A Full Plate

by Kim Fielding

  Jesus. “I… I need to think about this.”

  “Sure. But really, Tully, what’s the downside? Other than having to work with me, that is. And I promise to keep those barriers up as long as you want them. We can write it into your contract, with a substantial financial penalty from me personally if I fuck up.”

  The conference room, which was actually spacious, suddenly felt far too confining. Tully fought to retain his composure. “I’ll think about it,” he insisted.

  “Okay. I’ll give you some time.” Another shoulder clap. “See you Friday morning.”

  CARRIE plopped a glass of whiskey on the table in front of Tully—a double shot, he noted with satisfaction. Then she sat and took a sip of her own drink.

  “I thought moscow mules were your poison of choice,” Tully said.

  “I’ve moved on to South America. Pisco sour. Did you know Peru and Chile argue over which country originated the drink and whose version is authentic?”

  “Which nation has your support?”

  “Chile. No egg whites, which means Leah will drink them too.”

  The need for vegan cocktails had never occurred to Tully. He took a generous swallow of his own cruelty-free drink.

  “If you want refills, you’re fetching them yourself,” Carrie said. “Why is this place so busy on a Tuesday night? Don’t these people have jobs to go to in the morning?”

  “You and I have jobs to go to in the morning,” he pointed out.

  “Yeah. I have depositions in the VibroMate case. How the hell am I supposed to keep a straight face while deposing people about potential illegal tying activities in the sale of sex toys? And God forbid if this case goes to court. I do not want to face a jury on this one.”

  Tully sniggered. “But you’re such a crack trial attorney.”

  “Stop. Because if you piss me off, I may be tempted to call you as an expert witness on the various desirable features of prostate massagers.”

  “I don’t know anything about prostate massagers,” he replied primly.

  “Yeah, that’s because you have Sage instead.”

  “Carrie!”

  She didn’t appear remotely remorseful. “You started it.” Then her expression softened. “You do have Sage, don’t you?”

  “I don’t want to talk about that.” At least not without more booze.

  “But you went to Hair Shaker with him last week. What’s that—the third time?”

  “What did they do? Post a news bulletin? Erect a sign on Main Street?” But Tully wasn’t shocked Carrie knew. She had a direct line to Hair Shaker gossip via her parents.

  “You’re big excitement back home, Tully. Handsome lawyer with the flashy car.”

  “It’s not—”

  “It is for Hair Shaker. And Kayley goes on and on about you. You are—and I quote—better than Neil Patrick Harris.”

  Tully smiled. “She’s a great kid. Sage did a hell of a job raising her. He still does. But I mean it, Carrie. I can’t talk about this, okay?”

  She looked like she wanted to cross-examine him, but instead she slurped at her pisco sour. He finished his whiskey and, without saying a word, stood. He had to worm his way through the crowd to get to the bar, and then he had to wave a twenty-dollar bill to get the bartender’s attention. Stupid. On his tropical island, the waiters would come to him bearing drinks on bamboo trays and throwing him leers that suggested they hoped he’d still be there when they clocked out.

  “Here,” said Tully when he returned to the table. He gave Carrie another pisco sour even though she hadn’t finished her first one, and then he downed half of his new double. He knew the booze wouldn’t help him solve anything, but maybe, like the painkillers he once took for an infected wisdom tooth, the alcohol would temporarily make him care less that he had problems.

  “Okay, Counselor,” Carrie said. “Cough it up before you get too wasted to make sense.”

  Fine. “Eddy Harrington made me an offer today. A job offer.”

  “Oh?” She said it so carefully he suspected she wasn’t surprised.

  “Chief counsel for his pod company. A job that would come with all the bells, whistles, and fabulous prizes you can imagine.”

  “And?”

  He made an inchoate sound and buried his face in his hands. “And I don’t know what to do.”

  “The firm would probably match the salary offer, you know. They couldn’t get you a flying car, and you wouldn’t have the highfalutin title, but they might fast-track you to senior partner.”

  “It’s not about the money. Or the title or the stupid pod.”

  “What is it about, then?”

