Better Than Stories Collection, Books #1-4

Chapter 2

2

“ E very day is a new opportunity. You can build on yesterday’s success or put its failures behind and start over again. That’s the way life is, with a new game every day. And that’s the way baseball is.” —Bob Feller

Monday morning couldn’t come soon enough. I relished a return to my mundane routine with long hours spent with my head buried in law books and research. I needed the certainty and solidity I found in practicing law. So what if my area of expertise was on the dry side? I thrived on facts and intelligence written in simple black and white. It grounded me and made sense to me in a world that was oftentimes chaotic.

I was currently working on an eminent-domain case on behalf of a small environmental government agency to repurpose a plot of land outside of DC for a small solar energy project, which would bring work and new resources to the now-blighted area. It basically meant a ton of research and paperwork for me, but I liked the idea of being involved in an environmentally conscious project. I strongly believed in renewing and reusing our resources. I might not be the guy on the front line, but I liked to think I was contributing nonetheless.

I was deeply engaged in a complex encroachment detail when my cell phone buzzed on my desk. I ignored it, but it wouldn’t stop buzzing. Irritated, I picked it up and answered abruptly.

“Curt Townsend.”

“Whoa, you sound official. Isn’t this your cell?” Matt teased.

“Hey. Sorry. I’m in the middle of something. What’s up?”

“I figured I’d get your voice message, but I’m basically calling to apologize. I shouldn’t have jumped on your case yesterday. I mean, it’s your business and?—”

“Aaron made you call, huh?”

“Well, he may have suggested it.” Matt laughed good-naturedly. “I’m actually calling for another reason too.”

I pushed away from my desk and walked to the window to stare out at the park across the street. The trees had reclaimed their springtime greens, and the weather was mild enough that the benches were full of people trying to sneak in a bit of sunshine during their lunch breaks.

“Yes?” I prodded.

Matt sighed before continuing. I got the feeling he was a little uncomfortable, which was instantly intriguing.

“Aaron has this friend he’d like to introduce you to, and before you say no?—”

“No.”

“C’mon, man. Before you say no, I’m supposed to tell you he’s really hot and very smart. He wanted me to get your okay to give him your phone number.”

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t want to. I had a pile of law books on my desk, and that was where I wanted to be. Not talking about blind dates and being set up with random guys. I closed my eyes briefly and sighed heavily.

“I don’t think I?—”

“You said you did, though. Remember? You said, and I’ll quote loosely here, ‘From now on I won’t be a total douche who does nothing but work. I’ll get out there and start meeting new guys.’ Ring a bell? It was just yesterday, man. I’m sure your memory is a little better than that.”

“Ugh! Fuck. Okay, fine!”

“Good boy. His name is?—”

“No. Wait. No.”

“Curt….”

“Well, tell me something about him. How old is he? What does he do? Where is he from?”

“How the hell would I know any of that shit?”

“Seriously? You want to set me up with someone you know nothing about?”

“Aaron knows him.” Matt spoke those three little words as though they should tell me everything I needed to know and then some. “Look, he works at a marketing company that does some advertising with Aaron’s magazine. I think he’s our age, or maybe a little older. After that, you’d have to trust Aar. He has great taste.”

“I’d agree except for the very glaring fact that he’s with you.”

“Ha-ha.” I smiled into my phone at his deadpan response. Matt was a good sport and a fun verbal sparring partner. “Man, it’s a couple of hours max. Dinner, talk…. You don’t have to pick out china patterns with the guy. And you never know, it may go better than you think.”

I couldn’t think of a good reason not to agree. Matt was right. It was exactly what I said I’d do. Get out there. Meet new guys. Try to participate in a social life of some sort. None of that would happen if I always said no.

“Fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really. But don’t ask me again or I may change my mind. And can you at least get his name for me, asshole?”

“Sure thing. I’ll have Aaron text it to you. Good luck, Casanova.” Matt made a kissing sound loud into the receiver and hung up.

I shrugged and walked back over to my desk and my research before I started to fret about the unknown caller. A date. I smiled and made myself refocus. I’d worry about what I agreed to later. No doubt it would give me a serious case of indigestion. At least it would keep me from thinking about Jack.

A text message from Aaron came a few minutes later with an emoticon smiley face and a name. Paul Fallon.

The following Saturday afternoon I was back on my sofa watching my beloved San Francisco Giants trounce the Padres when my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number and wondered if it was Paul calling to cancel the coffee date we’d set up for the next day. I answered it, thinking about what I could do to fill in my time if he wasn’t available. There was only so much time I could really allow myself to lay on the sofa. My apartment was a mess. I could clean it or go to the gym or?—

“Hi. Curt?”

I was unprepared for the sexy voice on the line. Damn. I sat up and muted the sound from the television.

“Yeah, um….” Shit. I was instantly nervous. I knew it was Him, but I wouldn’t let myself believe it until he confirmed it.

“It’s Jack. How’ve you been?

“Yeah, um… good. You?” Damn. I ran my hands through my hair, frustrated at my sudden loss of speech.

Silence. Great start. And then Jack’s laughter rang out loud and clear. I smiled into my cell and felt instantly at ease.

“I’m good, Curtis.”

I could practically feel his smile. I lay back on my sofa and kicked my leg over the back as I conjured an image of Jack with his pirate grin and mischievous eyes.

“You there?”

“Sorry! Yes. The Giants are playing and….” I was fumbling badly and probably saying all the wrong things. My hands felt clammy and gross. God, he made me nervous.

Jack chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, as long as it’s baseball. By the way, I have tickets to a game next weekend. You interested?”

“Uh….”

“The Nationals are playing the Reds and?—”

“Yes!”

“Cool. I think it’s an afternoon game. I’ll pick you up. Text me your address at the number I’m calling you from, okay? Talk to you later.”

“Sure. Okay. Thanks.” Stop talking, Curt. I closed my eyes, willing my heart to beat at a normal rate as I stared at my cell.

