Better Than Safe (20 page)

“Have fun. If it works out later, come on by the Pelican, okay?”

I stared at into space for a moment. “All right. I… this….”

“What?”

“Nothing. This is odd for me. That’s all.”

Seth chuckled, the sweet sound floating over me, soothing my aching head as it chased away my turbulent thoughts. “You worry too much. I’ll catch you later, Paul.”

He hung up before I could say another word. There really was nothing more to say. But I couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling Seth would take a starring role in my head while I sat next to another man at a jazz concert Saturday night. I could picture myself wondering how to “get through” something I usually enjoyed until I could find an excuse to see Seth again. Not good.

S
ATURDAY
NIGHT
didn’t start well. Tom called to let me know he’d been called in for an emergency surgery and would meet me directly at the Kennedy Center. I certainly couldn’t fault his priorities. According to what he’d shared on our previous date, his patients were among DC’s political elite. I had a feeling there was a link between the amount of time he spent at the hospital and his single status. Rather like myself in advertising, I mused as I scanned the busy sidewalk outside the venue.

“Let’s leave his ticket with will-call. He can meet us inside,” Curt advised, checking his watch for the third time. If there was anyone who hated tardiness more than I did, it was Curt.

Jack was our equalizer. While Curt and I radiated tension, Jack was a cool customer. He stood at his boyfriend’s side, rubbing his lower back soothingly with an indulgent, amused expression on his handsome face. “Good suggestion. Your doctor will be here when he can, Paul. No sense sitting out here missing all the action. There’s a jazz horn flute inside waiting for you two.”

“Ha. Ha.” Curt bumped Jack’s side playfully and handed me the extra ticket. “Here, leave this for your beau and we’ll go find our seats. I hate being late.”

“We know,” Jack supplied, entwining his fingers through Curt’s lovingly.

I watched the two men make their way to the grand glass-paned foyer. I loved that they had no qualms publicly showing affection. No doubt that was Jack’s doing. He was too confident in his own skin to let any stuffy jazz fans dictate etiquette. If he felt like holding his man’s hand, he would. I had one of those strange out-of-body moments where I wondered what the hell I was doing. I was on a double date with a former coffee date turned good friend and his boyfriend while I waited for my online date to make an appearance as I secretly longed to be with my other coffee date. I was a head case, I thought, taking a deep breath.

T
OM
ARRIVED
shortly after the lights went down. He whispered his profuse apologies and squeezed my hand for emphasis. I smiled and returned the gesture before pulling away to give the jazz quartet my full attention. The show was fantastic. The quartet played blues-drenched jazz that was alternately soul-stirring and sensual. There was no intermission during the ninety-minute performance and by the time it was over, I was buzzing with renewed energy. Jazz did that to me. It always had. It was soulful, sexy and watching a live performance was a particular rush.

When we made our way outside into the balmy June evening, I made a quick round of introductions. As the men said hello, I studied my date. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Brooks Brothers catalog with his navy lightweight linen blend trousers and perfectly tailored blue striped button-down shirt. It was hard to believe the man had been wearing scrubs and covered in—never mind. Curt and I looked, as usual, like brothers in matching khakis and traditional style Oxford shirts. Jack was by far the hippest of the four of us in his edgier cut, dark blue designer shirt and trim fitted trousers. For now long sleeves covered his tats. I glanced at the conservative doctor standing next to me, then at Jack, wondering what he’d make of Jack’s body ink or if maybe he had some of his own. Jack caught my stare and smiled wickedly. I couldn’t guess what he was thinking. I hadn’t been joking when I told Seth that Jack was a mystery to me. We had nothing in common but Curt. And looking at the two men, you’d doubt they were a couple. At least until you spent time with them and realized they were a study in complementing contrasts that oddly enough made perfect sense.

“I’m not sure what the plans are, but I’d love to buy you all a drink. There’s a great spot in Dupont with live music. They usually play blues. You may know it. It’s on R Street near that leather bar…. Jack’s.” Tom’s smile was firmly in place, though his tone dripped with disdain, making it clear he didn’t care for leather bars or Jack’s in particular. “The Pelican Club. They serve light pub food too. How does that sound?”

