Chapter 2
Armando
I woke up with a pounding headache and a mountain of regret. The night before was a blur. What had I been thinking when I drank all that champagne? And did I do anything to embarrass my son at his wedding reception? If so, I’d never forgive myself.
There was a fancy bottle of imported water and some Advil on the nightstand. I was surprised I’d planned ahead like that. I wrapped the blanket around myself and sat up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed.
After taking a couple of pills and chugging most of the water, I considered going back to sleep.
But as I looked around, something seemed off.
My son and his new husband had gifted me with a beautiful room at the hotel where they’d gotten married.
Now it looked even bigger than I remembered it.
And how had I failed to notice the wet bar?
I was too groggy to make sense of any of this.
A moment later, a huge, muscular man emerged from the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, which was slung low around his hips. I drew a sharp breath and tried to stand up, but I tripped over the blanket and ended up face-planting on the carpet.
The man muttered, “Bloody hell,” and rushed over to me. As he helped me sit up, he asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. Why are you in my room?”
He sat back on his heels. “Actually, you’re in my room. Do you remember anything about last night?”
“Did we have sex?”
“Of course not. You were drunk, and I’d never take advantage of you.”
Bits and pieces of the night before started coming back to me—a cab, a café, a few clumsy attempts at hitting on this guy. “You’re Tory.”
“That’s right.”
“I don’t remember everything, but I know you were nice to me, while I was completely ridiculous.
” I untangled myself from the blanket and got to my feet.
There was some bedding on the couch across the room, so I said, “It looks like I capped off my drunken shenanigans by kicking you out of your own bed.”
He stood up and muttered, “Not exactly.”
A wave of embarrassment hit me as I remembered a few more details. “No, you’re right. What I actually did was try to climb you like a tree after you told me I could spend the night in your room. I guess you tucked me into bed after I passed out, and then you slept on the couch.”
“That sums it up.” Just then, there was a knock at the door. “I ordered room service before I took a shower. Come have some coffee with me.”
I mumbled, “I need a minute,” and hurried to the bathroom.
After I used the toilet and washed my hands, I frowned at my reflection in the mirror above the sink. I looked pale and tired, and what the hell was my hair doing? I’d tried to style it with gel for the wedding, and it had turned into a clumpy, spiky mess.
As I tamped it down with some water, I flashed on a memory of Tory combing my hair and washing my cheek. I’d never had anyone take care of me like that. I’d never even realized it was something I liked, but now it sent a shiver of pleasure down my spine.
I whispered, “Get a grip, Armando,” and started to leave the bathroom, but then I hurried back to the sink and used some of his mouthwash. I’d already made a terrible impression on this guy. Why add gnarly morning breath to the mix?
By the time I returned to the bedroom, Tory had gotten dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a form-fitting black T-shirt. He’d also cleared away the bedding and taken a seat on the couch.
No wonder my drunken alter ego had kept hitting on him. He was the most beautiful man I’d ever seen—and now that I was sober, that was extremely intimidating.
My hoodie was draped over the back of a chair, and as I put it on, he asked, “How do you feel?”
I considered the question before saying, “When I woke up, it felt like my head had been run over by a garbage truck. Now it feels like it’s been run over by a Ford Fiesta. So… better, I guess?”
He grinned a little. “That’s progress, I suppose.” His slight accent was unique, and as sexy as the rest of him. It sounded sort of British, but also vaguely Italian. Britalian, maybe?
I fidgeted with the hoodie’s zipper, and after an awkward pause I mumbled, “I’m so sorry.”
“Why are you apologizing?”
“Because I hijacked your entire night and made you deal with my drunken bullshit.”
“It was fine.”
“It really wasn’t.”
“Come sit down and have some coffee.”
I perched on the edge of the couch, and as he handed me a mug, I asked, “Where were you going?”
“When?”
“Last night, when I jumped in your taxi.”
“Oh. I’d asked the cab driver to take me to a bar.”
“Why? There are four in this hotel.”
“It was a specific type of bar.”
“Was it a gay bar? You said something last night about liking guys, and—oh shit! I totally cockblocked you, didn’t I?”
Tory seemed flustered. “No. I mean, yes, it was a gay bar. But you didn’t…” He paused and regrouped before saying, “I probably wouldn’t have met anyone anyway.”
