by Hayes, Lane
“No, he doesn’t,” I retorted.
“He does. I’ve met her a couple of times. She’s as beautiful as he is gorgeous.”
“Starla,” I muttered, feeling blindsided for the umpteenth time in two days.
“Scarlet,” Eric corrected before lowering his voice and adding, “She’s a Brennan.”
“As in Brennan Enterprises,” Nick piped in. “Her family is loaded and high profile. Finn and Scarlet are photographed on the regular together. There are rumors about them being engaged. And yet…ol’ Finn still seems to get around. He has a talent for charming his way into fortuitous situations for his own gain. If you were anyone else, I’d figure you knew and didn’t care but I know you, Joshy. This isn’t your scene. Back away before you get in over your head.”
I glared at Nick, though the effect was surely lost behind my Ray Bans. I was torn between wanting to calmly assure my friends that unbeknownst to them, I was a player who knew what I was doing and wanting to yell at them for telling me shit I didn’t want to hear. Finn wasn’t a bad guy, but he wasn’t mine to defend either way. I was just pissed they managed to ruin my post-sex buzz with a fat dose of reality. Was it too much to ask to be allowed to linger in a state of denial for one fucking day?
* * *
Concetti d’Arte was a renowned presence in the art world. Dante Crowder’s father began the family business in the seventies in Milan. The story was that Gary Crowder was a frustrated American artist who turned his attention to the acquisition and selling of others’ work when his own didn’t sell. He ran a small shop in a high rent area where he met the daughter of a wealthy Italian family. They fell in love, married, then moved to the States to expand their business. Backed by his wife’s money and connections and his superior eye for quality, his galleries flourished. Concetti d’Arte was still family owned and operated, but Gary handed over the reins to his only child, Dante, a couple of years ago. Most would agree, it was a genius move. Dante had an even keener feel for what buyers wanted and better yet, he was a true visionary with a passion for art.
In my field, Dante Crowder was a rock star. I’d read about him and had seen him from afar at one of his galleries and at the museum, but I’d never met him in person. I knew he was forty, average height, nice build, and very good looking. Dark hair, dark eyes, chiseled cheekbones and sun-kissed skin. I’d always been intimidated by the guy. He was handsome, worldly, and knew more about art than I ever would. It made sense that Finn and he were once lovers, though I hadn’t confirmed Nick’s assertion to be based in fact. Frankly, I didn’t want to know. Finn and I were never going to be anything more than friendly acquaintances. I owed him my thanks for this interview and that was it.
I smiled at the chic young woman who greeted me at the door.
“Hello. I’m Josh Sheehan. I’m here to see Mr. Crowder. I have an appointment at—”
“Josh! Hey, there! Come on in, man.”
I glanced up and immediately returned Dante’s affable grin and enthusiastic handshake. He was even better looking up close. His artfully mussed hair went well with his designer jeans and slick striped oxford shirt. He oozed sophistication and charm with an ease that reminded me of…well, Finn. Except Finn was rugged and masculine and—bad idea. I had to stay focused and ideally ignore the butterflies fluttering wildly in my stomach. This was important.
“Hi. Thank you for meeting me, sir. I appreciate your time.”
“You’re welcome, you’re welcome, but please call me Dante. I’ll show you around the place in a sec but first…food. I skipped breakfast and if I don’t eat in the next five minutes, I’m either going to pass out or turn into a raving lunatic.”
I gave an amused half laugh. “That’s fine by me, s—Dante.”
He winked then motioned me to follow him through the spacious gallery to a back room. I gazed in wonder at the gorgeous contemporary pieces on the stark white walls, admiring the brilliant colors and varying styles of work. A few patrons browsed near the front but otherwise, it was vacant. My idea of heaven.
Dante stopped short in the doorway and then flung his arm open wide in invitation. “I hope you don’t mind, but I took the liberty of ordering our lunch. I didn’t know what you liked, so I asked Finn for a few pointers in case you were allergic to anything.”
