Chapter 3
3
O n the train ride back to DC the following afternoon, I stared at my cell wondering how soon was too soon to contact Seth. It was Friday. Should I wait till Sunday or give in to impulse and—fuck it. Heading home now. Call me this weekend. Paul. I pushed Send.
The text message was fairly tame, but I’d labored over it like I was rewriting the last bloody line of War and Peace . It was friendly but not overbearing. At least I thought so. I wouldn’t be offended if he didn’t call right away, but I hoped to hear from him by early next week. Actually, that was a lie. What I really wanted was for him to call me immediately and tell me he couldn’t stop thinking about last night either.
I had to laugh. Twenty-four hours ago the knowledge he was boarding the same train irritated me. I’d loathed the idea of making small talk with someone I didn’t care to see again in this lifetime. I’d thought he was self-absorbed and rude but now I couldn’t stop thinking about him. His smile, the arrogant mannerisms he tempered with humor and confidence. He was intelligent, gorgeous, and seemingly driven by his personal quest for artistic excellence. I longed to see his work and get a better glimpse into his beautiful mind. But more than anything, I wanted to be with him. Naked, writhing.
Once wasn’t nearly enough.
I pocketed my phone with a sigh. He’d call when he could.
Except he didn’t. The weekend passed in a boring blur. I stayed busy but I couldn’t say what I’d done exactly. I went to the gym, worked from my home office, and even stopped by one of my favorite jazz bars on M Street. It was pleasant, but it didn’t keep me from thinking about Seth. Or incessantly checking my phone.
By Sunday evening, I was thinking a text message wasn’t enough. A voice message would be better. More personal. And Monday around noon was the perfect time. I would call him when—my phone rang and startled me from my reverie. I scrambled to sit up and answered it without looking at the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Hey, I heard you were back in town. Were you planning on calling me or were you going to let Aaron tell me all about your trip?”
“Um….”
A familiar voice chuckled on the other end of the line. “It’s Curt. Remember me?”
I smiled at his put-upon tone. “Don’t be daft. I’ve had a whirlwind couple of weeks trying to get back to some state of normal. I’m not certain I’m there yet. How are you? How is your sexy boyfriend? I would have called you first but I was afraid he might think I was out of line and kick my arse. I thought I should get my footing on American soil before I chanced it.”
Curt chuckled. “You’re safe. Jack knows we’re just friends.”
“You’re sure? The last time I showed up at his bar he looked like he was tempted to throw me to the curb. Literally.” The inside joke was one I occasionally tossed out to needle Curt. The first time Jack and I were introduced, it was clear he wasn’t interested in striking up a friendship with his lover’s former coffee date turned friend. Thankfully we eventually got there. I shoved my hand through my hair and looked for the remote control. I changed the channel on the flat screen and lay back on my sofa.
“That was more than two years ago, idiot. I’m sure. In fact, I’m so sure that I’m inviting you on a date.”
Silence.
Curt cackled into the phone. “I didn’t mean it the way I—one of my clients gave me tickets for a jazz concert next month. There are four of them. Jack and me and you and a date. Or just you. Interested?”
“Hmm. I’d say yes but I’m afraid you’re going to try to pull an Aaron and set me up with someone. There’s no chance you’ll convince me Jack wants to spend an evening with you and a third wheel. Why not ask Matt and Aaron?”
Curt laughed. I could almost see his brown eyes twinkle. I hadn’t seen him in over two months. It was good to hear his voice. I was grateful we’d been able to move on from potential lovers to friends without any awkward adjustments.
“Aaron’s on a mission to make their dream wedding happen in October, so he’s?—”
“Bridezilla?” I offered.
“Not exactly. Yet. But they’re busy making plans and I think they’re out of town that Saturday.”
“Now the truth comes out. I’m your third or fourth option!”
“Not at all, idiot. When it comes to anything featuring a jazz horn flute, you’re the man!”
“I’m touched. And I’d love to go. When is it?”
“Four weeks. Plenty of time to rustle up a date or… have Aaron help you find one. He told us his last attempt to set you up didn’t go well. Knowing him he’ll want to rectify his error. Count on him coming up with another candidate soon.”
I groaned on cue. He was right. I supposed I could have assured him the coffee date wasn’t completely awful, but I wasn’t ready to share recent events with Seth or talk about him at all really. It felt too personal. Special even. I steered the conversation away from myself and asked about him.
“Same ol’. No big changes.”
“Meaning you haven’t set a wedding date?”
He snickered appreciatively. “No. Maybe someday, but we’re—oh wait. Jack just walked in. I’ll ask him.” I could hear a door close through the phone connection and a whispered greeting before Curt loudly asked his boyfriend, “Paul wants to know when you’re going to ask me to marry you.”
I sputtered indignantly. “I di—I did no such thing!”
I heard a hearty guffaw on the other end and the telltale sound of a kiss. “I’m glad you’ve had a good laugh at my expense. Cheers.”
“No, hang on. Come by the bar this week after work. How ’bout Thursday?”
“I’m out of town but?—”
“I thought you weren’t traveling as much. Come when you can.”
“Hmm. Do I have to unpack my leather pants? I think I owned a pair once upon a time.”
“Nah. Wear khakis like me. We can hide in the corner sipping gin while we ogle all the hot bare-chested hunks and the sexy guy behind the bar. What do you say?”
I laughed, appreciating his silly brand of self-deprecating humor. “Sounds like a plan.”
I stared at the phone for a second. Fuck it. Maybe it was listening to the homey background noises coming from Curt’s end, the rustling of paper, and a man’s low voice. Or maybe it was the silence on my own side. I only knew I didn’t want to wait till Monday to call Seth.
“Hello. It’s Paul. I sent you a text mess—um look, call me when you get a chance. I’m home tonight or well, whenever works too. It was good seeing you in Baltimore. A nice surprise. Cheers.”
I winced at my nerve-wracked tone, but I was glad I’d called. Now the ball was officially in his court.
He didn’t call. Or text. Nothing. By Wednesday I admit I was tempted to reach out to him again, but my pride stopped me. By the following Wednesday, I was glad it had and I was more than a little pissed at myself for being truly disappointed. I was a grown man. I’d been around long enough to know when I was being given a not-so-subtle brush-off. Our one-night stand in a Baltimore hotel room was just that. One night only. Once I got past feeling a bit chagrined, I was angry. At myself as well as him.
Always go with your initial instinct. First impressions count , I reminded myself as I slumped in my office chair and stared at my computer. I thought he was a prick after our “date” and evidently I’d been correct. A glimmer of my charitable side surfaced and wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was injured or lost his phone or had a family emergency. No. He was just a prick and I was a fool for wasting the better part of almost two weeks pining after someone who wasn’t bloody interested in the first place.
“Mr. Fallon, you have a call on line one.”
I sat forward and rested my elbows on my glass-topped desk. “Thanks, Kerri. Who?—”
I sighed irritably when my phone buzzed. “Paul Fallon.”