What had happened here? In the space of one week, I went from being a dateless wonder to having the guy who was the equivalent to every crazy dream-man I’d ever fantasized about asking me out. How did he even get my number? I would have absolutely remembered giving it to him. Whoa. I stared unseeing at the game on the television. I didn’t know what was going on but I certainly wasn’t going to question it.

In my excitement over my impending date with Jack, I almost forgot about the coffee date I’d made with Aaron’s friend the following morning. My head was filled with thoughts of Jack. What would he wear? I’d only seen him in the tux, and the idea of him in tight-fitted jeans made me half-hard with lust. Would the weather be warm enough that I’d get a glimpse of his tattoos? I had a vision of him in a super-snug T-shirt with his muscular arms and gorgeous ink-work on full display. Of course, I didn’t know where his ink was, but the fantasy was a good one.

Yeah, the idea of a coffee date with a guy named Paul paled in comparison. However, I said I’d go. So I did.

We had arranged to meet at a small café on M Street in Georgetown. It was fairly close to my apartment, so I walked the couple of blocks and of course ended up being there way too early. I had too much energy to wait inside, so I took a walk up the avenue toward the university. I carefully tracked the time on my watch. I didn’t want to be late, either. I hated being late for anything.

It was a glorious Sunday morning. The sun was bright in an endless blue sky with just the slightest hint of a breeze in the air. The streets were already busy with joggers, shoppers, and tourists enjoying the fine spring weather. I passed a bar my friends and I frequented when we were in law school. It was obviously closed, but for some reason just passing by brought a flash of memory of easier, more carefree times. My friends were right. I needed to get out more. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been to that bar, and it was one of my favorites. I stuffed my hands in my pockets and walked on only to stop short at the tattoo parlor next door.

I peered in the window, curious about what the inside looked like. It was dark but it reminded me of a small hair salon with chairs on either side of the space and mirrors along both walls. Any wall space not covered in mirrors was covered with pictures, presumably of happy tattoo recipients. I would have liked to have seen some of the designs up close. I gave a half-laugh before turning to make my journey back toward the coffee shop. What was my sudden obsession with body art?

I wasn’t looking as I turned and bumped hard into someone coming in the opposite direction. I looked up and automatically apologized… to Jack.

“Hey there!”

“Hi. I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… how are you? What are you doing here?” Nice one, Curt.

“Good. You? Funny how we keep bumping into each other.” He was dressed in workout gear. My mouth watered at the sight of his muscular thighs showcased in fitted running pants.

“Yeah, uh… I was just meeting someone for coffee and?—”

“At the tattoo parlor?” His blue eyes lit with teasing humor. For some reason it put me instantly at ease.

“Yeah, smart-ass. I was thinking of having a steamed latte drawn on my bicep right about here.” I pointed to my upper right arm. “That way I’d be choosing something I know would always be meaningful.”

“Good idea, but would you go for coffee or a steamed latte? I’d stick with coffee if I were you. You may not be as into fancier drinks when you’re an old man.”

“Sage advice, I’m sure.”

Jack smiled widely and adjusted the bag on his shoulder.

“Joking aside, this is actually a very reputable shop if you’re interested in getting one done.” He inclined his head toward the tattoo parlor.

“Well, good to know. You headed to the gym? Isn’t this area kind of out of your way?”

“I’m meeting a friend at the gym. He lives nearby.”

We stood blocking pedestrian traffic as we stared at each other. I watched the corners of Jack’s eyes crinkle as he squinted in the sunlight. I knew he was older than me, but only the laugh lines at his eyes and around his generous mouth gave his years away. I found them incredibly appealing. A passerby hit my elbow with a shopping bag, tearing me from my reverie. Fuck! I was going to be late meeting Paul.

“I have to go. I’m gonna be late now.”

“Okay. I’ll see you next weekend, Curtis.” Jack gave me a mischievous wink and chuckled softly at my flustered countenance before he leaned in, kissed the side of my mouth, and turned to walk up the street.

I stared after him like a complete moron until someone jostled my arm again and shook me back to the present. I stepped aside and glanced briefly at my watch. I made my way back to the coffee shop as fast as possible, trying to calmly navigate my way around annoyingly slow-walking tourists in an effort not to be obnoxiously late meeting Paul.

My lightweight navy V-neck sweater felt like a winter garment when I opened the door to the warm café. I scanned the small sitting area, looking for a man in a red pullover. That was my only hint. I had no idea if he was short, tall, skinny, round, young, old… I didn’t even know his hair color. So I glanced around to see if I could spot a man wearing red anything.

There was a tall man standing near the end of the line who kept looking toward the entrance. He was lean and fine-boned with short blond hair and handsome, sharp, even features. He was wearing designer jeans that hugged his ass just so… and a bright red, snug-fitting crew neck sweater.

“Paul?”

“Oh hello. You’re Curt?” He must have noticed me just as I addressed him.

First impressions were particularly interesting when you’d been set up with someone you knew nothing about. I had to admit, I was favorably impressed. Paul was elegantly good- looking with a drop-dead sexy British accent. I silently reminded myself to thank Aaron. Even if nothing came from our coffee date, at least the eye candy was worth the price of a latte. Of course, thinking of a latte made me smile at Jack’s inane suggestion that I tattoo one on my arm.

“Are you all right?” Paul looked a little concerned.

“Sorry. Yes, of course. I’m Curt. It’s nice to meet you. I hope I didn’t keep you waiting. Can I get you something to drink?” I looked up at the drink menu behind the counter, hoping my companion wouldn’t notice my reddened cheeks. Geez, I needed to pull it together.

“I’m thinking a steamed latte sounds lovely, but it’s my treat. I asked you.”

