CHAPTER TEN
SEAN
I poured an inch of champagne into the cheap plastic flute in front of Matteo. “I can’t believe I’m contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”
“Hey, I’m not a minor, I’m twenty, thanks,” he said and took the flute. He inhaled and sipped at the champaign, the little bubbles dancing around his lips. “Besides, I’ve been drinking the blood of Christ since I was thirteen, so this is kid’s stuff.”
“Good point,” I said and sat down on the couch with my own flute.
We taped our glasses together in a toast. It was only ten o’clock, but the New Year’s Eve celebration on T.V was going strong and the thumpa-thumpa from the club downstairs was vibrating the floor and walls, but it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.
Any other year I would have been downstairs enjoying the party.
Danny would have been here with his best girlie, Ronnie.
Spending the holiday in my little apartment with Matteo seemed…
intimate. Like we were sharing something special other people rarely saw.
More likely, I was reading too much into things. Still, it was a nice change of scenery.
“I’d also argue I’m a major–”
“A major pain in the ass,” I cut in.
He huffed. “Do you know how much effort has to be put into being annoying? It’s a skill, you understand.”
“Uh huh. One you’ve majored in, I see.”
He tossed me a little smile and took another sip of his champagne.
The way his lips conformed around the edge of the flute did something to me I wasn’t comfortable with.
The good thing about being a boss at the Adonis was I could set my own schedule.
Any other time, I’d be downstairs, lurking and mingling, but spending a few hours with Matteo was preferable.
I enjoyed having him around and sharing dinner with him on frosty winter evenings.
Most times we watched a movie and when I was at work, we texted.
It surprised me how quickly I’d gotten used to him being here.
“My parent’s version of celebrating the new year was detailing all the ways you were going to be a good soldier for Christ,” he said suddenly.
He hadn’t talked about our serious conversation all week, but it seemed to weigh heavily on him.
I supposed he had a lot of baggage to sort through and organize.
“Debauchery and imbibing was not allowed in the house so this is nice.”
“More?” I inquired as he finished his champagne. I poured another inch into the flute and watched as he sipped at it.
“You're just trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me because you don’t stand a chance otherwise,” he said.
“You should willingly give yourself to me after all the cooking I’ve done for you.
Not to mention, my clothes you’ve ruined,” I said, glancing at my t-shirt.
Once upon a time it had been white but was now a swirl of blue and yellow.
Apparently, no one had ever told him not to mix colors with whites in the washer, but I thought it was sweet he insisted on cleaning my apartment.
He actually blushed and glanced at me. “You’re not going to let that go, are you?”
“Nope.”
“Fine, but it’s not my fault,” he countered.
He gulped the champagne down, took a deep breath, and turned toward me.
“I mean that. I always had everything not of importance done for me and my father considered things like laundry and mopping something for the plebians to do.
I mean, he is a staunch believer that cleanliness is next to godliness, but we were never to do the cleaning ourselves, because it was beneath us.
We had a nanny when I was young, and a housekeeper to see to everything like laundry and vacuuming, so I never had any responsibility except to my bible and schoolwork.
No one ever told me not to put colors with whites, so it's not my fault.”
“Okay,” I said honestly and dropped it.
“That’s it? Just okay? No snappy comeback?”
“I’m not going to tease you about something that isn’t your fault.”
He frowned at me and turned his attention to the television where a pop-star was singing and dancing on a stage before thousands of people. His brows were permanently furrowed as if he was confused about the whole thing.
After a long minute, he asked, “Have you ever gone to a New Year’s party? Like the one on T.V?”
“Once or twice. Mostly when I was young and out of control. It was fun the first time,” I said honestly.
He dribbled the last few drops of champagne into his mouth and sucked his lip between his teeth.
I wondered how sweet his kiss might be. There was no beating around the bush–I was attracted to him.
Not just on a physical level, but mentally and spiritually as well.
He seemed like he was looking for something, or someone to guide him and I wanted to be that person.
But I didn’t do casual hook-ups anymore.
He was seriously making me rethink that decision, however.
“Have you ever been drunk? Like, passed out on the pavement drunk?” he asked.
“Countless times. I don’t recommend it, however. You end up pissing in your own kitchen sink because you think it’s the toilet and drinking out of the toilet because you think it’s the sink.”
“Don’t tell me you’re speaking for experience?” When I just blinked at him, he burst out in laughter that ended in a cough. He’d recovered but still suffered from flemming, something that was common with pneumonia. “Oh, that’s terrible.”
“Yeah. Like I said, not fun. So I don’t recommend purposely getting sloshed. Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a few beers every now and then. Everything in moderation because it’s more enjoyable that way.”
“Like Christmas morning snow in the city?”
“Exactly,” I said and bumped his flute with mine.
He smiled at me for a long moment, something indescribable twinkling in his eyes.
We drank our champagne as we watched the party on the television.
I made a bowl of popcorn and the bottle of champagne slowly drained as we enjoyed the evening.
I hated that he didn’t have much joy in his life, something I was determined to rectify.
I told him a little more about my youthful exploits that always landed me in a pickle, and he seemed interested in it all as if he were living his life through mine.
I gasped when Lainey Wilson took the stage. I took his hand and pulled him to his feet. “You’ve got to dance with me. Help me relive my youth of endless partying and bad decisions.”
He huffed but didn’t fight me. “I can’t picture you liking country music.”
“I just like the song,” I said and pulled him close to me. “I like most kinds of music, actually.”
“With your ear plugs, tattoos, and beard, I always thought of you as the heavy metal type.”
I cradled his lower back, holding him close, glad he wasn’t fighting me. We didn’t do much dancing because I sensed a round of bickering coming on. “I don’t know about head-banging, but I have been known to do a lot of ass-banging in my days.”
