Happy (17 page)

for a good half an hour, walking up and down the block as he waged an

internal debate over whether he should go in or not. But Mrs. Georgiou had

been working the cash register, and Louie hadn’t been brave enough to face

her. He’d had to content himself with glimpses through the window of Peter

bussing tables. It had been like high school all over again.

“Could you tell me about the first one again?”

Louie started. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he’d forgotten he still

had a customer on the phone. He sighed and began running through the

list of Disney packages for the third time. It was way too late for this. He

stared longingly at the clock on his computer. Only twenty more minutes

until closing. His colleague Tammy, who sat next to him at the long desk,

gave him a knowing grin and a roll of her eyes. He struggled to keep the

laughter out of his voice. “I can e-mail you all this information,” he offered.

“It might be—”

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His heart skipped when he saw

the text from Peter.

Need help packing 2nite?

Sandra had dropped off the keys to the condo earlier today, and

tomorrow he would officially move his meager belongings into the space.

Peter had insisted on keeping his promise and helping. He wouldn’t take no

for an answer, and Louie had given up protesting. He had a feeling Peter

would show up at his doorstep no matter what.

“Hello? Are you still there?” demanded the indecisive woman on the

end of the line.

“Uh, yes, ma’am. Sorry about that.” Louie cleared his throat. Heat

crept up the back of his neck. “If you’ll give me your e-mail address, I can

send you all the details. Then you can review them at your leisure.”

“But you explain it so well.”

Clearly not
, Louie thought,
if she still couldn’t make up her mind
.

It took another five minutes for his customer to accept she was still

undecided. She asked for his direct line and promised to call him back

next week.

Louie heaved a sigh of relief. He sent Peter a reply saying he had

packing covered—he hardly had anything to pack—but would see him

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Chris Scully

98

tomorrow morning. When he’d had time to steel himself to see Peter again.

This time would be the last, he promised himself.

“Want to come out for drinks tonight with us, Louie?” Tammy slid

closed the glass doors fronting the store.

He began shutting down his computer. “Thanks, but I’m just going to

crash. I’m moving tomorrow.” Actually, he’d been thinking of going home

and catching a nap just in case Peter
did
stop by after work. He should

probably pick up some more beer too.

He caught himself. Shit. He was doing it again. Going out of his way

to be there for a guy who wasn’t even his. A guy who’d lied to him. Shutting

himself off from friends and hanging around on the off chance he
might

show up. Had he learned nothing with Aaron?

“You know what, Tammy? I will come for a drink after all.”

A few hours later, he waved good-bye to Tammy in the backseat of the taxi

and let himself into the house. Three hours with a couple of bitter, single

women and a pitcher of margaritas, and he was much less concerned about

his own situation. It helped that he’d had one or two of those margaritas

himself.

Louie locked the front door behind him and promptly tripped over

something on the floor. Suppressing a startled curse, he flipped on the light

switch and kicked the pair of brown men’s loafers to the side. Hang on.

Men’s
shoes. His heart leapt into his throat.

Peter was here. A grin split his lips.

But the living room was empty, along with the kitchen and the rest of

the main floor. Which left only one other place.

His eyes drifted to the staircase. Some perverse instinct made him

ascend.

He heard them before he even got close to Demetra’s closed door. His

sister’s moans, Peter’s deep grunts.

The pain of betrayal hit him like a kick to the nuts, hard and fast,

leaving him almost gasping for breath. He fled into his bedroom, but it was

even worse in there with only a thin plaster wall separating his room from

Demetra’s. The squeak of the bedsprings mocked him. The rattle of the

headboard called him
stu-pid
,
stu-pid
with each knock against the wall.

Yeah, stupid is what he was, all right.

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Chris Scully

99

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here and listen to Peter bone his

sister all night.

He slipped back downstairs and out the front door, only stopping long

enough to send an angry text to Peter—
Asshole
, it said—and another one to

Kelly to meet him as soon as he could.

An hour later, Louie was on his second beer and still waiting for Kelly to

show. With half an ear, he listened to the female singer strum her guitar and

checked his phone again for missed messages. There weren’t any.

He wasn’t much into the club scene anymore, so Kelly had taken him

here the other weekend, and it hadn’t seemed so bad. Less a “gay bar” than

a casual, LGBT-friendly watering hole with the rainbow flag hanging in the

window to prove it. Tonight, the crowd was an equal mix of gay, lesbian,

and straight couples enjoying the live folk music.

He had found a stool at the end of the bar facing the door, and planted

his ass to wait. The music was a touch too folky and plaintive for his taste

tonight, but he didn’t know where else to go. He couldn’t go home, and he

couldn’t just show up at Kelly’s door without an invite. And at least this

place was close to home—in the same strip of restaurants as Peter’s diner,

only at the farthest end—and the beer was cheap.

He remembered the keys in his pocket and brightened. He
did
have

somewhere to go. His new apartment. His new empty, lonely apartment.

Louie finished his drink and debated ordering another. Hell, why not

start a tab? Maybe if he drank enough he’d forget the sound of Peter fucking

his sister.

A whisper of fresh air as the door opened made him look up. He was

struck dumb by the sight of Peter Georgiou, looking good enough to eat, in

the last place Louie would ever have expected. Peter scanned the room, his

brow furrowing in concentration. His expression brightened as he caught

Louie’s eye.

Impossible. He blinked. No, it really was Peter moving through the

crowd toward him, that damned gorgeous smile widening as he grew closer,

making Louie feel like he was the only person on earth.

A riot of emotions swirled in his chest—anger, disappointment, longing.