“Hi there! It’s Aaron. Quick question. Do you have a sec? It’s about the models for the Burberry spread.”
“Sure. What can I help you with?” I flipped through the pages of a new portfolio as I listened to his concerns about the proportions in the layout.
“I need to retake one of the photos. It’s a crucial one so I can’t just leave it out. There are three styles of raincoats on five models but one of the models is positively buried in this coat. He’s too skinny to wear it and?—”
“I hate to state the obvious, but use a smaller size coat.”
“That’s what I mean about proportion. I may sound like a diva assistant art director but I want to reshoot it with a broad-shouldered model. Seth was supposed to be in that shot and I think his absence was the issue. It just doesn’t work without him. Supposedly he’s back from whatever made him flake out last week. His agent promised to call me in the morning to confirm. If I have it redone Monday we should still make the deadline and?—”
“Seth.”
“Yeah, the tall hunky model with the long ha—your coffee date, silly. The guy you hated. Sorry, but he’s extraordinarily photogenic and bus?—”
“No, of course you sh—what do you mean he flaked out last week? I’m… curious.”
“Well, at first I thought his agency had double-booked him, but they’re very reputable so I bet it was personal. I heard he’s back with his ex. Who knows? Maybe he just had a hard time getting out of bed last week.” Aaron snorted. “Sorry for the major hookup fail. Matty’s always telling me to give it a rest, but you never know….”
He was still talking but I couldn’t hear anything after “back with his ex.” An odd buzzing noise reverberated in my skull. My shoulders felt heavy with something akin to defeat and the knot in my stomach made me instantly regret ordering a hamburger at lunch. I was a bigger fool than I thought. I closed my eyes for half a second and made an effort to refocus on the conversation. I had a job to do.
“Don’t worry, Aaron. I trust you’ll make the appropriate corrections. Is there anything else?”
“Uh no. Are you okay? Your voice got kinda weird.”
“Weird?” I gave a humorless chuckle and turned my chair toward my laptop. I had a staff meeting to prepare for in ten minutes. I refused to waste any more time thinking about a photo shoot Seth Landau may or may not be in.
“More English. Your accent is pretty light most of the time… unless you get angry or?—”
“I’m not angry in the slightest, but I do have to hang up. I’ve a meeting shortly and?—”
“No problem. I’ll get back to you next week with proofs and—you know, there’s this new guy in Matt’s office. He’s a lawyer, midthirties, good-looking.”
I threw my head back and sighed dramatically. “Aaron. Really.”
“I’ll take that as a maybe. Talk to you later!”
I hung up the phone and stared unseeingly at my computer screen. It was time to gather my pride and move on. Lesson learned. No more one-night stands and absolutely no more artists.
A slow, steady funk settled over my mood after Aaron dropped the Seth boyfriend bomb. As my American friends were given to say, “shit happens.” Live and learn. I suppose I was more bothered by the fact I had a type I couldn’t shake. And it was invariably the sort of man who was looking for a muse. An inspiration or a diversion until a better source of inspiration took their fancy.
I came by it naturally I supposed. My father was a painter, my mother was his muse. As an only child, I’d witnessed their odd synchrony and wondered at times how they could stand each other. David Fallon was alternately charming and extraordinarily engaging, then cool and aloof. His mood swings were challenging. My mother simply accepted his mercurial shifts as though it were a change in tide. Sometimes high, sometimes low. It was up to us to adjust. And we did. I followed her lead and never thought twice about it. Until I went away to school. I was a sensitive enough child to recognize the sympathetic tones and glances thrown my way when my parents were too involved to visit for a holiday. It wasn’t until I was invited to my schoolmates homes that I caught on my parents were nothing like my friends’. Theirs were “normal.” They lived in beautifully appointed estates in the country and had smart flats in London. They were polished and posh. Intelligent and socially savvy. My parents were… eccentric.
Sure, we lived in a lovely countryside home, an old stoned ivy-covered cottage that once belonged to a vicar à la Jane Austen. It was a bit drafty in the winter and tended to be a tad unkempt. But it wasn’t for lack of money. It was simply not as important as the one thing that mattered most to David and Harriet Fallon. Art.
The carriage house adjacent to the main house was where my father worked. It had been transformed into a studio most artists would eye with keen jealousy. There were refurbished wood floors and tall windows to let in ample natural light. And with a small bedroom, bath, and kitchen space, my father had no reason to join us in the main house unless he chose to. He rarely did. My mother spent a great deal of time at work or in the carriage house, and I was left alone.
I didn’t mind. There was always plenty of food. A cook came by to take care of that basic necessity. She was a friendly enough woman who would chat with me while she prepared amazing concoctions, but she couldn’t help muttering loudly under her breath about the desperate need for a full-time housekeeper and a playmate for poor Paul. I would shrug and stick my fingers happily in the pudding bowl, scraping the sides as I tuned her out.
My world was different. My parents were fine enough when they were around and I didn’t mind being alone. It gave me time to dream about the places I wanted to travel to and the grand sights I hoped to see someday.
And I had the whole house to listen to music with absolutely no one pleading with me to turn that bloody racket down. I discovered rhythm and blues in my early teens when I was away at school, but it was jazz I fell in love with. I could listen to John Coltrane, Miles Davis, and Charlie Parker over and over. It was funny really. I was an English teenager who sat in his room dreaming of a time when I could finally move across the pond and feel the pulse of that music in the gritty city streets of America.
Real life has a habit of delaying dreams. Once I finished university, I turned my focus to establishing a career. One of my internships was for a small advertisement firm based in London. I liked the creative energy and found I was a natural at copywriting and visualizing marketing strategies. I was hired on at an elite London-based agency when I was twenty-four, and suddenly my world opened.
I had a gorgeous older boyfriend and traveled all over Europe and the US for work. When I was thirty, I no longer had the boyfriend… thank God, but I finally had the opportunity to make the permanent move I’d dreamed of as a teenager. It had been five years since I’d moved to DC, and I had no plans to return to Britain to do anything more than occasionally visit my parents or attend to business. My home was here now.
However, at age thirty-five I had to admit it would be nice to share my life with someone. My career was on the right track. I had a beautiful townhome in Georgetown and had traveled the globe and back again. It was a nice life but it was a little… lonely. If I could change the one quirk in my personality that drew me time and time again to crazy artistic men with beautiful but difficult minds, I just might get lucky. I didn’t think I was entirely a hopeless case.
As I stepped through the doors of the National Gallery of Art and immediately made eye contact with a young man dressed from head to toe in black with a notebook tucked under his arm, I realized I might just be doomed. Maybe I should take Aaron up on his offer to introduce me to Matt’s lawyer friend. A doctor, lawyer, or hell, even a politician would be—I chuckled to myself and shook my head. No politicians. They were crazy too.