Again, I smiled stupidly at the mention of a steamed latte and decided it was a sign, so I ordered the same. I thanked Paul for the drink and offered to find us a table. The shop was very small, and tables were hard to come by if you didn’t pounce at the first signs of a patron gathering their belongings to vacate one. I spotted one freeing up and made a beeline toward it, offering the young couple who’d been sitting there an itinerary of “fun things to do in DC” for the day as payment of sorts. They were tourists who I was sure would have spent all morning pouring over their maps if I didn’t intervene. They probably thought I was nice, but all I wanted was a seat and the opportunity to check out my date before he joined me at the table.

Paul found me a few minutes later and handed me my steamed latte.

“This is a quaint café. This sort of place is harder to come by these days,” he observed as he sat in the rattan chair across from me.

“I know. I think that’s why I like it. There’s no artifice. I like things simple and real.” I took a sip of my beverage and immediately regretted it. Damn, that was hot. I reached for a napkin and dabbed at my lips. Ouch.

I looked over at Paul when I heard a low chuckle. His eyes were lit with amusement.

“I suppose I should warn you it may be a touch warm?”

I grinned sheepishly. I wanted to make a smart-ass comment but I didn’t know the guy. There was no sense in scaring him off by unleashing the real me just yet. It was time to break out the ol’ “get to know someone new” social skills. It wasn’t hard to slip into that mode; however, I hadn’t done it in a “dating” sense in quite a while. I was bound to be a little rusty.

“So, you work with Aaron?”

“Not actually. My firm does marketing and handles some advertisements for his magazine. I met him a couple of years ago when one of the photography sessions we were doing blew up due to an overzealous assistant. That person was let go and Aaron was assigned the job. He was brilliant. Not to mention lovely.”

His eyes sparkled in an almost flirty manner. I might have made a comment regarding his practical salivation over my friend but for two minor details. First, he was right. Aaron was very sexy. And second, I couldn’t get over Paul’s voice. The way he said the word advertisements with the accent on the second syllable rather than the third like Americans do made me practically swoon in my chair.

“What about you? Aaron mentioned you’re a lawyer.”

We spent a good hour chatting in a “get to know you” conversational way. We talked about working in the capitol, places of interest nearby, and restaurants we liked. It was a little like my exchange with the couple I had given “DC in a day” tips to while I waited for them to leave the table. Friendly but surface only.

I did learn that Paul was from Kent originally but had lived in London for years before coming to the States three years ago. He was thirty-three, had a great job, and was a seemingly well-adjusted out gay man. Did I mention he was hot too? But I caught myself continually thinking of Jack. Who was he meeting at the gym? A lover? A friend?

Thankfully, Paul didn’t seem cognizant of any lapse in my attention. When our drinks were finished and we noticed people hovering for our prized table much the same way I’d done, we stood and made our way outside. Standing face-to-face, I realized we were roughly the same height. Paul’s graceful carriage made him appear taller than he actually was. I adjusted my own lazy posture and stuck my hand out for him to shake. He did so with a smile and asked if I’d like to have dinner next week.

It was weird to suddenly find my social calendar booked with actual “dates.” I couldn’t remember the last time I was going to meet two different men on the same weekend. The same month maybe, but not the same weekend.

I acknowledged, to myself anyway, that my date with Paul was keeping me from overthinking the Nationals game the following day with Jack. It served as a somewhat strategic diversion. My tendency was to obsess, but between work and now a night out with a handsome British guy, I wouldn’t have a chance to freak out about Jack.

Or Cary. Other than our weekly calls to check in, I found I wasn’t obsessing over what was happening on the West Coast. I couldn’t do anything to help directly, but every conversation with my brother tended to end awkwardly. I wasn’t sure what I could do on my end to change that.

Paul and I arranged to meet at a trendy new restaurant where a world-renowned French chef was master of the kitchen. Georges’ was packed. I could barely get in through the front door and was wondering if I’d ever find Paul in the sea of people as I made my way to the bar. I squeezed into a corner near the back of the counter and ordered a beer. I wanted something stronger but decided it was wise to keep my wits about me.

Paul walked in just as a bottle was placed at my elbow. I waved him over and tried to signal that I wanted to get his order. He didn’t seem to understand my gesturing, if I read the puzzled look on his face correctly.

“Hello!” he yelled above the din. “Our table is ready. Bring your drink along, all right?”

Oh. Awkward. I was afraid I’d have to carry the bottle of beer through the posh crystal-laden restaurant, when a waiter discreetly picked up my drink and whisked it away on a tray. I smiled wanly and followed my date back to the front where a handsome young man with perfect posture directed us to follow him. The restaurant’s interior was exquisite. It was an old-world-meets-new-world design of crystal chandeliers juxtaposed with rough-hewn wood plank flooring.

We were shown to a small semiprivate table for two. It was obviously a prime seat, and I was suitably impressed. When we were left with menus and a drink list, I finally took a good look at my date. Paul was a good-looking man. He looked refined and elegant in a navy blazer that brought out the blue in his eyes. I’d noted as we made our way to our seats that he was wearing khakis too and silently congratulated myself for choosing correctly.

“This is a nice place.” Yikes… smooth observation. I was definitely out of practice.

“It’s a new favorite of mine. I’ve been a time or two for lunch. Do you mind if I order a bottle of wine for us to share or would you prefer to stick with beer?”

“Um, no. I mean, I don’t mind at all.” I could feel my cheeks redden. I hated feeling so uncomfortable. No wonder I hadn’t been on a date in forever. I was usually a confident guy who could easily converse with almost anyone. I hoped my skills would resurface. I didn’t want this night to be a disaster.

Thankfully, Paul proved to be pleasant company. We talked about work and eventually got around to sharing “get to know you” information… family, friends, schools, etcetera. I know I was my usual obtuse self when it was my turn to share background stories about my family in particular, but he didn’t push. I was grateful on one hand but I had a sudden flash of memory about how effortlessly Jack read me based on the tiniest piece of personal information. I had found his power of perception to be unnerving but somehow refreshing.

