Chapter 5
5
I didn’t see Seth the following week. I wanted to ask what his plans were for the weekend. If he felt like meeting for a drink or even, God help me, coffee. But I was reluctant. I didn’t want to reprise my role as the man mooning after an unobtainable lover.
Seth was gorgeous and bright, but he was unpredictable and a little too wild to take seriously. I had a feeling I was an experiment to him. A “let’s see how fast it will take to get this bloke back in bed with his knees around his ears” sort of challenge.
As much as I loved sex, I wasn’t willing to put my heart on the line. Because as strange as it seemed, I knew being with him didn’t equate to only sex on my part. There was something about him I wanted but knew could never be mine. My best bet was to remain cautiously distant.
And brave the world of online dating.
My first date was with Greg Forster, a real estate broker originally from Boston. He was thirty-nine, divorced, liked to travel and sail, and claimed to be a huge fan of jazz music. His ad sounded promising. Unfortunately, he was a bore. We had dinner at an Italian restaurant near the White House. The ambiance screamed romance, with dripping candles and sparkling crystal chandeliers, but the conversation was dull. It felt like a business meeting. We even shook hands afterward. Not a good sign.
My second date was with a man whose name I couldn’t pronounce to save my life. He was a forty-year old Russian banker who spoke flawless French, enjoyed fine dining and vodka. Lots of vodka. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk by the end of our dinner at an acclaimed eatery downtown, but his sloppy openmouthed good-bye kiss was a complete turnoff. I scratched his name off the list.
By the third date, I was beginning to think I was wasting my time. I was so busy at work that the thought of going out with a man I chatted briefly with online, then had to match a picture to a face in order to find him in a crowded restaurant, sounded… awful. Like a needless extension to a long, stressful day. I decided I’d try once more before throwing in the proverbial towel and deleting my profile. My right hand worked just fine, thank you.
As the saying went, third time was a charm. Tom Bilson was a thirty-eight-year-old vascular surgeon from Arlington. He was an avid golfer and enjoyed going to concerts and the theater. He professed to love all music, but particularly jazz. My interest was piqued. If he was a bore, I was finished with the online dating nonsense for good.
He wasn’t a bore. In fact, Tom Bilson was practically perfect.
No, literally . When he stood to greet me at the exclusive steakhouse he’d chosen, I gulped at the sight of him. He was six foot four, very fit and very handsome. He had wavy brown hair, brown eyes, and square, even features worthy of… well, a magazine model.
I was more nervous with him than I’d been on any other date thus far. But after the first stilted introductory questions, conversation flowed easily. Tom was charming, smart, and funny. He reminded me of Curt in a way, with his self-deprecating humor and sharp wit. He told silly stories about patients and general hospital melee before effortlessly turning his attention to ask me about my work and interests. I appreciated his friendly manners and seemingly affable nature.
As our dinners were served to the accompaniment of an Ella Fitzgerald song playing softly in the background, I could have convinced myself I may have indeed met someone special.
And then my cell rang.
I apologized and quickly silenced the call, making sure to set it to vibrate. But not before I had a glimpse of the caller’s ID. Missed Call Seth Landau was followed by a vibration in my pocket, letting me know he’d left a message. And another when he sent a text a minute later. And again soon after.
Suddenly it was as though Seth had pulled up a chair to join us for dinner. But I was the only one who knew. It was ridiculous. There I was sitting across the table from a handsome man who oozed charisma with a winning smile and pleasant conversation, and my mind was floating back to the dark-haired beauty who sank to his knees to suck my cock in his kitchen. I could almost feel my fingers tingle at the mere thought of pulling his long hair as he swallowed me whole.
Fuck. I was hard. This was not the place to get an erection. I felt my smile dip as I struggled to concentrate on what my date was saying. Something about a club. A jazz club. Whew. I was back on solid ground. I made it through the meal without embarrassing myself, but when my phone began another steady round of buzzing, I couldn’t take it anymore.
“I apologize. My cell is going berserk. I need to check in to make sure I’m not ignoring any major emergencies at the office.” I dabbed my napkin at the corner of my mouth before standing.
“It’s no problem. Would you like me to order coffee?”
God no, I’d be up all night, I thought to myself as a new round of vibrations reverberated in my pocket.
