Chapter 21 Present
Ry examined his reflection, checking the fit of his slacks and his dark red button-up with a black-and-silver vest. The quiet hum from the fan was the only sound. He smiled. Looking good. He stood taller in the mirror, a lightness bubbling within him.
The last week had been going well for him, thanks to Sania and her team, along with the rest of the band supporting him. He and Lon were back to their old, easy camaraderie, while he’d had fresh adventures with Brand, with all the cooking classes and other activities.
And Alex … he'd finally see if those fleeting glances, those electric touches were more than a dream. A flutter of anticipation, a nervous tremor, danced in his stomach. He had invited Alex to a trendy, upscale restaurant tonight, where Sania’s assistant secured a prime table to aid their legal strategy for winning or settling the case.
The whole idea seemed devilish, almost as if he was getting away with something.
He adjusted his raven-black hair once more. “You’ve got this, Ry,” he said to himself. “You can do this. And not fuck it up.”
Then he gave himself a winning smile and headed out, letting Alex know he was on his way.
He pulled up to Alex’s house, the crunch of gravel under the tires sharp.
The car door clicked shut, and he stepped out into the cool night air.
His footsteps echoed softly on the path, and with a decisive push, rang the doorbell, like a gentleman.
Alex opened the entryway, wearing only underwear, his hair still damp. “Hey, sorry I’m running a little late. Come on in while I finish getting dressed.”
The sight sent a jolt through him, a familiar heat rising in his chest. His physique hadn’t changed, but the light and shadows danced across his sculpted form as he smiled and leaned on the banister.
A soft sigh escaped Ry’s lips, the memory of teenage infatuation surging back with an almost tangible force.
No wonder he’d been so utterly captivated.
Ry closed the door behind him, unaware he’d taken steps toward Alex.
“Need help choosing?” he said, clearing the thickness in his throat.
“You are all dressed up.” Alex appraised him. “Glad I waited to see the dress code first.”
Ry flushed and laughed nervously. “Maybe more dressy than required, but not as fancy as the Grammys. Man, that was fun.”
“Yeah, a nice bright spot.” Alex beckoned him and then headed upstairs.
He trailed behind at a respectable distance, yet close enough for a clear view of Alex’s back, their footsteps a hushed scuff on the floor.
They entered the ensuite bedroom, the colossal bed a commanding presence.
The room, awash in serene whites, cool grays, and calming blues, conjured the tranquility of a beachside oasis.
Alex held out two pairs of pants. “Which one? Black or … black.”
Light-headed, Ry fell back to the banter they’d had years ago. “I might need you to model them to decide. How else am I supposed to tell?”
The taller man rolled his dark eyes, but grinned.
He tried on both, spinning around for Ry.
In the end, Alex had put on the tailored slacks and an indigo button-up with the arms folded up, exposing a couple of his tattoos.
He left the top two buttons open. Ry swallowed.
This evening might be much more difficult than he had expected.
Alex finished adjusting his sleeves and said, “I have a question before we actually go through with this.”
“Yeah?” Ry said, standing up.
“You aren’t just doing this for the lawyer or the tabloids, are you?”
“Um, no,” Ry flushed. Nervous, he tested his new honesty policy. “No, I also want this to be a romantic date, too.”
“Well, in that case, you can pay.” Alex grinned.
“You got it,” Ry said. “Ready?”
Alex gave him a shy smile and nodded, shooing Ry out.
The drive was quiet, and Ry didn’t force conversation, simply enjoying the moment.
Light citrus and leather scents drifted to him like a memory from so long ago.
Soft sounds played through the car speakers, some type of ambient, soothing music with lazy swells and chill beats.
He tapped lightly along, his face unused to the grin he’d had the entire ride. Summer bloomed in his chest.
Ry let Alex out at the front of the restaurant and then took advantage of what the valet offered—easier than searching for parking. He breathed deeply and nodded to Alex.
Finally.
The hostess greeted them with a customary smile and then shock, and then a huge grin. “Welcome to L’Argent,” she said, checking the reservation list.
Ry, from doing this so many times, smoothly said, “It’s under Nocturnal Star.”
“Ah, yes.” She gestured. “If you could follow me, please?”
They followed. The low pulse of electronic dance music vibrated through the floorboards, audible yet allowing for conversation.
A crowd of sharp, dressed-to-impress individuals clustered in tight, animated groups.
