Bleu Balls

by Tara Lain

  Robin met his eyes. “Of course not. I’d never horn in on my brother’s date, and knowing he’d be here with, uh, Mr. Lind would be a good reason to stay away.” Ooh, that had an edge. “We just both happen to love the food at Rick’s.”

  “Paolo, what’s going on?”

  Micah snorted. Bobby’s arrival made the drawing room comedy complete.

  Paolo pointed at Robin. “Look who I found.”

  “Oh my God, hello. Hi, Micah!” He beamed. “Hi, baby.” He leaned over and gave his twin a kiss. “I should have thought about the fact that we might both choose Rick’s.” He laughed and pointed between Paolo and Micah. “Do you two know each other, or did you just recognize my face, Paolo?” He chortled again. Sunshine on the hoof.

  Paolo didn’t exactly smile, but he warmed a little at Bobby’s unselfconscious ramblings. “Micah and I both belong to the same service club made up of Orange County presidents and CEOs.”

  Micah put a hand on his chest. “Which I’m not, exactly, but I am a business owner or co-owner these days, so I guess I qualified.”

  “That’s so great.” Bobby clapped his hands. “What a coincidence. Isn’t it, Robin?”

  “Yes.” He still wasn’t looking up much. There seemed to be a lot of tension between him and Paolo. Wonder why?

  Bobby gave a little hop. “So we’re on the patio because Mr. Important Architect here pulled a few strings.” He clutched Paolo’s arm, which gave Micah a stomach clench. “And we have four chairs, so why don’t you two come join us?”

  Nobody spoke or moved.

  Bobby put a hand on his hip. “Come on. It’s stupid for us to sit in two parts of the restaurant. If you’d rather stay in here, we can come in. We haven’t ordered yet.”

  Micah said, “Robin did mention he’d wanted to be on the patio.”

  A guy who looked like the manager walked up to Paolo. “Excuse me, Mr. Lind. Are you surrendering your table? I have people clamoring for it since they see it’s empty.”

  Bobby waved both hands. “No, but you can have this table. Come on, you two.”

  The manager stared back and forth between Bobby and Robin. “Oh my. I’ve never seen you two with the same hair. It’s really startling.”

  “We’re two peas in a pod.” Bobby stepped beside Robin, grabbed his arm, and started pulling him from the booth.

  Paolo glanced at Micah, and his eyes looked both conflicted and surrendered. Micah slid from the booth and followed Paolo back to the patio. Nice. Despite the flow of traffic on PCH, the patio still had a lovely view of the quirky town. As Micah pulled out his chair, he whispered, “Is everything okay?”

  Paolo looked up, seemed to make some kind of decision, and nodded. “Sure. This is great.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  PAOLO KEPT standing and pulled out the chair next to him for Bobby. Micah didn’t do the same. Interesting. Micah struck him as a kind of courtly guy, but maybe, unlike Bobby who expected it, Robin wouldn’t like it. How could two dudes who looked so much alike be so different?

  Bobby kind of pushed Robin into the chair next to Micah, then fluttered over and descended into the seat Paolo was holding. “Isn’t this lovely? I just adore sitting out here, and I know it’s Robin’s favorite, isn’t it, dear? He likes to submerge in the colors and patterns he sees.”

  Paolo looked at Robin, who appeared embarrassed but still nodded. “Yes, even the smells of the sea and the cars suggest images.” Suddenly he looked up and his blue eyes—accidentally, almost—met Paolo’s. For one second, a sizzle of fire ripped up Paolo’s back; then Robin’s glance moved to Bobby and the electrical circuit disconnected.

  Paolo shifted. He could say that response was a shiver of pure dislike. Problem was, it started in his dick, which was still throbbing. Come on, man, don’t confuse artistic excitement with sex.

  The waiter showed up, looking harried. Friday at Rick’s had to be tough duty. “What can I get you gentlemen?”

  “Ooh dear, someone else go first. I can never decide.” Bobby waved a hand.

  The waiter said, “Shall I give you more time?”

  Paolo tried not to frown. “It’s so busy tonight, we better take the chance to order.”

  Robin said, “I’ll have the salmon and mashed potatoes with spinach as the vegetable and a glass of champagne, please.”

