirt down over his head.

  “Wait,” Rob said softly, realizing the futility of it.

  Blake threw his clothes into the suitcase in the hall, found his keys where he’d dropped them in their haste to get at each other last night, and whirled to face him. “You know what, fuck you. Fuck all of you people. Christ, I actually get to where I don’t think about her for nearly a solid twenty-hour period, find I a guy I….well, shit, never mind. This is too much for me. Thanks Rob. It was a blast.” Rob stood, started to move closer. Blake held up a hand. “No. Don’t. You waited to the last minute to tell me this for a reason, I’m guessing. I’m out of here.”

  “Where to?” Rob spoke softly, hoping to distract him from his anger.

  “To none of your god damned business, that’s where.”

  The slamming door was like a gunshot, and Rob felt it go through him with a shiver of frustration. Shit. Nice work. Could have kept your fool mouth shut, he’d still be here. He wandered out to the balcony, watched Blake stalk down the street toward the parking garage. But it would have been under false pretenses. One thing Rob would not do is operate that way. He sighed, pulled the cinnamon rolls out of the oven and dumped them in the trash before putting on shorts and his soccer cleats. He’d find a pick-up game somewhere, hopefully, and try to call Blake tonight. He had to. They were meant to be together. And this time, Rob was determined to make it work.

  Chapter Three

  Two Years Later

  “Blake, when in the hell are you going to take a vacation?” He looked up, startled to find his boss staring at him from across the brewery floor.

  “Huh? Oh, um, I don’t know. I get away on the weekends up to my parent’s place on Lake Michigan.” Although he hadn’t done that in nearly a year, to be honest. He wiped his face.

  The older head brewer leaned against a fermenter and frowned at him. “Well, there is someone here to see you. Claims he knows you. I told him you were some kind of robo-worker, here at all hours, for whatever reason. He said he was here to take you on a vacation. Asked me if I could spare you for a week or so.” Blake frowned. “And I assured him that I could and that you needed it. So go on, beat it, already.”

  Blake peeled off his heavy gloves, changed from brewery boots to shoes and stalled as much as he could. He could see Rob from his vantage point inside the craft end of the large brewery he’d been working in for nearly two years.

  Grand Rapids had provided him with the perfect refuge. He worked, ran, joined a soccer club, ate, worked, ran…and that was it. He had not had sex with anyone male or female since Rob. On purpose. He’d found a small apartment close enough he could walk or bike to work during the decent weather months. He talked to Sara regularly, but other than that, no one from back home. He made a few work friends, drank pints and threw darts with them, but did not allow himself anything like a close relationship.

  Rob had been nothing if not persistent, and they’d had many long chats, text and email exchanges. Blake had been firm. He did not want to see the man again, the exact opposite of what his heart wanted. He ruled that organ with an iron fist, however, making sure that when he flirted, or let Rob flirt with him, he cut it off.

  A recent Skype chat had been entertaining, although Rob had asked a few strange questions that made Blake wonder what it would take for the guy to get the message that they were never going to be together. Not ever.

  Rob: “I’ve gotta go jump through some red-tape hoops and get my passport renewed this week. Need it on the fly.”

  Blake: “Why? Are you an international spy now?”

  Rob: “No, if I were the passport would appear in the hands of a lovely female like magic. I’d fuck her silly then fly into the night to do my spy work.”

  Blake: “Female huh?”

  Rob: “Yep.”

  Blake: “Interesting.” In spite of himself, at that point, he put a hand on his cock, idly stroking it as he waited for Rob’s response.

  Rob: “Ever share? I mean, three-way?”

  Blake: “None of your business, thanks.”

  Rob: “I have. Lots of times. Pretty hot, if you have the right mix of people.”

  Blake: “How did this conversation devolve into ménage history?” He unzipped himself then, fisted his aching shaft, wishing for nothing more than Rob.

  Rob: “I don’t know. Anyways, I’m headed to France next month.”

  Blake: “What for?”

  Rob: “Class reunion of sorts. In Paris.”

  Blake had leaned back, got serious with his rhythm, let images of Rob’s strong arms, and firm backside stutter across his consciousness. He groaned, mad at himself for being so stubborn. It was obvious Rob wanted back in his life. But he flatly refused to take the risk of loving again. He felt ruined, soiled by love. Screw love. He could, however, use a good fuck. Sighing, he let go of himself, leaned forward and typed, hitting return before he talked himself out of it.

  Blake: “I am so horny right now. I assume since we are revealing things I can tell you that.”

  Rob: “Really. That makes two of us.”

  Blake smiled and typed again, the hard press of his cock irritating yet pleasant against his lower belly. Blake: “You got a camera? I want to see.”

  Rob: “Maybe I don’t want to show you. You have been really good at avoiding me you know. I think you should be punished.”

