Chapter 2
“Dr. Taylor?”
Patience, Toby told himself silently. Seth always had a question for him after class. Sometimes he wondered if it was really just to suck up to him, as if asking questions was going to improve his grade. “Yes, Seth?”
“When did you say the research paper is due?”
“It’s in the syllabus, Seth, but it’s next Friday.” Maybe Seth was flirting. God, not another one. There was a young man in his anatomy class he was sure was flirting too. It happened every semester.
“Thank you, sir. Have a good day!” Seth gave him a nod and hurried out a side door.
Good grief.
Toby packed up his bag and closed his laptop, trying to remember if he’d ever had a crush on a college professor. He didn’t remember there being anyone, but then he’d had a very specific set of interests even then, and he wouldn’t have assumed.
That was his last class of the day, and he was glad; he had plans to go to his new club tonight, and he was practically itching he was so impatient.
As he left the lecture hall, he pulled out his phone and checked his texts, but he didn’t see that he’d been matched with anyone yet.
That was fine, he would mingle and meet people.
It was a sub-heavy environment, or so he’d been told, so he ought to be able to interest someone.
He was so ready to play for a few hours—whether with a sub or just watching and enjoying a show. Anything. He needed this.
He hadn’t been this anxious for an evening in a very long time.
The streets of New York were always busy on a Friday afternoon and he liked it.
He went right to the subway to head to his downtown apartment.
He didn’t love the commute, but it was a necessary evil and came with city life.
And today he was so caught up with what to wear and what time he should go out that his stop came up quickly.
Spring was unpredictable in the city, though, and it had started to rain while he was traveling underground. It was absolutely pouring as he climbed the stairs from the subway, and he didn’t have an umbrella, so by the time he got back to his uptown apartment, he was soaked and chilly.
Mrs. Mars was heading out with her little dog, Sparky, the Yorkshire Terrier, in a bright pink raincoat that matched her own. “Hello, sweetheart. You forgot your umbrella again.”
“Always.” He rolled his eyes. “You’d think I’d learn to look at the forecast. Sparky looks great. Pink is her color.” Mrs. Mars was a gossipy but kind lady, and she sometimes fed his cat for him if he was going to be home late.
“Thank you. I made pierogies today, if you’d like some for dinner. I can drop them off in…half an hour?”
“That would be very nice. Thank you. I can’t ask you to stay though, I’m going out tonight.” He usually offered her tea, and she’d stay until it was cold and then head out.
“Oh, not a worry, dear. I’m happy to share food anyway. You need a nice girl to cook for you when you get home from work.”
“You mean I should hire a nice girl?” He kept his tone indulgent and teasing; he knew she meant well. “Because you know which team I row for, Mrs. Mars. You met my ex several times.”
“Of course!” She chuckled and pinked and, not for the first time, he hoped her daughter came to visit again, so he could discuss whether she needed a bit more memory help than she was getting. “So long as you’re cared for, right?”
“You’re very sweet to think of me.” Maybe he’d text. Alice had given him her number just for this sort of thing.
Sparky tugged on her leash and whined.
“You better get going.” He gave her a smile and a kiss on the cheek. “Sparky isn’t loving the weather.”
“No, she’s persnickety. I’ll bring you your dinner in a bit, sweetie, don’t you worry.” She wandered off, leaning on her cane.
He watched her go with a smile, wondering if she’d remember that she told him that. He shook the rain off and headed for the elevator.
The yowling started as soon as his key slipped into the lock on his door.
“Hey, Whiskey girl. I’m home. I know, you’re hungry.
Poor forgotten kitty. You’re starved, aren’t you?
I’m so mean.” He babbled away at her as she scolded him, and he dropped everything to feed her before he even turned on the lights in the apartment.
She didn’t care who he thought he was. As far as she was concerned, she was the queen of the apartment.
An hour later he’d eaten and enjoyed the pierogies Mrs. Mars had remembered to bring him. He was getting dressed when his phone rang. “Hey, little sis.”
“Hey, big bro. What’s up?”
He was older by exactly seventeen minutes.
“I’m just getting dressed to go out, but I have a minute or two.” He always made time for Gillian.
“Do you have a date? Is he hot?” She was unnaturally interested in his love life.
“I don’t have a date, but I have a new men’s club I’m going to. There’s a nice bar and lots of…well, men.” He laughed. “At a men’s club. Imagine that?”
“Ooh, sexy. Do they have strippers?”
He snorted. “Not my kink, Gilly.”
“No? How about, uh…like classy strippers. Burlesque!”
“Are you looking for a new profession? Why did you call me anyway? Do you have a date?”
“Nope. I went out a couple of days ago. Disaster. I was hoping you were doing better.”
“Not yet, but you’ll be the first to know.” Gilly dated a lot, and they were either amazing or a disaster. She didn’t seem to have anything in between. Not that he was judging. He’d had almost no dates at all in recent memory.
“Whiskey says hello.” His gray tabby was completely ordinary-looking and not the least bit ordinary in personality. She was picky, particular, had opinions on everything, and was very loyal. All of that was hard to explain unless you knew her though.
“Oh, baby! Aunt Gilly loves you!”
Whiskey batted at the phone. Sweet.
He gave Whiskey scritches. “You can visit any time, you know.”
“I know. You’re busy all the time. I worry.” She chuckled softly. “I’m a lot.”
“You are just enough, Gilly. I am busy, but I can get time off if we time it right. You know that.” She brought a lot of energy. They couldn’t be more different, but they understood each other very well. “I have to go. I love you. Find something in your calendar, and we’ll talk, okay?”
“Okay, sounds perfect. I love you. Have fun tonight.” She made kissy noises and hung up the phone.
That was an odd call, but Gillian often called for no reason. He texted; she’d call. It was how they were.
He opened his closet door and studied himself in the full-length mirror. Blue jeans, black boots, and a black waffle-knit shirt that was tight enough to make his shoulders look wider. His silver chain stood out against the black nicely.
He thought he was pretty handsome, actually.
Certainly good enough for night one. He didn’t own nearly as much leather as he should, but he did have a black leather jacket and despite the rain, he pulled that on as he grabbed his keys and wallet.
It was long past time for something new.