“Oh. I’m—thank you. I’m allergic to cats, but not food. I—this is great,” I assured him lamely as I moved into the room.
The small linen-clad table positioned next to a window overlooking a private garden in full bloom was set with a generous platter of Italian meats and cheeses, a basket of fresh bread, and a bottle of prosecco. The ambience screamed elegant refinement. I felt like I was being wooed, which had to be my imagination because seriously…I was a nobody. Dante Crowder didn’t have to do anything more than open the freaking door to impress me. What did I know? Maybe he ate like this every day.
“So tell me about yourself, Josh. Finn mentioned you’ve been at the Modern for a while. What did you do there?” Dante asked as he sat, gesturing for me to take the chair opposite his.
I obeyed and immediately reached for the glass of water near my plate. I took a quick sip before launching into a detailed description of a typical day in between installations, including grant writing, research, and basic operation duties.
“Honestly, I never cared what I was doing as long as I was able to spend some portion of my day on the floor soaking in the atmosphere. I love the space, the flow, the light, and I love the art.”
“Me too,” he said with a grin. “Why, though? Tell me everything. Your favorite artists, museums…and please help yourself. Would you like some prosecco?”
“Just a touch. I have to get back to work in forty-five minutes, which probably doesn’t give me enough time to bore you with my favorite artists or museums.”
Dante chuckled softly. “Bring it on. If we run out of time, we’ll have to continue our chat after regular business hours.”
His lighthearted tone wasn’t overly flirtatious, yet there was an unmistakably seductive glint in his eye. I might have imagined it. Either way, it was nice to talk to someone new about my favorite subject. Yet as I spilled my guts out about my love of art and how I hoped to contribute to something I adored but had no talent for, I found myself comparing him to Finn and wondering if what Nick said was true. I wanted to turn this around and ask a few pointed questions about the nature of their friendship. Yes, I loved Picasso, de Kooning, and Rothko, but I was more interested in examining this new puzzle piece. This interview felt less like a business meeting than another random clue giving me an inadvertent peek into Finn’s life.
I wanted to know how long they’d known each other, how intimate they’d been, and if there was any spark still between them. I should have been doing my best to impress a potential employer but frankly, my mind wandered from Franz Kline and Jackson Pollock back to Finn at every turn. I felt like a schmuck who couldn’t stop thinking about his ex while on a date with a sexy new guy. But this wasn’t a romance. This was real life and if I was lucky, this man might be my new boss.
By the time the lunch hour was up, my butterflies were long gone. Nerves had been replaced by an avid passion I couldn’t hide, and I knew I had Dante’s full attention. The position I was interviewing for wouldn’t be available for a few months, but he promised to contact me again soon. We shook hands and parted like old friends and then I made my way back to Kostas Realty. It was a successful meeting by anyone’s standards. Except for the fact that I’d spent the entire fucking time thinking about Finn.
* * *
Procrastination was one of my better skills. I was a master at putting off what I probably should have done yesterday. Or the day before. Guilt was usually the catalyst for coercing me into checking off my list of “To Dos.” Tuesday evening, I finally mustered the courage to call my dad and ask him if Lars and he were free to meet for breakfast or a cup of coffee the following weekend.
“We’d love to, son. But why don’t
you come over for brunch instead? Feel free to bring a friend.”
I didn’t respond immediately. I was still mulling over the word “brunch.” The dad I knew guzzled coffee and cold pizza for breakfast. Brunch wasn’t his thing. I rested my hand on my forehead and stared unseeing at the computer screen for a moment, willing myself to be open to this new version of someone I thought I knew.
“Sure. Brunch sounds good,” I said. “I’m not seeing anyone though. It’ll just be me.”
“I didn’t necessarily mean a date. Bring Grant or one of the guys. Or come alone. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
The kindness in his voice unnerved me. It was quintessential Dad to be playful with a casual air one second but then pull you aside to make sure you understood he was joking. I smiled wanly, glancing up when Grant waltzed into the office. I waved at him distractedly then swiveled my chair toward the wall for a modicum of privacy.
