Chapter 2
Henry
“I swear on all that’s holy, you best not ditch me today,” Marc said through clenched teeth.
“I won’t—”
“Ben, stop biting the dog’s tail. If he bites you back, I’m gonna be on his side,” he interrupted. “Henry, I mean it.”
“I prom—”
“Benjamin! Leave the damn dog alone… Baby, come here. I’ll protect you from that gremlin…”
“Should a father call his child a gremlin?”
The enormous clatter in the background sent my brother off the phone one more time to deal with whatever disaster was happening yet again.
“A father who’s about to lose his goddamned mind would… Baby, gimme kisses… Ben, you’re sticky. Give me your kisses later, please…”
“Well, if you’re going to kiss your dog, then I’m going to hang up,” I interjected.
There was only so much of my brother and his spawn I could take before I needed to peace out. Baby, who looked like a bear with sawed-off legs, could stay because she was quieter and better behaved than the aforementioned spawn.
“Yeah, yeah. Park at four, and you promised… Ben, I swear to—”
The line went dead, but I was going to hope Baby survived. She was my favorite in that house.
The timing worked, though, because I arrived at Halo House with five minutes to spare.
When Phoenix called to say he had a new guest he’d like me to meet, I’d been intrigued.
Halo House was one of my favorite charities that I’d started supporting over the last several years.
Phoenix ran it as a kind of halfway house for queer men who needed a place to stay while they got back on their feet after whatever circumstances had brought them down.
The house itself sat on a hill, isolated and absolutely gorgeous.
I always expected a movie production crew to pop up out of nowhere every time I pulled through the gates. Thank God none actually had.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, but I refused to look at it.
As an entertainment attorney, there was no shortage of people trying to get my attention at all hours of the day and night: agents, actors, studios, production companies.
None of them maintained a nine-to-five schedule, and they expected the people who worked with them to do the same.
If I didn’t establish and enforce rules for business hours, I would never stop.
I might’ve been young at thirty-two to have already made partner at the firm, but I’d managed to do it while holding a few boundaries that allowed me to have somewhat of a life.
I intended to reinforce those with a vengeance because all emails could wait until this evening.
Sundays between noon and eight belonged only to me.
I parked my car underneath a tree and made my way inside.
I collected a glass of champagne from a server circulating through the crowd and headed farther into the house.
Drink in hand, I stepped out of the server’s route and looked around for the host. When I spotted him alone across the room, I made a beeline for him.
Dragging Phoenix away from people wasn’t the easiest task.
“Handsome, you made it,” he said before leaning in to kiss both my cheeks.
Neither of us was European, but that never stopped him from being a fabulous man of undetermined age.
“I’m so glad there’s such a nice turnout today. Lots of money raised means more help distributed.”
“No need to sell it,” I said dryly. “My donation has already cleared the bank.”
“Excellent. Your support is always appreciated.” Phoenix grinned.
He took a moment to straighten his perfectly straight collar and smooth his completely unwrinkled pants.
“There’s a guest I’d like you to meet. He’s…interesting.”
“What’s the pause mean?”
“The pause?” His arched brow was doing a lot of work.
“Stop repeating my words and answer the question, please.”
I tucked Phoenix’s hand into my elbow and led us toward the buffet set up on the other side of the room.
“If you’re going to make me work for it, I need sustenance.”
“All in due time, lovely.”
He declined the offered plate with a wink but helpfully advised which of the small bites were best. I’d skipped breakfast and lunch, so I piled my plate high to make up for it.
“Okay, tell me about the pause,” I repeated.
Phoenix studied a tray of fruit as if the answers to the universe were hidden there. After adding strawberries to my plate, he said, “I’d rather you figure it out for yourself.”
If it had been anyone but Phoenix, the lack of clarity would have grated on me. No one pushed Phoenix at a pace he didn’t want to go, so I forced myself to swallow my bubbling objection.
He led me to one of the occupied tables along the side of the room with two open chairs. The men already sitting there were deep in conversation but looked up at our approach.
“Phoenix, please join us. Andy and I were just discussing pickleball,” the older man said with a beaming nod to the younger one at the table. “You play, don’t you?”
Andy almost imperceptibly winced when he heard his name.
“I’m afraid it’s been a while since I picked up any kind of racket,” Phoenix answered with a laugh, “but I was never particularly good at it.”
