Chapter Eleven
IT WAS the next day, and Daniel was doing this. He’d crunched the numbers, he’d made a spreadsheet, and he’d printed it. Once something had been printed from a combative library printer, there was no going back. The studio was as good as his.
Well, after he got a loan. And got the contract back from Aaron. And did whatever it was that people had to do for the IRS to never call them.
“I’ve contacted a few loan companies. Still waiting to hear back, but this?” He pointed to a figure at the bottom of the spreadsheet. “This is what I would owe in two years. Which is a lot but doable?”
Madeline peered through her reading glasses and punched a few figures into a calculator. She offered a clenched half-smile.
“Oh God.” He sank into a chair. “I know that look. You don’t think it’s doable, do you? You feel sorry for me. You think I’m doomed to poverty.”
“I didn’t say that. I think it’ll be tough for a few years.”
“Because of my student loans. Because I owe more than you thought.”
“That’s part of it. Let me work on the price on my end. Maybe I can find some wiggle room—”
“No. Please, no. This is your life’s work, and what you’ve offered me is discounted enough. I shouldn’t have brought this to you.” He gathered all the papers in a tizzy. “I didn’t know who else to talk to, but I shouldn’t burden you with this. It’s not your responsibility.”
“Hey, stop.” She pinned the papers down on the desk. “I said I would help you, and this is me helping. Leave it with me, and let me look at everything tonight. Even if we have to get creative, we can do this. You can do this.”
Could he? Her devoted faith in him was lovely and all, but it highlighted his lack of faith in himself.
She shuffled the papers into a messenger bag. “I’ve got to run. Paul and I are off to a microwinery for the weekend.” Madeline’s plans always made his look déclassé by comparison. “I’ll see you Monday.”
“Okay.” He followed her toward the door. “Let me know if your husband changes his mind about adopting me. ”
“Ciao, Madeline!” Olivia held a bag of chips as she materialized from the back room. “Have so much fun. I’ll miss you.”
“I was just going to say that—have so much fun, Madeline!” Daniel smiled. “I’ll miss you more than her.”
“But you’ll miss me more,” Olivia said, cutting in front of him. “Because I’m your favorite.”
“No, you won’t.” Daniel punched the chip bag. “And no, she isn’t.”
“Behave.” Madeline kissed them both, the double-cheeked French thing, and disappeared around the corner.
“So.” Olivia waggled her eyebrows. “How’s it going with your fancy boyfriend?”
“Girl, perfect.” Daniel ran to perform a striking fouetté sauté in the mirror, which he ended in a deep bow. “He’s the perfect man. God’s gift to gays.”
“Show-off.” She joined him on the dance floor, circling him in spins, chips in hand. “Is he that sexy?”
“He’s more than sexy.” He fouetté turned, balanced and beautiful. “He’s honest and tender, and you should have seen him stand up to my dad. That man could take me to a random tree stump in the woods, and I’d be all Oh, this stump? Enchanté, stump. ”
She high-kicked, flex-footed and clunky.
“And plus”—he grand jeté’d because now he was showing off—“he thinks my emotional instability is adorable.”
“I will say,” she said as she shimmed across his view of himself in the mirror, “you do pull off emotionally unstable well.”
He landed a brilliant aerial cartwheel to abruptly stack his hands on his hips and catch his breath. “You think so?”
“Well?” She tipped her head side to side. “No. But you can’t tell an emotionally unstable person the truth about most stuff. I thought you knew that.”
“You make it seem like everyone lies to shield me.”
“No. No, of course we don’t.” She crunched a chip. Then tipped her head side to side again. “Well?”
“Anyway. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’s hanging out with me tonight.” He clapped giddily. “Listen to this plan. Firstly, I write a thank-you note from the bottom of my thankful heart. Secondly, I snag a delicious albeit frozen pizza from somewhere. Lastly, I show up at his apartment with the note and the pizza and surprise him. What do you think? ”
She blinked. “Okay, and…?”
He cut his eyes to the side. “Okay, and what?”
“Well. That’s it? You’re not showing up in a trench coat with nothing underneath it?”
“A trench—?” He angled his head. “No one does that in real life. Who owns a literal trench coat to do that with? A pizza and a thank-you note.”
“It’s just not that sexy.”
“It’s not supposed to be sexy.” He squinted at her as he grabbed his coat from under the counter. “It’s supposed to be cutesy.”
“You could just use that coat. It’s not trench , but it’ll work. Here, I’ll shield you. Take off all your clothes.”
“I would just use the restroom if I were getting completely naked, and no. Pizza and a thank-you note.”
“It’s just….” She shrugged. “Not hot.”
“It’s not supposed to be hot.” He glared as he started toward the door. “Cutesy.”