“Thanks, Dad. So…Sunday?”
“Perfect. Sunday at ten a.m. Let me give you my new address.”
I scribbled the Castro address on a Post-it note, wincing when I realized he really did live just three blocks away from me now. I said good-bye and turned back to find Grant perched on the corner of my desk, looking hotter than the average real estate agent in a sharp navy suit and shiny black dress shoes.
“Sell any houses today, dear?” I asked, batting my eyelashes.
“Not yet, hon. But I’m working on closing a twelve-mil deal this afternoon.” Grant made a subtle sign of the cross before flashing a boyish grin at me. The guy was religious, superstitious, and seemingly didn’t have a clue how damn handsome he was.
I raised my brow and returned his smile. “Break a leg, boss.”
Grant huffed. “Thanks. I don’t want to count my chickens before they’ve hatched but…what are you doing after work? I may have cause to celebrate.”
“Tonight is my first night of Conversational French. I don’t get out of class until nine, but I could meet you for a drink afterward.”
“I’ll text you. I may be going out with Steve later. I’m not sure.”
When his speaking voice dropped to an almost inaudible whisper I glanced at Talia who was engrossed in a professional-sounding telephone conversation on the far end of the office. There was no way she could have overheard him. I couldn’t help thinking Zane was right. Families were weird. I’d been out and proud for twelve years but was struggling to process my dad’s revelation while my friend avoided talking about his love life within earshot of prying family members who still held hope he’d meet a nice Greek girl and settle down one day.
I wanted to tease him and make light of the absurdity of two grown adults whispering like we were in church, but I knew better than to challenge him. Especially in my current headspace. I was a contradictory mess. I nodded instead then leaned forward to grab my wallet from my back pocket and slip the sticky note inside.
“By the way, Dad invited you to brunch this Sunday. Wanna meet Lars with me?”
It was a lame attempt at changing topics, but it was the best I could manage. I’d shared my father’s news with Grant when he got back from Toronto a couple of days ago. He was as flabbergasted as the rest of the guys were…maybe more so. However, he adored my dad and if nothing else, I knew he’d be curious to meet our new neighbors.
“Oh, wow. I wish I could but it’s my cousin Nico’s birthday. Trust me, I’d rather go to your party.”
“It’s not a party, smartass. It’s brunch,” I retorted. “Damn, that’s…gay, isn’t it?”
Grant cast his gaze over at Talia before answering. “Nothing wrong with that.”
I let out an amused huff and shrugged. “Nothing at all. I’ll brave my dad and my new stepdad on my own.”
“Why don’t you ask your friend Marley?”
“I don’t think so. I should bring a gay date…you know, for solidarity.”
“That’s ridiculous. Your dad is cool. He won’t care who you bring or if you bring anyone at all. You’re a lucky guy, Josh. Once you get over the shock, you’ll realize it.” Grant stood and ruffled my hair. “I’m outta here. Wish me luck.”
“You don’t need it. You’ll be fabulous,” I gushed in a campy tone.
I snickered when he turned back with a growl and flipped me off. I turned back to my computer and made a supreme effort to refocus. It wasn’t easy. This work was so dry. Inputting numbers, double-checking addresses and zip codes and forwarding the information to the appropriate party. And then repeat. I was halfway through the first page of listings when Talia jumped up and proclaimed she was heading out to lunch.
“Want me to grab you something to eat?” she asked as she pulled on her black raincoat.
“No thanks. I’ll wait ’til you get back.” I flexed my fingers then stretched my arms above my head and smiled. “See ya.”
Talia stopped with her hand on the doorknob and gave me a wink before gesturing in my general direction. “Whatever you do, don’t change that ringtone. It cracks me up every time.”
I furrowed my brow and automatically reached for my cell to silence the Air Supply classic. I glanced up to give her a sheepish grin, but Talia was gone and for the meantime, I apparently had this wing of the office to myself. Nice. I pulled my headphones from my desk drawer and attached them to my iPhone. Any monotonous task was marginally more pleasant when accompanied by some jammin’ tunes. I perused my playlist and had just decided to start with Bob Marley when Air Supply chimed in, alerting me I had another call. I didn’t recognize the number but I answered it anyway. Two missed calls in a row meant someone wanted my attention.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Josh. How are ya?”