Andy, who looked like the consummate businessman at lunch, glanced between us.
“Walter loves it though,” he said with an encouraging smile and the smoothest delivery.
Andy was exceptionally well-dressed for a Sunday afternoon.
His hair was styled to gelled perfection.
His pants were pressed with a crease down the center.
His polo shirt stretched across his shoulders, emphasizing his tight physique.
His biceps weren’t overly large, but it was obvious he worked out.
There was the faintest hint of stubble on his cheeks, and his shoes were polished to a mirror shine.
“Do you play, Andy?” I asked.
Before answering, he schooled his features into a bland, pleasant expression.
“Love it,” he answered brightly. “I just wish I had more time to play.”
Walter beamed at his enthusiasm.
“And you?” Andy asked, turning back to me.
I said something noncommittal because I’d never learned to play pickleball. At all.
Walter interrupted to wax poetic about the joys of hitting a fluorescent ball over a net. Andy hung on every word like the guy was a sage who’d never said anything more fascinating.
Andy mirrored every movement like he was following a script.
An outsider would think he was just as fascinated by the subject, but the joy in Walter’s eyes didn’t reach Andy’s.
They weren’t glazed over exactly, but they seemed more intent on watching everyone else at the table than focusing on the game he claimed to love.
“Walter, would you mind coming with me? There’s someone you might know…” Phoenix and the pickleball fanatic wandered off, which left Andy and me alone at the table.
“I keep waiting for someone at my firm to explain their obsession with the game,” I offered with a slight smile. “What do you love about it?”
With Phoenix and Walter gone, Andy turned his full attention to me. As he had with Walter, he mirrored my crossed-leg position. To test my theory, I shifted to a more open stance.
He followed.
“Oh, you know…the…uh…scoring.”
Andy’s eyes darted back and forth like he was vacuuming up information.
“Uh, okay… Maybe I misunderstood because I thought it was just counting by two. Did I get that wrong?”
Watching Andy reconfigure his answer in real time was a hell of a lot more interesting than any game. His forehead got the cutest little lines across it like he was forcing his brain to activate. But his fingers did a tap-tap-tap against his thigh like they were keeping time in a marching band.
“Ha, sorry. I don’t know why I said that…”
He looked down and to the left when he laid out that lie.
“I meant to say the social part.”
Down and left again.
“I’m sure Walter would be happy to have you join…” Andy’s voice trailed off into nothing, but his eyes never stopped moving.
“The social part?” I asked.
“You know…name your…uh…squad…name your stick…stuff like that…”
“Pickleball uses a racket,” I offered.
Andy looked slightly stricken before smoothing his face out again and waving a hand.
“Do you mean squash? Because that’s a game I could get behind.”
“I do,” Andy gushed.
He leaned forward and placed a hand on my knee.
“Gah, I meant name your squash stick.” Andy paused long enough to give me an expectant look. “What’s your favorite squash memory?” He leaned forward like my answer would be the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.
It should have felt fake, but somehow, it felt sincere, and I felt a little shitty about tricking him.
“Finding out you play with a racket, not a stick.”
Andy’s face fell.
“Oh…uh…”
I’d put Andy around seven or eight years older than me, but I felt protective of him for whatever reason. The subtle emotions playing over his pretty face fascinated me, but it didn’t tell me anything about him. And now I felt like shit for playing gotcha with him.
“Caught me,” he recovered with a twinkling laugh that felt entirely calculated to disarm someone. It was likely highly effective. “I’d like to know more about squash.”
The charming smile, pretty as it was, didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Would you really?” I asked quietly.
The noises around us faded into a buzz. Something about Andy made me want to find all the inconsistencies he forgot to hide. Given the lengths he’d gone to hide the pickleball-squash scandal, the slips had to be accidental.
“No,” Andy admitted quietly.
“Then why not say you do?”
“Because Walter was interested in it,” Andy answered with an added shrug as if that was the obvious answer.
My phone had buzzed every so often during the conversation, but now, it was a nonstop vibration.
“Sorry,” I said sheepishly. “They don’t seem to be giving up.”
“It’s fine,” Andy replied without a trace of annoyance. “Chances are your business is important.”
Something about the matter-of-fact way he decided my job was more important than the conversation we were having stopped me in my tracks.
“Is our conversation not important?”
“Not as important as your business, I’m sure.”