by Kim Fielding
“Somewhere in Vegas,” Jordan said, contemplating his dish, “a pair of elves is enjoying our rightful meal. Or fairies.”
“Tinker Bell?”
“Yes. Tinker Bell has a hot date, and right this moment they’re eating our delicious, juicy cheeseburgers with curly fries and cookies ’n cream shakes. Then they’re going to head over to New York-New York and see Zumanity, after which they’ll get blitzed on comped Jack Daniels at the five-dollar blackjack table.”
Landry covered his mouth to hold in his laughter. A snort escaped anyway, which was a little mortifying, except then Jordan guffawed in response. The couple at the next table—the same ones who’d been cackling like hyenas a few minutes ago—stared.
“I bet old Tink is skilled at cards,” Landry said between chortles.
“Old Tink counts cards, in fact. But she’s really good at it. Casino security’s had their eye on her for years but haven’t managed to catch her at it. She spends her winnings on convertibles and beachside condos. But she also has a little problem—fairy dust, you know—and she’s been in and out of rehab several times.”
“Poor thing.”
“Yeah,” Jordan said solemnly. “But now she’s finally gotten over the whole Peter thing, so that’s good. Her future is bright.”
“I hope she’s enjoying our dinner.”
The beef was actually delicious, but so ephemeral it nearly melted on the tongue.
When the table was cleared once again, Landry realized they’d been sitting there for a long time and he hadn’t once had the urge to check his texts or emails. Not only that. He hadn’t once given a thought to future TV show segments or blog entries or to his pending book deadlines. And he hadn’t been overcome with grief when discussing Steve. Instead, he felt more relaxed than he had in ages.
He leaned back in his chair. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Humoring me.”
“I didn’t know I was.”
Landry waved a hand vaguely. “We both know this isn’t the kind of restaurant you enjoy. And it’s not as if I really need your services tonight.” He winced as he realized how that last bit sounded. “Your services as a PA. What you’re doing tonight isn’t personal assistance. You’re keeping a weird man company, and you’re being gracious about it, and I appreciate it.”
For a long moment, Jordan blinked at him. Then he slowly shook his head. “This isn’t an imposition. I’m having fun. Okay, yeah, if it had been up to me I would have picked that pizza joint in our hotel. But then I wouldn’t have had the chance to eat a mountain, would I? Besides, I can eat pizza any old time. I’ve never had a meal like this one. In fact—”
He stopped when the waiter appeared with the final course: a miniature mound of avocado sorbetto crowned with an aniseed cookie the size of Landry’s thumbnail. A squiggle of spicy mango sauce snaked around the edge of the plate. Thankfully, the accompanying shot of espresso was standard-size.
Jordan licked the last of his dessert from his spoon. “Sometimes my mom goes on a diet, and then she eats a lot of celery because, she claims, it has negative calories. She’d love this place. You burn more calories bringing the food to your mouth than you gain from eating it.”
“So if this was an eight-course meal, we’d be in danger of starving to death?”
“Exactly.”
They were both quiet for the next few minutes. Jordan looked out the window, while Landry toyed with his espresso cup. Conversation elsewhere in the dining room had grown lively, and restaurant employees scurried about bearing their Lilliputian offerings. But if Landry inhaled deeply, he imagined he could catch a whiff of Jordan—chlorine and sweetness and salt. A heartier feast than anything he’d eaten.
“Can I tell you something?” Jordan said at last, his tone hesitant.
“Of course.”
“I don’t date much. I used to do a lot of casual hookups. Just… bars and clubs and stuff. It was fun, but I guess I outgrew it. But then… I don’t know if I’m the kind of guy nobody takes seriously enough for a real relationship, or if I’m crappy at finding people who want a relationship. Either way, I’ve been pretty much flying solo. Which was good in a way, ’cause it made it easier for me to pick up and leave Seattle. But I’ve been hoping for more.”
“You are free to—”
Quick as a snake, Jordan grabbed Landry’s hand. “What I’m trying to say is that this, tonight, feels like a date. And that’s a good thing. Turns out that I like hanging out with you.”