He rolled his eyes and slumped his shoulders dramatically. “You seriously overestimate yourself.”
“I don’t know,” I teased. “You haven’t seen me fifteen years ago. I was the object of everyone’s desire.”
“So, what you’re saying is you were even more annoying fifteen years ago?” His lip was curled up, his eyes shining with amusement now as if he enjoyed our verbal sparring as much as I did.
Fuck, but I loved the sweet tumble of excitement in my gut too much to stop. “You’re the one that is annoying, remember? You said it yourself.” I stepped away from him. “I’m going to prove something to you right now.”
I left him standing in front of the television and scavenged my closet for my shoebox of memories.
Some were racy polaroids of men I’d had brief relationships with, others promotional flyers for events.
I pushed past the stacks and found what I was looking for.
I wasn’t above showing off. Admitting I was vain was the first step to fixing that flaw, but I wanted to see the expression on Matteo’s face when he got a look at me in peak condition.
I returned to his side and handed him the picture printed on cardstock.
It was a dance off for go-go-boys, with me being crowned the king of the competition as a twenty-one-year-old.
He leaned in, furrowed his brows then did a once over on me.
I gloated as he covered his smile while his attention bounced between the flier and me.
“Yeah, I had abs back then,” I said. “And I shaved.”
“Wait, you were a go-go boy?” His expression of amused-disbelief was comical. It was nice getting one over on him for a change.
“Yup. Where do you think I learned those dance moves I employed for the benefit? I wasn’t just born with them, amirite? That kind of stuff takes years of practicing shaking your ass.”
“Well, I’m surprised you didn’t break a hip or something,” he said. “Seeing as you’re no longer a spring cock.”
I snatched the flier away from him, slightly annoyed. “Oh, shut it, brat. I’m not that old and I’ve still got it, in case you haven’t noticed. I’ll have you know I received three phone numbers that night.”
“Only three?”
I sighed, dejected. I realized too late I was actually trying to impress him. “You’re a big meanie, you know that?”
He bit into his smile and took the flier back from me, skimming his fingers over the glossy surface. “Well, I’ll admit that you were a stud back then. There was a reason you won the competition.”
I tipped my head up. “Still am a stud.”
He said nothing more, just casted me a look I couldn’t decipher.
“Anyway, that was a lifetime ago and I’m a different person now,” I said with a sigh. Sometimes, I really missed the person I used to be.
We sat back down as the program went to a commercial. “How did you go from a masc-twink to a teddy bear?”
“Hey, everyone loves teddy bears so don’t knock it.” I pushed my hand through my hair and pulled, feeling suddenly out of place. “Short answer, I grew up. And the bosses promoted me to bouncer because I was big enough for it.”
“Wait, you danced here? At the Adonis?”
“When I landed in Chicago, I’d applied at every gay club I could.
I had the body and looks and was pretty good with the moves.
The bosses called me first and hired me on the spot.
They were looking for a ginger, apparently.
That kind of job leads to endless offers of anonymous sex.
I took full advantage of it, but I explained how it all turned out.
It’s been thirteen years since I made that promise, and I haven’t broken it.
” I kept it to myself that I had a feeling I was going to break my promise soon here.
You could only fight loneliness for so long until you admitted defeat.
“It sounds like you’ve had an exciting life,” he said, looking at the flier sitting on the coffee table.
“Yeah, but exciting isn’t always exciting, amirite? Sometimes you just want to cuddle up on the couch, watch television, and talk about unimportant, boring things and do nothing at all, because I’ve discovered in my wise years that it’s the little things that really count.”
He furrowed his brows and glanced at me, the deep brown of his irises like coffee. I liked the way he looked at me, as if he were thinking things he refused to admit to, as if he couldn’t help wondering what I looked like naked. The music on the television turned lively and I got to my feet.
Tugging at his hand, I whimpered, “Come on, dance with me. Let me scintillate you with my Mick Jagger hips.”
He grumbled and settled into the couch like an immovable iron ball. “You just want to peacock with your hot moves.”
I stilled and beamed at him. “So, you admit that my moves get you all hot and bothered?”
He glared at me, his brows wrinkling, his lip pouting out.
With a growl, he tugged me in, and I fell into his lap with a laugh.
That annoyance was suddenly gone and he smiled the most beautiful smile I’d seen yet, his eyes catching the lights as if all the shit he’d gone through in his young life ceased to matter.
I found myself craving to help him forget it all.
I dropped my attention to his lips, needing to know how they felt against mine, thirsting to taste the champagne on his tongue. His throat shifted as he swallowed and he parted his lips as if he was thinking the same thing.
I told myself to move, get off him, and stop this train that was determined to steer me toward breaking my promise. My body refused to listen, however. All I could think about was how nice and warm he was against me, and how achingly lost he seemed.
I used the shock of the moment to pull him off the couch and into my arms, where we danced off key. He fought me the entire time, huffing about how silly this was. All of it was bluster to distract from the thing developing between us, of course.
I spun him around in my arms, his shout of glee nice.
The alcohol made me tipsy, and I lost my balance.
I planted my ass on the couch, Matteo falling in my lap.
I wasn’t sure how it had happened, but his lips were suddenly on mine, and his legs were straddling me so that I couldn’t get away if I wanted to.
He moaned against my lips in relief, as if he’d been waiting so long for this. Same, brat, same.
The kiss was too brief and just a gentle press of our lips. He pulled away ever so slightly, his fingers digging into the sides of my neck, and I got a quick flash of regret in his eyes.
With a sigh, I offered him a weak smile and got up. “I’m sleepy and tipsy. Going to head to bed.”