  Paolo smiled. He couldn’t help it. He liked guys who knew what they wanted. “I’ll have the same thing, same way, but with a glass of pinot.”

  Micah grinned. “I’ll have the fish sandwich, but can I have some of that spinach instead of the fries?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  All eyes turned to Bobby. He looked up like a deer being stalked. “Oh dear.” He glanced at Robin. “Do I dare?”

  Robin gave Bobby a smile of such warmth it lit up some dark place in Paolo’s chest. “It’s your favorite. Go on, get it. We won’t laugh.”

  He looked up. “I’ll have the fish sandwich with the fries, please. And several extra napkins.” He giggled. “And a ladder to reach the top of it. Oh, and champagne, please, dear.”

  Paolo nodded. “Why don’t you cancel my pinot and bring us a bottle of champagne. Okay with you, Micah?”

  “Sure.” His big brown eyes looked a little wide. Was it the cost?

  “My treat.”

  “Oh no, I’m just not much of an expert on champagne.”

  Robin gave that half grin that Paolo had noticed a few times—because it was kind of like his own. “And I forced poor Micah to drink a French 75. Or half of one, anyway.”

  Micah’s smooth cheeks got a little rosy. “Caught me.”

  Bobby laughed. “Robin, you evil creature, you can’t go shoving French 75s on the uninitiated.”

  Paolo asked, “Why the big question over the fish sandwich? Do you know, Micah? You ordered it too.”

  Micah shook his head. “No idea.”

  Bobby clapped a hand to his chest. “It’s just so huge! And I get it all over when I try to eat it. It’s not very ladylike.”

  Micah laughed, but Paolo fought a grimace. One-on-one, Bobby was more—serious. Not that he wasn’t over-the-top in a sort of sexy way, but not as much as he seemed tonight. Maybe because other people were around?

  The waiter came back with the wine list, Paolo pointed to a midpriced bottle, and the guys hurried off.

  Micah said, “So, guys, how’s the festival going?”

  Bobby and Robin exchanged a glance. Robin said, “Well. Very well. We’ve had some big sales this year so far.”

  Bobby nodded. “We’ve actually sold more at the Festival of the Arts than we have at the Sawdust, which isn’t usual.”

  Paolo glanced at Robin. “How do you do both?”

  Robin looked at Bobby and cleared his throat. “The best sales hours are at different times.”

  Bobby laughed brightly. “So there’s lots of running across the street involved.” The waiter came up with a champagne bucket, and Bobby kind of squealed. “Oh good!”

  It took a few minutes for the opening ritual to occur and champagne to be poured in their four glasses. Micah raised his glass. “To the art of life.”

  Robin put a hand on his arm and smiled—like one of those rainbows out of a cloudy sky. “How nice. Thank you.”

  Micah looked damned pleased. Hell, who wouldn’t be after getting some sunshine from that Tasmanian devil?

  Bobby took a big sip of champagne. “So, Micah, how’s taking over your father’s practice going?”

  Paolo nodded. “Oh, is that what happened? I never knew how you got so established so young.”

  Micah smiled. “I decided to go into private practice and was on my way to setting up my own office when my father saw this as a chance to semiretire. We combined forces.”

  “Imagine our surprise when we walked in and the new Dr. Brown appeared.” Bobby laughed. “Practically made a person want to be sick.”

  Paolo stared around the table. “So it’s okay to date your patients?” Lighten
up, Lind. “Sorry, none of my business.”

  “No, actually, it’s not okay.”

  Robin met Paolo’s eyes for a fraction of a second. “I had to go back to the old model Dr. Brown.”

  Bobby giggled. “Because, let’s face it, a man’s doctor does have a rather clinical connection with parts that one might wish to keep more mysterious and sexy from a boyfriend.” He sipped. “Either that or get a more enthusiastic sperm count than he expected.”

  Robin barked a laugh and slapped a hand over his mouth, one of the first girly gestures Paolo had ever seen from him. Without the goth trappings, Robin was at least as gorgeous as Bobby. Maybe more.

  The waiter brought their food, which smelled so good saliva gathered in Paolo’s mouth.

  Micah wrapped his hands around the huge pile of bun, chunk of fish, tomatoes, lettuce, and sauce, compressed it, and managed to work an end into his mouth without losing the entire contents onto the plate. Paolo and the twins stared at him. Micah looked up and grinned, displaying a little lettuce. “What?”

