Chapter 3
I sat down at my cluttered desk a couple of days later with a large cup of coffee, thanks to the ever loyal and wonderful Rebecca, and took my first peek at my e-mail. There was one from Aaron. Weird. Aaron never e-mailed me unless he told me first that he wanted to send me a link or a picture. He was a texter or a caller, not an e-mailer.
“Meet me at Koi tonight! I feel like sake and sushi. 7:00 p.m. Don’t be late!”
When Aaron didn’t respond to any of my phone calls, texts, or e-mail, I began to suspect that he was up to something. He can be quirky at times. It’s part of his charm. I got on with the day at hand and put my suspicions aside until Rebecca popped her head into my office at the end of the day to say good-bye.
“Hasta manana, handsome.”
“Damn! What time is it?”
“Time for me to get home. I should miss the worst of the traffic now. Go home, Jay. You must be hungry. You barely ate lunch.”
Rebecca loved mothering me. However, she was right. I was starving and… Aaron! Sushi. I checked my watch. I had half an hour to finish up and make my way over to the Japanese restaurant he suggested. Luckily it was nearby. I could walk if I hurried. I tried his number, and once again it went to voice mail. That little shit had better not stand me up , was all I could think.
“I’m going, I’m going. See you tomorrow, beautiful!”
Rebecca batted her eyelashes at me playfully and promised me a large latte first thing in the morning. Flattery will get you everywhere , I mused. I picked up the phone and dialed Aaron’s number.
“You better not be up to anything. I’m feeling very suspicious right now, A,” I breathed deeply into the phone. “Alrighty, I’m leaving the office now. See you in a few.”
Koi was a hip new downtown hot spot. Because of its location, it was popular with the business crowd and tourists alike. The interior was ultra-contemporary with a tasteful blend of glass, concrete, and reclaimed wood. I tended to prefer this type of modern design rather than the ubiquitous dark-wood paneling, crystal chandeliers, and portraits of ancient politicians that grace many of DC’s elegant restaurants.
I was running a few minutes late, which wasn’t unusual, so I checked to see if Aaron was waiting for me at the bar before I gave my name to the host at the main desk. A quick scan of the bar told me he wasn’t there. I was about to take my cell phone out to send him a text when I spotted none other than Peter Morgan sitting at a high bar table off to the side, nearest the concrete wall at the back.
For a moment I wasn’t sure what I should do. Should I say hello? He was alone. Maybe he was waiting for someone. I was irritated at my hesitation. I was overthinking and being an idiot. Of course I should say hello and take the opportunity to thank him for helping me last weekend. And probably apologize for the weekend before.
He caught my eye and waved a greeting, which solved my internal dilemma. I swallowed hard, hating that I suddenly felt nervous. Maybe my stupid crush was back now that I’d revised my opinion of him. God, I was hopeless. I pasted a smile on my face as I reached his table, extending my hand to shake his outstretched one.
“Well, wow. I seem to be running into you everywhere in town these days.” Great. I thought I heard a tremor in my voice.
Peter looked at me quizzically, his dark brow raised in surprise.
“Actually, I was under the impression I was meeting you here tonight.”
What? I couldn’t say a word. What was he talking about? He looked blankly at me as though I was the one with the answers.
“Um….”
And then it dawned on me. Aaron. That little asshole. He had set us up. I was absolutely going to kill him!
I gave a weak chuckle, still at a loss about how to deal with Peter. I decided to throw it back at him. Pretend I had no idea that my friend was a conniving matchmaker who didn’t believe there was such a thing as gay or straight exclusivity. He was a terrible optimist.
“Why? I’m sorry. I was supposed to meet you?” Cowardly, I know, but I was stalling, and the diversion was giving me the space I needed to regroup and shed my silly bout of nervousness.
“Your friend called and invited me tonight. He said that you and he wanted to thank me. Not necessary, but… actually he called Monday, but I just got back in town today, so….” His dark eyes surveyed the crowded bar searching for our third party, I guessed. “Aaron, right?”
“Right. Well… um.”