I smiled distractedly at the good-looking man, then made my way through the West Building’s main floor to view the new Caillebotte exhibit. It was a Saturday afternoon in early May. The weather outside was crisp and cloudy, which in my mind made it a perfect museum day. I’d been to the gym, worked at home, and even called my mother who sounded distracted as usual. The conversation was short and sweet.
I figured I could meander about the gallery for a couple of hours and later tonight swing by Jack’s bar in Dupont. Curt sent me a text message earlier saying he’d be there around eight. He added something about making sure I dressed in khakis, but since I usually did, I sent him a photo of a man in leather chaps and wrote, my outfit tonight .
LOL. Looking forward to seeing the guys drool over your ass, oops, I mean your chaps. Meet me in the corner.
So I had a plan. A means to get through the day without thinking about Seth or obsessing about meeting someone more appropriate. Perfect. I brushed past a crowd of tourists stopping to take selfies in front of major works of art. I waited until they filed out of the large gallery space and followed one of the museum’s tour leaders to the next exhibit. The room felt warmer than normal, I mused as I pushed at my shirt sleeves and made my way to the first painting by Gustave Caillebotte called Skiffs .
I noted the muted colors of the muddy green river juxtaposed to the golden oars and perfect balance of each skiff in the water. It was lovely. Peaceful. I leaned in to get a better look at the brush stroke when a familiar figure entered the exhibit. My heart skipped a beat and my palms went instantly clammy. The warm room was suddenly stifling. I pulled at my collar uncomfortably and willed myself to relax. I didn’t have to say a word. I could leave undetected. No problem.
Except, I was here first. I wasn’t going anywhere, dammit.
I tried to focus on the art, but I was too aware of my surroundings now. The soft chatter of a couple speaking in French next to me and the sight of a museum security guard standing vigil near the entry. I closed my eyes for a second, hoping I’d open them and Seth would magically vanish.
No such luck.
“Paul. Hey. I… um… how’s it going?”
I glanced over to give my best “fuck yourself” look. I’d perfected it over the years with a slight tilt of my nose to let the recipient know I thought they were pure shit. It was generally effective, but I ruined it by stopping short to study the man beside me.
“What happened to your eye?”
Seth let out a short, humorless huff and turned to face me. His hair was dyed black, which gave his angular face a ghostly pallor. If it hadn’t been for the purplish yellow hue under his right eye, I might have thought he’d come directly from a photo shoot. He looked gorgeous, but obviously something was amiss.
“Got in a fight. Long story.”
“Hmph.” I looked back at the painting for a second then moved to the next. Seth set his hand on my elbow and pulled slightly.
“Wait. Don’t—I’m sorry ab?—”
I batted his hand away and spun back to face him. “Don’t apologize. Don’t say anything at all.” I stared at him meaningfully and stepped back. “Good-bye.”
The crowd was thick in front of the adjacent painting, so I moved on to the next. I stood beside a tiny old woman wearing a bright orange rain parka and ruby red lipstick. Colors seemed to blend and twist around me. The stooped, white-haired figure in bright colors, the muted pastels of the impressionist work in front of me, and the figure dressed in black I sensed in my peripheral vision. So much for a peaceful Saturday wandering the hallowed halls of the National Gallery. Maybe next weekend.
“I’m sorry, Paul. I?—”
“I’m not interested. Leave it alone,” I said louder than intended. The old lady gave me a sharp, scolding glance and pursed her lips in disapproval. I muttered my apologies then moved to the next painting.
Of course he followed.
“I got in a fight with my ex and things got out of hand. I did?—”
“Stop. I don’t want to know about your bloody ex or your bloody problems or why you’re a complete and utter flake!” I hissed. A well of anger seemed to swell inside me. I gave him a piercing stare, aware of my clenched fists and pounding heartbeat.
“Whoa. I?—”
“We’re done here. Perhaps there’s another part of the museum you’re interested in seeing,” I whispered loudly.
A small, round man with a horrible comb-over wearing the dark navy garb of a museum employee tossed an irritated glance between us. His pudgy hand was glued to his walkie-talkie as though he recognized he might have to call in reinforcements.
“I’m not going anywhere. I was here first.” His smug grin was the last straw.
“Actually, I was here first.” I cocked my head and stepped toward him. “Stay if you must, but stay away from me.”
He held his hands up in surrender and took a step back. I knew better than to trust him. It was only a matter of time before he spoke and?—
“What do you think of the exhibit?”
I ignored him. Or I tried to. I focused on the rich realism of the next piece. The vibrant colors, the subject matt?—
“These are my favorite. The ones that depict real people doing everyday things. It was scandalous in the late 1800s. Crazy, huh? I love how he used a traditional pastel palette in some works and these lively colors on others. His versatility was impressive and the photographic quality is….”
I moved to the next piece. Leave now, I warned myself. Seth Landau was trouble. He was inscrutable, unreliable, and a complete nuisance.
“Did you know he was strongly influenced by photography? That was high technology back then. It makes you wonder how modern technol?—”
“I’m not interested,” I snapped, turning to find him much closer than I’d thought. “I’ll muddle through the exhibit on my own. Good-bye.”
“You’re mad.” His theatrical sigh echoed through the room. In my agitated state, I was sure every eye was on us. “I’m not good at this stuff but?—”
“Don’t,” I said in a low menacing tone.
“Don’t what? Apologize? I have to. I fucked up. Again. I want to blame Simon but….”
He kept talking. In my mind it was a never-ending chorus to a song I hated blaring on the radio. And every station was playing the same damn tune. I couldn’t change it or silence it and I couldn’t bear to be near him for another second. I pushed through the growing crowd to the next painting and stood by the old woman in colorful clothing, thinking she’d save me somehow from my spiral into madness.
He followed me. And kept talking. “He’s a nightmare I can’t shake. I don’t owe him anything but he’s?—”
“Shh!”
“You’re right. This isn’t the place. Come with me. Let me buy you a coffee or?—”
I leaned into his ear and growled under my breath. “I’m not going anywhere with you. I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“But if I told you?—”
“Fuck off!” I shouted. I could literally feel myself unravel. It was the strangest sensation. A sort of cathartic release of pent-up anger and frustrated exasperation. It felt… good.
Then all hell broke loose. The entire room went still until the little old lady gasped in horror. The museum guard narrowed his beady eyes and pulled out his walkie-talkie, quickly calling for backup. He pocketed the device deftly, then tugged at my sleeve like I was an unruly child who required immediate discipline. The sheer absurdity of being thrown out of my favorite museum left me sputtering and speechless. I felt a deep flush crawl up my skin, undoubtedly making my face bright red with embarrassment. I was mortified.
I swallowed hard and followed the guard, knowing I’d probably made his day. He could brag later about the pretentious Englishman he tossed out on his ass. My jaw was set in a hard angry line and my vision was slightly blurred as I made the walk of shame out of the room.
“You too, sir. You need to leave,” the guard said sternly.