“Looking like that, with your perfect hair, and handsome face, and big muscles? You would have been beating them off.” He glanced at me, and I quickly added, “With a stick. You would have been swarmed, is what I was trying to say.”
“I liked spending time with you.”
“I don’t see why. I was a train wreck.” I took a sip of coffee and said, “I want you to know I’m not usually like that. I don’t even remember the last time I got drunk, and I’m absolutely not the kind of person to cry and feel sorry for myself.”
“It’s understandable that your son’s wedding day would stir up a lot of emotions. And it’s not the worst thing to drink too much champagne and spill your guts to a stranger.”
“But that might not be all I did. Actually, I just remembered that my son’s housemates invited me to join them for brunch this morning, so I can ask them if I did anything embarrassing. What time is it?”
Tory glanced at his phone. “Nine-thirty.”
“I should go soon.”
“Before you do, can I get your number?”
“Why?” Okay, so maybe that was a weird response to his question, but I couldn’t imagine why he’d want it.
“You mentioned you live in Southern California. I do too, and I’d like to call you when we’re back home and take you to dinner.”
“Are you asking me out?”
He grinned at me and said, “I’m trying to.”
“Why would you want anything to do with me after last night?”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Armando.”
“I was a disaster, and I don’t understand why you’d want to see me again.”
I hadn’t been fishing for a compliment, but I got one anyway. “I think you’re sexy and interesting,” he said. “I also think we’d have a good time together.”
This didn’t make sense. How could someone like him want someone like me? He was suave, sophisticated, and totally out of my league. Unless he was a knight in shining armor type and thought I needed rescuing… or maybe he wanted a project and thought I needed to be fixed.
“I’m really not the guy you met last night,” I said. “If you’re expecting me to open up about my problems, or cry on your shoulder about everything that’s wrong with my life—”
“You don’t have to do any of that. In fact, you don’t have to tell me anything at all.”
“Are you after a one-night stand? Sex only, with no conversation? Because that’s not really my style.”
“No, I’m just saying we don’t have to get deep and personal. My life is pretty complicated right now. It seems like yours is, too. Maybe we can agree to leave all of that at the door when we get together, and just keep this light.”
“You’d be okay with that?”
“More than okay.”
“But then, what would we talk about?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You could lie to me, if you wanted to. In fact, let’s do that.”
“I couldn’t lie to you. I’m a very honest person.”
“But it’s not dishonest if we both agree to it. Think about it—you don’t want to talk about your life, and I don’t want to talk about mine. So, we could treat lying to each other like a game, kind of like trying on a different persona for an evening. The more far-fetched, the better.”
“Give me an example.”
“Okay. You mentioned last night that you own a diner. Instead of talking about that, maybe you could tell me all about your life as a celebrity chef. Not that it has to be tangentially related. You could just as easily tell me you’re a journalist, or a pilot, or an actor—literally anything but the truth.
Not that there’s anything wrong with running a diner, obviously.
It would just be a way to… step outside of yourself, I guess. ”
The thought of getting to be someone else, even for just an evening, definitely sounded good to me. “That could be fun. It’d almost be like role playing.”
Tory nodded. “In a way, yes.”
“Can I think about this? I don’t just mean the make-believe part.
I’ve never dated a man before, although it’s something I’ve wanted for a long time.
Actually, I’ve barely dated at all these last few years because work takes all my time, so even something light would be a big change for me.
” It was more like the last three decades, but that sounded pathetic.
“Of course.”
“Let me give you my number.” He handed me his phone, and as I typed in my information, I asked, “Are you heading back to Southern California this morning?”
“No, I’m visiting my relatives. What about you?”
“I’m driving home right after brunch.”
I returned his phone to him and he sent me a text, so I’d have his number, too.
Then we both stood up, and I impulsively grabbed him in a hug.
“Thanks for taking care of me last night, Tory,” I said.
“I was in no condition to wander around San Francisco on my own, and I hate to think what might have happened if you hadn’t stepped in. ”
“I’m glad I could help.”
I held on to him for a long moment. Too long, probably. I really didn’t want to let go, but I didn’t want to make it weird either, so I finally stepped back and looked up at him. Maybe it was my imagination, but something that looked an awful lot like desire was burning in his dark eyes.