by Hayes, Lane
“My apologies. I seem to have forgotten a previous appointment. I’ll be back soon.”
I didn’t give anyone a chance to question me. I tugged at Miles’s sleeve and propelled him with me down the hallway toward the elevators. My heart was in danger of beating out of my chest. The bout of nerves I’d battled before he walked in unannounced was nothing compared to this. Something about having my father in the same room with the last man I’d slept with messed with my equilibrium big time.
“What are you doing?” he hissed, yanking his arm out of my grasp. He fumbled with a small paper bag and gave me a dirty look when he almost dropped it.
“What’s that?” I asked, ignoring his inquiry. I had no idea what the hell I was doing. Wasn’t that obvious? I bit my bottom lip and pushed the button repeatedly before letting out a rush of air and shaking my head. Where was the damn elevator?
“It’s a present for you.”
“A present?” I swallowed hard as I fixated on the brown paper bag.
“Don’t get excited but—what’s up with you? You’re acting weird.”
“No, I’m not,” I croaked.
Yes, I was. And when a door screeched open from somewhere in the general vicinity of my office, I went into full panic mode. I grabbed his hand and then threaded my fingers with his when he tried to bolt.
“Wait. I can’t—”
“Shh!” I pushed open the door to the emergency exit then released his hand and leaned on the steel banister with my arms crossed in an uber-relaxed pose. As though dragging visitors into industrial stairwells was oh, so normal.
Miles didn’t buy it. His forehead creased in annoyance. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just thought we could talk privately here,” I said with a tight-lipped smile.
“And people say I’m nuts,” he snarked. “I have less than twenty minutes to get back to the office to catch the helicopter back to Mountain View with Eric but…here”—he shoved the paper bag at me—“this is for you.”
I unfolded the bag and peeked inside then cast a wary glance at Miles before pulling out a tin-foil wrapped disc, roughly the size and shape of a hockey puck. But much lighter. “Is this a…cupcake or something?”
“It’s a Ding Dong, Ding Dong! Get it? It’s a Hostess apology. I’m sorry about last weekend. In fact, I’m really embarrassed. I can’t stand the thought of seeing you at a holiday party in a couple of months and being awkward with each other. I deserve your scorn but—”
“You don’t have to apologize, Mi. It was…fun,” I said lamely. “I mean, it was hot. I’d do it all over again in a heartbeat.”
“You would?”
I squinted at him to see if he was kidding then unwrapped the Ding Dong and took a bite. “Of course.”
“Really? I was off my rocker that night. I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t hide in your room with the intent of doing…it. I was just a boy undone, you know?”
I gave a half laugh then passed the Ding Dong to him. “Wanna bite?”
“I thought you didn’t like sharing,” he said with his hand outstretched.
“That’s true, but I’m not eating any more of this. No offense. I appreciate the gesture, but…these are not as good as I remembered.”
Miles broke off a piece and popped it into his mouth. He made a production of chewing and swallowing then nodded in agreement. “You’re right. I brought you a cupcake too. I think they’re foolproof, but let’s give it a shot.”
“Another time.” I waved my hand to stop him then cocked my head and smiled. “So, let me get this straight…you brought me treats to tie in the names you called me the other night as part of an apology for hiding in my room wearing a jockstrap and then seducing me. Am I getting this right?”
Miles barked a quick laugh. “Seduce? Moi? Wow. That sounds weird when you say it out loud…or just plain sad. I doubt anyone would believe you, but if we could forget it happened at all, I’d really appreciate it.”
I scoffed. “These are coercion cupcakes. You’re bribing me with Hostess snacks. Admit it.”
“Puh-leaze. If I was going to bribe you, I’d do better than a Ding Dong. And your voice is echoing in here. Be quiet,” he ordered primly.
