A Change of Pace

by Jm Cartwright

  He stopped a moment, surprised by the domestic thought. What the hell was he doing?

  Just then the water shut off in the shower. He had to concentrate surprisingly hard to keep his fingers away from the sharp edge of the knife as his mind clearly projected pictures of a naked Ridge, dripping water, stepping out of the tub. That pretty cock, the gloriously fine ass, and those beautiful golden-brown eyes. Ridge twisting to dry himself, setting a foot on the tub. God.

  Drew saw himself moving up behind Ridge to set his cock in the cleft of that ass, his hand reaching around to stroke the sleek cock to full hardness. He would pull Ridge upright, setting that upraised foot on the floor and sliding it over, making a nice space for himself between those strong legs. He’d push the upper body forward so that Ridge would be bent over the tub, holding onto the edge. He’d then unzip his jeans, carefully, since his cock would be rock hard and straining to get loose.

  As long as he was dreaming, he imagined just what it would feel like inside that hot, silky ass without a glove. He saw himself desperately looking around the bathroom counter for the lube, reaching over to dig through a drawer. His frustration mounted as the lube remained elusive--

  “Drew?”

  He jerked back to the present to find Ridge standing next to him, staring at him strangely. Looking down, he found himself with one hand holding a tomato on the cutting board while the other held a chef’s knife. He realized he’d been standing motionless, daydreaming about his lover.

  Christ. What am I, a teenager?

  He threw down the knife, shoved the tomato away, and stalked to the door, yanking it open. Ridge’s voice caught him just as he was about to step over the threshold.

  “Now where are you going? You can’t keep walking away from me.”

  Heaving a deep breath, Drew stood a moment before shoving the door closed, then turning around and walking back to the kitchen. Silently, he picked up the knife and began methodically slicing the tomato.

  He felt Ridge watching him for a moment, but, without comment, the blond moved to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. Ridge unscrewed the top and took a long drink, then moved to stand next to Drew again. With a nudge, his lover held up the bottle. “Want some?”

  Relieved that Ridge wasn’t pressing him, Drew finished slicing and turned around, rump against the counter. He accepted the water bottle and drank deeply. Lowering the bottle, he watched as Ridge moved to the range to check what he was cooking.

  “Smells good.”

  Confused, Drew didn’t know what to do for a second. He’d expected Ridge to demand to know why he was acting like an idiot again. Of course, then he’d have to figure out what the hell he was doing.

  Drew reached up to rub his chest.

  ***

  Ridge watched him, silently enjoying seeing his big, tough lover struggling with whatever emotions were bothering him. It was his bet that Drew didn’t deal with emotional issues all that often; no doubt, Drew liked it that way.

  Feeling strangely confident -- and aware that Drew was becoming a little easier for him to read -- Ridge decided to let things settle a bit before making Drew talk to him. “I’ll set the table.”

  He pulled flatware out of the drawer and grabbed a couple of plates, setting them on the banquette table. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that it took a moment before Drew turned back to the counter to finish dinner. “I don’t have any bread... but I do have wine. Rae and I have been learning about building up a cellar.” He pulled a bottle from the small rack inside the pantry. “Do you like red? Here’s a great Sangiovese.”

  “Yeah.” Drew stirred the sauce, paying seemingly close attention to it.

  As he grabbed a corkscrew and opened the wine, Ridge saw Drew watching him out of the corner of one eye. When the other man released a big sigh, he smiled to himself.

  The water was boiling, so Drew grabbed the pasta and dumped it into the water. He set the timer on the microwave and moved to the table to pick up his glass of wine. Bringing it to his lips, he took a sip while his eyes met Ridge’s.

  Ridge stared consideringly at Drew.

  Swallowing the wine with a gulp, Drew dropped onto the seat opposite Ridge.

  Ridge pressed his lips together to hold back another smile. Drew’s body language was screaming at him. The big, tough guy was obviously uncomfortable at the thought of any talk about feelings or emotions.