Landry had a brief but fervent regret that no alcohol was at hand. He would have liked to slug down a shot or two. “I enjoy your company,” he said carefully. And he didn’t pull away from Jordan’s grip.
“Good. I’m trying to get a feel here for how much you enjoy me. And in what specific way.”
“Um….”
Jordan let go and clasped his own hands on top of the table. He looked down and chewed his lip. “God, I’m such a dork. I suck at saying important things the right way.”
“Important things?”
“Yeah.” Jordan looked up at Landry with wide eyes and the kind of raw, open expression that was rarer in LA than diamonds. Then his mouth stretched into a broad, warm smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made him more beautiful than an angel.
“Landry? I know we have separate bedrooms. But tonight I’d really like to sleep with you.”
Chapter Seven
LANDRY and Jordan didn’t speak on the way back to their suite. Landry had greeted Jordan’s suggestion with shocked silence, and then he’d paid the ridiculous bill without a word. He didn’t know what was going on in Jordan’s head, although judging from his pale skin and the uneasy tension of his body, it wasn’t anything good.
Landry hoped that he appeared calm and unconcerned himself. Inside, his nervous system swirled with so many emotions that he could barely keep track of them. Surprise was definitely one of them. As were trepidation, delight, caution, and his long-lost friend, lust. He simply had no idea what to say to Jordan, so he said nothing, even though he knew his silence was cruel.
Jordan didn’t look at him as they crossed the casino floor and then rode the elevator up. He didn’t even exclaim when they entered the suite to discover the gauze curtains closed, the lights dimmed, and the televisions playing smooth jazz. And although he marched straight into his own bedroom, he didn’t pop back out to comment on the turndown service: slippers at the bedside, a bottle of water and small stack of chocolates on the nightstand.
Landry remained in the living room, paralyzed by his own inadequacies.
He was deeply relieved when Jordan reappeared a few minutes later, jacket and tie in hand. “Thanks for letting me borrow these.” He held them out but avoided meeting Landry’s eyes.
“You can keep them for now, until we have the chance to do some shopping and buy you more suitable clothing. Perhaps we can do that tomorrow, in fact.”
Like a lamp switched on, Jordan brightened immediately. “You mean I’m not fired?”
“Of course not.”
“But what I said at the restaurant—”
“Was no reason for you to lose your job.” Before Jordan could respond too enthusiastically, Landry raised a warning hand. “But we do need to set some boundaries.”
“Why?”
That wasn’t the response Landry had expected. “Because I am your employer.” That was obvious enough, wasn’t it?
“Not because you’re not attracted to me?”
It took a few moments for Landry to sort out the question and craft an answer. “Whether I’m attracted to you is irrelevant. I’m your—”
“My employer. Right. But it’s still totally relevant.” Jordan tossed the clothing onto the nearest chair and moved a step closer to Landry. “So are you? Attracted, I mean?”
Jesus. Landry swallowed. “I am. Of course I am. You’re beautiful and charming and… vibrant.”
“Good.” Jordan came even nearer, close enough
to settle a hand on Landry’s shoulder. Close enough to converse in a soft whisper. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you since three minutes after we met, and I’d be heartbroken if you didn’t feel the same way.”
“I…. God, I do. But you’re my employee.”
“If you’re worried I’m going to complain that you sexually harassed me, I’m not. Because you haven’t. You’re not the one who’s been parading around bare-assed, and you haven’t made one single inappropriate comment.”
Maybe the possibility of a lawsuit had bothered Landry, who had, after all, spent a decade living with a lawyer. But that wasn’t his primary reservation. He doubted Jordan was the lawsuit-slinging type. “There’s a power differential. It’s not fair to you.”
“That would totally be true if you were pushing me for something I didn’t want. But it’s me pushing, and I really, really want this. Want you.” His lips were so close to Landry’s that Landry could almost taste them.
He felt his common sense evaporating, his resolution crumbling to dust. He clutched desperately at disappearing denials. “But if this goes wrong… your job….”
