Chapter Seventeen
Maurice
Maurice hadn’t expected the idea to slip out, but once it did, a rightness settled over him. “How would you like to get a massage together?”
Finn brightened instantly. “That sounds fun.”
Maurice took his hand, enjoying how natural it felt, leading him down the hallway toward the Wellness Car. The train hummed beneath them, a steady vibration that made everything feel a little more intimate.
The guy at the desk barely looked up. “Same room. Undress and wrap a towel around your waist.”
Maurice pushed open the door, letting Finn step in first. The room was lit by soft amber sconces. A diffuser puffed eucalyptus into the air. Two hooks. Two towels. Two tables. One shared space.
Finn looked around with a mix of excitement and nerves, and affection pulled at Maurice.
They undressed at the same time. Maurice wasn’t usually shy, but undressing in front of Finn for the first time hit him in a completely new way.
Charged. Finn kept sneaking glances, cheeks pink, and the heat rose in his own chest.
And Finn… Finn was stunning. Lean and toned in that natural way, like he lived in his body rather than sculpted it.
Then there they were.
Finn was shrugging out of his T-shirt, his back to the light. As he turned to hop onto the table, a glint of bright, polished metal caught the low light. Maurice’s eyes widened. Nestled against Finn’s chest were two small, elegant gold hoops.
Nipple rings. Gold ones.
A weird, sudden jolt of electricity shot through Maurice—nothing to do with the pre massage.
The gold looked shiny against Finn’s skin, flickering every time he breathed.
Maurice knew he should look away—he really should—but his brain had gone into a sort of stunned loop.
They were so deliberate. It changed the whole math of who Finn was.
The massage hadn’t started yet, and Maurice was feeling a lot more tension than he’d walked in with. He never mentioned those sexy nipple rings.
Finn’s gaze traveled over him too, lingering in a way that made Maurice’s pulse strum. They wrapped towels around their waists, both pretending they weren’t still looking.
A few minutes later, they were lying face down on the tables, side by side. The room smelled of eucalyptus and oil. The train’s rumble made the entire space feel cocooned.
Two massage therapists entered—Darren, older with kind eyes and muscular forearms, and Lawrence, younger but just as built.
Darren went to Finn. Lawrence stepped to Maurice’s side.
“Alright, let’s see what we’re working with,” Lawrence said, warming oil between his palms. His voice was calm, almost meditative. “Just breathe normally. I’ll start at the shoulders.”
Maurice let out a slow breath as Lawrence’s hands pressed into the tight muscles along his upper back. He hadn’t realized how tense he was until the pressure hit—firm, confident.
Across the room, Darren said, “Alright, Finn, let’s see if we can untangle this knot you’ve got going on. Just breathe into the table, okay? I’ll start gentle.”
Finn grunted the hissed, and Maurice smiled into the face cradle. That sound was very Finn.
“Yep, there it is,” Darren said. “You carry all your stress right here. What do you do, type all day?”
“Mostly,” Finn mumbled. “And hunch. I’m a professional huncher.”
Maurice snorted before he could stop himself. Lawrence paused, amused.
“Sounds like your boyfriend’s got jokes,” Lawrence murmured.
“He does,” Maurice said, voice muffled. “He’s trouble.” There was no way he would correct him.
Lawrence chuckled and dug his thumbs into a knot near Maurice’s shoulder blade. Maurice sucked in a breath.
“There it is,” Lawrence said. “You’ve got a whole boulder living back here.”
“Feels like it,” Maurice muttered.
Lawrence worked methodically, finding every tight spot with unnerving accuracy. The pressure hurt in that good, necessary way. Maurice’s muscles slowly unclenched, tension melted.
Across the room, Finn sighed, “You’re good at this.”
“Been doing it for fifteen years,” Darren replied. Then Finn groaned loudly.
“Sorry, sweetie,” Darren said, “but that one had to go. It was throwing an entire party back there.”
Finn laughed, bright and unguarded. Tenderness bloomed inside Maurice.
Lawrence leaned in a little. “Your friend’s got a great laugh.”
Maurice smiled. “Yeah. He does.”
Lawrence continued working down Maurice’s back, palms sweeping, thumbs pressing deep. “You carry your stress differently,” he said. “All in the shoulders and lower back. Classic overthinker.”
Maurice laughed. “Guilty.”
By the time the therapists finished, Maurice’s whole body had gone loose, grounded, almost floaty. Finn looked like he’d melted into the table.
“Go easy on the hunching,” Darren told Finn. “You’ve got a good frame. Don’t let your desk win.”
“I’ll try,” Finn said, pulling his shirt on.
Maurice dressed too as Finn snuck one last glance at him. He didn’t comment—just let himself enjoy the thrill.
They stepped back into the hallway just as an announcement crackled through the intercom: “We’re stopping at Chicago. Please welcome the new passengers in the Welcome Car, then move on to the Dining Car for dinner or collect a coin to leave the train. Two hours only.”
Finn looked over at him, cheeks still pink.
“Let’s stop and get our tokens so we can leave,” Maurice suggested.
Finn nodded, smiling in that soft way that always hit Maurice harder than it should.
There was a line at Mr. Santos’s table. Maurice stood behind Finn, close enough to feel the heat of him, close enough to smell the faint citrus of his cologne. He tried not to stare at the curve of Finn’s neck, but he failed. Repeatedly.
When they finally reached the front, Mr. Santos grinned as if he knew exactly what they were up to.