WHEN AARON answered his front door, relief softened his shoulders. “Thank you. Thank you for coming over. I know your time is valuable.”
Corey leaned against the doorframe, suited and tied with a popped-collar peacoat cinched tightly around his waist. He was stylish in an overconfident way. No one argued if you had swag when everything you wore looked as if it’d been chosen by a team of professionals to tailor-fit your frame. “It’s not often that you call me, love. How was I not to rush over like a desperate girlfriend?”
Aaron grinned as broad as he could with all his teeth showing, which did nothing to negate his mood. What he really wanted to do was crawl into his bed and learn how to cry like Daniel. “Come in. It’s so good to see you.”
“Is it, Aaron?” Corey strolled inside with a suspicious eyebrow raised. “Is it good to see me?”
“Yes. Here, I’ll take your coat. How about a drink? What would you like?”
“What is going on?” Corey mumbled under his breath as he unraveled the scarf from his neck. “So long as you’re not poisoning me? Vodka. Neat.”
Aaron ordered his smile to sit tight as he leaned in and kissed Corey’s cheek, taking the coat. “Coming right up. ”
“I haven’t been to your place in quite some time.” Corey slid his hands into his pockets and gazed around the apartment. “Lovely what you’ve done with it. I see I’m paying you too much.”
Aaron snorted as he poured two vodkas. It wasn’t nearly enough.
“You still have the piano?”
“I do.” He glanced up at the loft as he handed him the drink. “You want to hear me play? I’ll play anything you’d like.”
“I want you to tell me what the hell I’m doing here,” Corey said, his tone a bit lower. He could be intimidating when he wanted. It was all the swag. “I highly doubt it’s because you wish to play me the piano. You do nothing for free.”
Aaron scrunched his face, scratching the back of his head. “I need a favor.”
“Oh Christ.” Corey rolled his eyes. “What have you done?”
“It’s not for me.”
“Then who’s it for?”
“It’s for a really special guy I need to do right by.” He hadn’t necessarily planned to tell Corey that, but surely there was a human soul inside there that could be warmed by a display of vulnerability. “I’ve not been good to him. I’ve lied to him, and I’m going to hurt him—” He tried to keep his chin lifted, but it was no use. “I owe him.”
Corey studied him cautiously. “What does it have to do with me?”
“This”—Aaron snagged the contract from the table—“is a bill of sale. Can you look it over and make sure it’s sound?”
Corey’s eyes scanned it for a second; then he shook his head. “Oh, these things are standard. I’m sure it’s fine—”
“Please? I trust you. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it.”
“Aaron,” Corey groaned. “I just left work—”
“Please?” Not that he had much pride to begin with, but he squashed what little tried to bubble up. “For me?”
Corey’s cool gray gaze settled on his, a bit annoyed, a bit intrigued. “I don’t do anything for free either, love.”
He swallowed. It wasn’t like he didn’t see that coming, but God, if ever there was a night he didn’t feel like getting on his knees. “I will happily pay you.”
“I don’t want money. ”
“I—” Aaron snapped his mouth shut as he dropped his chin. Over the past couple of weeks, he’d let himself seep into the cracks of a world where friends did things because they were friends, and he had a special someone and an ordinary life.
“Done.” His stomach twisted, but he lifted his drink. This was his ordinary life. “Anything you want.”
Corey smirked as he clinked their glasses and peered down at the contract on the table. “Mr. Daniel Greene, huh?”
Hearing his name sort of felt like someone had tightened a belt around his heart.
“Someone you’re seeing, then?”
Aaron sucked his teeth hard enough to sting. “Someone I was seeing.”
“Thank God.” Corey tossed back the vodka. “I fully dread the day someone steals you away for a life of monogamy. I know it’s bound to happen, but please not yet. What will I do with myself?”
He swigged his own drink. “Spend time with your wife?”
Corey grinned, batting his lashes. “Oh, but if I start doing that, what will become of her boyfriend?”
Aaron dragged a hand down his face. His ordinary life.
“You can start right here.” Corey pointed to his shoulders as he plopped into a seat at the table. “ So much tension. Must be all the extra work I’ve been doing lately.”
He exhaled as he rolled his sleeves and began kneading Corey’s shoulders.
“Christ, that is to die for,” Corey moaned, stretching his neck a little. “Don’t ever change, darling. You’ve genuinely met your calling.”
Aaron’s gaze traveled around the apartment, snagging on the paintings he’d selected and the finishes. All of the intimate touches that made the place so stunning. “You think so?”
“You’re bloody gorgeous, Aaron, and you fuck like a stud horse.” He tapped the empty vodka glass. “Go fetch me another of these—well, not so fast.” He’d snagged Aaron’s elbow. “Kiss me, love. Like only you can.”
