The Billionaire's Boyfriend

by Geoffrey Knight

  “Why bother?” asked Mrs. Mulroney.

  “No please, bother,” I insisted, cringing at the thought that this could get any worse.

  “The Russians will blow you to bits!” shouted Mr. Banks from the kitchen. “Trust me, it’s only cold for a little while. After that you get used to it. Besides, there’s some leftover Chinese noodles in there. They look delicious!”

  At the same time that Cal disappeared back into the bedroom to get changed, Mr. Dellucci came scurrying down the hall as if to make a quick getaway. When he saw Mrs. Mulroney he stopped and sighed with relief.

  “Oh, there you are,” he said. “I was worried you weren’t going to show… and that it would take a week before anybody found my frozen body in the fridge.”

  “Mr. Dellucci, everything’s all right,” I insisted. “Please everyone, come inside and take a seat at the dining table while I start rustling up a birthday dinner you won’t quickly forget.”

  As Mrs. Mulroney and Mr. Dellucci headed for the dining table, I grabbed Tilly and pulled her into the kitchen.

  There we found Mr. Banks eating my leftover Chinese noodles.

  “These are most flavorsome. Will I have time to finish them before the boat to Shanghai arrives?” he asked.

  “The boat’s about to leave,” I said, taking the noodles off him and pushing him out the kitchen door toward the dining table. “Mrs. Mulroney has your ticket. She wants you to join her at the captain’s table.”

  As Mr. Banks sailed happily off to the dining table, I turned back to Tilly. “There are bowls in the cupboard for the potato chips. Put them out on the table and let’s see how far they go. I’m going to run down to Johnny Kwong’s and get a whole heap of takeout. We’ll put the food on nice dinner plates and nobody will know the difference.”

  “I’ve got bad news for you,” Tilly said.

  “I don’t wanna hear it. Oh God, what is it?”

  “First of all, you don’t have any nice dinner plates. Secondly, Johnny Kwong’s closed yesterday. There was a fire in the kitchen. Everyone thinks it was arson on account of the food poisoning lawsuit he was facing. You know what they say, if you can’t stand the heat, set fire to your own kitchen and claim the insurance.”

  “Oh fffffuck,” I muttered through clenched teeth. “What am I gonna do now?”

  “Let me help,” came a voice from the kitchen doorway.

  Tilly and I both looked to see Cal, now dressed, with his phone in one hand.

  “You need to pull a dinner party together?” Cal asked. “No problem—one phone call and you’ll have the most enchanted evening you can ever imagine.”

  Tilly gushed. “Will there be unicorns?”

  “Tilly, I’ve told you before, there are no unicorns. Just gay rhinos.”

  “I’m dialing for help,” Cal said.

  “No, Cal. Please. I’ve got this completely under control.”

  “No, you don’t. And that’s okay,” he smiled. “Matt, you rescued me from being crushed by a garbage truck. The least I can do is rescue your dinner party.”

  With that he leaned forward and gave me a quick kiss on the lips—then started dialing.

  I froze on the spot.

  It was just a peck.

  Like the casual kind of kiss lovers give each other for no reason at all.

  A kiss hello.

  A kiss goodnight.

  A kiss for luck.

  A kiss to say thank you.

  A kiss to say… I love you.

  It was so spontaneous, so incidental, so familiar, my heart suddenly crawled out of its cocoon and sprouted wings.

  I listened to Cal talk on the phone, and his voice, his confidence, his eagerness to take control and fix all my problems lured me willingly into uncharted territory. Never before had anyone wanted to take care of me like this. Never before had any man cared this much about my world. It was official. I was smitten.

  “Hello Gerard? Yes, it’s Mr. Croft. I need you and Chef Curtis to come and help at a dinner party for me please. The other staff members at the restaurant can step in for you, this is something rather… special.” Cal winked at me. “Tell Chef Curtis he can bring whatever he wants to cook—”

  “Marshmallows and ice cream please!” begged Tilly.

  Cal smiled. “But please make sure dessert includes marshmallows and ice cream. And would you mind bringing a dinner set and cutlery…”

  “And pots and pans?” I asked.

  “And whatever Chef Curtis needs to cook with,” Cal added.