My face heated with embarrassment. I turned to apologize to my friends and find a tactful way to let my date know he’d just asked the owner of said leather bar for a drink. But Jack stopped me, shaking his head ever so slightly to signal I should leave it alone. Curt didn’t say a word, but I knew the doctor had taken a serious fall in his esteem. I gulped, madly trying to find a diplomatic segue while my pulse rushed at the mention of the name of the bar Seth was playing at tonight. I had a feeling a nightmarish episode was about to unfold if I didn’t speak up quickly.

“The Pelican Club is a great suggestion. We’ll meet you there. C’mon babe.” Jack gripped Curt’s upper arm before he could refuse and steered him toward the parking lot.

He released his hold when they’d moved a few feet away and freed his hands to light a cigarette. I watched them for a moment, wondering what if anything to say to my date. When I turned to face him, I saw a telltale sign of disapproval in his gaze as though he wanted to admonish or give a friendly professional health warning on the dangers of smoking. This wasn’t going to work, I mused. How was I going to get rid of this guy? I couldn’t deal with a pompous, know-it-all who—fuck, that wasn’t me, was it?

I had a sudden fear I’d been given a glimpse into how others saw me, and I didn’t care for it at all. I wasn’t judgmental or snobbish. Not really. All right fine, I could be a snob on occasion, but not in an erudite sense. At least, I didn’t think so. I didn’t like what standing next to this man said about me.

“Your friends didn’t valet?” Tom asked as he handed the valet his ticket. Perhaps I was sensitive to it now, but I swore I heard an offhand note of judgment in his tone.

I pasted a chilly grin on my face and handed my ticket over too. “No. It’s a lovely night, so I’m sure they brought Jack’s Harley.”

“Harley? Whoa. Interesting.” As in… not at all. I wanted to slug him.

“To be honest with you, Tom, I’m only—”

“Shoot. Sorry.” He pulled out his cell and checked a message before giving me an apologetic sideways glance. “The surgery went well, but I’m concerned about this patient. He’s a decorated war vet and a former governor. I’ve asked the hospital to keep me posted.
There’s a slim chance they may call me in again. I hope not… but—
”

“I understand. One drink.”

His smile was overly bright as he stepped toward a newer model Mercedes Benz. “Fantastic. See you there.”

I swiped my hand over my jaw in frustration as he pulled away from the curb. I felt a flash of longing for Seth and instantly knew this wasn’t going to end well.

C
URT
MET
me outside the Pelican Club fifteen minutes later.

“Jack’s at the bar ordering some drinks. He’s buddies with the owner. They set up a table for us up front. That way we can keep conversation to a minimum and concentrate on the music,” Curt said with an eye roll.

I grabbed his elbow before he headed inside to join his partner. “I’m very sorry. I didn’t realize he’d be so….”

Curt waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I have to ask you, though… where did you meet him? There’s no way Aaron introduced you to that guy.”

“Online. Per your suggestion.”

“Ouch. You mean this is my fault?”

“I have a bigger problem than having an idiot date. Seth is playing with the band tonight.”

“Huh?” Curt gave me a searching stare and looked a little taken aback by the panic in my voice. “Your model? You don’t look so good.”

“He’s not my model, but yes…. Seth. Spiral is his friend’s band and—bloody hell… a front row seat?” I closed my eyes briefly and swallowed hard.

“Wow. Well, this night just got a little more interesting. I better make sure Jack orders you a double.” He winked and pointed to someone behind me. “Looks like your online Romeo is here. I’ll meet you inside.”

T
HE
P
ELICAN
Club had a 1920s jazz club feel with its dark paneled walls, art deco lighting, and traditional lush tufted round booths along the back walls. The center area was filled with small, square, black-clothed tables facing a relatively large elevated stage. An ample bar was situated opposite. Servers wearing red satin shirts roamed the floor making sure everyone had a drink in hand. This wasn’t a gay club. It was actually one of those extraordinary places where no one truly gave a shit what you were or what you did for a living. Gay, straight, bi, trans, doctor, lawyer, politician… ad exec. You might see a straight couple making out next to a gay couple doing the same and no one batted an eye or cared if you were running for Congress next election. This place was all about the music.