  A completely reasonable question, but one he couldn’t answer. Here he was, thirty-five years old, and he didn’t know what he wanted from life. No, scratch that. He did know, but he couldn’t have it. At least not past mid-August. Nothing else really appealed to him except that tropical island, and even that sounded uninviting lately. Who wanted to sit on a beach all day by themselves?

  Maybe he should accept Eddy’s offer. Hell, maybe he should accept all of Eddy’s offers, including the ones Eddy wasn’t allowed to make anymore. A relationship with him would lack passion. It would never bring the pure joy Tully felt in Sage’s presence, the simple happiness of sharing his food and his bed. But pretty soon Tully wouldn’t have Sage anymore, and then he’d be left with… absence. Wasn’t any relationship better than that? At least with Eddy, he’d get laid regularly, and he’d probably get lots more chances to fly in private jets.

  “Augh,” said Tully and laid his face on the table.

  “You need therapy,” Carrie said.

  “We wouldn’t need evidence of that if we were in court,” he agreed. “The judge could take judicial notice.”

  “Your need for therapy is generally known within the jurisdiction of my court.” She gave his head an awkward pat. “Do you want more alcohol?”

  “No. I want somebody else to tell me what to do. I’m tired of being in charge.” Because he’d been responsible for himself—emotionally if not always financially—since he was a young child. Sage had done a fantastic job with Kayley, but Tully had sucked at raising himself.

  “Have you discussed this with he-who-must-not-be-named?” asked Carrie. “He is your boyfriend. He’s contractually required to listen to you vent and then give you advice.”

  “I got the offer this morning and haven’t talked to Sage yet. Besides, he’s… he’ll be gone soon.” Great. He sounded like a lost little boy when he said that.

  At the table next to them, a trio of hipsters stared at him, probably wondering why he had his cheek in a puddle of spilled whiskey. They sported a lot of facial hair—one of them had even waxed his mustache. Tully wondered what they’d make of Hair Shaker. Would they decide it was wonderfully retro and almost unknown, and therefore hip? Or would they run away screaming because there were no food trucks or microdistilleries in sight? There could be wonderful food, though. Amazing food. The kind to send hipsters and foodies into orgasmic nirvana. If Sage ever had the chance to reopen his restaurant.

  “Tully? Go home. Sober up. Talk to Sage. And stop choking yourself with self-pity.”

  He lifted his head to blink at her. “Is that what I’m doing?”

  She rolled her eyes and crossed her hands on her heart. “Oh, poor me! I’m Bradford Tolliver and I’m forced to make a choice between two job opportunities that millions of desperate lawyers would sell their souls for.”

  “Sold my soul already,” he mumbled.

  “Yeah, me too. Second day of law school, just like everyone else in the place.”

  He wasn’t any closer to reaching a decision, and Carrie hadn’t exactly been a fount of wisdom. Yet he felt slightly better, maybe because Carrie had made fun of him. He figured that was a sign he wasn’t terminal.

  WHEN Sage got into bed very early Wednesday morning, Tully was still awake. That was unusual; generally he’d have been asleep for several hours already. Tonight, thou
gh, the whiskey long worn off, Tully smiled when Sage tiptoed naked into the bedroom. Sage hadn’t slept in his own bed for months, but he kept his clothing in the guest room and used the guest bath, probably to avoid disturbing Tully’s sleep. But it also felt like a reminder of the tenuous nature of their relationship.

  “I’m not asleep,” Tully said.

  Sage climbed in beside him. Mmm. The delicious scent of him, the delightful sensation of his big, warm body. Tully snuggled close, drawing sighs of satisfaction from both of them.

  “Tell me you didn’t stay up all night doing lawyer shit.”

  “I stayed up all night thinking of you.”

  Running his hand down Tully’s bare flank, Sage chuckled. “Sounds promising.”

  “I was thinking of you in a nonsexual way. Okay, that’s perjury. I wasn’t only thinking of you in a sexual way.”

  “How else were you thinking of me?” Sage moved his hand to Tully’s groin and began a slow, steady stroke that made thinking difficult. He was very adept with his hands.

  “This is… oh God… this is serious.”