Great. Maybe I should have taken satisfaction I hadn’t been the only one who’d been admonished, but I was more concerned with avoiding Seth if possible. I quickened my pace and made a beeline for the exit. I sidestepped wayward children and leisurely moving tourists carrying umbrellas and did not take a deep breath until I’d made my way outdoors under the grand portico entrance with its giant Greek columns. I started down the steep staircase leading to Madison Drive, but stopped suddenly when the first drops of rain hit me.
Of course it was raining. Perfect. It was exactly what should happen in the movie version of this ridiculous blip in the history of me. Yes, the one and only day I was tossed out of a museum should be on a rainy afternoon when I didn’t have an umbrella with me. There was no way around it. I was going to get wet. My car was parked three blocks away and I really didn’t want to be standing there contemplating my lack of options when Seth popped outside.
“Hey! Paul!”
Too late.
Fuck. I ignored him. Or tried to. I heard him calling my name as I traversed the steep stone steps and turned right up Madison. There was a coffee shop on the corner. I couldn’t block him from following me, but the steady patter of rain didn’t leave me with many alternatives. I had to get out of the rain.
I sprinted up the street only to be stopped at the crosswalk. I pushed the button impatiently and willed myself not to look back.
“Wanna share my umbrella?” asked the now familiar voice behind me.
He didn’t wait for my response before raising the large nylon barrier over my head. The instant relief from the elements was welcome. I kept my eyes forward, pointedly ignoring my rescuer. He chuckled softly as though he were amused at my petulance. I wanted to turn and blast him again, but I held back.
When the light changed, I ducked under the umbrella and walked swiftly to the coffee shop, not bothering to hold the door as I entered the blessedly warm store. I stomped my feet a couple of times, wincing at the condition of my Italian loafers. Thank God they weren’t one of my better pairs, I mused, shaking the moisture from my hair before making my way to the front register to place my order.
I barely glanced at the young girl behind the counter when she began a litany of barista style questions. “Foam or no foam? Room for sugar? I’m sorry, did you say large?”
“Extra-large, light foam, nonfat milk, and no room for sugar.”
“Geez. That’s a mouthful. I’ll have a large coffee. Fill it to the top, please. I got his too.” I was too flustered to be courteous when Seth sidled up next to me standing so close I could smell his musky cologne.
I bit my lip and handed the girl my card. “That’s not necessary,” I snapped.
“Don’t be difficult, Paul,” he muttered nudging me aside.
I sighed in defeat and moved to the far end of the counter to wait for my drink. I felt trapped and frustrated. I looked around the semicrowded shop and noticed a couple of leather chairs and two empty tables in the front. Plenty of room to regroup and wait out the rain for a spell. I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be enjoying any solitude. Seth was determined, and against my better judgment, I was curious. Seth was still chatting with the girl behind the counter when I headed toward one of the window tables.
“Ahh. There you are. Mind if I sit?”
“There are other empty tables,” I snarked, then mumbled my thanks as he handed me a to-go cup.
Seth gave a short laugh and pulled out the chair across from me. “Thanks. You’re too kind.”
I closed my eyes briefly and took a sip of my latte, giving the street scene beyond the rain-streaked window my full attention.
“I have to say… I’ve been kicked out of a couple places but a museum…? That was a first!” He chuckled softly as he settled back into his chair nonchalantly, like he had nothing but time on his hands and nowhere he’d rather be.
This time I didn’t mistake his brashness as an overly familiar American trait. No. This was Seth. He was a force all his own and I was… curious. I studied his newly darkened hair and thought idly that it suited him. I hadn’t thought so initially in the artificial light in the museum, but now I had to admit it looked more natural.
I gave him a grudging huff by way of response and held eye contact. His eyes were lit with ready humor while mine were… resigned. Hell. He wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t going to start another scene. I was mortified by my earlier behavior. Yelling in a museum was so out of character, I could almost believe it hadn’t been me. And sitting across from me was the cause, a beautiful man with a devilish glint in his eye and a nasty bruise discoloring his high cheekbones. Seth Landau was trouble. After this latte, I was staying away.
“Why black?”
“Hair or eye?” He laughed again and sipped his coffee while I observed him. He was wearing a black sweater with a pair of form-fitted designer jeans. He looked good. Very good.
I blushed when he coughed to get my attention letting me know he was aware of my wandering gaze. I snorted derisively and refocused.
“I was referring to your hair. Why did you dye it?”
“It’s my natural color. Like it?” He smiled when I didn’t respond. “Oh, the blond guy has a thing for blonds, eh?”
“I hardly think about a man’s hair color as a basis for attraction.”
“Bullshit. Everyone has a type. Yours is probably blond, blue eyes, tall, and lean. A mirror of you. Am I right?”
“No, you’re wrong. My hair isn’t a true blond any?—”
“So, you dye it?”
“No! I—God, you’re exasperating! I simply meant it’s turned darker as I’ve gotten older. That’s all.”
“Hmm. I had to go dark blond for a summer spread. You know the kind… dudes in suggestive swimwear hanging on each other at the beach while their eyes walk all over a hot chick in a bikini.”
“Eyes don’t walk over people,” I said primly.
Seth laughed, completely unfazed by my less than welcoming attitude. “I s’pose not. Well, I’m known for my dark hair and I’ve got a couple big shoots coming up so I had to take care of it. The color will settle down a bit after a week or so but in the meantime, it offsets this shiner. I’ve got a Goth thing going, ya know?”
“Mmm hmm. Courtesy of your boyfriend?” When he looked like he wanted to argue my semantics, I stopped him with an eye roll and a quick wave. “It’s funny how details like ‘you know, I have a boyfriend’ didn’t register with you as being something I might care to know before….”
“We fucked?”
I pushed away from the table, giving him a searing look I hoped said “fuck you” for me so I wouldn’t embarrass myself in another establishment. “We’re through here. Thanks for the latte. Have a?—”
Seth grabbed my arm and scrambled to stand. “Hey. Stop. I’m sorry. I’ll behave. I prom?—”
“Kindly remove your hand from my jumper,” I hissed.
“Come on. It’s pouring outside, you don’t have an umbrella and—just hear me out. You have every right to be angry and if you never want to see me again, I’ll understand, but let me… try to apologize. Please.”
“Again?” I crossed my arms wincing at the wet feel of cashmere. The last thing I wanted was to head back into the rain. “Fine. Make it good.”
Seth’s smile was blinding. For the first time I noticed a dimple in the middle of his left cheek. It was sexy and sweet and the fact it made my dick stir was not a good sign.
Seth pulled his lips into his mouth and stared at me earnestly. “Paul, I’m more sorry than I can say. I don’t have a boyfriend. I have an ex who won’t take no for an answer. He showed up at my studio the weekend after you and I—we got into a fight. I’m not the kind of guy to back down when things get heated. So when he pushed me… literally pushed me into a table, I pushed back. He punched me. I punched back. He kinda surprised me when he punched me in the face, though.” He gave a humorless huff and pointed at the angry bruise on his cheekbone. “I had a hard time defending myself ’cause I couldn’t fucking see.”