I rolled my eyes and then stuffed my hands into my pockets to keep myself from touching him. He looked strangely enticing in an expensive suit, holding a bag of snacks I hadn’t thought were cool since I was twelve years old. I had a strong urge to back him against the cinder block wall, run my fingers through his thick hair, and grind my dick—oh. Pull it together, Kostas.
“Fine. I’ve already forgotten. What’s your name again, Red?”
“It’s not Red,” he glowered then ruined the effect by flashing me a megawatt grin. “But thank you, Whatever-your-name-is. Saturday night is a bit fuzzy for me too and—”
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” He cocked his head, diva-style, setting a hand on his hip.
“Neither of us was drunk, and you knew exactly what you were doing. I was your rebound that night.”
“I was not rebounding,” he hissed angrily.
“Were too,” I taunted.
“Real mature, Ding Dong. Riddle me this: if we’re adults, then why are we hiding in the abandoned stairwell like a couple of kids playing hooky from school?”
“Uh, well…” I looked down and studied the speckled print on the industrial-grade carpeting before braving a glance at Miles. “It’s hard to explain.”
He let out a deep sigh and gave me a tepid smile. “I get it. That was your dad, huh? Andreas Kostas.”
“You know my dad, eh?” I asked sarcastically.
“Obviously not, but I know things about you, and that’s one of them,” he replied with a shrug.
“What kinds of things?”
“Everything.”
“Define everything.”
Miles held my gaze then flipped his wrist over to check the time. “Look, this isn’t complicated, Grant. I’m Eric’s secretary. It’s my job to know details about his life and the people who are important to him like Zane, Josh, Nick…and you. I know all of your birthdays, your parents’, siblings’, and significant others’ names and sometimes their milestone events…birthdates, anniversaries, etcetera.”
“That’s crazy.”
“No, it’s just good business. Eric has a lot of stress to deal with between high-profile meetings, conference calls, and jetting from Silicon Valley to the city and all over the country. Something is bound to slip through the cracks without a backup. I’m his backup,” he reported playfully as he headed toward the door. “I really should go. Am I keeping the Ding Dongs, or are you?”
I furrowed my brow and moved to intercept him before he opened the door.
“Hang on. Let’s test this out. Where do I live?”
“Too easy.” He rattled off my Castro address without missing a beat. “Give me something harder.”
“Who was my last significant other?”
“You dated a guy named Steve a year ago, and I think there was a fuck buddy you met at a bar…Jason or Mason after that. Both were flings. Their birthdays are unimportant. I don’t think Eric met either of them, so I’ve deleted them from my memory bank.”
“Fair enough. What’s my mom’s name?”
“Delia.”
“Wrong.”
Miles frowned. “Yes, it is.”
“Yes and no. Your pronunciation is American. My mother is Greek, from the homeland. Her name is De-Lee-ah. Not Deal-ya. Big difference.”
“Thanks. I’ll make a note of that,” he said in a serious tone that made me think he’d do it immediately. “I have to—”
“Wait! One more question. Do you know my phone number?”
Miles looked puzzled. “Of course.”
“Then give me yours. It’s only fair.” I pulled my cell from my pocket and gestured for him to start talking.
“That’s ridiculous.”
I spread my arms in front of the
door to block him. “You can’t go until you give it to me.”
He narrowed his gaze suspiciously. “I have a black belt.”
“No, you don’t.” I mimicked his searching stare, pleased when he cracked a smile. “What’s the matter? You don’t want me to call you?”
“On the contrary, I’m afraid I’ll pine away staring at my cell,” he replied with a dramatic sigh.
“So sarcastic. I’ll make you a deal.…I’ll never call you, so you’ll never have to think twice about it. Sound good?”
“Promise?”
I held out my pinkie to give him a time-honored “pinkie promise.” Miles let out a distrustful huff then pushed the bag of goodies at me and pulled out his phone. I watched his fingers fly as he typed a message to me.