“Um, sure. That sounds lovely.”
I hurried toward the restroom area and pulled out my phone. There weren’t any text or voice messages. They were all missed calls. I stared at the display for a moment. It would be rude to call Seth when I was with another man on a date. A real date, I mused. But I wouldn’t relax until I knew what he was about.
Unbelievably he answered on the first ring.
“Hey, what’s up?”
I snorted indignantly and glanced back toward the table I’d just vacated. My date was ordering our coffee while I was standing in a corner with my ear glued to the phone because….
“Why did you call me?”
“I didn’t.”
“You did. I have numerous missed calls and honestly, your timing is for shit.”
“I must have butt dialed you. Sorry. Whatcha doing?”
“I’m—nothing.”
Seth chuckled. “Want me to guess?”
“No. I have to g?—”
“You’re at a work dinner or something kinda boring. I can hear voices in the background so I’m thinking a restaurant. Knowing you it’s posh and pricey.”
“What makes you think it’s work? Never mind, I have to go.”
“Okay.”
“Cheers.”
“Oh hey, Paul?”
“Yes?”
“It must be work. If you were on a hot date, there’s no way you’d call another guy. Not your style. Unless the guy’s a douche or… you like me more than you think you do. See ya.”
He hung up before I had a chance to respond. And what could I say? The truth spoke for itself. I’d left a handsome man sitting at a table for two so I could call the twenty-four-year-old, impossible brat whose mere name on a cell display made my palms sweat and heart race. I was going crazy. It was the only answer.
The following morning I took a seat in the glass-walled conference room and pulled out my phone to check my e-mail until my office mates joined me for a quick meeting. At least I hoped this was a quick meeting. There was a new fire to put out at a major design firm who’d decided at the last moment they didn’t approve of the copy they’d signed off on last week. Fuck. I wanted to say “too bad” or “don’t sign the bloody contract until you’ve read the copy, arsehole,” but I couldn’t. I nodded a greeting at a one of the writers, but turned my attention back to my cell when it vibrated.
How’s it going?
I stared at the message longer than necessary before responding.
Well
I glanced up as a few more people filed into the room, and waited for my phone to buzz again.
Well?
I’m working
Me 2. Sorta. Lunch?
I’m in a meeting.
I chuckled when the sad face emoticon was followed by a series of sillier ones ranging from a purple devil with horns to a smiley face wearing sunglasses. I wasn’t sure how to respond, so I set the phone upside down and turned on my iPad to take notes when Helene Moritz, the lead art director, walked in. She was a small, no-nonsense woman who aspired to be the advertising world’s answer to Anna Wintour.
Helene’s jet-black hair was cut in a severe bob that accentuated her sharp, high cheekbones and pointed chin. She was always stylishly attired, but her efforts to be “best dressed” seemed a tad uncomfortable at times. Today’s ensemble was a perfect example. Her tiny waist was cinched in a skintight charcoal pencil skirt I could only imagine made breathing somewhat… challenging. And the weight of several heavy rhinestone necklaces resting on her ample bosom certainly didn’t help.
I gave her a brief smile, letting her know I was ready when she was. No doubt, she’d called this meeting to complain about the unrealistic expectations asked of her department. I was mentally prepared to assure her I was in her corner, though everyone gathered around the glass-topped conference table knew the age old adage was true… the customer was always right. Even when they weren’t. I leaned back in my black leather chair with one elbow on the armrest and did my best impression of a truly concerned executive director.
I thought I was doing a fair job of it when my phone beeped loudly, informing the entire room I’d just received a message. Heat flooded my cheeks. I was one of those people who frowned upon cellular devices being used at inappropriate times… such as during a meeting. I bolted upright in my chair and whispered a quick apology to my coworkers while I feverishly scrambled to disable the sound. A message was highlighted at the top of my iPad, and this time I read it.
Do you like Japanese food?
What? I ignored the text and tried to refocus on Helene’s diatribe. Something about unfairly limiting creativity by caving into audacious requests. I was sure I couldn’t appease her, so I let my gaze wander back to my screen just as a new message popped up.