“Jesus. Did you call the authorities?”
“No, I wasn’t exactly innocent. I just wish he’d get the hell out of my life and stay out. Now, he feels terrible about our ‘misunderstanding.’ He calls every day to see how I am. Sends shit like expensive Italian wine and chocolate, like I’m gonna say, ‘Baby, that’s what I’ve been waiting for… an amazing Brunello and some salted dark caramels. Let’s get back together!’” Seth snorted in exasperation. “Fucker.”
“When did you break up?”
“A few months ago. January. We hadn’t been together for all that long. Maybe six months. He’s a painter… from England too, actually. He’s hot as hell but he’s volatile. That’s saying a lot coming from me,” Seth said with a humorless half chuckle. “I’m crazy enough. I can’t deal with a jealous asshole marking me like I’m his property. We fought about the same shit we broke up over.”
“Jealousy?” I prodded, interested in spite of myself.
“Yeah. He came by unannounced and had all these sexy moves. Ha. He couldn’t believe I wasn’t interested. I reminded him we were over and I told him….” He gave me a shy lopsided grin and looked away.
“What did you tell him?”
“I met someone I liked.” He gazed at the white plastic lid of his coffee cup then finally looked up at me. “Paul… I don’t know how to say I’m sorry. Again. But I am.”
“Fine. Apology accepted.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He stared at me like I was speaking a foreign language for a moment and then he smiled. Seth Landau had a lovely smile. It began with the slightest upturn of his full lips, then his eyes sparked before it overtook his entire face. He was radiant and beautiful. But he obviously had the wrong idea if his next words were any indication.
“Thank you. It would be cool to start over. We can?—”
“No.”
“Huh?”
“I said no. I’m not starting anything over with you, Seth. I accept your apology and I harbor no ill will but I’m not interested in pursuing a… liaison.”
“Liaison? Hmm. I think you’re saying no more sex. Am I right?”
“Shh!” I sat up taller in my chair and looked around the now mostly empty coffee shop.
Seth chuckled and leaned forward, whispering loudly, “Sorry.”
“You’re not sorry in the slightest so quit apologizing.”
His smile dimmed. He gave me a sheepish glance and picked up his cup as though needing something to do with his hands. “Look, I know I’ve blown it a couple times with you and the last one probably seemed really bad, but?—”
“Seemed?” I snorted.
“Okay, it was. I was kind of shaken up after the fight with Simon. I’ve never gotten into a fistfight with a boyfriend or ex… ever. Cora, my agent, freaked out when she saw my face. It’s mostly faded now but it was bright purple two days later when I walked into her office. Makeup only takes care of so much and well… her reaction scared me a little. Not about how I looked, but about me. Does that make sense?”
I eyed him carefully wondering where he was going with this. “I’m not sure.”
“I hated what happened and the fact it did said something about me I didn’t like. I felt cheap. And when I heard your message… I froze. I didn’t think we’d wind up in bed together that night but it was amazing.”
I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and looked out the window. The memory of that night was irrevocably tainted now and I didn’t want to be reminded.
“Hey. Paul.” He reached out and tilted my chin to face him. His expression was painfully earnest. “It was special. I left a city I fucking hate going back to with a big stupid smile and I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
“Stop. What’s done is done. I understand. At least to a degree. You were rattled by the confrontation and rendered incapable of calling or typing a bloody text message.” I held up a hand when he sputtered indignantly and furrowed his brow. “Look, I’m not interested in bending my rules of sanity to try to understand yours. I wish you well, Seth, and I’m glad we met… even though you’re responsible for me losing my temper and getting thrown out of a museum, but we have nothing in common. Let’s not waste each other’s time.”
He nodded slowly then let out a deep breath. “Harsh but fair. Fine. We can be friends. Whatdya say?”
“Friends?” I asked incredulously.
“Sure. We’ve run into each other on a train and at a museum in the last couple weeks. It would be cool to have a friendly conversation about… I don’t know, jazz or Chaucer or whatev?—”
“Right. Well the next time we bump into each other, we’ll see.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Seth’s eyes twinkled with humor. He nudged my foot under the table and smiled mischievously. “I have an idea.”
“No.”
Seth chuckled merrily, purposefully ignoring me. “Let’s bust into another Smithsonian Institute museum and see how fast it takes for you to get us thrown out this time. Which one? Air and Space or….” He snapped his fingers and smacked the table decisively. “The Natural History Museum. I fuckin’ love that place. Tyrannosaurus Rex, Pterodactyls….”
Unbelievably, I laughed and somehow felt the anger and disappointment of the past couple of weeks fall away. So he hadn’t turned out to be special. He and I would never be more than friends, but he was charming. I was beginning to think our age difference had something to do with it. I was thirty-five, a little set in my ways and he was?—
“How old are you?”
It was Seth’s turn to laugh. Once he managed to compose himself, he rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. “How old do you think I am?”
“Aaron said he thought you were twenty-seven.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
No wonder, I thought. Maturity was certainly a major factor here. I’d never, repeat never dated someone eleven years my junior. I didn’t have the patience and while I had money in the bank, I was certainly no one’s idea of sugar daddy material. We were doomed from that first awful coffee date. I wasn’t sure why eight years didn’t bother me while eleven seemed too big an obstacle, but it did.
“Hmm.”
“Too young, huh?”
“For me, yes, but?—”
“Okay, then friends it is! The Natural History Museum is practically next door to the National Gallery. C’mon, I’ll even share my umbrella so your jumper doesn’t get soaked,” he teased with a wink, drawing out the word jumper.
I cocked my head to the right and studied his earnest expression, looking for warning signs. But nothing flashed, no sirens blared. I glanced at my watch and thought, why not? Now that I knew my heart would remain intact, I had nothing to lose and a whole Saturday to kill.
“All right. Let’s go.”
The rain had eased into a drizzle. We could have gone without the umbrella but I didn’t argue when Seth popped it open and offered shelter with a wry grin. We made small talk along the way about anything from the state of my leather shoes and damp clothing to his hair. I couldn’t stop looking at him and I was sure it was the darker color that threw me.
“I never would have guessed your hair is naturally raven,” I said stepping around a puddle on the sidewalk.
“It’s not raven. It’s a really dark brown but… yeah.” He gave me a flippant grin as he adjusted his hold on the umbrella.
“It suits you, but I have to say you look very different. More like—what nationality are you?”
“French, English, and Native American.”
“That’s it! Native American.”
“Iroquois on my mom’s side,” he claimed with a proud grin. “I’m guessing you’re one hundred percent British.”
“Good guess.” I didn’t want to talk about my lineage, however, I wanted to hear about him. “Do you belong to a tribe? How does it work?”
“Huh? No. I mean, I think my mom had a card that certified how much Iroquois blood she has because supposedly the government now feels kinda bad they raped our people, pillaged our settlements, and kicked us out of our homeland. I never had one, but maybe I would have if things had gone down differently with my family.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant at first but once I did, I was instantly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to delve into any dark discussion with someone I’d only just let back in my good graces.