He handed each of them each a token. “Don’t be late. If you miss the train, you can get picked up at Des Moines. Have fun.”
Maurice didn’t miss the knowing tone and Finn blushed. Maurice pretended not to notice, even though he absolutely did.
As soon as they had their tokens, they left the station and stepped onto the busy Chicago street. The city air was warm, buzzing with traffic and voices and the smell of food from somewhere nearby. Maurice lifted his hand, hailed a cab, and Finn slid in beside him.
Maurice’s heart thumped once—hard—when their thighs brushed.
He told the driver the name of the restaurant, a place he’d loved for years. Fancy. Romantic. The kind of place you didn’t take someone unless you cared.
They got out in front of the steakhouse, light spilling through the windows. Finn looked up at the building with wide eyes.
“This place looks… wow.”
Maurice’s chest lifted with a quiet satisfaction. “Only the best for you.”
Finn’s cheeks pinked again, and something in Maurice’s chest tightened in a familiar, hopeful way.
Inside, the restaurant looked exactly the way Maurice remembered it—dramatic, almost theatrical in its elegance.
The ceiling arched high above them, painted a deep midnight blue with tiny pinpricks of warm light that mimicked stars.
Heavy velvet curtains framed the windows, and the dark wood walls were lined with framed black-and-white photos of old Chicago lawyers, judges, and musicians.
This was the place he and David had celebrated passing the bar exam years ago—two broke twenty-somethings pretending they belonged in a restaurant where the cheapest steak cost more than their monthly grocery budget.
They’d spent a long weekend in Chicago back then, drunk on relief and ambition. Maurice hadn’t been back since.
Walking in now with Finn hit him in a way he hadn’t expected. Like the past and present were folding together.
A server led them to a small table near the window. The city lights glittered outside, and Finn looked beautiful in the glow.
They ordered wine as Finn’s fingers brush the stem of his glass, delicate and a little nervous.
Finn leaned in when he talked, chin propped on his hand, eyes bright in the low restaurant lighting.
Every time he laughed, he nudged Maurice’s knee under the table as if he didn’t even realize he was doing it.
Maurice teased him about the menu; Finn teased him right back. Finn made a joke about Maurice being “a steakhouse snob,” and Maurice pretended to be offended, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. Finn giggled—actually giggled—and something reckless unfurled in his chest.
They flirted without even trying. Finn’s foot brushed his ankle. Maurice’s hand lingered a second too long when he passed the breadbasket. Finn’s smile kept drifting toward something softer, something that made Maurice’s pulse pick up.
Everything between them moved with an ease—dangerously easy. Like they’d done this a hundred times. Like they could do it a hundred more.
At one point, Finn leaned in, smiling shyly. “I’m really glad we did this.”
Maurice’s heart did something ridiculous. “Me too.”
He let his eyes drift down Finn’s chest, remembering something he’d been curious about earlier. “So… when did you get those gold nipple rings?”
Finn nearly choked on his wine. His face turned bright red. “Maurice!”
“What?” Maurice grinned. “They’re nice.”
Finn covered his face with his hands for a second, laughing. “I got them when I turned eighteen. My parents made me wait.”
Maurice laughed. “Of course they did.”
“They thought I’d change my mind.”
“And did you?”
Finn shook his head, smiling. “Not even a little.”
Maurice leaned back, taking him in—this sweet, funny, unexpectedly bold man who kept surprising him. “They suit you.”
Finn’s blush deepened, but he didn’t look away. “You suit me.”
The words hit Maurice like a soft punch to the ribs. He wasn’t used to hearing things like that. He wasn’t used to wanting to hear them again.
Dinner passed in a blur of flirting and tender moments. Finn kept looking at him like he was something worth admiring, and every time, it made something inside him loosen.
As soon as the check was paid, Maurice flagged down a cab and hauled them inside, the city lights streaked across the windows as they sped back toward the station. Finn leaned against him, loose from dinner and wine, and Maurice had been riding the same thrill all night.
“Wait.” Maurice tapped the glass. “Stop here.”
Finn blinked. “What for?”
Maurice pointed at a bright little souvenir shop wedged between a bakery and a bookstore. “We’re not leaving Chicago without something ridiculous.”
Finn laughed. “Lead the way.”
Inside, the shop was cramped and loud, packed with magnets, mugs, and shirts in every shade of touristy. Maurice made a beeline for a rack of T-shirts and held one up.
A black tee with bold white letters: ‘I Chicago.’
Finn snorted. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Maurice grabbed a second one. “Matching. Obviously.”
Finn’s smile softened in that way that hit Maurice right in the chest. “Okay… yeah. I want that.”
They were heading toward the register when someone called out, “Well, well, look who’s here.”
Maurice turned to see David and Theo standing by a display of snow globes. David held up the same shirt that Maurice was holding.
“You too?” David asked, grinning.
Theo lifted his bag. “We’re committing to the bit.”
Maurice laughed. “Great minds.”
Finn nudged Theo’s shoulder. “We’re all going to look like a very confused boyband.”
“Speak for yourself,” David said. “I’m the lead singer.”
After David and Maurice paid, bags rustling they stepped back into the Chicago air. The four of them walked together toward the station, the city buzzing around them, the train lights glowing in the distance like a promise.
Finn brushed his hand against Maurice’s as they walked. Maurice grabbed then held his hand. This easy unexpected closeness between them was something he wanted to keep.