She guided them out to the front patio, a space that abutted the street.
Warm, inviting lights spilled onto the pavement, met by a cool breeze that swept through the charming, walkable neighborhood.
The hostess seated them and wished them a great evening.
“Place is nice,” Alex said, then laughed. “Damn.”
Ry chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
He looked over his menu, humming to himself. They had a lot of really interesting items, strange combinations, but all seemed good. He leaned toward something foreign and unpronounceable.
“Anything standing out?” he asked.
Alex didn’t look up. “I don’t know, since you’re paying, though.” He laughed.
“I’m not going to tell you what you can and can’t get,” Ry said, flipping over the menu.
Alex set down the food list. “In that case,” he grinned. “Might need to get several things.”
Ry stuck out his tongue. Flirty or brotherly—? He pinched his arm to force the weight of the thought away. Sania had this under control. She’d even hired some of the photographers he liked working with.
Soon, a server came to their table and took their order.
They sat in silence for a moment, watching passersby on the sidewalk and a few groups waiting outside.
Ry then made a call to Lon while Alex phoned Brand, and they talked for a few minutes.
Sania had tasked a few paparazzi to take photos of them while it appeared as if they were working.
“So, is this work enough?” Alex asked.
Ry laughed. “Yes, making calls about serious business.” He pulled a notepad from his vest pocket and a pen from the other. “Plus, I have backup. Lyrics that Efreet will never own and Arend will never touch.”
“Fuck yeah,” Alex said. “Mind if I take a look?”
Ry handed over the notes, his leg bouncing. He stilled his limbs and schooled his expression.
“This is nice,” Alex said, pointing to a line. He whispered, “You know how bad at pretending I am, so might as well do actual work.”
“Only if you want,” Ry said.
Alex borrowed his pen and made a few adjustments and notations.
Minutes later, the air thickened with their discussion, voices rising and falling over a few disputed lines.
A gentle breeze rustled through, carrying away the day's lingering heat as the sun dipped low, casting a golden glow.
The familiar warmth and fading light transported Ry back to the day they'd first moved here, the same passionate debate over lyrics echoing in the quiet.
The clatter of plates broke the moment as the server placed steaming dishes before them.
Ry’s burger, a towering masterpiece of beef and veggies, promised deliciousness.
Alex’s ribeye, seared to a perfect char, glistened in the low light.
Ry sank his teeth into his food, a moan escaping him.
The savory juices rushed into his mouth, each bite a harmonious blend of smoky meat, the zest of the sauce, and the crispness of lettuce.
He leaned back, eyes shut, savoring the dish.
Alex, equally enthralled, lifted a forkful of steak, then a slice of potato, his appreciative groan a testament to the meal's perfection.
Over the course of the meal, Alex came up with a few melodies, and Ry countered a few of those with the harmonies he’d been developing. They traded the notepad back and forth, each man making notes and adjusting the song as the night played out around them.
Once the server had collected their plates, he brought out a decadent piece of chocolate cake. “We’d like to serve this on the house,” he said. “A few fans of yours work here.”
“Thank you,” Ry said.
“Appreciate it,” Alex said.
Alex plunged a fork into the rich dessert, the steel sinking in.
Ry followed suit, the clink of his tableware against the plate announcing his eagerness.
The confection itself was dark brown, almost black, hinting at its decadence.
As he took a bite, the dense, moist texture filled his mouth, a luxurious, bittersweet flavor that far surpassed its simple, unfrosted appearance.
The pure, intense taste of well-made chocolate.
“So good,” Ry said around a mouthful.
“Mm hmm,” Alex agreed.
The server slipped them the check and left to wait on another table.
The night was still warm, and the patio filled with people, some of whom looked at him and Alex with faint recognition.
Perhaps being out on the town would one day be less stressful.
He hadn’t gotten used to the staring this close without chemical help.
Ry paid the bill, fairly inexpensive for an enjoyable meal out, and it was a novel experience for him to be at a place that wasn’t catering to super-rich celebrities.
“Shall we?” Ry asked.
Alex was smiling. “Maybe in a minute,” he said. “Nice night out.”
“It is,” he agreed, thinking about some work he’d done at rehab. This was new, uncomfortable, but ultimately what he wanted: to be out with his friends, celebrate life, and be human. It was so damn hard, though.