  Robin half smiled. “Gotta admit, that’s a pretty awe-inspiring move you got there, Doc.”

  Bobby stared at his similar edifice. “Oh, Paolo, maybe we should switch dinners. I think this needs an architect.”

  Robin laughed. “Do you want me to switch with you, dear?”

  “No,” he wailed. “I really want it.”

  Robin got up and crossed around the edge of the table to his brother. “I’ll hold and you cut.”

  Bobby managed to wrap his fingers around the bun, and Robin applied a knife to it. Once cut, Robin squished the bun with his knife blade and stuck the toothpick that had been holding the sandwich together into it. “There. Enjoy.” He sat back in his seat, and Micah gave him a pat on the arm. Funny, Paolo knew just how he felt. Something about that little scenario of making life easier for Bobby spoke more about the secret heart of Robin McMillan than anything he’d ever seen—and the book was a hell of a lot sweeter than he’d imagined.

  Micah chewed and swallowed. “Wow, this is good. I need to get my act together and make reservations more often.” He half turned to Robin. “So don’t I remember that you’re painting some big project? How’s it going?”

  Robin froze just for an instant. If Paolo hadn’t been watching, he’d have missed it. Then Robin looked up. “Yes, I did several new paintings for the festival. Bobby’s working on the mural at Paolo’s building. Maybe that’s what you’re thinking of.”

  “Oh. Paolo’s building. I see. Is that how you met?”

  “Uh, yes. We competed for the commission.”

  Bobby fluttered his hands. “And we won, of course.”

  Micah smiled at Paolo. “That must be very exciting to have these two painting for you. I’ve seen some of their work. It’s brilliant.”

  “Yes.” Paolo nodded and tried not to look at Robin.

  “When I was at their studio, I noticed that I can tell which canvases Robin painted, or painted most of, and which ones Bobby did. Together their styles create such a unique vision.”

  Robin gazed at Micah, but Paolo could almost feel Robin wanting to stare at him with a “nah-nah” sneer. Instead Robin said, “Yes, very perceptive. That’s why we told Paolo that one of us couldn’t do the mural alone. The qualities he enjoys in our art have to be layered from our individual styles.”

  “So you’ve both been working on it.” Paolo said it as a statement, but there was an implied question.

  “Of course.” Robin glanced up as he took a big helping of mashed potatoes dripping in butter and slid them into his mouth.

  The simple movement slid in under Paolo’s armor and attacked his nerve endings like someone had dripped butter on the head of his cock. Whoa. He controlled his sigh.

  They all chatted amiably over the rest of the meal and then ordered one hot-fudge sundae and four spoons. When it arrived, they laughed way too loud as they jockeyed for position over the fudge and whipped cream, and it turned into a mini sword fight of long-handled spoons. Robin turned out to be just as playful as Bobby, which gave Paolo a surprising warmth in the belly.

  They all battled for the last bite, and a dollop of whipped cream flew through the air and landed on Paolo’s cheek, right next to his lip. Bobby howled, and before Paolo could even react, Robin leaned across the table, flicked the cream off Paolo’s face onto his finger, sideswiping Paolo’s lips in the process, and then stuck his finger in his mouth.

  Paolo heard himself gasp, and the tingle in his lips soared to his groin like he’d been connected to a lightning rod—a lightning rod named Robin.

  Bobby and Micah seemed oblivious, but Robin’s gaze met Paolo’s and crinkled in pure mischief. That upped the ante on sexy, and Paolo’s jeans shrank right there at the table. “Uh, excuse me. Men’s room.” He slid back his chair, and before Bobby could even get up, scooted behind him and headed through the restaurant. Not an easy task, since the aisles were crowded with drinkers, diners, and waiters moving about. The effing men’s room was an effing single-holer, but when he walked up, the door opened and a guy came out. Paolo leaped in and locked the door, then leaned against it.

  What the hell’s wrong with you? He closed his eyes and palmed his way-too-erect cock through his jeans. An image flashed behind his eyes. Him leaning against the inside of a grungy bathroom door, his baggy jeans to his knees and the guy he lusted after kneeling in front of him with Paolo’s cock so far down that twinky throat, it should have shown like a goat in a python. Somebody hammered on the door, and Paolo—Pauly at the time—had yelled, “Go away, man. I got me a problem.”