Awkward. Fuck. I took my cell out and punched another quick message to Aaron to get the fuck over to the restaurant pronto; then I turned my attention back to Peter. He was dressed in a beautifully tailored navy suit jacket with a crisp white-collared shirt and no tie. I had to do a double take when I saw that he was wearing jeans. I’d never seen him in anything but full suit-and-tie work mode.
He was probably wearing jeans when he came to our rescue the other night, but I couldn’t remember in all the excitement. Once again I found myself admiring his effortless style and damn… he made end-of-day stubble look very sexy indeed.
“Earth to Reynolds.” Peter waved his hand in front of my face, waking me from my trance. I was glad the bar was dark because there was no doubt that I was blushing furiously.
“Sorry. I was just trying to think what could be keeping Aaron. Uh… well, I just sent him a message, so….”
“Sit down and order a drink.”
I couldn’t protest without seeming like a total idiot. I needed to see this through. Whatever it was that Aaron had set into motion. Ugh. I took a deep breath and planted myself in the chair opposite him, giving a short nod of acquiescence. A drink would help. But only one, I cautioned myself.
A gorgeous waitress with long honey-colored hair hastened to Peter’s side when he turned to get her attention. I couldn’t help it. I snorted at the overly anxious beeline she made to our table. Peter gave me another one of those funny quizzical looks, like he couldn’t quite understand me.
“What are you having, Reynolds?”
“Jay,” I reminded him, giving the pretty waitress a big grin.
“Hi, Jay.” She beamed at me. Oh brother. “What can I get you?”
“I’ll have a… let me think. Tell me about the sake selection, please. I can never remember which one I prefer.”
Our cheerful waitress set her hands on one hip in a flirtatious manner before she began a recitation of the bar’s impressive selection. She was one of those overly touchy types, and I was beginning to regret having asked as the list seemed to never end and my shoulder was beginning to feel bruised. I made a choice and she finally left our table, giving me a wink and a big smile. I turned to the sound of Peter’s deep soft chuckle.
“What is so funny?” I asked with my own eyebrows raised in question as I rubbed my shoulder.
“You.” His smile was kind, and his beautiful eyes sparkled with warmth. He was dazzling. I shook my head, willing my libido to behave.
“Me? How? How was I to know there are thirty-plus different sakes and each has a slight nuance that blah blah blah…?”
Peter laughed out loud this time and raised his beer glass to me in a toast.
“You might just order a beer next time,” he sagely advised.
“Sure. But then I’d have to decide if I want imported or domestic, tap or bottle, local brew or….”
“Okay, okay. I get it.” His eyes were still twinkling with humor. I couldn’t help smiling in response. “Can I ask you something?”
I nodded, quietly thanking the waitress when she set the bottle of sake in front of me.
“Aaron isn’t coming tonight, is he?”
I had just taken a sip of the sake, so his timing couldn’t have been better, or worse, actually. I swallowed what I could, choking with the effort while unfortunately dousing the table with a portion of my Japanese beverage. I struggled to regain my composure, using my napkin to dry my eyes as I took a sip of the water Peter pushed in my direction. Heat rushed to my face. I was mortified.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to….” I managed to choke out.
I gave in to curiosity when I was met with silence and lifted my head to meet Peter’s intense gaze. I couldn’t read him, but he didn’t appear to be disgusted. Simply thoughtful… most likely wondering how he got saddled with a moron like me at a posh restaurant after several days of traveling. The guy had to be exhausted. He didn’t look it, but this had to be the last place he wanted to be.
“Um….” I tried again, this time holding eye contact.
“Don’t worry, Reynolds. No harm, no foul.” He offered another smile and I clung to it like a lifeline.
“Why do you insist on calling me by my last name? That’s what guys do when they’re on a team in high school. It reminds me of my brothers’ friends calling them out. It was always ‘Hey, Reynolds!’. You know what I mean?” He gave me a funny smile but didn’t say a word. “Well, just do me a favor, please, and call me by my first name.”
“I can do that. But is it Jay or John? I saw when you were first listed as a candidate to work on the solar energy project that your name is John.” His voice was thick with humor, but I didn’t think he was laughing at me. Instead, I think I entertained him, and I found I didn’t mind that so much. I could be very entertaining indeed.