  “So is this.” Sage twisted his wrist and swiped with his thumb, and Tully emitted an embarrassingly loud moan. “And this.”

  Fighting desperately to stay on task instead of splaying his legs and flexing his hips, Tully grabbed Sage’s arm. “I need your counsel.”

  Well, that made Sage stop what he was doing. Which was the point, but Tully still groaned with disappointment. “You want my advice?” Sage asked.

  “Yes. Your Sage advice.”

  Sage lightly slapped Tully’s ass. “That’s awful. Aren’t you supposed to be the one giving folks advice? I just cook for ’em.”

  “I give legal advice. This is something else. It’s… life. And I think you’re better at that than I am.”

  “Yeah?” Sage snorted. “Not how I see it. But go ahead.”

  Tully summarized Eddy’s offer and the choice he now faced. Sage listened silently, his expression a mystery in the dark room. When Tully was finished, Sage still didn’t say anything. Tully waited patiently.

  “All right,” Sage finally said. “You want the practical advice, emotional advice, or the selfish advice?”

  “Can I get three for the price of one?”

  “Wow, I never took you for a cheapskate. Okay. My practical advice? Go for it. It’s an amazing opportunity. You’ll make a name for yourself and a pile of money so big you won’t know what to do with it. And you’ll be the boss, pretty much, which is cool. If you end up hating it, you can always go somewhere else. I bet lots of people will be eager to hire you away.”

  Excellent points, all of them. They mirrored what Eddy had said—other than the hiring-away part. And wouldn’t joining Eddy’s company be the logical decision for a man who practiced corporate law?

  “What’s the emotional advice?”

  When Sage sighed, his breath tickled Tully. “Do what makes you happy. You’re a guy who’s due a whole lot of happy.”

  Tully wanted to point out that his happiness had nothing to do with career opportunities and everything to do with the man nestled against him. Instead he asked, “And the selfish?”

  “Tell pod boy to take a flying leap. Look, I know I’ve got no right to say this—”

  “I asked.”

  “—since I’m the one abandoning you.”

  “You’re not. Prior obligations.”

  “Still.” Sage cradled the back of Tully’s head, kissed his forehead, and then pulled away slightly. He sat up, and although Tully couldn’t see his face, he knew the look of concentration that must be there.

  “Harrington doesn’t deserve you,” Sage said. “He looks at you and sees the surface stuff—the law degree, the bank account, the pretty face. He doesn’t know the real you, not like I do.”

  “The real me?”

  Sage huffed. “Let me introduce you to Bradford Tolliver. Smart guy—real smart. Workaholic. But he’s also lonely and surprisingly insecure. He’s generous. You might think he’s gonna be stuck-up or snooty, but he isn’t. He doesn’t push other people into doing things, not even if he really wants those things done. He likes to eat—likes that a lot. When he tries something especially good, he makes the kind of noises most men only make in bed. He blushes when a seventeen-year-old fangirls him, and he doesn’t seem to mind doling out free legal advice to a bunch of codgers with sheep shit on their boots. He’s—” Sage stopped suddenly and cleared his throat. When he spoke again after a short pause, his voice sounded raw. “He’s special.”

  “Sage—”

  “It kills me to think of you with anyone that isn’t me. But it also kills me to think of you with someone who’s not worthy of you. Or to think of you all alone. And Eddy Harrington can go fuck himself.”

  How was it possible to be so heartbroken and heartful at the same time? Tully didn’t know the answer to that. And he still didn’t know what choice he’d make. But he pounced on Sage and began covering him with kisses. That was one move he was absolutely sure of.

  Chapter Fifteen

  EDDY had remodeled his house since Tully had been there almost three years earlier. He’d added more square footage with an addition and completely redone the interior. And, as he eagerly explained to the reporter from The Advocate, he’d bought the adjacent property and torn down that house.

  “Their lot was flatter than mine,” he explained. “And I wanted tennis courts and an indoor pool.”

  He went on at great length about hiring some hotshot young architect to design him a new house on a totally different piece of land several blocks away. Apparently that mansion would feature cutting-edge design and be so environmentally friendly that Mother Nature would have to write Eddy a thank-you note.