“Curt?”

“Oh sorry! I spaced. What did you say?” Damn that Jack!

Paul offered me a wry grin. He didn’t seem bothered by my lack of focus, but I was. It wasn’t like me. And when I considered how often I dined with handsome men with sexy British accents, I was almost concerned. I should have been hanging on his every word.

“Would you like to grab a quick after-dinner drink? I know a nice spot a short walk from here. Sometimes there’s live music. Jazz mostly.”

I studied my elegant dining partner before answering and smiled in agreement. Why not? Paul deftly accepted the bill and handed the waiter his card before I could do more than sputter my protest.

“No, no. Now you’ll have to come with me for a drink.” He winked and dabbed at his mouth with his napkin. The gesture was a little fussy, but he had me at the wink.

We made our way up 17 th Street and continued a friendly banter about music. Paul was a big jazz music fan. I liked it for sure, but I was really a novice about the genre. It was entertaining to see him get worked up about a subject he was passionate about, though. And as shallow as it may have been, the sound of his voice alone was a total turn-on. I could have listened to him talk all night and never heard a word he said. He nudged my arm as we neared the corner of R Street, indicating we were turning. I followed his lead and took a quick look around me.

The avenue was crowded. Saturday night in the heart of all that was fabulous in DC was always one of my favorite things. Beautiful gay men of all ages, shapes, and sizes were out for a night on the town. Twinks, bears, or regular guys like me…. There was something for everyone. A man dressed in leather from head to toe stepped in front of my path, causing me to shorten my stride. I couldn’t help but notice his ensemble. Frankly, all that leather seemed a bit uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to mind and he did look hot, I mused. I listened to Paul with half an ear as he chatted about Miles Davis and John Coltrane, but I kept my eye on the guy walking in front of me. He stopped abruptly, and I ended up bumping into his shoulder hard. He turned and apologized quickly before disappearing into a hip but dark-looking bar. I read the subtle sign above the window and stopped dead in my tracks. Jack’s.

My pulse raced at just the sight of his name in lights. I had a sudden urge to go inside.

I’d been there before. True. But now that I’d met Jack, I was intrigued all over again. Maybe to see if I would view it differently now that I’d met the proprietor. But that was stupid. Nothing had changed. In fact, I was dressed in khakis again… just as I’d been on my one and only prior visit. I didn’t belong there.

My companion realized he’d lost me. Paul had walked on a few steps without me but turned back to my side and gave me a quizzical look.

“Are you into leather, then?” His tone was teasing as though leather was the last thing he pictured me in. He was right of course, but for some reason his observation bugged me. I shrugged and laughed, giving him a pointed “as if” look for good measure. Paul grinned good-naturedly as we continued our walk to the jazz bar.

The rest of the night was nice. It wasn’t special or extraordinary, but it was pleasant. Paul seemed like a good guy, and I’d enjoyed my night away from the bland routine I’d fallen into. After a couple of drinks, we made our way back up the crowded streets toward the restaurant where we’d both left our cars.

I drank in the sights of the circle, buzzing with bright energy and plenty of visual distractions, while Paul waxed poetic about jazz fusion. I had stopped trying to pay close attention to his words, opting to listen to the gentle cadence of his gorgeous accent. It served as a soothing melodic background noise to some of the more jarring visuals on the street. Like Jack’s. There it was again. This time I couldn’t ignore the almost-magnetic pull I felt at simply seeing his name.

“Did you valet your car?” Paul inquired as we approached Georges’.

“Um, no. I found a spot on the street,” I lied. Of course I had valet parked. There were never open parking spots on the street, but I was suddenly anxious and found I didn’t want to linger.

“Amazing.” Paul smiled wanly as he pulled a ticket from his pocket and handed it to the young man at the valet kiosk.

We stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment, neither of us sure about what came next. Did we shake hands or hug? I wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was, which may have been the product of too many years between dates and not being completely blown away by our evening together. I didn’t feel a burning desire to kiss him or physically connect with him. Not yet.

When I couldn’t take the awkward pause any longer, I held my hand out.

“Thank you, Paul. Thanks for dinner. This was nice.”

Paul looked at my outstretched hand and gave a half-laugh. He ignored my hand and slipped his arms around mine for a brief hug. I’ve never been big on public displays unless alcohol somehow played a part, like the night I’d made out with Jack in the middle of Dupont Circle, for instance. My back was stiff, no doubt giving the impression I was less than interested. That wasn’t exactly true, but…. Paul smiled sweetly, seemingly unperturbed by my lack of response. He gave my arms a friendly squeeze and stepped aside when a black Audi pulled up.

“I’ll be in touch.”

I thoughtfully watched his taillights disappear.

What the hell?

I retraced my steps back up 17th Street toward Jack’s. I concentrated on the scenery and made an effort to stay in the moment.

There was a short line outside the entrance, which almost had me turning tail. No way was I going to stand in a line with a bunch of leather daddies while I was dressed in khakis. My buzz had practically worn off, and I didn’t think it had ever been strong enough to allow me to look like quite that big of an idiot either way. I hesitated before stepping into the line just as the bouncer granted entrance to a large party. I stood alone on the sidewalk for a second longer, mustering the courage to finally walk toward the door.

Jack’s was larger than I remembered and darker. Dark wainscot paneling like you’d expect to find in a library covered the far walls, while the circular bar front was covered in tufted leather. Antiqued mirrors provided a nod to old-world finery that came across as very contemporary juxtaposed with the generous use of leather everywhere else. Even the overhead pendant lights looked like they were hung by thick leather straps. It was a very masculine space with a modern vibe. It was obviously very popular too. The place was packed.

Most of the patrons were in their late twenties like me or well into their thirties. And while quite a few were clad in the ubiquitous leather, many were dressed in jeans too. What seemed to be the biggest common denominator were muscles. Seriously. I was a khaki-wearing, under-muscled wannabe who’d wandered into a hotbed of hunky gay men. I made myself keep walking toward the bar. I was there. No sense chickening out now.