Let’s go to Koi. B ready at 12
I pushed the iPad out of reach and made a herculean effort to concentrate on Helene’s newest complaint aimed at a specific couturier. I wanted to laugh at the ludicrous implication that we not take on clients, such as the major Paris-based fashion house in question, until they agreed to stick to their part of any given contract. Hmm. That wasn’t going to happen. I picked up my iPad again, intending to pull up basic financial information on the firm she suggested we cut when another text popped up.
So noon?
Ur ignoring me
Noon?
“Paul? Don’t you agree it’s outrageous?”
“Yes!” I said with more force than necessary. “It is. However, we’ll never say no to Dior, Helene.”
She looked a bit flummoxed by my vehement tone. I started to assure her I understood her side, attempting to soften my point, when my screen lit up again.
Cool. C U
I studied Seth’s text and belatedly realized I’d typed my “yes” at the same time I’d spoken it aloud to Helene. He’d done it again. I tried a vague smile in response to the look of annoyance on the art director’s face. I was chagrined at having been completely distracted whilst at work, by the same man who’d been driving me mad in one form or another for way too long. I deserved her scorn. I wasn’t sure how he did it, but once again Seth had my full attention.
He wasn’t even in the room and all I could think of was Seth. Not my date from the night before who’d squeezed my hand and gently kissed the side of my mouth when we parted ways outside the restaurant. He’d promised to call again, and I’d assured him I was looking forward to it. Except, when I tossed and turned later that night, no doubt a product of the coffee I shouldn’t have had after dinner… all I could think of was Seth. The sound of his deep laughter and teasing banter. I was sure even a simple lunch with the man wasn’t a good idea.
By lunchtime my attention was firmly back in place. I was wrapping up a conference call with a French magazine editor who was explaining her idea for a spread she wanted to try for Hermés when my secretary gave a single knock and opened my office door. She burst into my office wearing a wide-eyed awestruck look that was… disconcerting.
“Un instant, s’il vous pla?t.” I glanced up at Kerri expectantly after asking the editor to hold a moment. “What is it? I’m on the?—”
“I know, I know! I’m so sorry, but you have a visitor. And OMG! He’s famous. I totally know him!”
“Who?”
“The model standing next to my desk!” Kerri made a comical “squee” noise and a silly face as she pointed her thumb toward the ajar door leading to the reception area. She swung her long blonde hair in front of her shoulder and played with the curls as she eyed me coyly. “He is seriously… wow!”
“Kerri, I’m?—”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll send him in right away. He said he’s late,” she said, blushing furiously as she scampered from the room.
I blew out a rush of air and picked up my phone, willing myself to concentrate on the overseas caller instead of the gorgeous man who walked in a moment later. Seth smirked playfully as he came to stand over my desk, wearing a pair of perfectly fitted black jeans and a retro-looking gray-fringed coat. It bothered me to have him invade my space, then have the temerity to seem so damned… at home. I licked my lips subconsciously and to my utter horror, stuttered as I said my good-byes to my client.
“Whoa. That’s sexy.”
“What is sexy?”
“You speaking French. It’s hot.”
I squinted up at him, completely thrown off by his presence. “What are you doing here?”
“Lunch at noon? Remember? I asked if you wanted to try that new place, Koi.” He cocked his head and furrowed his brow as though worried about my sanity.
“Yes, I remember but?—”
“Let’s go. I’m starving!”
I couldn’t hold back my imperious tone as I shook my head. “Perhaps these are small details, perhaps not. Koi isn’t new but it is popular. If you intend to go, even at lunchtime, you’ll need a reservation. The time is now twelve-twenty, not noon. So you’re late. Last point… you didn’t ask me, you tricked me. I’m onto you.”
“Sounds like someone’s hungry. Look, I have a buddy who works there so a reservation isn’t a problem. I’m sorry I’m late. I warned you, timeliness isn’t my thing. And I don’t remember saying Koi was new?—”
“You just said it! What do you mean you don’t recall?”
“Geesh! Maybe we better skip the restaurant and get you some fast food pronto. Let me rephrase. Would you like to go to Koi?” Seth quirked his head and gave me a comic “are you satisfied now?” look.
“Hmph. I’m sorry but I can’t. Too busy.”
“There’s no way you already ate. You’re too cranky.”