Jordan answered with a breathy chuckle that made Landry’s nerves tingle. “I’ve lost jobs over a lot less. This is totally a risk I’m willing to take.” Then he leaned in those last few inches, and they were kissing.
As kisses went, this was no barn burner. No tongues. No groping hands. Just Jordan’s soft, sweet lips against Landry’s—and oh God, that was more than enough. The erotic contact made Landry’s long-neglected libido react like a slot machine hitting a jackpot. But not just erotic, the kiss also felt warm and comforting and earth-shatteringly real. The kiss was a promise to be trusted, an offer with no strings, a gift given with the purest intentions.
All that in a brief touch of skin against skin.
When they separated—although not by far—they both panted breathlessly, and Jordan smiled. “If you fire me right now, that was completely worth it.”
“You’re not fired.”
“Good.” Jordan reached up and caressed Landry’s cheekbone with his thumb. “I’m glad. Kissing my boss was a gamble.”
“Vegas is certainly the place for that.” Landry’s legs felt weak, and it took all his strength to keep his voice even and his hands to himself.
“So should I take my winnings and walk away? Or up the ante?”
Landry knew what he wanted Jordan to do—and what Landry wanted to do to him. It involved a lot less clothing. But he couldn’t silence the voice in his head, the one that spoke in terms of appropriate employer-employee relations but was, Landry suspected, rooted in something deeper. The same voice nagged him to meet his deadlines, to plan and test and retest everything he was going to do on TV. It reminded him to dress appropriately for his position and not slouch around town in jeans and a T-shirt with his hair unstyled. It hated when he broke down and ate fast food.
That voice was sternly warning Landry not to get emotionally involved with Jordan.
Landry took a step back. “I’m going to take a walk.”
Jordan’s shoulders sagged. “Oh. Alone?”
“Yes. I need the exercise.”
“Of course—you have that huge feast to work off.” Although his words teased, Jordan looked disappointed and tired, which added more guilt to Landry’s emotional stew.
Attempting a calm, upbeat tone, Landry said, “Feel free to enjoy the town. You can take yourself out for a real meal. Maybe you can even catch a late show somewhere—the concierge can help you find something. Use my credit card for whatever you want.”
“I’m not after your money, Landry.”
“I didn’t mean to imply—”
But Jordan waved away the explanation and walked into his bedroom.
THE Strip was more crowded now than it had been during the day, with cars honking as they crawled down the street and throngs clogging the pavement and skywalks. Many of the people clutched oversize plastic cups of margaritas or other drinks. Some people held cell phones and shot photos or video along the way. Buskers wore superhero or showgirl costumes, or they played instruments. One rotund man wore nothing but a body thong and an Elvis mask. Another man, tall and long-haired, thrust a live snake in people’s faces, eliciting many screams.
While Landry didn’t enjoy being jostled among a swarm, he did appreciate his anonymity. Not a single soul called his name or demanded advice on redecorating their bathroom. He was neither Wormy from Peril nor Landry from the talk shows and magazines, but rather just another guy trying to make his way past the Venetian.
His shoes were fashionable but not ideal for walking, so by the time his wandering led him to the Wynn, his feet hurt. Despite that, he wasn’t ready to return to his hotel. And to Jordan. So he limped to the Wynn’s cab stand and caught a ride downtown.
While the Strip maintained some touches of glitz and glamour, the downtown Fremont Street Experience was a shining example of everything tasteless and tawdry. Literally shining, due to the bank of video screens that canopied the street and the screaming light from every storefront and casino. The buskers here were tackier, the crowds drunker, the shop trinkets chintzier. As people zoomed overhead on zip lines, Landry strongly hoped that none of them would puke as they dangled above him.
Ah, but downtown Vegas had the kind of over-the-top experiences and cheap prices that probably appealed to people from places like Peril. It was the kind of place where they could take photos to demonstrate to people back home just how wild Vegas was. And after taking their selfies, they could buy a souvenir shot glass and then duck into a casino and hope to strike it rich.