But something… perhaps his proximity, the way his upper arm brushed against mine or the scent of his cologne mixed with a faint smell of tobacco… made me ask, “What happened with your family?”
Seth gave me a sideways glance then shrugged. “My dad beat the shit out of me, the great state of Maryland intervened, and I did some time with a couple foster families. The first one sucked or maybe I was a prick. I can’t remember. But the second one saved me.”
I swallowed hard, hoping he’d fast forward to the happier parts of his history. “How?”
“They were… cool. Not overbearing, not condescending, just supportive. Myron and Elodie Davies. I still see them every once in a while. I actually saw them that weekend we were in Baltimore. They’re good people who want to do the right thing. Their oldest son was gay. He killed himself when he was sixteen. Wrote them this letter about being sorry he wasn’t who they wanted him to be and he didn’t want to embarrass them. They were devastated. Completely wrecked and horrified he felt they wouldn’t accept him. So they made it their lives’, I dunno… calling, I guess, to help LGBT teens whose parents really did have a huge problem with their sexuality. Like mine.”
“They sound special.”
“They are. Very special. They’re the type of people who go above and beyond. They talked about college and my future in a way that made me think I might actually have one.” He stopped and pointed up the steep steps leading to the museum. “It’s a gift I can never repay. Their niece is the one who introduced me to a modeling agent when I said I wanted to wait on college. The rest is history. Here we are. Let’s go check out some dinosaurs.”
He started up the steps ahead of me, taking his umbrella with him. Misty sprinkles of rain fell into my eyes, blurring my vision slightly as I stared at his retreating form taking the stairs two at a time like an excited schoolboy. I swiped my hand through my damp hair and grudgingly smiled when he turned at the top and waved. I had no idea what I was doing. This was a very strange day indeed, I mused.
I followed him into the grand rotunda of the Natural History Museum, admiring the ornate three-tiered balcony and generous natural lighting. But it was the enormous stuffed elephant in the middle of the space that screamed for attention. Seth informed me the animal had been dubiously billed the “biggest elephant ever killed by man” in a 1956 issue of Sports Illustrated .
“Fucking criminal,” he grumbled as he led the way through the Hall of Mammals.
As we navigated the throngs of visitors, Seth played the part of tour director and pointed out the artifacts he found most interesting, like the replica of the forty-five-foot North American Right Whale suspended over the main exhibits in the Ocean Hall.
“Is this crazy or what? It’s hard to believe anything living could be so big. It makes you feel pretty damn insignificant.”
Seth’s awed tone made me smile. I nodded in agreement, looking up to study the large creature, though the truth was I found my companion infinitely more interesting. Seth was alternately infused with childlike wonder and something akin to careful nonchalance as we passed though the various exhibits. I could almost envision him as a young boy bouncing excitedly around this very space.
“You seem to know this museum well.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets and stepped aside when a renegade group of munchkins jockeyed for position to check out a giant squid nearby.
“Yeah. I came here a lot as a kid. I was like them,” he said, tilting his head toward the gaggle of youngsters pointing animatedly from one exhibit to the next. “I haven’t been in a while, but every now and then I stop by to get away from it all. This place puts things in perspective for me. I’m just a small human taking up the tiniest fragment of space in the universe. This is my place to get in touch with the innocent part of me. The little kid I used to be who was always filled with wonder. I like the fact I can still look up at a Basilosaurus and think ‘holy fuck, that’s big’ instead of checking my cell for messages or wasting time worrying about things in my grown up life I can’t control.”
“You have a philosopher’s soul.”
He squinted as he turned. “What makes you say that?”
“You draw parallels between life and literature or”—I made a sweeping motion with my hand—“science. You think. Perhaps too hard sometimes, but I would think it translates well in your work as a painter.”
Seth considered me for a moment thoughtfully with his arms crossed. It was a funny thing to be standing in the midst of family bedlam, dodging prams and pint-sized people while discussing philosophy. Funnier still was his serious expression as he contemplated my observation. I made a silly face to break him from his reverie. He smiled and uncrossed his arms, regarding me for another second before finally speaking.
“You know, I’m kinda picky about who sees my work, but—well, if you’re interested….”
“I am,” I replied cautiously.
“Cool. I’ll call you.” He must have seen a hint of skepticism in my expression because he quickly added, “I will. I promise.”
“I suppose this is where I warn you not to make promises you can’t keep but… all right. If you call, I’ll come by.”
His brilliant smile transformed his gorgeous, angular face into something extraordinary. I made myself look away, coughing to cover up the embarrassment of staring a couple of seconds too long. He was a bad idea. Chaotic, untrustworthy, immature… take your pick. Was I really this big of a sucker?
Evidently I was. Because hours after we parted ways, I was still thinking about Seth. The problem was I wasn’t mulling over his brashness and undependability. Or reminding myself to steer clear of him, and perhaps to even change my cell phone number. No. I was picturing the way the light shone on his impossibly dark hair and how his lovely blue eyes twinkled in delight as he shared some of his favorite marvels of the museum. I couldn’t hold on to my anger or my so-called pride. It was a slippery combination of his potent charisma and the sad but true realization I was beyond help.
The only cure was to get out and meet other men.
Jack’s intimidated me. It was a sleek gay bar in Dupont catering to “manly” men. Leather daddies, muscle studs, or tatted motorcycle aficionados. In other words, not my scene. At all. I didn’t own much leather unless my shoes or maybe the leather bomber jacket I’d been given for Christmas six years ago by a lover who obviously hadn’t known me well counted. And while I spent some time in the gym, it was only to maintain some modicum of tone. I simply didn’t have the patience or time required to put any real musculature on my lean frame. Nor was I interested. And I didn’t have a tattoo. Or a motorcycle. If it weren’t for Curt, I would never in a million years agree to meet anyone at Jack’s. Sure, it was a nicer than average, well-appointed pub with antiqued mirrors, leather seating and interesting lighting, but I felt a tad self-conscious in my khaki trousers and button-down Oxford shirt.
I wondered idly if I should invest in a plaid flannel shirt for my occasional visits here as I craned my neck around a six-foot-three tree trunk of a man who was practically as wide as he was tall. He was immoveable. I was going to have to get his attention to pass if I wanted to get to the bar. I tapped on the man’s heavily tattooed bicep and shouted above the din of the music.
“Pardon me.”
The man shifted slightly allowing me enough room to slither by, bumping elbows and shoulders until I reached the circular bar with its tufted leather facade and gorgeous overhead pendants suspended by thick straps of leather. I spotted Curt at a high table off to the side with another man whose back was turned to me. It wasn’t Jack. He was behind the bar chatting with a couple of patrons, wielding a martini shaker like a pro. As I neared the table, I realized the handsome athletic-looking man with dark blond hair was Matt, Aaron’s boyfriend.