“My birth certificate and all other legal documents list my name as John, the name my parents gave me. My mom calls me Johnny, but everyone else—and I mean everyone —calls me Jay. I don’t know where or when it started. Maybe they were too lazy to say John? Nah, that doesn’t make sense. Like I said, who knows?”
Peter chuckled again. “So, Jay it is.”
“Yeah.” I was sheepish and now feeling a little silly about my name outburst.
“Where are you from? I hear a southern accent every once in a while, but I can’t make it out exactly.”
“I’m from Virginia. And before you say it, because everyone does… yes, some people, maybe not all, some people from Virginia have accents.”
“I believe you.” He held up a hand in self-defense. “Where in Virginia?”
I smiled as thoughts of home popped into my head. My family had owned our land for a couple of centuries. Literally. At one time it was a plantation with acres upon acres of fertile cropland. Over the last century, it had been transformed into a very profitable and highly exclusive horse farm.
My family raised Thoroughbreds on a large expanse of the most beautiful green rolling hills and pastures in the country. My father was very particular about always referring to us as farmers, though. He may have a fondness for his Mayflower story, but the truth was that he was a humble man and didn’t care for artifice of any kind.
At the end of the day we were country people, and I was a country boy trying to make a go of it in the big bad city. My expression was no doubt wistful as I refocused my attention to Morgan’s question.
“A small farm town smack in the middle of the state. Chatham. My family raises horses. It’s about a two-hour drive from the city. Not too bad.” I tried another sip of the sake. Thankfully, this time I was able to drink it without showering my tablemate.
“Nice. So, do you ride, then? Horses?”
“Oh yeah. Probably before I could walk.” I shrugged, a little embarrassed again. I didn’t want to talk about me anymore. “What about you?”
“Do I ride?”
“Well, no…I was going to ask where you’re from originally, because let’s face it… almost no one is really from DC. But sure, I’ll ask that one too. Do you ride? Horses, I mean. Because you could ride motorcycles too, but well, that isn’t what I was asking. Do you? Ride motorcycles? Never mind. I think I should just be quiet and let you do the talking for a little while. My mouth doesn’t seem to be working.”
Peter’s face was a mixture of amusement and once again, something I couldn’t quite read. I felt my face redden. Oh, would this night ever end? I’d only had two sips of sake, so I really couldn’t blame my odd behavior on excessive alcohol consumption. In fact, I needed a shot of something stronger if I had any hopes of making it through.
“You are a fast talker, Reyn—sorry, Jay. Let me see. Do I ride horses?” I nodded bashfully, thankful that he was going with the flow. “Not really. I’ve been on a horse before, but I don’t really have any skill there. And though I’ve ridden motorcycles a time or two, I don’t own one. I went through a phase when I was younger when that’s all I wanted, but… my mother did not approve.”
His smile was sheepish and sweet when he spoke of his mom. I looked at him curiously hoping he’d explain. He didn’t disappoint.
“My mother is from Italy originally and….”
“I knew it!”
“How would you know that?” Peter asked, seemingly unperturbed by yet another weird outburst from me. In fact, if anything, he looked more at ease as he took a healthy drink from his beer glass and then leaned forward with both forearms resting on the small table.
“I didn’t, but I guessed it.” I fumbled. “You look Italian. That’s all.”
Peter smiled, his grin transforming his handsome angular features into something truly special.
“Hmm.” We stared at each other for a heartbeat or two before he continued, “Where was I?”
“Riding?” I offered. I wished I knew him better and could make some off-colored remark about what kind of riding I really liked to do, but I reined in my strange impulse to skewer my probably already tarnished reputation with him. I smiled in encouragement, hoping he’d just start talking so I would stop.
“Right. So, no to both. And I’m from Atlanta. I think that was your other question.”
“Well, what happened to your accent?” I demanded.
“I lost it.” He winked at me and took another drink.
“But why? Atlanta accents are fabulous. They’re soft and… pleasant-sounding. Not crass and awful. And Atlanta is a great city!”
