7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
Aaron
I wake up feeling tired and sore as shit. My back is killing me, probably from the shitty mattress in this damn room. I don’t normally stay in Tempest hotels if I can avoid it, unless Garrett’s around, and now I remember why. Their beds suck.
I stop the blaring alarm with a groan, heading over to the bathroom to take my morning piss and start my day. I’ve got four hours until I have to meet with Jacob. My stomach growls as I start the shower, and I debate grabbing something to eat from the cafe downstairs when I’m done.
The hot water hits my skin, eliciting a deep groan from me.
I close my eyes and work the shampoo into my hair, relishing in the feel and the mindfulness of the movement themselves.
This is my morning ritual, after all, and it doesn’t change.
No matter where I go, at least I have a few constants in my life to keep me sane.
My cock twitches, and I groan with defeat. I’m not in the mood to deal with this bullshit this morning, especially after that little episode last night, which I still feel guilty about. Well, I guess I feel more guilty about my thoughts than I do about Garrett.
I’m aware it’s fucked up to fantasize about a guy you haven’t even met, solely because you saw his picture and heard his voice. It feels like one of those sex line things you call in or those cam boy services where they get on video and tease you, but I know that’s not the case. Far from it.
Besides, Jacob said Foxy’s wasn’t an escort service, that there was no sex involved with this gig, so that makes me feel even more guilty than I should about the fact I literally came in Garrett’s mouth because I was thinking of his.
My cock jumps again at the thought and I grunt out my annoyance.
No. Absolutely not. We’re not making that mistake twice, buddy.
You need to get the right head on straight, Aaron. Your future at this company depends on it.
I adjust my cock and continue with my shower, trying my hardest to think about anything other than Jacob and his perfect mouth.
When I finish up with my shower, I set about doing my skin care routine and get dressed.
By the time I’m actually ready to go, it’s nearing eight thirty, which means I still have time to grab a coffee from the downstairs cafe, maybe go for a walk to clear my head.
So that’s what I decide to do. I grab a simple black coffee and pour six half n half’s in it with two sugars.
Most of the men in my family, including my cousin and my dad, run on black coffee.
I can’t stand the bitterness. I need sugar.
I crave it. Especially when it comes to coffee.
Maybe that doesn’t fit the stereotype, but I don’t care. Life’s too short to drink bitter coffee in my opinion.
The cool Seattle air kisses my skin as I walk down the street.
As much as I hate coming home, there’s a peacefulness here that doesn’t exist in California.
Especially in the morning. In the city, in LA, mornings are hectic.
Chaotic. The streets are always thickly lined with traffic and it’s hot as hell from the combination of the sun, the concrete, the motor vehicles, and the ever-present road rage that exists as everyone tries to get to wherever the fuck they need to be.
It’s always a rush, and I used to love that, but now…
Now it’s just nauseating and tedious and drives me fucking crazy.
But here, the light is different. Brighter.
The streets aren’t jam-packed, but the traffic is steady in a softer way.
It’s continuous, an even flow that has rhythm to it.
A woman jogs past me, her dark ponytail flopping in her wake, and I relish in the sounds of the morning commuters, the city waking up, the birds singing their happy little fucking songs.
Seattle is alive and moving. All the business folk out on their way to pick up their morning coffee and bagels, heading to clock into their offices and boutiques and start their day. But it’s also strangely comforting and slow, too.
At least, at this hour.
I pull up the address for the restaurant, noting it’s not that far of a walk.
It’s barely nine fifteen and I’ve got plenty of time to kill, but I debate heading over just so I can sit down and relax, maybe catch up on some emails or something.
Traveling always sucks, because I feel so discombobulated, but it’s a necessary evil, I guess, when you’re in this line of work.
Which is another reason why I want to take over the family business.
Dad’s operated the headquarters for Evermore and the Everett Holdings Group out of the city since I was in middle school.
Before that, the headquarters was based in New York.
Dad always said he did it so he could be home with us.
He still traveled a lot though, at least when I was younger.
After I graduated, he set up shop here and stopped traveling as much.
I never understood why he waited until I was done with school, if his reasoning was he wanted to be home for me and mom, but I don’t pretend to know what the hell goes through my father’s mind.