“You made it!” Curt called out as I stepped up to the table. “Grab a seat. What do you want to drink? I’m going to ask Jack for another round.”
Curt stood and squeezed my arm affectionately as I greeted Matt with a handshake and took the vacant leather stool next to him. “A vodka martini, up please.”
“Okay. Another beer, Matt?”
“Hmm. One more. Aar’s going to be home soon.” Matt glanced briefly at his cell phone, then smiled over at me as Curt left to place our order. “I haven’t seen you in a while. Curt was just saying you’ve been traveling a lot.”
“Yes, but I’m home now with no plans to travel for a bit. Thank God. Aaron told me your news, by the way. Congratulations.”
Matt grinned widely, his lovely eyes twinkling with genuine happiness. He emitted an infectious aura of joy that made it hard not to respond with a huge smile of my own.
“Thank you. We’re excited. Did he tell you we set the date? October 25. After his majesty’s birthday so there’s no conflict.” Matt chuckled, nodding in mock exasperation at his fiancé’s fussiness.
“Well, a conflict of interest is never a good thing. That’s brilliant. I’m thrilled for you both. Is Aaron meeting you here?” I gave a cursory look around the crowded space and took a moment to acknowledge I couldn’t imagine Jack’s being Aaron’s kind of bar either.
Matt scoffed and shook his head in amusement. “No. I’m going home. Aaron’s been with Jay all day checking out… I don’t know, wedding stuff. He’s got very particular tastes.”
“I know. In fashion, that’s a good quality. And speaking from the advertisement side, I’d say it’s a godsend.”
He smiled in agreement and tipped back the last of the beer in his glass. I studied his strong jaw with a hint of scruff, admiring his casual confidence. I knew Matt through Aaron and Curt. He was laid-back and easygoing, the perfect counterbalance to his excitable fiancé. I supposed Jack was like that for Curt too. He was calm and collected to Curt’s more uptight nature. I twisted slightly on my stool in time to catch a glimpse of the tall, dark, and gorgeous bar owner with his tatted left arm draped around Curt’s waist and his tongue down his throat. I refocused when I realized Matt was talking.
“The only worry is budgeting. Not Aar’s specialty. Or Jay’s. But I’m not ready to ruin their fun yet. I’ll wait and see what the damage is and hope he manages to keep it reasonable.”
“Good luck.”
“Here you go. Keep what reasonable?” Curt set our drinks down and flopped onto his seat like he’d run a marathon. “What’d I miss?”
“Wedding, Aaron, budget. Where’s your drink? Oh hey, and you can take this one for me,” Matt said pushing his empty glass toward Curt.
Curt shot a dirty look at him and reached out as if to obey before pulling back and flipping him off instead. Matt chuckled good-naturedly and raised his full glass in a mock toast. Curt and Matt had been close friends since law school. They’d even roomed together until Matt moved in with Aaron. Now both men lived with their partners and had embarked on new lives.
A stab of longing hit me out of the blue. I wanted what they had. The idea of coming home to someone I cared for sounded almost… idyllic. I hadn’t been in a serious relationship in over six years and I’d come to cherish my freedom. I liked coming and going as I pleased and never worrying about running my ridiculous travel schedule by someone who might get their feathers ruffled if I wasn’t where they wanted me to be. I’d listened to my friends’ quarrels about visiting relatives or attending work soirees with a sort of strange relief. I was perfectly happy as a lone wolf. Until now. Maybe it was running into Seth again and realizing I was back to square one.
Curt slapped Matt’s shoulder hard and laughed. “Dude, one of those three words doesn’t belong. I’ll give you one guess.”
“Budget?”
Curt snorted then turned to me with a wink. “He’s not as dumb as he looks.”
“Aaron may just surprise you. He’s quite savvy really,” I commented, taking a sip of my cocktail.
Matt beamed. “He is. I’m more worried about the guest list getting out of control, but we’ll deal with it. It’s just… I don’t know, kind of fun.”
“How is planning a wedding fun?” Curt scoffed.
“It’s hard to explain. I—I used to have this… dread. The concept of marrying someone and being tied for life sounded like a prison sentence. But now I think it’s a matter of finding the right person because I can’t wait to make this legal.” Matt shrugged as he reached for his beer.
“You’re lucky,” I said. And fuck, I meant it. But Aaron was fortunate too. Matt was obviously besotted.
“I am,” he replied. “And so is Curtster. He wants to hang out giving me shit all night like I’m not noticing how many times he’s checked out the hot guy behind the bar.”
“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. I’m just wondering where the hell my drink is.” Curt grinned unabashedly when Matt coughed a muffled sounding “bullshit” then turned to me. “So how’s the advertising game, Paul?”
I chuckled at their antics and launched into what I hoped wasn’t a boring account of a couple of new projects I’d begun recently. I mentioned some advertisement in Aaron’s magazine, thinking it might make fashion advertisement more interesting to two lawyers who didn’t know much about my field. Matt’s eyes lit up, naturally. He started to comment when we were interrupted by the arrival of Curt’s gin and tonic.
“Hey boys. How’s it going?” Jack set the drink in front of Curt and left one proprietary hand on his man’s shoulder. I noted the mild display of affection as I clandestinely admired the intricate designs of the sleeve tattoo showcased lovingly by his snug-fitted black T-shirt. There was no denying Jack was one sexy man. “Nice to see you again, Paul. It’s been a while.”
His smile was friendly with zero trace of the cautious suspicion he harbored when we’d first been introduced. He knew he had nothing to worry about. In fact, he probably always knew it, but now he was able to accept without issue that Curt and I had become good friends. It kept things easy and strangely enough, for two men with close to nothing in common, we’d managed to become friends over the past couple of years. We made basic small talk for a while until Jack was waved back to the bar by a harried looking bartender.
“I better get back there. Anyone want anything else?” he asked, still massaging his boyfriend’s neck.
“More gin? This one is a little weak, babe. Who do I complain to?” Curt held up his glass playfully.
“Me, smartass. No more gin. I’ll be ready to go in an hour.” Jack brushed his hand through his lover’s hair and kissed him before stepping back to wave at Matt and me. “See you guys.”
We were quiet for a moment until Matt’s cell buzzed on the table. He glanced at the message and smiled. “I have to go too. By the way, Aar was telling me about the shoot from hell last week when one of the key male models was out and they—hey, he said it was that guy he tried to set you up with. Whatever happened with that?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “We’ve decided to try being friends, but he’s a bit… flaky so I doubt I’ll see him again honestly.”
“I’m supposed to tell you there’s a new lawyer in our firm. He’s good-looking, a little taller than Aaron….”
“That’s code for ‘he’s short,’” Curt piped in using his customary air quotes.
“And you’re an asshole.” Matt stood and smacked Curt’s back hard, but kept his gaze on me. “Anyway, he’s a nice guy with a good career who happens to be a single gay man in his midthirties. I’m not big on matchmaking, I swear, but he’s new in town and….”