“I didn’t, but?—”
“That’s not good for you. Let’s go across the street to that sandwich place on the corner.”
“No, it’s all right. I?—”
“Fine. I’ll go and bring back something. What do you feel like? Ham, turkey, roast beef?”
“I—”
“If you don’t say what you want, I’ll bring you what I like. So spill it or eat pastrami on rye. Your choice.”
I chuckled, charmed in spite of my best intentions. “I actually don’t mind pastrami on rye.”
“Really? I was kidding. Yuck. Whatever you?—”
“Wait! What are you about? We aren’t doing this, Seth. Remember? We agreed at most to be friends.”
“Lucky for you, I’m an awesome friend. Be back with your pastrami soon.” He walked to the door and waited for a moment, as though anticipating an argument. Unbelievably, I couldn’t think of one. He flashed a bright smile, then disappeared.
I expected anything from a flurry of texts requesting my condiment preferences to radio silence. Anything could happen. He could decide the line was too long or he didn’t feel like hanging out eating sandwiches with a moody Brit who didn’t know how to deal with him or… anything really. I busied myself with my backlog of morning e-mails. Hopefully he’d give me a warning if he changed his mind about bringing lunch. I was famished.
Twenty minutes later, a single knock sounded on my door before it burst open unceremoniously. My giggling secretary escorted Seth into the room by his arm, literally hanging on his elbow and fluttering her eyelashes.
“Mr. Fallon, Seth Landau is here to see you.”
“Thank you, Kerri.” When she didn’t make a move, I added, “Will you be leaving for lunch now?”
“Uh… oh yes!” She turned a bright shade of pink, then darted toward the door. “Be back in an hour.”
Seth lifted his eyebrows comically. “I think she likes me.”
“You think?”
“Now if only I can get you to admit you like me,” he said in a teasing tone as he held up a medium sized brown bag. “Pastrami?”
“Thank you. Let me clear a space at the table there.” I piled the magazines and portfolio books on one end of the glass conference table and gestured for him to take a seat. “I have diet or regular sodas, carbonated water or still. What would you care for?”
“Just plain ol’ water. Thanks”
I chose two water bottles from the mini refrigerator near the table, then watched in fascination as he spread the contents of the bag into two neat place settings and laid a napkin next to each. The detail was slightly fussy, reminding me of something… well, something I would do.
I took a seat and thanked him again before unwrapping the sandwich. We ate in companionable quiet for a short time before curiosity began to choke me.
“I don’t get you.”
Seth stopped midbite to roll his eyes before casually leaning back in his chair. “What did I do now? And what don’t you get?”
“Why are we sitting here eating sandwiches?”
“Because you wouldn’t go out for sushi.”
“You’re misunderstanding me on purpose.” I was slightly embarrassed to be the one leading this conversation, but I needed clarification. I needed to find a reasonable way to explain his presence in my life to myself. Seth wasn’t friend material or even boyfriend material. He was a heartbreaker. Or simply an artist looking for a muse. None of those options were good for me.
“There’s no conspiracy theory. We’re a couple guys eating lunch together.”
“Can we have an honest discussion without wisecracks? Please?” I waited for Seth to nod in agreement. When he fussed with the edges of his napkin, it occurred to me he might be nervous. Unlikely, I thought ruefully. “What are we doing? After last week at your flat?—”
“That was hot.”
“Yes, well… it was, but I don’t know how to be your friend. You’re too….”
“Weird?”
I chuckled. He was weird. Or maybe he was like everyone else… a little damaged in places no one could see. He reminded me of a pretty bird with a broken wing. One who could still fly, but wasn’t convinced of his own strength or endurance at times.
“You confuse me. And you enjoy it. I told you we could try a tentative friendship but?—”
“Let’s be real, Paul. You don’t want to be my casual buddy any more than I want to be yours.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I like you and whether or not you want to admit it, you like me too.”
We held each other’s gaze for a long moment. He was right. Why argue the obvious? Against my better judgment, I did like him.
“We have nothing in common.”
Seth shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. We both like music and art. I model fashion; you’re in fashion advertisement. It’s not a bad start. The rest… like the fact you’re overly controlling, fastidious, and set in your ways… well, I guess you can work on those things.”
“You’re a shit.”