I noticed the bar wasn’t a perfect circle as I got closer. It was squared off at the shorter sides closer to the walls and a few nearby high tables. I decided my best bet was to sit in the darker corner to stay under the radar and do a little quiet people-watching. I was there to observe. At least that was what I told myself. The truth was that I had no fucking idea what I was doing.

Miraculously, I found an unoccupied stool and ordered a gin and tonic from a good-looking bartender wearing an extra-snug black T-shirt and tight leather pants. Both of his heavily muscled arms were covered in colored ink. I looked away quickly, not wanting to get caught gawking, but my eyes were drawn to the vibrant color and design. That must have been done over a few years. Wasn’t that shit supposed to hurt?

What was I doing here? I couldn’t have begun to answer my own rhetorical question, so I decided to concentrate on my drink and get the hell out. I didn’t belong. The music was loud, and I recognized the song blaring through the sound system as a Kings of Leon tune I’d heard many times before. The lead singer’s scratchy, seductive vocals with a haunting melody singing about sex, sex, sex seemed like the perfect background music.

“Is that really you?”

I glanced up to see Jack smiling widely at me, his eyes twinkling with merriment. I was completely unprepared for how hot he looked in his “natural environment.” The song couldn’t have been more fitting because the guy literally looked like “sex on fire.” Jack was stunning. Darkly handsome, heavily muscled, and yeah, heavily tattooed. I gulped and looked away for a moment. I was stupidly unprepared for this encounter. And Jack was obviously surprised to find me hiding in a dark corner at his bar on a Saturday night, nursing a gin and tonic while I stole curious, voyeuristic looks at the patrons. I wasn’t sure what to say now that he was standing in front of me.

“Um… hi. Believe it or not, I was in the neighborhood and….”

Jack threw his head back and let out a hearty laugh. His hand was back on my shoulder, but this time maybe he needed the support since he was practically doubled over with mirth.

“What’s so funny?” I narrowed my eyes and gave him my best dirty look. He was decidedly nonplussed.

“You. Welcome to Jack’s, Curtis. I’m glad your khakis didn’t keep you from coming inside. Although I should probably go talk to the bouncers at the front door. We can’t have them letting too many conservative-looking lawyer types in tonight. You’ll upset the balance.” I thought I spied a dimple in his left cheek when he grinned. Damn. I already knew Jack was sexy but the dimple sealed the deal.

“Ha-ha. Well, thanks for the warm welcome. I’m just going to finish my drink and then beat it. Nice seeing you, Jack.”

“Oh no you don’t. Were you coming by to pick me up for the game? You’re a little early, honey,” he teased. Before I could say a word he looked at my drink with concern. “Where is your lime? Tim!” Jack signaled to the bartender, who politely but immediately ended the conversation he was in at the other end of the bar and rush over to do his boss’s bidding. “Hey man, grab my friend a lime. He’s always forgetting he needs a little twist of something, aren’t you, honey?”

Tim gave a quick salute and was back in a flash with a wedge of lime on a tiny plate. Jack thanked him with a wink, and I swear, even in the dimly lit bar, Tim blushed. I turned to observe Jack while he fussed with the lime. His longish dark hair curled almost sweetly around his ears and at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a very snug-fitted dark T-shirt that showcased his bulging biceps and covered a portion of an intricately designed tattoo covering most of his left arm. Without thinking, I reached out almost instinctively to touch the artwork. Even in the darkened bar lighting, it struck me as being exquisite. Jack watched me, bemused, as I traced the pattern of knots and flourished lines.

“Sorry.” I snatched my hand back at the warm feel of his flesh under my fingertips. What was wrong with me?

“Don’t be. I don’t mind.”

“It’s cool. Almost pretty.” I couldn’t think of any other word for the swirling design. Pretty seemed to fit.

“I like it. It’s a tribal design.”

“Is it a… like a sleeve or something?” I wasn’t sure of the terminology but I really was interested.

“Half-sleeve. Actually it’s closer to three quarters now. Just from here to about here.” Jack pointed from the beginnings of the design halfway up his forearm to an area above his shoulder covered by his shirt.

“It’s cool.” Lame. Sitting at his hip leather-clad bar surrounded by muscular, hunky men in my khakis and that was the best I could do. At least I hadn’t ordered a soft drink to totally give away my geek status. I turned my attention back to my cocktail.

“Sooo….”

“What?”

“What are you really doing here?” Tim the bartender set a glass in front of Jack, who wordlessly tipped his head in thanks. Jack kept his eyes on me, and I found the attention very disconcerting.

“I had a date,” I admitted. I chuckled at the funny expression on Jack’s face. I didn’t know him well enough to understand what he was trying to convey, but I appreciated his attempt at humor.

“Where’s the lucky guy? Don’t tell me he took one look at your khakis and?—”

“Oh shut up. He was wearing khakis too!”

“Of course he was. Was he a lawyer too?” Jack was clearly enjoying himself at my expense, but it was an easy banter. Not really meant to offend.

“No, he’s in advertising, smart-ass. It was our first….” I felt a little self-conscious with no real cause.

“First what? Fight? Is that why you’re here?”

“Our first date! I hardly know him. How could we be fighting already?”

“You’d be surprised.” I watched Jack’s throat as he paused to take a quick drink. “How did it go? You going out with him again?”

“It went well. I think.”

“You think?” Jack’s expressive eyebrows shot straight toward his hairline. I laughed again at the silly look on his handsome face. “Couldn’t you tell? Obviously you didn’t make it back to one of your places for some hot, kinky man-sex… or maybe you got each other off in the bathroom of a posh restaurant? That sounds kinda hot. Did you?”

“Are you done?”

“Done what?”