Hot on its heels came the memory of Peter’s low moans through the door of

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100

Demetra’s bedroom. Louie drained the last of his beer, but it did nothing to

ease his suddenly dry throat. He could only wait as Peter approached.

The seat next to him at the bar was occupied, so Peter wedged himself

in between the two stools, which essentially put him between Louie’s legs

as he swiveled around. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

Peter’s response was drowned out by the singer’s wail. Louie leaned

forward to hear better. “What?” he shouted.

“You asked me to meet you here,” Peter said, putting his head close and

speaking directly into his ear. “Of course, you also called me an asshole.”

One hand came to rest on his thigh and Louie felt the heat of it through his

slacks. His heart thundered.

“No, I didn’t,” he managed to say, his attention focused on Peter’s

proximity, the smell of his cologne, and that hand….

“What?” Peter’s lips curled in amusement. It didn’t seem to bother

him that in order to talk they had to stand mere inches from each other. But

it bothered Louie. It bothered him a lot. Sweat trickled down his back. He

had to concentrate on keeping his arms at his sides and not reaching out to

touch Peter.

“I said I didn’t ask you here.”

The first signs of unease drifted across Peter’s face. That smile slipped

a fraction. His brow creased. “Yes. You did.” When Peter pulled back, Louie

gulped some much needed air into his tight lungs. Peter held up his phone

and showed him the text message he’d meant for Kelly.

Shit. Talk about your Freudian slips. He’d sent both texts to Peter. “Oh.”

“I take it this one wasn’t meant for me, then.” Peter swallowed, turned

his head, and gazed out over the crowded room. He didn’t appear to be

uncomfortable—just embarrassed. Louie couldn’t help but feel a little

guilty. What the fuck? Why was
he
the one feeling guilty? Peter was the

one who had been in bed with his sister an hour ago. Speaking of which….

“Wasn’t Demetra pissed that you took off so quickly?”

Peter squinted in confusion. “What are you talking about? I was at the

restaurant. It’s Friday night. That’s why I’m late.”

Liar
, he wanted to challenge.
I know exactly why you were late.
That’s

when he realized Peter still wore the tight-fitting black shirt that made up

his uniform. His eyes dropped to the floor. To the worn, black sneakers. He

sucked in a breath. “What size shoes do you wear?”

“Sorry?”

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101

“Your shoes? What size?”

“Eleven.”

Eleven? The shoes in the hallway had to have been a thirteen. And they

were loafers, not sneakers. His eyes widened. His heart gave a little skip.

ELEVEN

Go for it
, Annie had told him as he’d raced to close up the restaurant

tonight. What did she know?

Now Peter wanted to sink through the pub’s scuffed wooden floor

in humiliation. He had thought Louie was ready to talk, but that text—the

one he’d hung his hope on, anyway—hadn’t even been for him. Louie was

meeting some other guy.

“It wasn’t you,” Louie murmured.

“What?” Peter shouted over the music. His face and neck burned. He

hoped Louie couldn’t see it.

He was so stupid. He’d thought there was something more there. The

more
he hadn’t felt with Elena. And definitely not with Jason. Too late he

remembered once again that Louie wasn’t looking for a relationship. In the

end it had only been him. He’d misread everything.

Peter choked on his humiliation. He needed to get out of here. Fast.

He started backing away. “Sorry about messing up your plans tonight,”

he said loudly, unable to meet Louie’s eyes. “Oh, and about moving tomorrow.

I, uh, I have to work after all. One of the line cooks had a family emergency.”

The lie came quickly to his lips. “So… I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m gonna go

now. Have fun.” He whirled and bolted before Louie could stop him.

Dimly, he heard Louie call after him, but no way was he stopping.

Outside, the oppressive summer heat had continued to build while he was

inside. The storm the networks had been predicting all day was definitely

brewing. Just then a flash of lightning lit up the sky; thunder rumbled

ominously in the distance. He quickened his pace and immediately the

sweat began rolling down his back.

“Peter, wait,” Louie shouted somewhere behind him. Not wanting to

seem more immature than he already was, he halted and waited for Louie

to catch up. He took a steadying breath and concentrated on keeping his

wounded pride under wraps. He should be good at that by now. Louie

reached him, not the slightest bit out of breath. “It sounds like a storm’s

coming. Can you give me a ride?”

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103

“I walked today.”

“Can I walk with you, then?”

He felt a flash of anger. What kind of game was Louie playing here? “I

thought you were waiting for someone. Maybe it’s not too late to call him.”

“I-I kind of changed my mind.”

He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned and resumed his brisk

strides, Louie keeping pace at his side as they wove through the crowd on

the sidewalk. This part of restaurant row was crammed with pubs, and on

this warm Friday night, laughing, happy people spilled out into the street,

ignoring the roll of thunder.

Peter had never felt more alone.

After several silent blocks, Peter finally asked the question he’d been

avoiding. “So if it wasn’t me, who were you expecting to meet tonight?”

“It’s not important,” Louie mumbled, echoing Peter’s earlier words.

“But I’m glad you showed up.”

“Yeah?” he asked with a sarcastic edge. “Thought I was an asshole.”

“About that….” Louie’s tentative touch on his arm made Peter slow.

The surge of longing triggered by that simple touch left him breathless.

When Louie dropped his hand, he actually felt the loss. “Peter, I need to

tell you….”

He steeled himself. The couple strolling behind them glared as they

were forced to step around them. “Just say it, Louie.”

“Demetra’s cheating on you,” he burst out.

Peter’s first emotion was relief. “Oh.”

“Oh? That’s it? You’re not surprised?”

A bark of bitter laughter escaped Peter. “Fuck,” he breathed, suddenly