“It’s a step up from ‘tosser.’” Seth chuckled, looking decidedly nonplussed. “I have an idea.”
“This ought to be good,” I snarked.
“It is, smartass. We’re gonna try this friend thing out now. Here’s how it goes. I ask a question about you and your interests and you reciprocate. Got it?”
“Got it. But?—”
“No. Just try. If it’s lame, I’ll take my ball and go home. ’Kay?”
“All right.”
“Follow along. So, Paul….” He sat taller in his chair and adjusted his tone so he sounded like he was interviewing me for a job.
I made a show of giving him my rapt attention. “Yes?”
“What’s your favorite breakfast cereal?”
I huffed. “Is that a real question?”
“Yep. C’mon. Play along.” He made a funny, long-suffering face reminiscent of someone patiently teaching the rules of a board game to a simpleton.
“Oatmeal.”
“That’s not a breakfast cereal.”
“Of course it is.”
“Maybe, but I meant something normal like Cheerios.”
“I don’t like Cheerios.”
“Hmm. This is harder than I thought,” he grumbled good-naturedly. “Let’s try again. What was your favorite kind when you were a kid? You were a kid once, right?”
“Ha. Ha.” I sat back and gave him a serious look before answering, “Shreddies.”
“What the fuck are Shreddies?”
I burst into laughter at his confused expression. “They’re like Wheat Chex. They come in flavors too, like Coco or Caramel Shreddies and?—”
“That’s disgusting.”
“I agree. What was yours when you were small?”
“Lucky Charms.”
I chuckled at his quick response. “The marshmallow one?”
“Yep. And like every kid out there, I’d eat the marshmallows and leave the crappy plain cereal in the bowl. My mom used to go crazy. ‘I’m not buying this anymore!’” he shrieked in a woman’s falsetto. “But she did. All the time.”
I didn’t detect any sadness in his reflection of a time when he was a valued member of a family, whose needs and desires were considered on a daily basis. Down to his junk food cereal preferences. If anything, he was very matter-of-fact. I decided to follow his lead and let it be.
“My parents didn’t shop for groceries.” The thought of either parent walking the aisles of a Tesco back home was borderline hysterical. Kind of like me at Safeway, I mused. “We had a cook who dealt with market errands and kitchen duties.”
“Hmm. Lifestyles of the rich and famous, huh? Sounds pretty swank.”
“It wasn’t that wonderful.”
“What’s not to love about having someone do all your chores?”
He’d lowered his voice and cocked his head thoughtfully. There was a kindness in his expression that made me think something in my tone must have given me away, though I couldn’t see how. I was sitting in my office taking a brief break for lunch.
This was ordinary. Well, except for the gorgeous model sitting across from me patiently waiting for me to embroider a piece of my childhood for him. I shrugged as though it were a nonevent and made certain my tone conveyed measured boredom.
“It was lonely, that’s all.”
“No brothers or sisters?”
“No. Only me. And I spent most of my time on my own. Don’t be sad for me. It gave me plenty of time to read and listen to music and dream of moving far away where things weren’t always painfully quiet.” I didn’t like the melancholy note I’d imposed. I needed to divert attention from myself. “Do you have siblings?”
“Yeah. A brother and a sister. Both younger. I haven’t seen them in nine years. I wonder if I’d recognize them now. Fuck… this is sad shit.”
“I warned you this might be hopeless.”
Seth smiled kindly. “Not so hopeless. To quote Molière, ‘the greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.’ It sounds like you created the life you dreamed about. And me? I’m on my way to doing something like that too. Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I can’t believe you can quote Molière mere minutes after telling me your favorite cereal was Marshmallow Charms. Astounding.”
“Lucky Charms, wise guy. Ever have ’em? They’re amazing. Well, I used to think so. They’d probably suck now.”
I returned his smile and found myself admiring his nonchalant mannerism. His laid-back, devil-may-care attitude was frankly refreshing. We turned the conversation to fairly innocuous subjects like foods we remembered liking when we were kids and television programs we’d watched.
He got a kick out of the British cartoons I mentioned, like The Family-Ness and Bangers and Mash . His eyes crinkled with glee as he leaned forward with his elbows resting on his knees giving me a beguiling “tell me more” look.