“I’m not saying it’s not a wonderful place, but I didn’t want to keep my accent. Ever. I don’t even know that I could explain why I wanted to lose it, but….”
“I bet it’s never really gone. Say something.”
“What?”
“You know, say something so I can hear your old Georgia accent.”
“I don’t think so.”
I was trying for funny, but the topic of accents seemed to bother Peter. Maybe he wanted to get away from home that badly and he didn’t want any reminder. I’m not good at letting things go when all indications are that I should, so of course I pressed.
“Ah shucks, c’mon, Mr. Morgan. Pu-leeze….”
I surprised myself at times with how stupid I could be. It would be one thing if the man sitting across from me was a date or just some random friend of a friend, but he wasn’t. Although I wasn’t working directly under him on a current project, he was still my superior at work. My boss. I looked down at the sake glass. It was still half-full, which meant it was just me being me. Ugh.
I braved a glance at Peter. His arms were crossed over his expansive broad chest. He looked highly amused, not irritated. I tried a small smile and was rewarded with a full-watt, glorious ear-to-ear grin.
“Alrighty, then, Reynolds. Since you’re fixin’ to keep at me till you get your way,” Peter drawled. His slow southern accent had me swooning on my barstool. There was something about his GQ model looks speaking in that low sexy tone that made my mouth go dry. I blinked twice and swallowed hard. Wow.
“Uh.”
Peter laughed out loud, throwing his head back in sheer merriment. I realized I’d never seen him so relaxed before, so open and seemingly carefree. He was instantly intriguing to me on an entirely new level. One that had nothing to do with his gorgeous exterior. I had always admired his handsome appearance. Who wouldn’t?
But maybe for the first time, I wondered about him. Just him.
Who was Peter Morgan? I now knew that his mother was from Italy, he hailed from Georgia, and his sister was named Maggie and was a doctor, or training to become one. I wanted more, but first I had to do something I abhorred before I could in good conscience further my quest for knowledge. I had to apologize.
“I’m sorry,” I blurted, forgetting that there was no way Peter would have any idea what was going through my head.
“For what?” He looked surprised, but still perfectly at ease.
I took a moment to think about how to word my reasoning. It wouldn’t do to tell the exact truth, which was that he had marred a good crush by being overly picky at work and being a homophobe on top of everything. However, I was now convinced after last Saturday night’s misadventure that he didn’t really have a problem with gays. So I went with what I thought he did need to know.
“I was rude to you, and I apologize.”
He looked mystified but still said nothing. When I couldn’t take the prolonged quiet a second more, I filled it in with the explanation I had been hoping to avoid in the first place.
“You know. When we were at that cocktail party at the hotel a couple of weeks ago and I….” I didn’t want to say it, so I glanced at his expectant features, willing him to let me off the hook. His face was as unreadable as usual, so I pressed on. “I shouldn’t have accused you of being homophobic. Of judging me. It was assumptive, unfair, and, well… I’m sorry.”
Again nothing. I cast an evil eye over at him, which made him laugh again.
“You’re a funny one, Reyn….” He caught himself and had the grace to look a little chagrined as he continued, “Jay.” Peter paused and sat up straight on his barstool, tipping his glass to empty it completely before standing up and laying some bills on the table. He was leaving. Okay. Awkward maybe, but what did I think this was? A date?
He lightly tapped my shoulder and offered me a gentle smile.
“Come on. Let’s go have some dinner. We can’t sit here all night sucking down sakes and beers on empty stomachs.”
“Uh, right. Okay.”
There was no way I could gracefully power down the rest of my drink so I carried it with me to the main dining room of the restaurant, following Peter’s sure strides through the crowded bar. He spoke to the host and amended our party to two people rather than three. The Asian American woman behind the concrete desk eyed him appreciatively while assuring him our table for two would be ready in less than a minute. Amazingly, it was.
The main dining area appeared larger than it probably was because of its high ceilings and open atmosphere. There was a huge fish tank against the back wall, filled with exotic and colorful specimens. It provided the only real color in the space. Stark contemporary design using the same glass, concrete, and reclaimed wood as in the bar set a serene mood.