  “And wine glasses please. Absolutely nothing here matches.”

  “And wine glasses please… along with a few nice bottles from the cellar. We’ll see you soon.”

  Cal hung up.

  Tilly bit her fingertips and let out an ear-piercing “Squeeeeeee!”

  She ran out of the kitchen with her potato chips and joined the others at the dining table.

  I looked at Cal and said, “I guess this means you’re staying for dinner.”

  Cal smiled. “I guess so.”

  * * *

  The smell of fresh clams simmering in a garlic, chili and white wine sauce wafted from the kitchen as Gerard the waiter popped the cork on a bottle of champagne from the south of France.

  “Oh, don’t mind if I do,” said Mrs. Mulroney excitedly, raising her glass before Gerard had even offered to start pouring.

  The six of us were sitting around my normally humble dining table, our faces now aglow in the light of tapered candles standing in silver candlestick holders that adorned the table. Tilly sipped her sparkling grape juice from a crystal flute as though she were sampling France’s finest. Mr. Banks sat with his hand-stitched, gold-embroidered napkin tucked into his shirt, licking is lips like a hungry hound. Mrs. Mulroney sat slurping her champagne, pausing only to hiccup every now and then, while Mr. Dellucci sat beside her, watching her moistened lips touch the bubbles of her champagne as though he wished nothing more than to be Mrs. Mulroney’s champagne glass.

  “Please go on, Mr. Croft,” said Mrs. Mulroney trying her best not to slur as she addressed Cal. “We’re all ears.”

  Sitting beside me, his face glowing softly in the light of the candles, Cal said, “I’m sorry, what was I saying?”

  “You were telling us how you manned your own solo mission to the moon,” said Mr. Banks. “Jolly good for you!”

  “No, he wasn’t,” I corrected Mr. Banks. “He was telling us about how some crazy flower delivery guy crashed into him in the clumsiest attempt ever to save his life.”

  Cal squeezed my knee gently under the table. “I don’t think you’re crazy. I think you’re very brave for doing what you did.”

  “Mr. Croft, you’ll have to excuse our writer friend’s lowly portrayal of himself,” Tilly piped up. “He saves all the best words for his books, but is sadly not very eloquent in real life. The fact is, Matthew here is so much more than just a ‘flower delivery guy’. He’s a telegram man of lurve, delivering flowers and messages of romantic affection all over town.”

  “And I imagine he does a damn fine job of it,” Cal smiled at me.

  I blushed, but nobody could tell given the fact that Mrs. Mulroney suddenly reached across the table and squeezed my cheeks pink.

  “He’s more than just a telegram man of lurve. He’s my little flower boy—the prince of petals, the bearer of blossoms, the guardian angel of garlands.”

  “Could you make me sound any more butch?”

  “I’m merely singing your praises in front of your new friend.”

  “And with such subtlety, too.”

  “I thought so,” Mrs. Mulroney agreed with a wink. She settled back into her seat to take another gulp of champagne only to realize her glass was already empty. “Oh heavens, I think my glass may have a crack in it. That first drink disappeared much too quickly.”

  “Allow me to top that up for you,” said Gerard, appearing from out of nowhere with another bottle of champagne.

  “Why, thank you, y
oung man! I must say I’m certainly enjoying a little nipple.”

  “I think you mean tipple,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose in duress.

  Mrs. Mulroney laughed. “Oh relax, Matthew. Nipple, schnipple… what’s the fuss? We’ve all got them, you know. I’ve got them. You’ve got them. And I’m sure as hell your handsome boyfriend’s got a lovely little pair as well.”

  “Speaking of nipples,” said Mr. Banks excitedly. “This reminds me of the time I banged the bearded lady in a traveling circus in Eastern Europe. Hairiest nipples I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  “Oh God,” I whispered.

  “I’ve got a lovely little pair of nipples too,” offered Mr. Dellucci rather keenly, trying to steer Mrs. Mulroney’s attention from Cal.

  “I bet you do, Frankie boy,” Mrs. Mulroney winked back at him. “And if you’re lucky I might let you show them to me later.”

  With a gasp, Mr. Dellucci promptly knocked his glass over—his hand trembling so badly it may have registered on the Richter scale—sending bubbles frothing across the table.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” he said, jumping up and using his gold-embroidered napkin to try to mop up the mess.