I grinned in spite of the fact I was pretty sure he was making sport of me. “I wasn’t interested in sweets. I would take crisps over a biscuit any day.”
“Uh….”
“Potato chips over cookies,” I chuckled as I turned my wrist to check the time. I started when I realized I had fifteen minutes to spare before my two o’clock meeting. “I have to get going.”
“Me too. I’m heading to my studio.”
“Did you ride your motorbike with that jacket? It looks too nice to chance on the elements.”
“According to Donovan, it’s just a rag.”
“The designer? You mean to say that’s a preseason design piece you’ve got on?”
“Yep. It was clash of the divas at the shoot this morning. Donovan hated everything. The lighting, the background, the models… except for me, of course,” he added with a wink.
“Of course.”
“He was holding a glass of water an assistant handed him and when the photographer told him it was best if he wait outside after he screeched when a model stepped on the hem of a skirt, he chucked it at the wall behind me. He went apeshit crazy when he saw what he’d done to the jacket. ‘It’s garbage now! Garbage!’ Total diva fit that ended with him telling me to keep this three-thousand-dollar ‘rag.’” He made a face indicating he didn’t agree the ridiculous price tag fit the garment. “You like?” Seth held my gaze with a wicked smile as he ran his fingers through the fringe.
“It suits you. So you’re saying he gave it to you because you were in the line of fire?”
“In the line of water actually, but yes. He’s got a crush on me too,” he added with a wink.
“Hmph. Well, I could never wear it, but you look good in it.”
“High praise from the ad exec.” He held up a hand when I sputtered in protest. “Don’t get all offended. Suit and tie is your thing. I get it. You look hot in your Cavalli. But I think I like your birthday suit best, ya know?”
I rolled my eyes on cue and stood to tidy the table. “You’ve officially crossed the friend line into inappropriate.”
“Oops. You mean it’s not okay to tell your friends they have sexy bodies, an ass to die for, and a cock?—”
“Seth!”
“Fine. I can take a hint.” He held up his hands and sauntered toward the door, looking like a cross between a rock star and a cowboy. “Uh, hey I was….”
I tossed the last bits of trash away and walked toward my desk on the other end of the room. When he didn’t continue, I cocked my head and waited.
He cleared his throat and tried again. “Rand suckered me into playing with him this weekend at a bar in Dupont. It’s a small place, not a big deal, but if you feel like it… come by.”
I smiled and gestured for him to keep talking. “When and where?”
He chuckled with a self-deprecating almost shy humor. “Saturday. Ten. The Pelican Club on R Street.”
“I like that place.”
His hand was on the doorknob. I waited for him to make his exit with his usual flare. A teasing throwaway line or a suggestive innuendo. He went still for a moment, then turned around and closed the distance between us so we stood toe-to-toe in front of my desk. I could feel his breath on my lips.
“Good. I hope you come.”
I swallowed hard. Was that my innuendo? I opened my mouth to say… I didn’t know what, when his expression turned sultry. Part of me was instantly wary, but suspicion took a serious backseat to desire. My heart beat a rapid tattoo as he inched closer still and reached out to trace my jaw. This was where I should remind him we shouldn’t kiss, but when he pulled me forward and sealed his mouth over mine, common sense became static.
The kiss was sweet and earnest. Like a lovers’ version of a fervent handshake. And then it became something much more. He held my face in his hands and tilted his head. His tongue dueled with mine fiercely before he backed up slightly to bite my bottom lip, then he licked it better and plunged back inside. There was zero finesse in the lustful assault, but for some reason the Tarzanesque display was sexy as hell. It was sudden, urgent, and raw… like Seth.
A sharp knock followed by an embarrassed, “Oh my God! I’m so sorry!” broke the kiss. Seth chuckled and kissed me softly once more before stepping back.
“See you Saturday.”
Later that afternoon I was scanning through my e-mail as I finished a call with an editor from New York. I had one from Aaron telling me he was moving forward with his plans to feature Simon Pickard’s work for his magazine’s British influence edition in the fall. Because the designer was one of my clients, he invited me to meet the artist and see some of the pieces they were considering for the shoot.
Bloody fucking hell.