“Teasing me? You really think I’d do that? Have sex with a stranger in a bathroom? Fuck, I’m twenty-eight, not eighteen. Although, I don’t think I would have done it ten years ago, either.” I stopped and looked over at Jack. “Would you? Never mind, I don’t want to know.” I snapped my head forward, suddenly embarrassed all over again.

“Yeah, you do. And the answer is hell yes.” I glanced back at him, noting he looked like a pirate now more than ever. Dangerous and proud.

“Misspent youth?”

“Who said anything about misspent anything? Granted, I did some stupid things growing up, but sex wasn’t one of them. And I was never too particular about the venue. As long as you play safe… bathroom, backseat of a car, alley… who cares? I’m not sure I told you this the other night, but sex is one of my favorite things, Curtis.”

All I could hear was that damn song in the background.

“Really?”

“Really what?”

I noticed he kept doing that thing where I’d say something and he’d throw it back at me. I think it was meant to make me squirm a little at his uncomfortable topic choices. Normally, I wouldn’t shy away from discussing sex. It was one of my favorite things too. My problem was I didn’t get enough of it. Sex, that is. Discussion was okay, but he was being purposefully irreverent with the sole object being my discomfort. Asshole.

“Sex is awesome, I absolutely agree, but do you really want it in a bathroom, car, or alley? Aren’t you a little old for that?”

Jack’s grin practically split his face in two. His eyes sparkled as if he’d just heard the funniest joke ever. Finally, he gave in and laughed. At me, not with me.

“What is so funny?” I asked again.

“Curtis, you are a peculiar guy.” He turned and faced me, making sure he was the only person in my line of vision. No distractions. “For the record, let me be clear. In the immortal words of Dr. Seuss, ‘I would do it in the rain, I would do it in the dark or on a train, in a car or in a tree. It is so good so good, you see. Yep, I would do it in the bathroom, in the backseat or hell, the front seat or a darkened alley. I would do it here or there. In fact, it’s safe to say… I would do it anywhere.’” He winked at me. “And I am talking about sex, not green eggs and ham, sweetheart.”

I stared at his twinkling blue eyes, now fused with something akin to desire, and swallowed hard as my cock hardened noticeably in my khakis. Sitting still was suddenly difficult.

“That was impressive. Dirty, but impressive. I don’t think Dr. Seuss would ever have thought of green eggs and ham along the same lines, but who knows? And by the way, you forgot the box, the fox, the house, and the mouse.”

“Oh you’re right. Well, same goes for the box and the house, but the animals are out.” We both laughed at his silly humor.

“So you’re a Dr. Seuss fan?” Idle chat about a children’s author would surely shift the conversation away from sex.

“I have a niece and a nephew. Two and four. They love those books.”

It struck me as unbelievably sexy that this motorcycle-riding, leather-wearing, tattooed hottie could quote Dr. Seuss—well, give artistic license to his work—because he read it to his sister’s kids. Sexy as hell and very sweet too.

“It’s funny that they’re reading the same books I remember loving as a kid,” I said, sounding strangely wistful.

“I know what you mean. Believe it or not, those were favorites of mine way back when. You know, in the olden days before cell phones and, damn, remote-controlled television and computers.” Jack shook his head, his comical expression inviting me to share the joke.

“You’re not that old,” I protested. “You’re older than me, I guess, but….” I let my sentence hang, hoping he’d fill in the blanks without me having to ask. He didn’t disappoint.

“I’m forty-two. Fourteen years older than you. Practically an old man.” His grin was mischievous and filled with humor.

“Forty-two. Geez, I guess you are old, then,” I teased.

He threw his head back laughing and flipped me off with a subtle turn of his wrist. I chuckled in spite of myself. Jack was charming. No two ways about it. Maybe it was the disarming combination of his hunky good looks and his self-deprecating playfulness. I couldn’t say, but I found myself very pleased to be in his company again.

“How old was your date?”

Huh? My date? I scrambled for a moment trying to refocus.

“For Christ’s sake, Curt! So you didn’t fuck the guy… can’t you remember anything about him? What was his name? If all you can remember was that he wore khakis and had a good job, he sounds boring already.”

I knew he was goading me but I was dumb enough to take the bait.

“Shut up. His name is Paul. He’s good-looking, British”—I raised my eyebrows appreciatively, letting Jack know I had a thing for accents—“loves jazz music, and drives an Audi.” I gave him a “so there” look reminiscent of a kid blowing raspberries as I picked up my glass and took a drink.

“How big was his dick?”

Gin and tonic sprayed the bar in front of me as I sputtered and choked in an effort to reclaim some shred of dignity. A glance at my barmate smiling widely told me he knew he had me. Asshole.

“I don’t know.” I sounded like a prim schoolteacher. “I told you I just met the guy. What is with you?”

Jack was unperturbed with my irritated tone. He gave me that lopsided, almost-innocent grin.

“How many of these so-called dates do you have to go on before you get to the fun stuff? And don’t bite my head off… I’m just curious.”

“Stop, all right? Things like ‘the fun stuff’ happens when it happens.” I wasn’t sure if I was making any sense now. Jack had me flustered all over again. “All I know is, well….” I searched for the right word to express what I felt about my date with Paul. “He was nice.”

“Code for boring.”

“You sound like Aaron.”

“Oh puh-leeze. Anyone will tell you the same thing. Tim!” Tim the bartender instantly appeared, looking like a puppy anxious to please his master.

“Yeah, boss?”

“If some guy tells you he went out with a guy and described him as being ‘nice.’ What does that mean to you?”

“Dull, bland, blah, you know… boring.”

“Thanks, Tim.”

I gave Tim a wan smile and flashed a dirty look at Jack.

“He wasn’t boring.” I couldn’t figure out why I was defending Paul so adamantly.