“Okay. We’re done here. We officially have the awkward ‘first meeting after you-know-what’ out of the way, so we can act like nothing ever happened when we see each other again and—”
“It was pretty hot,” I interrupted. On a whim, I smoothed a rogue piece of hair behind his ear, noting his almost imperceptible shiver.
I didn’t get it. Saturday was an improbable lark, nothing more. But God, I wanted to kiss him, back him against that door, yank his zipper down, and sink to my knees to worship his beautiful cock. This connection felt like more than the aftereffects of a rebound. And in spite of his Hostess bribe and his plea that we agree to forget and move on, I could tell he wasn’t immune.
Or maybe he was. Miles smacked my hand away and set his on the doorknob. “Thank you for your discretion.”
“You’re welcome.”
He nodded slightly then turned the handle. And I just couldn’t let him go. I grabbed his coat sleeve before he got anywhere and crashed my mouth against his.
And fuck, kissing Miles was better than I remembered. His lips were soft and sweet. He tasted like chocolate and coffee, and he smelled like the best parts of last Saturday night. I recognized his cologne and an underlying scent that was uniquely his. I held his chin and tilted my head to deepen the connection, licking his lips before sliding my tongue inside. He groaned and dropped the bag when I backed him up against the door. Then he flung his arms over my shoulders and returned the kiss with fervor, sucking my tongue, nibbling my lips, and jutting his hips rhythmically in a manic search for friction.
Time stood still. I had no idea how long we made out like a couple of teenagers in a deserted high school locker room, but I could have done it all day long. He felt so damn good. I slipped my hands under his suit coat and cupped his perfect ass then drew him close and ground my aching cock against his. It was an epic hump session by anyone’s standards, but I’d have a hard time explaining the wet spot on the front of my trousers if I didn’t back away now.
I released him, letting my gaze drift to his swollen bottom lip before traveling to meet his eyes.
“What was that?” he asked in a raspy tone.
“A good-bye kiss?” I tried.
“It was very…passionate. Is that a Greek thing?”
I threw my head back and laughed. “Maybe so.”
We shared a smile and a look I wanted to quantify but couldn’t. Miles was a mystery. I didn’t know anyone like him, and I had no frame of reference when it came to dealing with a spitfire prima donna dressed in Armani and toting a bag of Hostess treats. He was…one of a kind. A limited edition.
I picked up the paper bag he dropped and tried to hand it to him. He shook his head. “They’re for you. Something to remember me by.”
I nodded then pulled open the door and gestured for him to lead the way. I followed him down the hallway toward the elevator but kept a few feet in between us. I didn’t trust myself not to touch him. One brush of his fingertips against mine might throw me over the edge, and I could not be caught groping him outside my office.
Miles stopped at the wood-paneled elevator doors and pushed the button with more force than necessary before turning to me. He gave me a crooked smile. “So…we’re good?”
I lifted the paper bag and shook it. “Of course. You brought cupcakes.”
He grinned then stepped inside the car when the door opened just then. I studied him carefully as he fussed with his coat sleeves. Miles had a polished and put-together exterior, but I knew he was a little messy on the inside. Just like me. Yet, we couldn’t be more different if we tried. Maybe that was why he fascinated me. He was the grown-up version of the freckle-faced kid I used to share comics with in my elementary school library at recess. Someone I felt a kinship with that wasn’t easily explained.
“Good-bye, Grant. I promise to behave next time we see each other.”
“I kind of hope you don’t,” said someone who sounded like me.
He grinned in response as the doors slid shut, but I heard his muffled reply loud and clear. “Be careful, honey. You can’t handle me.”
I chuckled at the throwaway line. It was quintessential Miles, and it was exactly the sort of comment that would have made me run for the hills a few days ago. Today…not so much. Something felt different. Actually, quite a few things felt different, beginning with the weird butterflies buzzing in my stomach.
Geez. Did I actually have a crush on Miles?