I swiped my hand over my face in agitation. No way. Not going to happen. The mere thought of standing in the same room as Simon after six years made my stomach lurch unpleasantly. Aaron was a professional. He didn’t need my input for that spread. And I didn’t need the headache.
I scrolled through my e-mails a little faster, feeling suddenly anxious to go home. Just seeing Simon’s name on my computer screen felt like an invasion. I’d left England in part to get away from him. I wanted nothing to do with him, but I couldn’t squelch the creative process of my peers and I wasn’t willing to dredge up old stories to plead a case against him.
The truth was he was brilliant. And Aaron’s editor-in-chief’s idea to fuse art with a British designer who used bold prints and textiles was sheer genius. I’d have to think of a good reason not to be available that day, I thought, stopping at an e-mail from Curt reminding me about the jazz concert on Saturday evening. He left instructions for my date and me, all in caps, to meet Jack and him in front of the Kennedy Center at six forty-five.
Oh. Saturday.
I didn’t have a date. I’d put it out of my mind and it was now three days away. Damn. Hmm… I couldn’t ask Seth. He’d just told me he was playing with his friend’s band. It wouldn’t be smart to ask him anyway. I was too attracted and I didn’t trust my feelings around him yet. I couldn’t be certain he wasn’t playing with me. I had no idea who—yes, I did. Tom, the tall handsome surgeon, was the perfect choice.
The next day I sent Seth a text letting him know I wouldn’t be able to make it Saturday night after all. Tom had agreed to be my date to the jazz concert. He seemed pleased I’d asked him and said he was thrilled to meet my friends. I thought that was a little odd because I knew I wouldn’t be keen to meet his on a second date.
Seth didn’t respond to the text, which wasn’t unusual, but it bothered me. I wasn’t the sort to not show if I’d made a plan. And though I knew his invitation was a casual one, I couldn’t help remembering his parting kiss and intense expression. As had become my new normal, I was suddenly consumed by thoughts of Seth.
I called him at lunch and again later that afternoon. Nothing. A barrage of conference calls and a late meeting kept me from foolishly ringing again before I left the office. I’d try again when I got home.
“What d’ya do last night?”
“Um… hello.” I scrambled to unlock my door. There was a big glass of wine with my name on it if I could only get the latch to click. I held my cell between my shoulder and ear and tried again. I couldn’t remember why I’d locked the door leading from my garage into the house now. It was one of those strange things I did every once in a while for no particular reason. “What are you talking about?”
“Last night.”
“I went to sleep.” I fidgeted with the key, twisting it hard to the left until it finally clicked. Damn. That had to be fixed immediately, I mused crankily as I swung the door open. I dropped my briefcase on the distressed wooden bench in the mudroom and tossed my keys in a shallow bowl on the antique table in the hallway, giving myself a quick once-over in the mirror above before heading toward the kitchen. I looked tired. My hair was slightly mussed and my jaw was darkened with end-of-day stubble. I slipped my navy suit coat from my shoulders and idly asked Seth what he had done last night before remembering I’d been trying to reach him all day.
“Wait. Did you get my message?”
“Yeah. No worries. Next time. I played NBA.”
I sensed a great divide opening under my feet. I had no idea what he was talking about. I was sure he was referring to basketball, but I wasn’t clear why. Wine. I reached for a glass and loosened my tie before asking what he meant.
“Video game. It’s frustrating as hell but I get addicted sometimes. You ever play?”
“No.”
“Never?”
“Never.” I was about to add I couldn’t believe any grown man would happily waste time rotting his brain playing video games, but I held back, realizing I was a bit tetchy. I probably should have let his call go to voice mail rather than subjecting him to my poor mood. But I’d been the one trying to get hold of him and honestly, just seeing his name on the display after the long day I’d had made me smile. I wasn’t going to question why.
“Next time you come over, I’ll teach you.”
“That’s all right. I doubt I’d catch on.”
Seth’s musical laughter washed over me like a warm breeze on a cold night. I had a strong feeling his humor was directed at me, not with me, but I didn’t mind. I poured a glass of cabernet and swirled the burgundy liquid while I waited for him to stop chortling at my expense.
“I was right. You are a snob.”
“I’m not—fine. Perhaps I am about some things, like video games. They’re for children, not?—”
“Wrong! Have you seen the commercials for some of those games? Not kid friendly. It’s simulated warfare with tanks, trucks, and, hell, bodies getting blown to shreds.”
