Chapter Thirteen
Ryder
I couldn’t believe how shaky I was. It’d been a month and a half since I fucked Finn, but there I was, waiting for him to show up, with sweaty palms and pits.
It wasn’t a surprise that he’d taken to bottoming so easily, and I still wanted him to fuck me, but every time we were alone together, my cock ended up in his ass. I’m not complaining, just to be clear.
We’d found a shocking amount of time to be alone in the past six weeks. I spent every day off I had with him. Which, let’s be serious, only amounted to a few days a week. But we also hung out when I had evenings off, like I did that night.
There was always the plausible deniability of doing something for the wedding.
Finn only told Miles we were planning the stag night once.
How much planning was needed to get a bunch of guys to a well-known college bar, slash club, slash arcade, slash mini theme park?
So we moved on to helping him craft his best man toast, which worked several times on multiple fronts.
Most of the time, we hung out at my place, where we fucked like rabbits, ordered shitty food, fucked some more, watched a movie or something, and maybe fucked again.
He started sleeping over, too. I didn’t think I’d ever get sick of waking up to him in my arms, or kissing his head before extracting myself and heading to the hospital.
But we’d gone out too, always a few towns over. Twice to a bar, once to a chain place, another to get fast food… and then there was that night. I was waiting in the foyer of L’Interdit, a new French place more than a few towns over.
It wasn’t somewhere I’d take him to talk about the best man's speech.
From the looks of it, or the foyer at least, it was very modern in an arty, expensive way.
The people either looked rich as fuck, old as hell, or like they were celebrating something.
Or, which was what made my palms wet, on dates.
Actual dates. Like couples who’d end the night with “I love you” or getting down on one knee. Finn and I were about to go on a full-blooded, garlicky-snail-infested date. Complete with fancy servers and champagne. But the worst, the absolute horror show of it all, was that it was his suggestion.
I couldn’t tell if Finn knew it was a date, or if, in very classic Finn fashion, this place was far enough away, and he took my comment about watching my macros and eating better to heart. I could see him having no idea about the romantic implications behind suggesting such a nice restaurant.
If he showed up dressed for Applebee’s, then this was just food for fucking later. But if he wore nice clothes, which I knew he was capable of, then I’d have my answer. His understanding that answer was a different question.
Of course, I dressed up. Slacks, a button-down open just low enough to show a little hair, and a casual blazer. I did because, other than Googling the place and not wanting to look like an idiot, I wanted it to be a date.
I had feelings for Finn. That wasn't news. I’d probably had a crush on the guy for many more years than I’d like to admit.
But since I started sleeping with him, the naked and sweaty kind, and the unconscious kind, those feelings, that crush, evolved.
Proliferated into something different, something real and deep.
Something that meant more than… I’d once mused about proposing to him when I was at a peak of loneliness. But that night?
It was a strange and difficult feeling to grasp. It had been so long, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever felt that way. I loved my most serious ex, but still chose my career over him when I was given an ultimatum. I don’t think I would do the same with Finn. Could do the same. I’d choose him. Over and over.
That scared the living shit out of me. I knew it was problematic.
I knew we’d have to have a big-boy talk about his ability to have romantic feelings for a man, his intention to come out, and how it would affect our relationships with my brother, plus all the other issues.
But I’d risk it. I would. If he wanted it too, I’d burn the world down for him, or build him a whole new one.
I found him before he saw me. His cheeks were flushed, and his brow furrowed. There was a lost-boy quality I found endearing, but also an urge to wipe it away. And I did, once his eyes landed on me. His face broke with the most unpretentious and unbidden joy. So did mine, for what it’s worth.
To make it worse, or better, he looked amazing.
Also in slacks, just tight enough around the butt, nice shoes, and a button-down just snug enough around the pecs, with rolled cuffs.
Maybe a little casual for the artsy, fancy vibe of L’Interdit, but way nicer than anything anyone had ever worn to Applebee’s.
Heat bloomed on my cheeks as he approached.
Maybe it was the French aura of the place, but instead of a handshake, a bro hug, or any other greeting, I went in to give him a cheek-to-cheek kiss.
He didn’t understand, fumbled, and our lips met in a quick peck.
Finn’s eyes blew wide and his face burned, but his smile never faded.
“How’d I beat you here?” I asked.