  Tully was in danger of biting off his tongue or straining his eyes from all the rolling, but the reporter—a cute young guy named Paul—ate it all up.

  Of course they discussed other matters too. Like windsurfing and the joys thereof. And the line of sportswear that would bear his name, even though he was hiring other people to design the stuff. And the Harrington Foundation, which Eddy had established to supply children in developing nations with smartphones and tablets. And his dating life, which had recently included a B-list celebrity, a model, an up-and-coming politician, and an Olympic gymnast. Eddy also described his childhood, although Tully suspected he made it sound a lot more exciting than it really was, seeing as Eddy grew up middle-class in the burbs.

  Eventually Paul asked questions about the Sky Pods. Eddy answered most of those, but he deferred to Tully for some of the legal questions. Tully answered them vaguely and diplomatically, just as an attorney speaking to the press ought to.

  It was past one when Eddy glanced at his watch. “How about some lunch?”

  Paul nodded eagerly. “That’d be great. The photo crew’s coming at five. Something about preferring the early-evening light.”

  Tully thought this might be an excellent opportunity to escape. Until Eddy turned to him. “You pick the place.”

  Shit. He could still have backed out, but Eddy was his client, and he didn’t want to put any client into an awkward spot. Even if he’d punched that client once before and would happily do it again. Well, he might as well bring Sage’s workplace some business. Sage wasn’t on shift yet, so no chance of an uncomfortable interaction with Eddy, but if a reporter discovered the restaurant, Tully would make sure Sage’s boss knew he should thank Sage for the publicity.

  “Dolly’s?” he said.

  Eddy raised his eyebrows and then shrugged. “Sure. Good choice.”

  Eddy and Paul went in Eddy’s car—the model that still required a driver—but Tully insisted on taking his own. That way maybe he could leave after lunch. He certainly had no intention of sticking around for the photo shoot.

  Although most of the tables were still occupied, the worst of the lunch rush had passed. The hostess seated them at a booth near a window—Paul next to Eddy and across from Tully—a
nd the waiter came by soon afterward.

  Tully had seen that waiter a few times before, but now the guy’s eyes grew big. “Aren’t you Sage’s boyfriend?” he exclaimed.

  “Um… yeah. But how did—”

  “I thought so. He’s showed everyone your photo. He goes on and on about you.” The waiter sighed wistfully. “You guys are so lucky. Hang on. I’ll tell him you’re here.”

  “What? He’s not—” The waiter was gone before Tully could finish his sentence. Eddy and Paul both stared at him. Paul appeared curious, while Eddy’s eyebrows were raised in expectation.

  “He goes on and on, huh?” said Eddy.

  Paul leaned across the table toward Tully. “Does your boyfriend own this restaurant?”

  “No. He’s a cook.” And Tully must have looked forbidding, because Paul quickly buried his face in the menu. Eddy kept staring, and Tully kept ignoring him.

  Sage emerged from the kitchen a moment later. His apron had colorful food splatters, his face gleamed with sweat, and he was the most beautiful thing Tully had ever seen. Sage wasn’t smiling, though. In fact he was aiming a powerful glare at Eddy. When Sage reached the table, Tully hopped up and gave him a peck on the cheek, figuring that wasn’t taboo if Sage had been flashing everyone Tully’s picture.

  “I thought you weren’t working yet,” Tully said. And then, belatedly, he turned to Paul. “Meet Sage. My boyfriend. Sage, Paul’s a writer from The Advocate.” After Sage and Paul shook, Sage couldn’t gracefully escape Eddy’s outstretched hand, although Tully suspected they each engaged in a feat of strength.

  “So why are you working lunch shift?” asked Tully.

  “I….” Sage focused on Paul. “Would you excuse us for a minute?”

  Although Paul clearly didn’t want to miss out on their conversation, he nodded. “Of course. Jeez, Eddy. Why didn’t you tell me your lawyer’s gay too? That’s a great angle for the story.”

  Leaving Eddy to explain, Tully followed Sage through the restaurant and into a storeroom full of things like toilet paper and giant rolls of aluminum foil.