“Lovely,” I said, taking my first sip of wine. Nirvana.
“Some of them aren’t bad, but I like the sports ones best. FIFA, Madden, NBA, or?—”
“NBA is an acronym for what?” I frowned at the phone when he scoffed. “I don’t remember. I know it’s basketball, but I’m not familiar with American sports. Or British ones really,” I added as I carried my glass into the adjoining living area and turned on a table lamp.
My townhouse was small but beautifully appointed in soothing light grays with jewel-toned pops of color on throw pillows, artwork, and various objects d’art. I walked over to the control panel fixed to the wall and pushed a single button. A moment later, the soft strains of classic jazz floated sensuously through the room.
“NBA stands for National Basketball Association. I’m not a crazy sports fan, but I keep up with basics, like trades and standings. You know?”
“No. You’re speaking a language within a language.”
“Like American English versus British?”
“Maybe. So what is interesting about playing video games?”
“Nothing in particular. I’m just making conversation. I watched South Park too but something tells me that’s not in your wheelhouse either.”
“No. It’s not.”
“Snob.”
“I—okay yes. I’m a snob, then. How is watching a cartoon of poorly behaved children entertaining?”
“It’s funny.”
“It’s crass.”
“Yeah, but that’s why it’s so funny. It’s unexpected and raunchy mixed with an underlying message of?—”
“Oh please! You’re not going to convince me those crudely drawn cartoon characters are spewing words of wisdom. Not in a million years!”
Seth was quiet for a moment. I actually looked at my cell to see if he’d hung up when he finally spoke. “You haven’t watched it, have you?”
“Well… no, but?—”
“You know what they say, Paul… don’t knock it till you try it. Here’s the deal. We’ll revisit this discussion after I teach you how to play Madden and follow it up with a South Park marathon. Sound good?”
“What’s Madden?” I asked, amused by his sigh of mock distress.
“Oh geez. This language barrier stuff is harder than I thought,” he groused. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll teach you.”
I chuckled as I made my way back to the kitchen. I loved his easy banter. Seth was exactly what I needed after the day I’d had. I stopped midstride, alarmed at where my thoughts had gone. I was sure he was exactly the opposite of what I needed. It wasn’t so long ago I’d wanted nothing to do with him whatsoever. I wasn’t a wishy-washy sort. I had firm ideas and convictions. I knew what I liked and stood by it. Sure, I made mistakes and had to readjust my thinking at times, but not to the degree I did with Seth. Leave it, I warned myself. There was no point in overthinking.
“Are you still there?”
“Sorry, I was—what did you say?”
“What are you doing Saturday night?”
“I’m—one of my friends invited me to a jazz concert a month ago and I’d forgotten it was this weekend. I’m sorry I can’t?—”
“Paul. It’s no big deal. What are your friends like? Are they super uptight like you or are they?—”
“Funny. They’re not uptight in the slightest. Curt is a lawyer. He’s thirty. He has a great sense of humor and he’s very bright. Jack is more of a mystery to me. He’s older. Midforties I think, but he’d easily pass for ten years younger. He’s… gorgeous really. He owns a motorbike shop and a bar in Dupont. Jack’s. Have you been?”
“Yeah, I know who he is. So you’re going to a jazz concert with Jack, the extreme hottie with the tats and a body that—hmm… and his boyfri—oh! Someone has a date!”
I sputtered, unsure how to answer. I wasn’t going to lie, but the truth was… well, awkward. “Yes, but it’s very casual. I’ve only met him one other time and?—”
“Have fun. If it works out later, come on by the Pelican, okay?”
I stared at into space for a moment. “All right. I… this….”
“What?”
“Nothing. This is odd for me. That’s all.”
Seth chuckled, the sweet sound floating over me, soothing my aching head as it chased away my turbulent thoughts. “You worry too much. I’ll catch you later, Paul.”
He hung up before I could say another word. There really was nothing more to say. But I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling Seth would take a starring role in my head while I sat next to another man at a jazz concert Saturday night. I could picture myself wondering how to “get through” something I usually enjoyed until I could find an excuse to see Seth again. Not good.