  Blake: “Yeah. I probably deserve it b
ut…” he stopped, unable to explain it.

  Rob: “I know she hurt you, Blake. And I am really sorry. But it’s over now. You have moved on—way on, so much on I had almost given up on you. But I am a stubborn guy when I find something I want.”

  Blake: “Something you want, eh?” He touched himself again, gripped the head, pulled and released, imagining Rob’s lips on him, on his cock, all over him.

  It was a while before he had a response. Rob: “I’m not going to jack off in front of a computer camera for you, Blake. Sorry.”

  Blake: “Okay. But I am going to jack off, like now, do you mind if I close my eyes and pretend I’d never walked out of your condo that day?”

  Rob: “You did what you had to do then. I know that. But now, you’ve had some time. And I want, no, I need to see you again. Bad.”

  Blake sighed, leaned back and stroked himself to a quick climax, clearing his head before answering. But Rob beat him to it. Rob: “You all done there lover boy?”

  Blake: “Yeah.”

  Rob: “Good, now, when can I see you and give you the good hard fucking you deserve?”

  Blake flushed red at that, smiling into the computer screen. Blake: “Just you and me though, right? We aren’t going full bore ménage yet, are we? Something I have not done by the way and thank you very much.”

  Rob: “Good. I want to show you how to do it right. Someday.”

  Blake: “Maybe.”

  Rob: “Get a passport. You’re coming to Paris with me.”

  Blake: “Don’t be an idiot. I can’t get away that long, I mean…”

  Rob: “Sure you can and you will. You have your orders. Go down to the post office and get one. I’ll see you … soon.”

  Rob had signed off without another word leaving Blake sticky, frustrated and bewildered about what to do next.

  And there the man was, in all his tall blonde Adonis-like glory, chatting up the front office ladies, flirting like a mad man, flashing those mocha eyes. Blake felt a wild thrill of something resembling jealousy and had to back further into the brewery to get hold of himself. He had gotten the passport although the trip to France had not come up again. They had a couple of lame phonesex sessions, then, silence for nearly ten days. It was during that time that Blake realized something elemental: He needed Rob. Needed to see him, to talk to him, to laugh and joke over the days’ work. They’d even had a couple of stilted discussions about Suzanne that had helped Blake understand her a little. Although he still felt beyond weird that this man he was coming to rely on had known her so well once.

  ****

  Two Days Later

  “Okay, this has got to be the most clichéd Parisian moment ever,” Blake smiled and looked up at the pale blue sky. Fluffy white clouds skittered by, a dog barked, the Eiffel Tower loomed in the background, and he could have sworn he heard an accordion. Well, he might have imagined that.

  “Yeah. That’s me. A walking cliché.” Rob held a chunk of aged cheese to Blake’s lips. Staring deep into the other man’s gaze, Blake opened his mouth, accepted the delicious morsel, chewed and closed his eyes when Rob touched a finger to his jawline. “Yep. Now we are full circle. After you drink this amazing wine that I just bought at a drug store on the corner.” Smiling he took the glass and leaned against the huge tree trunk.

  The flight over had been bumpy, terrifying, and had made Blake a nervous wreck. Rob had slept the entire way as Blake gripped the seat arms, tried to read, and glared at the long, lean slumbering form of the man he credited with saving his life. By the time they bumped to a halt on the runway Rob jerked awake, rubbed his eyes and smiled and Blake had a sinking sensation in his gut. He was falling for him. Not good. They had not spoken for the length of the walk up to the jetway, through the terminal, to the baggage claim. When they stepped out into the soft spring air outside the airport, he’d gripped Rob’s hand hard.

  He wasn’t even sure why he’d come here. Knew the two years he spent more or less completely alone had been necessary but still not sure if he was ready for this yet. Rob’s open, honest and drop dead handsome face broke into such a grin at that moment Blake had a small flutter of maybe. Maybe this was the right thing.

  The first night had been full of cooking school events, a massive cocktail party, over the top dinner that was easily the best food Blake had ever put in his mouth. An older man, René, had been all over Rob for most of the night. Blake had merely observed their give and take, let the reality roll around in his head a while. Then, later that night, they’d had rough, raw almost primal sex. Rob had let Blake take control, as if sensing he needed it.

  “He’s nothing to me. You know that right?” Rob put his fingers through Blake’s hair, as Blake lay across his chest in the wee hours of the morning. Blake looked up to see Rob’s eyes blazing with something he would later come to understand as utter conviction. Blake kissed him gently, lips still sore from earlier efforts.

  “Yeah, I know.” Then he’d rolled over onto his side and sighed in contentment as Rob curved his taller body around his, holding him close until they woke at noon to the sound of a French cursing on the street below. A little more sex in the shower, then espresso in the café downstairs, and now this, a perfect Parisian picnic on a damn red-checkered blanket, cheese, wine, and that stupid fucking accordion. Blake got to his feet, ran a hand through his hair. Nervous energy twitched through his body. He had to get some space.

