1. Gabriel #2
Dexter filled him in on Bobby asking for a private meeting. They chatted about it as if Gabriel wasn’t there, surmising that it probably had something to do with the wedding. He was irritated, so he went to walk away, but Dexter grabbed his arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To work. You know that thing we get paid for?”
“Are you okay?”
“I’ll be fine. I’ve got a nine o’clock, so I’m gonna prep.”
They both looked at him sceptically, but he walked away before they could say anything.
He was already prepped for his meeting, and they would know that, but he needed to be by himself.
When he’d met them, they’d both had an aversion to relationships, and Gabriel was the only one who’d wanted to settle down.
Now, they were both happy with wonderful men, and it was hard not to feel like a failure.
It was Thursday night, and this time he was meeting his date, Paul, in Soho.
Knights Corner had been the plan, but after Langdon poked his nose in on Jason’s behalf, Gabriel had changed the location.
They were in a gay restaurant that had cute waiters in tight pants serving elevated pub food, which added a premium to the price.
“How long have you worked in HR?” asked Paul.
“Learning and development,” he corrected with a smile.
“Same thing, isn’t it?”
Strike one! “We’re part of the HR function, but we focus on developing people, rather than hiring and firing them.”
“Ah, got ya. All that fluffy bullshit companies have to do to keep Gen Z happy.”
Strike two! “You’re a claims manager, aren’t you?”
He knew what Paul’s job was, as they’d spoken about it online, but he wanted to change the subject.
They’d ordered their food, and he wanted to eat it, even if he didn’t feel any chemistry with Paul.
He was grateful he’d changed the location too.
Paul’s physical resemblance to Bobby was alarming, and something that would have gotten back to Jason.
“Yeah. It’s quite complex, actually.”
Gabriel stifled a laugh. “I know what a claims manager does. I work in insurance.”
“You just said you worked in HR?”
“For an insurance company.”
“Oh, right. But you’ll never earn six figures, will you? I’m on ninety now, but my manager says I’ll cross that threshold in March.”
Gabriel already earned thirty grand more than him, but he kept that to himself.
The guy would probably burst a blood vessel.
Claims managers could earn much higher salaries when they were more experienced, so he could surpass Gabriel one day.
Not that it mattered to him. Gabriel would happily have a boyfriend on minimum wage, as long as he wasn’t a conceited arsehole like this one.
Their starters arrived, which gave them something else to focus on. That was until Paul grabbed the server.
“This is wrong,” he snapped. “I asked for no avocado.”
“My apologies, sir. I’ll get that changed for you.”
“It’s not exactly rocket science to get a simple order right, is it? What if I’d been allergic? I could have died because of your incompetence.”
The server looked upset, so Gabriel had to say something.
“I’d like to apologise for my . . . for his rudeness. If you could cancel our mains and bring me a bill for these starters, we’ll be leaving. You’ll still be tipped.”
The server’s jaw dropped, as did Paul’s.
“You can leave that here,” said Gabriel, gesturing to Paul’s starter. “We’ll be a few minutes.”
The server left. Paul turned and glared at Gabriel.
“What the fuck was all that about?”
“The date is over. Speaking to hospitality staff like that makes you the lowest form of shit. Not somebody I want to be associated with.”
“He’s just a nobody. Why the fuck do you care?”
“Because he’s a human being. Yes, they got your order wrong, but there’s no need to be a dick about it. Now, if you don’t want me to cause a huge scene, you’ll walk out quietly. I’ll cover the bill.”
“No, I’ll do that. I earn more than you.”
“I’m on one twenty and own a two-bed flat in Stratford, which I live in by myself. You still rent with two flatmates, don’t you?”
Paul went bright red with anger but said nothing else before he left.
Gabriel ate the guy’s starter as well, given he was paying for it, and finished his drink before settling the bill.
Thankfully, being London and that the place was full of oblivious and self-absorbed queens, nobody had seen their drama, or if they had, they didn’t care.
When Gabriel stepped out onto Old Compton Street, he took a deep breath. So far, dating had just been an expensive endeavour. He was tempted to cancel his last date on Saturday, but it couldn’t get any worse, and maybe third time lucky was a real thing.
Gabriel walked into his flat at seven o’clock Sunday morning, or should that be hobbled?
His third date, and last for a while, was with Wayne.
He was hot, worked as a builder so was hairy, tattooed, looked nothing like Bobby, and was polite to hospitality staff.
Gabriel had planned to ask for a second date, but then Wayne invited Gabriel back to his place, and he agreed.
Gabriel had experienced a few “jackhammers” before, but Wayne took it to a new extreme.
He had a decent-sized cock, but had missed Gabriel’s prostate repeatedly as he raced for the finish line.
It had been over in three minutes. Gabriel hadn’t even bothered to finish himself off and had left before the guy woke up.
Now he had a sore arse with no post-orgasm contentment, and was supposed to be having Sunday lunch with his family and the man who would never be his.
It was the last thing he wanted to do today.
Based on the first week, this probably would not be Gabriel’s year.