  The would-be interloper ran, figuring the bathroom would smell worse than usual, and Paolo got the orgasm of his life—well, that part of it—as Little Juli drank him down like champagne. Juli had looked up at Paolo with those eyes—brown, not blue, but with the full knowledge that just because he was the guy on his knees didn’t mean he wasn’t the most powerful. All he had to do was purse his lips, and Paolo moaned. Robin McMillan had flashed that same look just five minutes before. Shit, the guy might resemble Bobby, but he had a darkness and an earthy sexuality that clung to Paolo like a fog of desire.

  Paolo walked over to the john, peed, and then washed up. Come on, asshole, you’ve done everything you could to insult Robin and make him feel you hate him. You made your fucking choice. Live with it.

  He opened the door, and like some kind of cosmic joke, directly across from him, holding up the wall in the narrow hallway, was Robin, one leg in skintight black jeans propped against the wall. “Oh.”

  Another guy stood beside Robin, next in line for the limited facilities. Robin said, “Go ahead. I’ll go next.”

  The guy rushed in like his bladder might burst, and Robin just looked at Paolo. Not a word. Expression? On the amused side of neutral.

  Paolo took a breath. “Glad I ran into you.”

  That got a full-on chuckle, low and sultry.

  Paolo swallowed. “I wanted a chance to say I’m sorry for how I acted, or I guess, how I’ve been acting. The day I met you, I had a really crappy day, and I guess I just misunderstood you.”

  “I’d say you chose to misunderstand.”

  Every instinct in him said to fight back. He bit his tongue. “You’re probably right. Regardless, I’m sorry. I think you and Bobby are amazing artists, and I’m glad you’re working with Bobby on my, uh, our mural.”

  Very slowly, he smiled. “I’m glad too.”

  The door opened and out came the guy, now looking more relaxed. “Thanks.”

  Robin said, “No problem.” He pushed away from the wall and walked into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Paolo took deep breaths all the way back to the table to get his dick to surrender its position at half-staff.

  Chapter Sixteen

  ROBIN LEANED back on the cushy seat of the Lexus and listened to the music. Just remember the feel of Micah’s hands on your balls. Okay, not exactly the most sexy memory in light of the paper wrap and the
smell of disinfectant, but hell, it wasn’t every day his equipment got handled with that much attention and care. Still, his cock wouldn’t let go of the Paolo Lind effect.

  “That was a delicious dinner.”

  Robin nodded but didn’t open his eyes. “Um-hm. Rick’s does a really good job if you can stand the crush of people and the noise. That’s why I like the patio. The traffic’s not as loud as the people.”

  “Lucky we ran into Paolo and Bobby.”

  “Yes.” In a funny way.

  Quiet. Gaga and Tony Bennett sang an old classic.

  Micah said, “Would you like to come to my place for a nightcap?”

  “Sure. But are we going the right way?”

  “Yes. I live in South Laguna.”

  “Oh great.” Was it? And why the hell am I even asking that?

  “So, uh, Bobby and Paolo. Interesting. Not a match I would have predicted based on meeting them separately.”

  “Yeah? Why? I’m just intrigued by your viewpoint.”

  “Oh, well, I’ve run into Paolo a few times in our service organization and at a business/social function or two.”

  “Yeah, you almost ran into him at the festival the night you were there.”

  “I’m not surprised. He appears to be a—how shall I say this?—guy who likes to be seen in the right places with the right people. I understand how that might help his business, and from what I understand, he’s making quite a go of his firm.”

  “And Bobby doesn’t qualify as the ‘right people’?” Robin half smiled.

  “I don’t exactly mean it like that, but—”

  “I know what you mean, and I agree. In fact, Paolo admitted that the guy he was seeing at the festival was pretty much the kind of contact you say he’s often with.”

  “Really? Why did he tell you?”

  Oops. “Truthfully, he told Bobby. Not many secrets between us. Keep that to yourself.” He laughed.

  Micah turned off the highway just south of the Montage and drove up the hill. “I promise. But I guess I’m surprised that Paolo appreciates Bobby. He seems like such a dark and driven guy.”