And there was also the food.
His phone dinged to inform him that several well-reviewed restaurants were nearby. He didn’t go to any of them. Instead he remained on Fremont Street, searching. He bypassed the Heart Attack Grill, because even in a moment of weakness he wouldn’t go that far. He finally entered a Denny’s.
The last time he’d been in the franchise had been shortly after college, when money was tight and he often worked very late. Sometimes he’d visit one near his apartment, where he’d order pancakes and bacon and sort through fond memories of Ethel’s Eats, Peril’s only diner.
The Denny’s on Fremont Street was different from his usual one in LA. For one thing, a security guard greeted him at the door. For another, this one served alcohol. And even though it was late at night, a lot of children sat in high chairs and booths. But the menu was as he remembered, and he happily ordered a meal of pancakes, hash browns, eggs, bacon, sausage, and ham. He asked for coffee too, and it proved to be exactly what he’d hoped for—burnt, bitter, and somewhat watery. Just like Ethel’s.
He was halfway through the stack of pancakes when Jordan plopped down in the seat across from him and snagged a piece of bacon from Landry’s plate.
With his fork-bearing hand frozen in midair, Landry gaped. Jordan chewed smugly.
“How?” Landry finally managed.
“Remember that app you made me download so I can track your phone if you lose it?” Double-smug.
Landry set down the fork. He was still trying to decide what to say when the waitress arrived.
Tattooed and busty, with poorly dyed hair and tired eyes, she bore little resemblance to the pompous man who’d waited on them at Le Renard Violet. But she gave Jordan a genuine smile. “Can I get something for you, honey?”
“What he’s having, please. Including the coffee.”
“I’ll have that right on out.”
After she left, Jordan reached for Landry’s plate again, but Landry blocked him. “You’re getting your own.”
“Yeah, I know. But I’m starving.”
Landry sighed and pushed his plate closer to Jordan, who took a sausage this time. He gobbled it in two bites instead of eating it salaciously, but then he winked and licked his fingers clean. Scowling, Landry pulled the plate back and used a fork to spear the remaining sausage.
“Why are you here?” he aske
d after chewing and swallowing.
“Told you. Hungry.”
“Jordan.”
“I was hoping you’d had enough time to think and we could talk.”
“In a Denny’s.”
“You’re the one who chose this place, not me.” He cocked his head. “Why did you choose this place? It’s Vegas. Even this late, plenty of nice restaurants are open.”
Landry didn’t answer. Instead he poured more syrup on his pancakes and took a big bite. His head had begun to ache, probably from a combination of loud music, cigarette smoke, desert dryness, and stress. Empty calories wouldn’t help, but they did give him an excuse to avoid conversation with Jordan.
Jordan was not cowed by the silence. He gazed around the restaurant for a while, then grabbed the wrapper from Landry’s water straw and folded it into shapes. When that grew stale, he straightened the containers of sweeteners and jams. When the waitress delivered his food, he dug in with apparent gusto. “This could be geography too, if you squint at the plate right. The pancakes sort of look like an island. Here.” He scattered a few hash browns on top of the stack. “Rocks. Or maybe fallen logs or something. Yes, this island has been cruelly deforested. It’s a metaphor of environmental catastrophes. Good job, Denny’s chef!”
It was hopeless. Landry wanted to be angry at Jordan for intruding, but he couldn’t stop himself from snickering at this silliness.
And as soon as Jordan heard the laugh, he gave a triumphant smile. “See? You do enjoy my company.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
“Yet you ran to the farthest reaches of chain-restaurantdom to escape me.”
When Landry didn’t reply, Jordan sighed theatrically. Then he brightened. “Hey! Is that Elvis eating a waffle?”
Landry twisted around to look, but all he saw was a group of drunken frat boys and a table with three middle-aged couples.
When he turned back, Jordan laughed. “Okay, no Elvis. But it was plausible, right? Please explain why you’ve chosen a place in which Elvis could reasonably be eating late-night breakfast.”