“Had to get gas,” he said, as we approached the ma?tre d’. “I also changed. Twice.”
The dining room was expansive, but broken into segments with dividers made of bubble-ridden, misshapen, colored glass.
All the lighting hanging from the ceiling and on the walls was made of the same glass, littering the space with fragments of soft blues, greens, and yellows.
Our table was small, smaller still with two big guys sitting there, and off to the side.
There were people around, but it felt like we had the room to ourselves.
Or maybe it was the company. Everything was perfect in a way I couldn't put into words. But my smile could. His too.
“You look…” Finn scanned me from head to toe, even though I was sitting. “So fucking good, bro. Holy fuck.”
I chuckled. “Thanks. You too.”
“I should’ve worn a suit jacket, too. It looks so friggin’ good on you.”
I chuckled again. “Eh, we look better like this, instead of a matched set.”
“True. And adding another layer to rip off later will just slow things down.”
“That’s an excellent point.” A smirk too dirty for the atmosphere curled my lips. “I want nothing slowing me down, looking the way you do.”
He gave my smirk back to me. “Shame it’ll be a crumpled mess on the floor by your front door.”
Finn was so confident and forward. It reminded me of the night after the club in Miami. I’d only seen glimpses of that Finn since then.
The waiter approached and gave his spiel about the place in a heavy French accent I wasn’t convinced was real. We ordered drinks, both opting for a martini. Gin for me and vodka for him.
Once he was gone, I said, “So what made you choose this place?”
Finn went red, but it faded as he spoke. “Dunno. Heard it was fancy, but cool fancy, and had good food.” He grinned again. “And since you’re a fancy doctor, I thought you’d like it.”
The smile started in my chest, but I kept it off my face for a moment. “I told you, I could lose my fancy medical license if anyone heard you say that.”
“I think we’re good. Unless…” Finn looked around. “Oh, shit… Is that old guy a fancy doctor, too?”
Neither of us could hold it, and we laughed loud enough for the fancy doctor’s wife to glance over her shoulder.
“In my defense, I’m not a fancy doctor. I’m a resident who rides my bike to the hospital, thank you very much.”
“You’re fancier than me. I don’t even own a suit jacket.”
“It’s a blazer.”
“See!” He laughed again, and so did I. “That reminds me, why haven't we gone for a ride yet?”
I considered responding with a joke about him riding my cock, but went a different way. His comfort and ease only made my feelings for him stronger.
With a smile, not a smirk, I said, “You know, I don’t know. We should. It would be fun.”
“Yeah. And I can pay you back for the jet ski,” he said with a grin, not a smile.
I leaned forward, resting an arm on the table, and took my time glancing up at him. “You know damn well what’ll happen if you pull something like that.”
“We crash?” Finn said, some of his sexy confidence leeching away.
“Well, yeah, maybe.” My eyes flicked to the side, then back to him. “But I was going to say, I’d fuck your ass so good as soon as we got home that the only thing you’ll want to ride ever again is my big, hard, leaky, thick, throbbing cock.”
Finn’s eyes widened. “Fuck,” he said, under his breath, and glanced at his lap. “Don’t get me hard right now, man. This is a nice place.”
I laughed, again too loud for the atmosphere, but then so did he. Our drinks arrived just as the laughter died down, and the server took our orders. I got the Butter-Poached Lobster, Beurre Blanc, and also ordered the beef tartare and escargot to start. Finn went with the pan-roasted duck breast.
After clinking our precarious glasses, with almost zero spillage, I said, “To never letting the past get in the way of the future.”
We each took a sip. “Mmm, that’s good.” The martini was as perfect as the vibes. “How’s yours?”
“Uh, good. Strong.” Finn’s eyes didn’t meet mine.
“It’s a martini. Of course it’s strong.” I laughed.
Finn wasn’t listening. He glanced at me, opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and looked away. I stared at him until he met my eyes again.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I peeked at him from under my brow. “Spit it out. Say what’s on your mind. You can tell me anything, man. For real. You know that.”
With one more apprehensive look, he said, “Why’d you say that? When we cheersed.”
“I dunno. Felt like a nice thing to say. And, we’re sitting here in this nice ass restaurant, and we’ve known each other forever, and we were just joking about me fucking you, and I…” I shrugged, frowned, and shook my head. “I don’t know.”