It was a beautiful restaurant, I thought, and I leaned across the small table we’d been seated at to share my view with my “date” for the night. He grinned in agreement and turned his attention to the waiter, who was asking for our drink order.
“Apology accepted,” he said plainly just as the waiter disappeared. He slipped his napkin onto his lap and leaned back comfortably in his chair.
“Um, thanks?” It was hard to follow his twists and turns, but I caught on and mentally reminded myself to say the other thing I didn’t especially do gracefully. I cleared my throat.
“You look like you have something else to say,” Peter observed astutely.
“Yes. Hey, um… I also want to thank you for last weekend. Thank you for stopping and helping me with Aaron. I… I appreciate it. Truly.”
“You’re welcome.” His smile was warm and sincere. I felt for the first time that we were on equal footing. Maybe that feeling wouldn’t last, but it felt good for the time being.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What were you doing in that part of town on a Saturday night in the wee hours? You were literally the last person I expected to meet.”
A glass of white wine was set before Peter just as he opened his mouth to answer. I silently cursed the overzealous waiter’s timing. Peter asked if I had any allergies and if I would mind if he took the liberty to order a few items for us. I nodded my consent and watched him effortlessly maneuver his way around the Japanese menu. Impressive. When the waiter again left us, I wondered if I’d have to rephrase the question. I couldn’t let it go. I was too curious.
“I was passing through.”
“What?” Damn. He did it again. I caught on quickly and shot him another evil glare. He chuckled softly.
“I was taking a shortcut through the alley to my car. That’s what you asked, correct?”
“Yes, but you know that’s not what I meant.”
“Well, be clear then, Jay. What do you want to know?”
That was one deliciously loaded question. I smiled gleefully and went ahead as instructed, using clear and plain language.
“Well, Mr. Morgan, I’m simply wondering how a straight man such as yourself finds his way to the gayest of the gay part of town at the witching hour alone on a Saturday night.” I was going to add that I knew it wasn’t my business per se, but I didn’t want to give him any outs. I wanted to know everything he was willing to tell me.
“Can I ask you something first?”
“O-kay. I am sensing evasion…,” I grumbled into my sake, “but go ahead.”
Peter chuckled softly and leaned across the small table, his eyes locked on mine. He was radiating an intensity that was hypnotic. I couldn’t look away if I tried.
“Why do you think I was there?”
“Uh….” The old turn-the-table trick. “I was right. You are evasive. Well, you were probably looking to score with a hot little twink over at the Rainbow Bar, but his sugar daddy swept in, so you decided to head over to Boutique and see if there were any sexy boys worthwhile before you…. Aren’t you going to stop me?”
“Why? You seem to be enjoying yourself.”
“Was I hot or cold?”
“Cold.”
“Ugh. Hints?”
Peter laughed outright. “Never mind. I’ll show you.”
“What?” I said it out loud of course, taking out the expletives I added in my own head. He shrugged and locked his gaze on something beyond my shoulder. That line of questioning was closed apparently.
“Promise?” I couldn’t let it go. I didn’t know what he meant by showing rather than telling, but instinctively I didn’t ask anything more. He wouldn’t tell me anyway. “Okay, then… tell me something else.”
“Such as?”
“Where did you go to school?” It seemed innocuous enough of a topic, and Peter agreed if the twinkle in his eyes said anything.
“I went to University of Georgia for my undergrad. Law school and graduate school both at Georgetown. You?”
“You have a law degree and a master’s?” He nodded, as though everyone did or maybe should. “Damn! That’s impressive.”
“What about you?”
“I went to Columbia for my undergrad and Georgetown for my master’s degree. I know I’m above average in the smarts department, but let’s be serious, when I was at Columbia, I wanted to be downtown in Soho at NYU partying with the friends I’d made at the gay bars in Chelsea. I didn’t take advantage of my education the way I should have. And I certainly never thought to—why did you go to law school too? Did you want to be a lawyer?”
Peter looked a touch confused with my rapid-fire line of conversation, but he remained a cool customer. I wondered what it would take to ruffle his feathers.