My father didn’t bring up Miles’s surprise visit when I returned to the office, other than to ask if my meeting went well. That wasn’t like him. He liked knowing the ins and outs of everything that went on at Kostas Realty. If someone farted, he wanted to know what they ate and at what time—as though those pertinent details might somehow be of future use. I figured our successful meeting with Stockton distracted him. He buzzed around my townhouse and my office all week with an energetic air like a bumblebee high on nectar in springtime. He was in his element, cheering on the sales team and offering advice with funny, self-deprecating stories of his own experiences in the real estate game. As much as I’d initially dreaded their visit, I was almost sorry to see my parents’ luggage stacked neatly in the foyer the following Sunday.
My dad had been an asset all week at the office, and my mother had spoiled me rotten, cooking all my favorite foods, organizing my cupboards, and redecorating my home. Okay, so the red and blue patterned pillows strewn across my leather sofa and armchairs would only be fashionable for a fourth of July celebration, but it was the thought that counted.
And she’d obviously been thinking about me a lot. I sipped my coffee and mentally catalogued everything that needed to be moved to storage. The Greek vase with the interlocking key-print along the rim, the ceramic Siamese cat she said reminded her of the one we had when I was a kid. I didn’t remember the cat, and the statue was plain ugly, but hey…tchotchkes were another form of affection, and at least they were calorie-free.
“Gio, the containers in the freezer are labeled. You are set for four weeks, maybe longer if Talia makes your lunches.”
“Mama, don’t ask Talia to make me lunch,” I pleaded with a sigh when she plucked my coffee mug from my fingers, dumped the contents down the drain, and proceeded to scrub the life out of it.
“She wants to do it. Let her. Just say ‘Thank you.’ ”
There was no point in arguing that I was more than capable of feeding and fending for myself and that my cousin already had her hands full. Family was family. If my mom asked her to look after me too, Talia would do it—no questions asked.
“Thank you,” I repeated dutifully.
My mother chuckled as she folded the kitchen towel. “You’re thirty-four now, Gio. You need a wife. Someone to take care of you.”
“I’m gay,” I deadpanned.
She came to stand beside me and set her hand on my wrist. The diamond ring on her left hand sent a rainbow prism across the island. I concentrated on the colors when the urge to rip my hand away and walk out the door made me feel shaky inside. That wasn’t a conversation starter. And her patient, motherly stare indicated we weren’t on the same page.
“Hmm. Do you want a husband?” she asked, scrunching her forehead comically.
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I don’t think it was the idea of a man wanting a husband that bothered her but rather that the perception was still so foreign. It reminded me of when I told her she could email me a note instead of sending a letter via postal service. She’d given me a very intense look and then slowly repeated the word “email” a few times because it wasn’t just a word—it was a whole new concept.
“No, Mama. Are you almost ready to go? It takes twenty min—”
“What about the red-haired boy?”
Whoa. I narrowed my eyes and out of habit, scanned my surroundings to see if my father was within earshot. The coast was clear.
“Who?” I squeaked. I couldn’t get the rest out. Who told her about Miles? Who else knew I’d thought about him nonstop every day for a week? Someone in my family noticed him at the office. Talia or—
“Your father said you disappeared with a red-haired man the other day and—”
“Oh, my God.” I slumped on my barstool and lowered my head to my chest. This had the earmarks of a setup. My parents were staging a pre-flight intervention. Fuck. Me.
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain,” she admonished, hooking her fingers under my chin until I looked at her. “Is he your boy-friend?”
Once again, the word was said like a question within a question. An “Am I saying this correctly, because it doesn’t sound right?” query.
“No. Miles is my friend, Eric’s secretary. Not my boyfriend,” I said sharply.
“If you want—I think…you should maybe…you know, a Greek man.” She smiled as though satisfied she’d successfully gotten her point across.
And she had. Perhaps it wasn’t a complete sentence or a particularly eloquent message, but I had a feeling it was from both of my parents and could only be delivered by my mother. If you insist you’re gay, at least get yourself a Greek lover.