  Ridge certainly hadn’t spent a lot of time thinking about them. When his dad died, Ridge had been nineteen, and it had been a devastating time for him and Rae. Brother and sister had leaned on each other, becoming closer. Working together to keep the inn running -- and fighting to get it into the black -- had fused them together. Then, Arnie died.

  Arnie Duncan had taught him most of what he knew about woodworking. Ridge had worked for the cabinetmaker during high school and college. When the old man had wanted to retire, the two of them had worked out a deal where Ridge, with some financing, bought the tools and equipment at a discounted price. He took over the business, while Arnie enjoyed working at a slower pace as his apprentice became a master carpenter.

  With Arnie’s passing, Ridge had lost a second father figure. That had been almost as traumatic as losing his dad.

  Before Drew came barreling into his life, though, Ridge hadn’t experienced any real romantic love. His college boyfriend had been his only steady gig, and that hadn’t exactly rocked his world. Since then, he’d been picky and occasionally had gotten together with another guy. It was somewhat embarrassing to have to admit how bland his sex life had been BD. Before Drew.

  This thing with Drew was like a roller coaster ride -- and Ridge had to remind himself to maintain his equilibrium as much as he could. This was beyond his experience in many ways, and he was feeling his way through it from moment to moment. But if there was one thing he’d learned from losing his parents so early in his life, it was that he shouldn’t waste opportunities. What he knew right then was that he was willing to do what it took to find out if this -- whatever it was -- could be real and lasting.

  Maybe talking about work would be an easy icebreaker. Ridge turned sideways and put his feet up along the bench seat. “So, that was a surprise -- you working with Tony Lopez.” He tugged on his earlobe. “I had no idea you were working at the same company. I didn’t really even realize that we hadn’t talked about where you were working.” He cocked his head to one side, considering. “I just heard a little scuttlebutt today that there was a new partner or something. I guess that’s you.”

  “Guh.” Drew sounded disgusted. “I’m head of operations, not a partner.”

  “Isn’t that a good job? Maybe some potential?” He took another sip of his wine, appreciating the mellow taste of the red. “Sounds like an opportunity.” Ridge was distracted for a moment as Drew puffed out a breath, lip curling a little at the edge. Really, the many moods of this man just captivated him.

  Shrugging in an abbreviated movement, Drew eyed Ridge across the table. “Uh, I guess.” At Ridge’s look, he shrugged again, sighing. “Okay, yeah, it’s fine.” He moved abruptly off the bench seat, and went to the fridge to pull open the door. He stared inside. “It’s just not what I thought I’d be doing now, that’s all.” Seeing some Parmigiano cheese, he brought it out, then began pulling drawers open, one by one. “Jesus, don’t you have a grater?”

  Rolling his eyes, Ridge slid off the banquette and walked over to Drew, calmly opening a drawer and pulling out the utensil. “Here.”

  When Drew nodded and tried to take it, Ridge held onto it, waiting until Drew’s eyes rose to his. “You can calm down anytime. You don’t have to tell me what’s bothering you.” He brought his hand up to cup the strong jaw, rubbing softly at the five o’clock shadow he found there. “Let’s finish getting this ready.”

  Just then the timer went off on the microwave. Getting the colander out of the cabinet, Ridge set it in the sink, then slid past Drew to take the pasta off the range.

  Drew sta
red for a moment before reaching to turn off the flame on his sauce. He worked silently with Ridge to put their plates together, and very soon they were sitting down to eat.

  Ridge sniffed appreciatively at the sauce. Tasting it, he hummed. “This is good.”

  Drew watched as he dug in. “You don’t do what I expect you to do.” The words came out of nowhere.

  “What do you expect me to do?” Swallowing a forkful, Ridge followed it with another sip of the Sangiovese.

  Drew slid his fork into his pasta, moving it around a little. “I don’t know. I... I guess I keep expecting you to be like other guys I’ve known.” He slid a forkful of pasta into his mouth. “You don’t call me and ask where I’ve been or what I’ve been doing. Or ask me to take you to the latest hot spot.”