  “Allow me, sir,” said Gerard, patiently stepping in with a waiter’s cloth to pad the table dry. “No harm done. Please sit and enjoy the meal.”

  “Indeed, we will,” said Mr. Banks emphatically. “I haven’t had this much fun since I mud-wrestled that tribe of pygmies in the Amazon. One of the little buggers left a tooth in my arse… so I left one in his.” He pointed proudly to a gap in his teeth where a tooth was missing. “Funny little blighters, those pygmies. Taste like chicken.”

  “Is that true?” Cal leaned over and asked Tilly.

  “I have no idea,” she said matter-of-factly. “I’ve never tasted a pygmy before.”

  At that moment, both Gerard and Chef Curtis emerged from the kitchen carrying bowls filled with steaming clams. “Dinner is served,” announced the chef as the food was placed in front of us.

  Everyone’s face lit up at the sight and smell of the gourmet meal.

  “Oh, this looks delicious,” Mrs. Mulroney said. “Should we say Grace?”

  “Great idea,” I said. “Let’s all pray in silence. For the rest of the meal.”

  “Dear Lord…” began Mrs. Mulroney.

  “That’s not silence,” I said. “Silence is when you don’t speak. Let’s all not speak and just enjoy this beautiful meal. In silence. Total silence. In praise of Jesus.”

  “I’d like to make a toast,” announced Mr. Dellucci, raising his glass and standing from his seat.

  “Toasts aren’t normally silent.”

  “Especially not this one,” beamed Mr. Dellucci. “I’d like to sing from the rooftops just how much I adore this bella donna sitting beside me.”

  Struck by the moment, Mr. Dellucci suddenly broke into an ear-piercing, shriek-filled version of Puccini’s Nessun Dorma from the opera Turandot. The first note was so jolting, everyone jumped in their seat.

  “Sweet Jesus on a life support machine!” exclaimed Mrs. Mulroney. “Are you trying to win my heart or stop it ticking altogether?”

  Mr. Dellucci’s serenading came to a sharp, shrill halt like a needle sliding off a record. “You don’t like my singing?”

  “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the gesture,” said Mrs. Mulroney. “But I’ve heard alley cats shagging with more musical talent than that.” She pulled him back down into his seat. “Don’t pout, love. I’m sure you have other hidden gifts I’m yet to discover.”

  With that, Mrs. Mulroney helped herself to a handful of Mr. Dellucci’s crown jewels.

  Mr. Dellucci yelped.

  Mrs. Mulroney snorted with laughter.

  Tilly screwed up her face. “Oh my God! So inappropriate!”

  Mr. Banks thumped the table approvingly. “That’s the spirit, Mrs. Mulroney. Life’s too short to dilly-dally around the bush. Time to drop trou and hitch the plow. Mind you, let’s pray he’s not as ginormous as our handsome friend over here.” Mr. Banks gestured straight to Cal, who instantly turned bright red. “Has anyone seen his Man Friday? That thing is huge. You should need a license to operate that kind of heavy machinery.”

  “Okeydokey, I think that’s enough talk about Cal’s machinery,” I said, desperately trying to end the subject.

  “I’m serious,” said Mr. Banks, bulldozing straight through. “I haven’t seen a missile that big since I was a torpedo loader during the war. His name was Seaman Bickmore. Great kisser.”

  With a loud splutter, a clam suddenly launched itself from Cal’s mouth and sailed halfway across the dining room, landing with a loud plop straight into Mr. Dellucci’s champagne and sending the glass teetering.

  Mr. Dellucci tried to save it… but his fumbling hands ended up knocking the glass over completely.

  It fell against Mrs. Mulroney’s glass, starting a domino effect around the table as everyone’s bubbles, one by one, toppled with a ding, clink, ping!

  As the last glass spilled across the table, I dropped my fork with a loud clang. “Well then, I think I can confidently say that this is possibly the most embarrassing night of my life.”

  “You’re forgetting about the Coke bottle,” Mrs. Mulroney reminded me with a snort.

  “And with that, I’d like to thank everyone for coming,” I firmly declared.

  I stood from the table and began clearing the spilled champagne glasses.