Damn, just the sound of Finn’s voice did things to me. I swiped my sweaty palm on my khakis then sat back in my chair, hoping a modicum of cool would kick in soon.
“Um. I’m fine,” I replied. “You?”
“Good, thanks. I wanted to see how your interview went.”
“I thought it went well. Did you ask Dante?”
“Actually, I did. He liked you.” He paused before adding, “Quite a bit.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he sounded jealous. I stood and paced toward the window. The fourth story view of Montgomery Street wasn’t particularly exciting, but any diversion was better than nothing.
“Cool. I liked him too, and I’d love to work for him if the opportunity opens up. In the meantime, I’m pretty busy. I should get back to real estate mumbo jumbo. Thank you for intro—”
“I’ve been thinking about you,” Finn interrupted in a low sexy timbre that moved through me like a knife through warm butter.
I gulped and clandestinely adjusted my dick in my khakis. “Why?”
Finn’s low chuckle made me smile. “The last time we saw each other was eventful for both of us.”
“That’s right. You were engaged. How’s that going?”
“It’s not going anywhere, as you well know. Let’s meet for a drink. You can tell me about your lunch with Dante and—”
“No. I—I can’t. I—” I stopped suddenly and placed my hand on the window as if to steady myself when those enigmatic puzzle pieces taunted me, silently encouraging me to ask a million questions at once. I knew I should stay away from Finn, but something had a hold over me. Surely, I wasn’t responsible when I opened my mouth and said, “What are you doing Sunday morning?”
“This Sunday?”
“Never mind. It’s not a good idea and—”
“I’d love to.”
“You don’t know what I was going to ask.” I counted umbrellas on the sidewalk below to keep my pulse steady and hopefully slow the thoughts spiraling in my brain.
“Well, you said Sunday morning so I’m going to guess you want to go to church together.”
I burst into laughter then rested my forehead on the cool windowpane and shook my head. “No, that wasn’t it.”
“Hmm. Then it was probably coffee, breakfast or—”
“Brunch.”
* * *
The week whizzed by. I hadn’t been kidding when I’d told Finn I was busy. Between work, my online class, and two nights spent hacking away at the French language in my new Conversational course, I didn’t have time to overthink my invitation. Part of me thought there was a fair chance he’d leave me a voice message or a politely worded text telling me something came up. I’d harbor no ill will whatsoever. In fact, if I could figure a way out of brunch with Dad and Lars while still assuring them I fully supported them and was all in favor of their big gay love story, I’d take it too.
But there was no easy out. This required a human touch, complete with face-to-face interaction, handshakes, hugs, and whatever other means of communication fit the moment. I hoped to avoid clumsy emotional displays and that alone was why I didn’t do Finn a favor and un-invite him. He was the perfect neutral party. He was outgoing, interesting, and easy to talk to. He knew Lars, but they weren’t tight friends. Nor were they work associates who might potentially monopolize the conversation and leave Dad and me in the cold.
He was a better choice than Grant. Dad knew Grant and the rest of the guys too well. We’d end up playing a familiar role where my doting dad joked with my friend and reminisced about past visits to our house. I could just hear him breaking out the one about catching Zane, Grant and me on the roof smoking cigarettes and chowing on In-N-Out burgers. The episode wouldn’t have registered as significant, but it became family lore when we accidentally ignited the wrappers with a lighter and started a mini bonfire that left us with singed arm hair, blackened T-shirts, and a ruined box of fries.
After we calmed my mother down, we all had a good laugh. And in my family, any story involving a good laugh had stamina. Fourteen years later, my dad brought that one out whenever I brought my friends by. For all I knew, he might still regale Lars and Finn with a few tales of Sheehan hijinks that would surely embarrass the hell out of me. But I doubted we’d stray too far from polite conversation.