  Slightly offended, Ridge made a face. “What kind of guys have you dated? I’m not some needy, whiny twink who has to be around the big, strong guy all the time.” Snorting in disgust, he dropped his fork and shoved his plate away.

  “Whoa. I -- uh, I didn’t mean to--”

  “Oh, yes, you did mean to.” Ridge stared at Drew with a jaundiced eye. “I’m doing my damnedest to not get pissed again. But you’re going to have to do a little of the work, too.”

  With a frown, his lover gestured down to the table. “Eat your pasta. It’s going to get cold.” When Ridge didn’t move, Drew shrugged defensively. “All right. All right! You’re not like other guys. You’re not like... Danny.”

  “You’ve mentioned him before. A real prince, I think you called him.” Ridge slowly pulled his plate back in front of himself, picking up his fork and sliding it into the pasta. “Well, do me a favor and don’t compare us.” He forked up a mouthful, appreciating the good flavor once again, despite his irritation.

  “Okay.”

  That response was suspiciously meek, and, wineglass cupped in one hand, he eyed Drew, lips quirked.

  “I said okay.” Drew hid behind his glass.

  Finally seeing the humor in the idiotic conversation, Ridge just shook his head. “So, tell me what kind of work you did in Chicago.”

  Drew sighed. He put his fork down and picked up his wineglass, absently swirling the contents. “I’m a structural engineer by training. After college I worked for a big firm that did a lot of civil work -- you know, highways, bridges, that kind of thing. Then my dad asked me to come work for him. So, I worked with his firm for about ten years.” He paused to take a sip. “I worked there during the summers in high school and college, doing all the grunt work. My dad wanted me to learn the business from the bottom up.”

  He smiled briefly, and Ridge noted it was a real smile.

  “I learned all right,” Drew continued. “Learned how obsessive engineers can be and how kooky they are.”

  Ridge huffed a small laugh in agreement. He could certainly testify to how obsessive one particular engineer could be.

  Drew took a deep breath as he continued. “The company has architects on staff, too, so we do design and we’ve worked with developers. We’ve actually developed some projects of our own, too. Anyway, for some ungodly reason, my dad decided that he wanted to run for political office to try to help fix the system.” Drew rolled his eyes at that. “Like anybody could clean up the messes we’re in.” He paused to fork up another bite of pasta, chewing a moment. “Well, he got elected. Holy Christ, was that ever a shocker. And he asked me to help him. So, I became his chief of staff.” A long swallow of the red followed.

  Ridge, who by now had finished his plate, turned and put his feet up again. “So how did you end up here? I know it’s not a good story. I can tell that by how snarky you look any time your old job or Chicago is mentioned.”

  Drew looked for a moment like he was going to try to deny being unhappy. He stopped with the words unformed as Ridge looked at him knowingly; then he gave a surly shrug. “Look... there was this contract that we had to let. I gave it to the company I knew could get the job done for the best price, and the bottom-feeders in the press jumped all over it -- God, I can’t stand those assholes! -- without checking out the legitimacy of the contract.”

  Drew leaned an elbow on the table and propped his head in his hand. “Fuckers.” That last word was muttered.

  He raised his head again to stare into Ridge’s eyes. “I swear to you, Sego bid the contract as they were supposed to. Can I help it if they’re in the best position to get the job done? Can I help it if we did business with them at Stratton Engineering? Christ, you’d think I embezzled from the Vatican or something.”

  He slouched back and grabbed his wineglass, quickly draining it.

  Ridge was trying to understand what was going on. “So you gave a contract to somebody you and your dad had done business with in the past...”

  “That was ten years ago!”

  “Okay, okay,” Ridge soothed. “So they got the contract. Sounds like they bid it fair and square. So what was the big deal?”

  Drew lurched off the bench seat, his anger apparent. “The big deal is those fuckers in the press want to bring Charles Stratton down! They don’t care who they destroy to do it -- whether it’s me, my dad, or an honest company doing a good job!”

  Ridge was floored, both by the anger and emotion he was witnessing, and by the fact that he’d just connected the dots. “Your dad is Charles Stratton?” He gulped. “The mayor of Chicago?” He swung his feet back down to the floor and leaned forward.