That’s like trying to read Garrett’s mind. You’re better off not knowing.
When I’ve finally pissed around enough, I head over to the restaurant so I can get there a little early and make sure we get decent seats.
I get us seats outside, on the patio, which is perfect.
When I glance at my watch, I notice it’s quarter til, and I sit up straighter, focusing my sights on the area before me.
It’s not overly packed, but it is Saturday morning.
I pull out my phone and shoot off a text to Jacob.
Me: Here. Got us a table on the patio.
I set the phone on the table, looking at it every couple seconds, waiting for that chime like a kid on Christmas morning. I cross my leg under the table, bouncing it nervously as the truth settles on me.
I’m really doing this. I’m really hiring someone to play the part of my boyfriend, so my dad will take me seriously.
How fucking pathetic is this?
Anxiety swells inside me. Maybe this is a bad idea. Maybe this isn’t going to work, maybe I should just—
And that’s when I see him, walking through the doors of the restaurant, following the waitress who sat me. She leads him here, and I can’t take my eyes off of him as they approach me.
“Good Morning.” That smooth, sweet voice pulls me from my stupor, and I look up to see Prince Charming in the flesh.
Holy hell, he is so much hotter in person.
He stands there, wearing that same smirk he did on the website, but his photo didn’t do those piercing blue eyes justice.
I swear, they are the perfect mix of silver and blue; like the tidal waves that rush in at dawn.
Utterly captivating.
My gaze roves over his perfect features.
His golden, straight locks that are casually swept back, but a few strands frame his face.
His skin is that perfect shade of just–sun-kissed, not tan, not pale, but somewhere in between.
He’s dressed well—a simple pale blue button down with the sleeves rolled up to expose very toned, nice forearms. His watch glints in the sunlight, but I can tell by the face it isn’t designer. It’s simple, understated.
My gaze travels down his chest to his tapered waist, his hands disappearing in his chinos.
He looks… perfect. Like something straight out of Desperate Housewives.
My cock twitches in my pants, voicing his opinion on the matter, and I shift my position in my seat, motioning for him to sit as the waitress asks what he’d like to drink.
“I’ll just have a coffee and some orange juice, thanks,” he says with a smile, and it’s just as perfect as he is.
Good God, I swear if the birds start singing around him I might have to check my pulse.
“Good Morning, Jacob,” I say with a grin, noting the way his gaze takes me in. It’s not judgmental by any means, but I can’t exactly read him and that makes me nervous. Does he like what he sees?
Dear God, I hope so.
“Hope you had a good sleep,” he says as he picks up the menu and glances down at it. I watch him, unable to take my eyes off of him. I swear, just sitting here he looks like a fucking Ralph Lauren ad.
No wonder this guy is a professional date.
I fight the urge to blush at his words, because he licks his lips and I’m brought back to exactly how I spent my time last night, after I’d spoken with him.
“Good enough,” I say, more huskily than I mean to as I pick up my menu. The waitress comes back with his coffee and juice and asks for our orders, which I tell her to come back because Jacob’s eyebrows furrow with panic.
“You ever been here before?” I ask.
He shrugs.
“I’ve been on a date here once or twice.”
I settle my fingers on the table, playing with the edges of my napkin.
“Professionally or… personally?”
Jacob twists his lips as he looks over the menu. “Both.”
I nod, chewing my own lip. “Are you um…” I clear my throat, needing to know because I’m curious.
“Are you personally dating anyone… currently?” I ask because I really am curious, but also because if he is, I won’t overdo it on the PDA thing. I know we need to set our ground rules and things, and I have some morals, despite what my father might think of me.
Jacob sets his menu down and reaches for his coffee before he answers me.
“No.” He shakes his head.
I can’t hide the surprise as I raise my eyebrow at him.
“What?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowing.
“Just… surprised is all,” I say, grabbing for my own coffee to take a sip.
“I would think a guy like you would be off the market.”
I don’t miss the scarlet tint in his cheeks at my words and that makes my stomach flip because the sight…
Well, the sight of his pink cheeks makes me wonder what other areas may look like tinged with that sort of blush.