  Rob still leaned against the tree, watching him. Blake’s heart pounded in his chest, his throat was so dry he could have spit cotton. His knees shook. Putting his hands on his thighs, he leaned over, sucked in a breath. “I’m gonna walk a little.”

  Rob nodded, pulled a newspaper from the food basket and opened it without a word.

  Grateful for something he couldn’t name yet, he turned on his heel and started across the large expanse of green toward the sidewalk. “Keep your phone handy.” Rob called out. “In case you get lost.” Blake raised a hand without turning to look and kept going.

  After an hour of mindless meandering, not really seeing or registering anything around him, Blake found a seat at an outdoor café and ordered a crisp French lager. The girl who served it was gorgeous, like most of the women in this town, and flirted with him some in French until he reached the end of his limited vocabulary and she left him with his thoughts. He sipped, watched the comings and goings of the busy boulevard, and tried to come to terms with the roiling in his gut. He still loved Suzanne. He knew it. He dreamed of her still, imagined her small form in his arms, his hands on her flesh, her lips against his.

  Shifting in his seat he swallowed hard and admitted something else. He may always hold her in his heart thanks to the trauma that had surrounded their coming together and falling apart, but the very real, very special man who’d dragged him to this famous city was definitely under his skin. Physical relationships were all well and good, he mused, signaling the hot server girl for another beer, but he was a little afraid he might want more. And the fact that Rob had waited two solid years, giving him all the space he needed, and still seemed eager to be with him…Blake shivered a little, as anxiety flooded his brain. He wasn’t ready for emotional intimacy, not even now. But part of him wanted it, craved it like a starving man craves meat.

  Rob was such a calm guy. Always steady, never rattled, at least that Blake had seen. He had a quiet authority about him Blake envied. Blake took that role with his sister, keeping her naturally high-strung personality in check with his temperament. But the last few years had taught him something about himself—he needed someone to be that kind of emotional rock for him too. He finished the last beer and put some Euros down on the table, winking at the girl who stood with her hip cocked still staring at him. Suzanne had been one more woman to take care of, bringing out his natural urge to fix, to placate, to smooth over. And, here he was, being fixed, placated, smoothed over. He smiled and picked up his pace. The hotel was only a few blocks away but at that moment he wanted to be with Rob so badly his
whole body buzzed.

  He took the narrow steps up to their third floor room in the quaint, Euro-style, elegant hotel two at a time, stuck his key card in the door and pushed it open, words on his lips he had to get out before he lost his nerve. He dropped the key on the desk, and walked over to the tall silhouette at the window, wrapped his arms around Rob’s waist and leaned into his back. Contentment settled over him like a warm blanket. The sound of Rob’s voice rumbled through him as he spoke into the phone at his ear.

  “Well, I don’t know but I’ll try and call him again.” He reached back and pulled Blake around to his side and they stood, arm in arm, while Rob finished his call. “You know Jack, though. The guy is like a dog with a bone when he gets his mind set on something.” There was a silence and Blake could hear the tinny voice on the other end of the line. Rob kissed the top of Blake’s head then moved away, his body language revealing that the conversation was a stressful one. He sank into an overstuffed chair, hand over his eyes as he listened. “All right, I get you. Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll let you know what I find out.” He smiled and looked up at the ceiling then pinned Blake with a look that made him tingle and his cock stand at attention. “No, actually Kyle. I’m not. I’m with somebody.” He listened, keeping his eyes on Blake’s, licking his lips as he crawled down Blake’s body with his gaze. “Thanks. I’m glad for you too. Yeah. Mine is pretty special as well. I’ll track down our man Gordon. Don’t worry. Bye.”

  He ended that call, then dialed another number, holding up a hand so Blake would stay on the other side of the room. He repressed a quick jolt of aggravation, then flopped on the bed, arms behind his head. He needed to talk, now, before they did their usual jumping into each other’s pants and not talking thing. But it must be important, Blake knew or he wouldn’t be able to resist.

  “Hey, uh, Suzanne,” Blake bolted upright, his body zinging with stress at the sound of her name. Rob shrugged, mouthed “sorry” to him then walked into the small anteroom with another window onto the busy street. Blake followed him, suddenly pissed. “Yeah, have you talked to Gordon lately? Kyle is freaking out because he hasn’t been to the club in over a month and won’t return his calls.” Blake frowned, leaned on the doorway. If it was the Gordon he knew then this whole thing had taken a turn for the weird he didn’t know if he wanted to be privy to. “Oh, huh.” Rob put his hand on the wall, and Blake tried to ignore how much he wanted to yank the man’s jeans down and…he shook his head. “I figured as much. Let me try and call him then so he can call Summerlin. Thanks. You, ah, doing okay these days?”