  Holy shit.

  Drew shrugged angrily. “Yeah. I told you that.” He stalked to the counter and grabbed the bottle of wine, coming back to drop into his seat. He refilled his glass and shoved the bottle onto the table.

  Ridge continued to stare at him.

  “What?” There was exasperation in the question.

  Ridge lifted his hands helplessly. I have no idea. “Uh, I guess I’m just shocked that your dad is the mayor of Chicago. My God, even here we’ve heard about him and his crusade against corruption in the big city. And you don’t have the same last name. How would I know?” It was like meeting somebody related to Giuliani, was all Ridge could think.

  “That’s because I was adopted when I was fourteen.”

  Ridge shook his head, forcing himself to concentrate on what was really going on. “But what happened? Why did you have to leave?”

  Drew took another big gulp of his wine. “In the time-honored political tradition, I had to get thrown under the bus so that my dad wouldn’t be the target.” He snorted out a breath. “Forget that my dad has actually made real progress in cleaning up corruption in Chicago. Forget that the city is starting, ever so slowly, to actually work again. Did you know it could take more than a year to get a building permit in the city of Chicago? Did you know that to develop a project with the city, it could take three to four years just to break ground? How about the fact that nearly half of the convention business has left the city?” He threw up his hands. “It was ridiculous. City departments were grinding to a halt. Everybody was afraid to take responsibility or be accountable. Well, my dad is starting to change that. The good people are taking command again, and it’s getting better.” He drank again, his hand wobbling a little as he set his glass down on the table.

  Whoa. Somebody needed a hug. The only thing stopping Ridge was the realization that here, at last, was the real Drew -- someone that Ridge definitely wanted to know better. “So you had to resign, I’m guessing?”

  “Yeah,” Drew responded sarcastically. “I had to resign.” His head dropped back and he stared at the ceiling for a moment. Raising his head again, he met Ridge’s gaze with a razor-like stare. “I would do anything to protect my dad. He did nothing wrong -- neither did I! -- but it didn’t matter. I had to go so that my dad could run for re-election without this trailing alongside.”

  Taking another sip, he shrugged as he looked at Ridge again. “But... I... guess I...” He took a deep breath and continued. “To tell you the truth, I wasn’t sorry to go -- just sorry about the way I had to go.” He shook his
head slowly. “I hated it there. I’m not cut out for politics and all the bullshit that goes with it. I was there only to help my dad. I hate the back-stabbing, the fake friends, the uninformed voters, the whole thing.”

  Ridge smiled slowly. “Somehow, I can see that. You are definitely not cut out for politics. I don’t think you have the patience for it, that’s for dang sure.” He made a face. “I’m sorry you and your dad had to go through that, but I’m not sorry it brought you here.” Propping his elbows on the table, he looked down at his hands. “It seems like you have a new start, whether you wanted one or not.” Ridge raised his head, words slow, voice soft. “And I’m glad you’re here. I want to spend time with you, be with you, get to know you more.” He looked at Drew, trying to interpret the expression on the other man’s face. “I think you want the same, if only you’d let yourself go a little bit. Tell you what. Let’s finish up here, and then we’ll watch a movie. Does that sound okay?”

  He had to laugh when Drew nodded rapidly. “Okay, you finish eating. I’ll put some coffee on and run down to the inn kitchen to grab some dessert. You just relax.”

  Chapter 14

  Even a blind pig finds an acorn once in a while.

  Drew Cunningham

  Three hours later, Ridge clicked off the television and lifted his head from where it rested on Drew’s chest. He sat up and looked around, smiling. The two dogs were out cold on their shared bed. Drew was snoring softly in the corner of the sofa.

  “Remind me not to order any more movies with ‘jackass’ in the title.” He should have known better. Getting up to turn off the lights in the kitchen, he looked out the window toward the inn, just making sure all was peaceful and quiet. He could hear some crickets chirping, and he smiled, loving the sounds of nature right outside.