“Okay, whatever you say. I believe you,” Jack said in a placating tone. “You goin’ out with him again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.” Jack rolled his eyes at my tepid response. “Truthfully, it was my first date in a while.” I shrugged, feeling slightly embarrassed by my admission, and I didn’t have a clue how I was supposed to qualify the baseball game Jack and I were going to the next day. To me it was a date, but maybe not to him.

“Hmm. I can’t remember the last time I went on a date.”

“Really? Why? I mean, when do you think your last date was? Mine was at least three years ago.” I shook my head, thinking the gin must be strong. “Pathetic. I can’t believe I just told you that.”

“Why not? I told you I can’t even remember my last date. But let me clarify. By date, I’m talkin’ go out for dinner or the movies, wrangle over who pays for what, kiss, and go home to separate beds. Fuck, it’s been decades.” He paused and shook his head dramatically before adding, “I hope.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? No. Don’t tell me. You said you were single a couple weeks ago, but were you in a long-term relationship? Did you break up with someone recently?”

Jack eyed me thoughtfully before answering.

“Not all that recent anymore. My last so-called relationship was over two years ago.”

“Hmm.” Almost as bad as my three-year stint, I thought.

Jack shot me a sharp look. “Why do I get the feeling you’re confusing dates with sex? I haven’t done much of the former but I’ve had plenty of the latter in the past couple of years.” Jack’s smile was lusty and challenging. He was definitely trying to keep me off-balance and was doing a fine job of it.

“Uh….” My elbow slipped off the bar as another patron sidled close in an effort to get Tim’s attention.

“Come on. It’s getting crowded. Follow me.”

Jack stood abruptly and firmly took hold of my upper arm before slipping his hand in mine, guiding me through the tight confines of the overcrowded bar. While we were talking the floodgates had certainly opened, and I found myself surrounded by men.

I admired Jack’s broad, muscular form as he expertly made his way through the press of bodies toward a small flight of stairs. He was hailed a few times and waved a friendly greeting in turn, but he kept hold of my hand, and I’d never been more aware of a man’s hand in my own. Well, not since we’d walked hand in hand to his motorcycle after the wedding a couple weeks ago.

The landing at the top of the stairs seemed to serve as a viewpoint to check out the action below and escape the press of bodies. There were a few ottoman-style leather benches against the back wall, but the steel-and-wire balcony was obstacle-free. There was a couple making out on one of the benches; otherwise we had the space to ourselves.

“What do you think?” Jack stopped at the railing and let go of my hand as he peered down at the revelers below.

I leaned on the rail but turned to face Jack. Once again my imagination conjured him as a pirate or a ship’s captain overseeing his crew as he checked out the action. My inner desire to romanticize him was weird. I wondered why my head kept going there.

“It’s cool.” Jack flashed me a bemused look. I really needed to work on my repertoire of adjectives. “I mean… don’t take this the wrong way, but….”

“Oh boy. This oughta be good. Yes?” Jack folded his muscled arms over his impressive chest and waited for me to continue.

“Well, it’s just that… well, it seems like a lot of the other bars I’ve been to. Don’t get me wrong. I like it. In fact, I love the space and the contemporary-club vibe. I guess I thought there would be a different kind of element at work here, you know?”

Jack didn’t respond right away, so I looked over at him, wondering if I’d insulted him. I hadn’t meant to. The truth was that I like his place much better than I would have thought.

“What element would that be, exactly?” Jack’s voice was dripping with challenge. The question was posed in an almost uninterested tone, but I knew he was all ears.

“I don’t know. I guess the last time I was here, I was in and out so fast… well, my impression was there was more leather and, you know”—I shrugged like I talked about this stuff all the time—“more bondage types. Guys in harnesses and that sort of thing.”

I was looking down at the scene below. I expected Jack to comment, to tell me the crazy bondage-sex stuff came later, but he didn’t say a word. He wasn’t silent for long, though. His slow chuckle was just a buildup to a guffaw. He threw his head back as he held on to the steel railing and laughed as though I’d told him the funniest joke ever.

“What is so damn funny?”

“I… I’m not laugh—” He tried valiantly to get himself under control before he continued. “I’m not laughing at you. Okay, fine. I am. But, honey… bondage? Where did you get that idea?”

“Well, everyone is wearing leather and?—”

“You don’t get out much, do you?”

“Fuck off. I know I’m not wrong to associate leather with bondage… so enlighten me, asshole. Why am I totally off base assuming that a guy like you who wears leather, is covered in tattoos, and even rides a motorcycle would also be interested in sadomasochistic stuff?”

“You have to be kidding. You’re telling me you can take one look at someone and, based on what they’re wearing, you know how they like it in the bedroom?” His expression now was incredulous.

“Didn’t you suggest the same thing when you made fun of my khakis?” I countered. The lawyer in me loved the chagrined expression on his face. Score one for the defense.

“Fine. You’re right. I did and I apologize. For all I know you might have a sex swing in your bedroom and a hankering for getting tied up. With or without your khakis on.”

“Ha fucking ha.”

Jack chuckled and nudged me playfully in the side. “I’m just messin’ with you. I’m sorry I laughed.” He choked and muttered, “Not really,” loud enough for me to know he was still teasing me, but I let it slide.

“Enlighten me. I don’t understand why anyone would want to wear leather. It’s sweaty and uncomfortable.”

“To each his own. This isn’t a sex club or sex bar, though, and if you look closely, you’ll see that not everyone is wearing leather, nor are they all gym rats. See”—Jack pointed to a group of skinny guys dressed in jeans, standing around a pool table—“and not that I paid too much attention, but the guys behind us with their tongues down each other’s throats aren’t wearing leather, either. I think, my friend, it is safe to suggest you walked in here with preconceived notions. What else do you think you know?”

I studied Jack’s strong, handsome profile for a moment, deciding to ignore his question, though his observation about my preconceived notions was astute.

“How did you come to own a ‘leather bar,’ anyway?”

“That was cute.”

“What?”