Kiss me, mister. Like you did at the party.
It wasn’t normally so bad kissing clients, and specifically kissing Corey was somewhat pleasant. He tasted nice—a bit spicy like cardamon or clove—and for being so bossy, he was shockingly gentle. Aaron closed his eyes and got it done, struggling to feel an ounce of fondness , but it was eerily quiet inside his body. Either that or he couldn’t really hear his body anymore.
“Off you go.” Corey winked as he gave him a little shove toward the kitchen. “When you come back, it’s straight to your knees.”
THIRTY MINUTES later, with the pizza in hand and having changed into something a little hotter because Olivia had gotten into his head—except not a trench coat with nothing underneath it because people didn’t actually own those—Daniel strolled up to Aaron’s building.
Was it a teensy bit risky showing up unannounced? Always. But it was also a language Aaron spoke, as evidenced by the whole snow globe delivery. Not to mention, tonight might be the night . The night they finally made it to home base.
Because home base was the ultimate base—or was that third base? From which base did one start? Furthermore, how many bases were there? It didn’t matter. Whichever one was the most desirable—third base?—they might be sliding to that tonight. Yeah, he should probably avoid sports-ball metaphors about sex.
He was standing in the apartment building’s vestibule contemplating searching for a last-minute trench coat when a blond guy leaving the building caught eyes with him and held the door. “Pardon. Coming in?”
He bounced for a beat. Aaron found him plenty sexy without a trench coat. “Why yes. Thank you—”
“You look so familiar.”
Daniel halted on his way through the door.
“Right?” the guy asked. He did have a distinctive British accent. “Don’t I know you?”
He studied the guy. A bit older. Silvery blond hair. Uniquely dressed, fashion-forward even, with these dark, hooded eyes and this polar-white smile, just a little too perfect to put a person at ease in its presence. He was missing the gold everything, but it was definitely him.
Yellow Jacket.
“The party last month,” Yellow Jacket said, pointing as he followed him inside. “You were the bartender, no? The one that Aaron…. Are you here to see him? ”
He didn’t know why he suddenly felt a bit disjointed. “Yeah.”
“Well, he’s upstairs. I’m Corey Hutton, by the way.” Yellow Jacket extended his hand. “I didn’t catch your name, love.”
“Oh, sorry.” Daniel shook his head clear and finally took his hand, suddenly grateful he was wearing clothing beneath his coat. “I’m Daniel Greene. Nice to meet—”
“No.” Corey’s eyes brightened. “It’s impossible. You’re not the Daniel Greene? The lad who’s purchasing one St. Louis School of Dance?”
His eyebrows dipped a bit. “Yeah.”
“Well, what are the odds? I just reviewed your contract upstairs.” Corey tipped his chin upward. “Looks good, love.”
Daniel slowly dropped his head to one side. Upstairs. Upstairs in Aaron’s apartment? He couldn’t keep the memory of the kiss they’d shared in front of him from bombarding his higher reasoning. Just because Cory had been upstairs just now didn’t mean anything beyond… whatever it meant. But why? “Why would you be looking at the contract? Do you work for Aaron?”
Corey gave him a funny look. “Pardon?”
“At Aaron’s law firm. Do you guys work together or something?”
Corey blinked. It almost looked like he couldn’t quite settle on an expression with his gray eyes narrowing a bit and, at the same time, twinkling, like at any moment, he might burst into laughter. To muddle matters more, he licked his lips and said, “Christ, you are pretty, aren’t you?”
Normally, it’d be the kind of thing to make Daniel moon, regardless of who said it, but his smile lapsed a touch.
“Very young,” Corey said with his gaze plunging the length of his body. “Very fit. I can see why he did it.”
Daniel’s system, wired to overreact, couldn’t help but ignite in fight or flight. His breath sounded behind his words as he asked, “Why he did what?”
Corey grinned—arctic white and uncomfortable—as he slipped a step closer, his hand suddenly on Daniel’s shoulder. “Why he lied.”
He sputtered for a half a minute. Questions, important questions, paraded around his head, but it was like he couldn’t wrangle any of them. “What’d he lie about? ”
“Hmm, what did he lie about?” Corey stroked his chin as he gazed around the lobby. “Well, I do not work for him, love. Quite the opposite. See, my friends and I pass him around like a spit bucket at a wine tasting. Does that answer your question?”
Daniel shook his head, but only fractionally. Did it? It didn’t. Or did it?
Corey’s brows slanted as he patted Daniel’s chest. “Aaron is not a lawyer.”
“Well—what? Yes, he is—err. He—”
“He’s not a lawyer.” Corey’s gaze sharpened on his, his words pinpointed and clear. “But he charges by the hour like one.”