I had liked Spiral’s show in Baltimore, but I also remembered them being more of a rock band with some blues influence. The Pelican usually featured bands or performers with a rhythm and blues or jazz sound, but not rock. I was interested to see if they would adjust their playlist to please the crowd, or do their own thing. And yes, because I was a fool, the mere thought of seeing Seth back on stage with his red guitar strapped over his shoulder as he swayed his hips in time with the beat was enough to make my dick swell in my khakis. However, sitting next to a man I should have been interested in but wasn’t while watching the man I wanted but shouldn’t was enough to keep my libido under control. I was jumpy and uncomfortable. One drink, I promised myself. Then I’d make an excuse and get the hell out.

Jack must have been very good friends with the owner. He and Curt were seated at a table for four centered directly in front of the stage. Tom remarked on the impressive table as he flagged down a waiter to place his drink order. I noted his flirtatious smile with the young man and met Curt’s eye roll with one of my own.

“So, what do you gentlemen do for a living?” Tom asked conversationally. His tone was stiff, but I didn’t get the impression he was being purposefully rude. I had a feeling his imperious tone was ingrained. He probably had no idea he made even the simplest inquiry sound like a chore, a nicety he recognized as being polite though he really didn’t give a shit.

“I’m a lawyer and Jack is—”

“I’m a mechanic. I work on motorcycles. Harleys, Ducatis… you name it, I can fix it. You ride?” Jack asked with a mischievous grin as he picked up his glass with his left hand.

He’d rolled his sleeves back so his tattoos were now on proud display. I chuckled at his not so obvious “fuck you if you’ve got a problem with me” nonchalance. I understood he downplayed being a successful business owner because he didn’t care to impress my date one way or the other.

Tom’s gaze was drawn to the colorful ink. He gave Jack a wan smile, then flashed a brilliant one a moment later when the waiter set his drink at his elbow.

“Uh, no. I’ve never ridden a motorcycle and I don’t think I ever will.”

“Tsk tsk… never say never,” Jack admonished with a feral grin. “There’s nothing like the feel of straddling a big Harley and feelin’ that motor hum between your thighs. Right, baby?”

Jack caressed Curt’s ear and massaged his shoulder lovingly. When Curt purred as he leaned into Jack’s side, I almost choked on my martini. My friends were not given to overly demonstrative displays of affection. They’d obviously reached their limit of patience with the doctor.

“Yeah. I love it. I didn’t think I would at first, but fuck, it’s hot.” Curt’s tone was breathy. He actually didn’t sound like himself at all. Not to mention he was lying through his teeth. I knew he rode on the back of Jack’s bike occasionally, but he never rode on his own. He’d tell anyone who asked he was happy to wrap his arms around his man, but scared shitless to do it himself.

“Uh… that’s interesting,” Tom replied woodenly with a fake grin.

Curt nudged my leg hard and gave me a comic wide-eyed “what the fuck?” look. I shrugged and leaned toward him when the lights went down. I was very aware of my accelerated pulse as someone grabbed a microphone to introduce the evening’s entertainment.

“One drink and I’ll drag him out,” I said.

“Good.” Curt clapped his hands as the musicians filed on stage. “Which one is Seth?”

I gulped and glanced up. I recognized his best friend Rand, the lead singer, and the bassist and drummer, but not the guitarist. Seth wasn’t there. The man taking his place was a tall, skeletally thin young man with chopped white blond hair that eerily matched the pallor of his pasty skin. From a purely superficial standpoint, he was a poor substitute for the beautiful man who’d taken his place in Baltimore. However, if Rand was really as driven as Seth claimed he was, there was no way he’d allow a drugged out guitarist to ruin his plans to conquer the music world. The man must be good.