Curt rolled his eyes. “Right. ’Cause that’s how it works. Two single men who happen to both be gay, relatively successful, around the same age, and living in the same city should make the perfect match. I think Matt just found your next blind date slash husband-to-be,” he joked.
Matt cocked his head and adopted a syrupy tone. “Careful Curtster, your sunny disposition and optimistic streak is showing. Everyone’s going to get the false impression you have a heart.”
“Hmph. Heart isn’t the issue. I’m not sorry Aaron set Paul and me up on a blind date because we became good friends after the fact, but there’s a lot of pressure dating someone you’ve never met and aren’t sure you have anything other than basics in common.”
“Curt’s right. I’m not interested. My last coffee date was a disaster. Sure, he was handsome but then he opened his mouth and… then it got bloody weird.”
“Not too smart, huh?”
“On the contrary, he was brilliant but odd. Very odd. I’m too old for games. As much as it would be nice to meet someone… suitable, I’m tired of the dating scene. It’s exhausting. I need a break.” I took another sip and sighed.
“I’ll tell Aar to back off on the matchmaking. He’s an incurable romantic. He can’t help himself,” Matt said with a grin. “He felt terrible when he realized the model was dating some famous painter from London he’s using in a fashion spread this fall. The best things come when you least expect them.”
I stared at Matt intently. He had to be joking. The model and the painter. Seth and Simon? No way. It was ridiculous. I opened my mouth, but couldn’t even begin to guess what question I’d ask. Are you fucking serious? was the best I could think but I knew Matt wouldn’t have any answers. Holy bloody hell.
Matt checked his buzzing cell as he backed away from the table. “I’m outta here. See ya, boys.” He gave us a short wave as he turned. I heard his “Hi babe. Yeah, I’m on my way home,” before he disappeared into the crowd, leaving Curt and me staring after him for a moment.
I was shell-shocked. It couldn’t be. Seth had dropped the name Simon a couple of times. He’d even said his ex was British. And a painter. Fuck. Me. I needed a minute to process this twist, but now wasn’t the time, I thought, tracing the faint scar on my wrist. I took a sip of my martini, suddenly aware Curt had turned his full attention toward me. “What is it?”
“You seem bummed. Were you hoping the model wasn’t going to be a waste of time?”
I rolled my eyes and sighed. “Maybe… yes. Against my better judgment, I actually liked him. Now, I know he’s unreliable and immature, which I’m happy to know sooner than later, but there’s…. something about him. He’s hard to shake.”
“Like a bad case of the flu?”
I chuckled. “Exactly.” I filled Curt in with a basic backstory of my run-in with Seth, leaving out the possibility we actually may have an ex in common. I needed to air out my frustration, and Curt was a good confidante.
“He sounds….”
“Awful?”
“No. Quirky and maybe a little broken. But hey, aren’t we all? Be friends if that works or just let it go. In the meantime you should start hanging out at the supermarket.”
“Huh?”
“Yep, there was a study about how people who meet in everyday spots, like the grocery store, end up having long-lasting relationships. I see you’re skeptical,” he said with a chuckle. “But it makes sense. Sort of. Your defenses are down when you’re out doing regular things, like going to the gym, stopping by the dry cleaners, or walking your dog.”
I gave him a long, hard stare before shaking my head. “There are a few holes in your theory for me. I never go to the market or the dry cleaner. That’s what takeout and delivery services are for. And I don’t own a dog, which leaves the gym, which is on par with coming to Jack’s. I’m the gym version of the man wearing khakis in a dark corner sipping a martini whilst he ogles the eye candy. I wear basic workout gear, take the elliptical in the back corner, put my headphones on, and clandestinely check out the hot men. But I never… repeat never, make idle conversation with anyone there.”
“I want to say you’re hopeless but I get it. Your problem is you’re too busy and you’re set in your ways. The way I see it, you either suck it up and join an online dating service….”
“That is almost funny,” I deadpanned.
“Or you wait till Aaron and Matt get married. Weddings are the perfect place to meet guys.”
His expression was a touch too earnest. I couldn’t tell if he was joking, though I hoped so.
“If those are my only options, I guess I’d better look into online dating. Every gay man at that wedding will be taken or he’ll be someone I met through one of Aaron’s matchmaking attempts and didn’t click with. I can’t chance another bad coffee date.”
Curt laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. “Yeah, especially if all you get out of it is a group of oddball friends or a good-looking headache. Gaydate.com it is! This could be pure genius. Think about it. You get to list your likes and dislikes from the comfort of your own home while you scratch your nuts and drink milk from the carton.”
I snickered at the thought though I had to admit it didn’t sound half bad. “Maybe you’re onto something. I can weed out potential disaster from the start and make sure he’s age appropriate.”
“Why? How old was the model?”
“Twenty-four. Much too young for me.” And certainly too young for Simon. It couldn’t be the same man, I thought distractedly.
“You sound like a fuckin’ geezer. It’s only eleven years. Geez! Jack is fourteen years older than me. Age is a mindset. There are days anyone could be convinced he’s the younger one and other days… not. Don’t let age be your deciding factor. Let it be something important like… the size of his dick.”
I almost choked on the olive I’d fished out of the bottom of my martini glass. I gave Curt the evil eye while he cackled beside me like a loon. “Very funny.”
“Or is it? The object is to find someone you want to be with all around. Anyone can find someone to go to the movies with but the trick is figuring out if you want to wake up next to the guy every day.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“What qualities are on your short list? Height, weight, hair color, job… go.”
“Uh… well, I’m not sure height, weight, or hair are important but?—”
“You’re full of shit. Conjure your dream man in your head right now and tell me what he looks like. How tall?” I rolled my eyes but did as Curt asked.
“Six two.”
“Weight?”
“Not as important but I suppose on the lean side.”
“Hair color?”
“Black.” Fuck me. All I could see was Seth. And then Simon. Not good. I opened my eyes and took a deep breath.
Curt gave me a thoughtful once-over and smiled kindly. “If you’re desperate to get that guy out of your head, go on at least three dates with other men. You just got back from a long trip, you’re working too much, and there’s a part of you that wishes at least one thing… like getting laid, could be easy. Reset your expectations and start over.”
“Online.”
Curt shrugged. “It’s just an idea.”
“It’s not a completely horrible one. At least I can make sure he really likes jazz,” I said, nudging his elbow hard.
“That’s the spirit! Make sure he passes your personal requirements, including a love or at least appreciation for Louis Armstrong, then bring him to the jazz concert next month.” He shook his head mournfully at my blank expression. “Hmm. No memory. It’s the first thing to go when sperm buildup becomes a serious problem. And no, jacking off doesn’t count. You need to get laid, dude. Whether it’s a hot model with a sexy ass or an older gentleman with a slight paunch but a great jazz record collection, it’s time to move on.”
Curt raised his glass and clinked it against my empty one in a toast to a new beginning. He was right. I wasn’t so sure about online dating per se, but I had to do something to get Seth out of my head.