“That little air-quote thing you just did.”

“Cute? Whatever. Answer my question. Or is it personal?” It occurred to me I felt oddly comfortable in Jack’s company and was probably guilty of being a touch overly familiar.

“No, it’s not personal. I worked as a bartender fresh out of high school. I was green as could be but I looked a mite older than I was. Either that or they were desperate, come to think of it. One week I was moppin’ the floor and the next I was mixin’ cocktails. They were pure shit at first, so I studied up ’til I was decent at it and became the best damn barman around. That first bar I worked at was a true hole-in-the-wall catering to motorcycle men. Gay ones. It was my eighteen-year-old self’s personal idea of heaven. I was hooked.”

“When did you buy this place?”

“I guess it was about four years ago now. I was co-owner at another club before this one, and when everyone wanted to sell, I took my part of the profit and bought this place. That last place was called Level. You heard of it?”

Who hadn’t? It had been a very hip club in the Dupont area. One of those über bars where there was so much stimuli between the bar, restaurant, and club that you never felt the need to move on. I nodded briefly and Jack smiled slightly. “Huh, I wonder if I ever saw you there.”

“Could have. I liked that place. Why did your partners want to sell? That place was popular.”

“Yeah. I was bummed about it at first. I thought about just trying to buy Peter out, but…”

“Peter? Like Jay and Peter? That Peter?”

“Yeah, that Peter.” Jack raised his eyebrows at my tone. I sounded a little too inquisitive but I couldn’t help it. I was strangely interested about what type of relationship he and the equally god-like, beautiful Peter had had. They were both stunning masculine specimens. No doubt they had made a gorgeous couple when they were together.

“You were together for a while, right?” I prodded.

“You mean like… ‘we dated’?” Jack teased, using air-quotes for good measure.

“Well….”

“Yeah, Curt. We dated. But basically the truth of the matter is that we really didn’t do much of the dinner-sort of dating you and the accountant did earlier. We mostly just fucked.”

I knew Jack was being purposefully provocative, and it was working. I should have been disgusted or maybe irritated by his manner. Instead I was really fucking turned-on. His use of the word fuck sounded like the deed itself. I could feel my cock swell again and I was glad I wasn’t wearing tight jeans like I normally would at a bar. I swallowed hard and turned to face Jack straight on. The wicked look was back, his blue eyes blazing with decadent challenge. I felt a very strong pull. This man was all kinds of trouble.

“He isn’t an accountant. He’s in marketing,” I mumbled.

Jack laughed heartily, his expressive eyes crinkling at the corners. He might have had fourteen years on me, but time had been very kind to him. He was certainly one of the sexiest men I’d ever met. I had been intimidated by his beauty and his larger-than-life persona when I’d met him at Peter and Jay’s wedding. The same overwhelming feeling came over me as I felt him move beside me and found him completely invading my personal space. His tattooed arm brushed against me, and delicious heat seemed to emanate from his body. I was rooted to the floor, powerless to stop him from doing whatever he wanted, while really hoping he wanted to do something.

“Look at me,” he commanded.

I gulped once but obeyed. Jack slid closer to me still. I could feel his warm breath on my lips. I licked my own in anticipation. Jack groaned deeply and fused his mouth over mine. It felt more like possession than a kiss as he brought his arms around me and pulled my body flush with his, softening the kiss with gentle strokes of his tongue. I thought I heard myself whimper but I couldn’t care one way or the other. Being held securely in Jack’s arms as he devoured my mouth was dangerously intoxicating. But it felt natural and right.

I returned his kiss with fervor, moving my own arms around Jack’s slim waist and up his broad back, delighting in the feel of his muscled body close to mine. I moved my hands down and rested them for a moment over his belt loop before giving in to impulse and dipping them lower to rest on his gorgeous leather-clad ass. Jack moaned into my mouth and pulled my body up hard against him, letting his hands roam over my back and down my sides before finally cupping my ass and grinding our pelvises together. I gasped at the feel of his hard cock against mine. There may have been a layer or two of clothing between us, but it felt like pure sex. Lusty and decadent.

Jack nibbled at my lips, nipped my chin, and licked a trail along my jawline and down my neck. I could barely breathe through the waves of desire. I wanted more. More friction, less clothing. But some semblance of sanity caught up with me as my body demanded a steady intake of oxygen. I pushed slightly at Jack’s chest and felt him pull back and kiss my nose sweetly before he stepped back. That one little gesture had me practically swooning. Don’t get me wrong, his tongue down my throat was amazing, but that endearing, sentimental token of affection was enough to throw me off my game completely.

“I should go.” I closed my eyes briefly and tried to pull myself together. Jack didn’t say a word. He nodded once and dropped his hand from my arm.

“Need a ride? I have my bike out back. I’ll even let you wear my helmet.” Jack’s eyes twinkled again with humor, and I was more than a little grateful he somehow knew exactly how to right the balance between us with his teasing. My tongue was still tied, and my heart was definitely beating at an accelerated rate, but he’d figured out how to set me at ease. This didn’t have to end awkwardly, and I didn’t need to panic.

“Thanks, but the lawyer in me really would have to insist we were both protected this time.”

“I think you mean the control freak in you,” he countered. I shrugged. What could I say? He was right. I was a total control freak.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at twelve thirty.”

It took me a moment to remember what he was talking about. I just liked the part about seeing me tomorrow and didn’t give a shit why.

“The game? Damn, boy, don’t tell me your date with that ‘nice’ guy made you forget about me so soon?” His taunt had no bite to it.

“Right. Yes. Okay.” I bit my swollen bottom lip and stared at Jack’s generous mouth.

“Curt, honey?”

“I’m going.” I snapped to attention and turned toward the short set of stairs leading back to the bar and the exit beyond. I didn’t dare turn around. I could feel Jack watching me. Over my head and way the hell out of my league maybe, but I couldn’t care less.