  “But I’m not done yet,” said Mr. Banks. “This chicken chow mien is delicious.”

  “It’s not chicken chow mien.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “It’s over. That’s what this is. Over. It’s been lovely having you all here, but I think it’s time to call it a night.”

  With the scraping of chairs against the floorboards, my guests stood one by one, taking the hint that someone had to put the brakes on this train ride to hell if I had any hope of ever seeing Cal again.

  “I’ll help you clean up,” Cal said.

  “Thanks. Give me a minute, I’ll see everyone out. Then board the door up so they can’t get back in.”

  Still chatting about Puccini and crown jewels and inappropriate behavior and chicken chow mien, my exasperating neighbors slowly meandered out the door.

  Cal thanked Gerard and Chef Curtis for their hard work and gave them an early mark for the evening, leaving just Cal and I to ponder over the dining table and the chaos that had ensued.

  I looked at him.

  He looked at me.

  And together we burst out laughing.

  “I’m so, so sorry. Really, I am,” I said.

  “It was fun,” he insisted. “I only cringed eight times, I swear.”

  “I really need to know—what plans did you give up so you could endure tonight? Was it a dinner party for dignitaries at some embassy? A night at the ballet? A basketball game at Madison Square Garden rubbing shoulders with Brad Pitt?”

  “To be honest… it was Spaghetti Night. But that’s okay, I just moved it to another night.”

  I laughed even louder, but Cal just smiled. For a moment, I wasn’t sure if he was joking or not, and my laughter trailed away.

  As we started clearing dinner plates and toppled champagne glasses together, I said, “Thank you for tonight. It was a truly generous thing to do… despite the chaos my neighbors brought to the party.”

  “It wasn’t too… over-the-top, was it? I didn’t mean to take over, I just wanted to help out.”

  “Trust me, there was plenty of over-the-top happening tonight and it wasn’t coming from you. You were a true gentleman. And a good sport, given all the hoo-ha about your doo-da! Which, I might add, I’m yet to see for myself.”

  I gave him a sly smile and he put down the dishes so he could step up to me and take hold of my hips. My excited heart boomed, my brave crotch bulged, and my defensive wit fled like a frightened child.

  With another smile, Calvin Croft single-handedly dis
armed me.

  “What do you say we leave the dishes for the morning,” he suggested, following it up with a short, sweet kiss.

  “I think that sounds like a good idea,” I muttered.

  I plonked the plates I was holding onto the table with a clang and let Cal take me in his arms and back me out of the dining room and toward the bedroom, his champagne-tinged lips on mine and his large, strong arms wrapped tightly around me.

  I wondered if Cal intended to fuck me then race out the door—or if he’d make love to me for hours and stay the night.

  I wondered what his sleeping might sound like—whether it be heavy sighs, gentle snores, or mumbled words that made sense only in his dreams.

  I wondered what my dreams might conjure up—or whether Cal might steal my sleep that night, just as he was threatening to do with my heart…

  If I let him.

  Chapter Three

  I did dream that night.

  I dreamt that Cal undressed me and laid me on the bed then undressed himself, revealing a cock that could only be described as exquisite. It was not the colossal beast that I was secretly fearing, but rather a perfect sample of male anatomy, just the right size… and fit. We made love as he bit gently on my earlobe and panted in my ear, his breath warm and heavy, growing faster and faster until—

  “Fire in the hole! Careful that thing doesn’t blow your hull apart! It’ll sink you to the bottom in seconds!”

  I screamed and looked up to see Mr. Banks crawling out from under the bed, wearing—God forbid—my monkeys and bananas pajama pants!

  I sat bolt upright in bed and shouted at the top of my lungs, “It’s not that big! Cal’s penis is not that big!”

  The first thought that went through my head was—It’s just a dream! Thank God, it’s just a dream!

  Mr. Banks was not standing in my room and hopefully my pajama pants were still stashed safely under the bed.

  The second thought that went through my head was—Oh fuck, did I just scream out to the entire neighborhood that Cal has a small dick… while he’s lying right beside me?

  I quickly looked next to me and saw the indent that Cal’s head had left on the pillow. I could smell his scent lingering on the sheets. But there was no Cal.