Savaro's Honey Buns (3 page)

"Hey! Watch where you aiming that thing, Nature Boy!" Rajan hollered, wiping the side of his face with a napkin.

Savaro took up the task of patting Laird against the back as he continued coughing and laughing.

"You two are something else, you know that?"

Savaro finally lifted a fork wrapped in spaghetti to his lips.

The fact of the matter was their get-togethers never got old and he always made time for them. He'd promised himself a long time ago never to outgrow them or their antics. With a grin, he suddenly felt better and took a sip from his drink.

"So Raj, what's this new movie about?"

The alarm clock blared loudly jarring Jamal from a doze and a horrid nightmare. Though he was thankful for the disturbance to the dream he was irritated for he'd just dozed off when the dang thing woke him up. Turning it off rather than hitting snooze, he lay on his back trying to figure out why he'd set the alarm. It wasn't for morning practice, it wasn't to catch a plane—catch a plane! That was it!

He groaned.

The night before was a huge night for Jamal

Kendricks but he couldn't wait for it to be over. He had helped to lead his team to another championship victory.

Even as they were interviewed, and a party to end all parties waged on, he sat still with the same bottle of beer in his hands all night, just praying for it to end. The urge to go home and call his mother was so strong, he could almost taste it. He wouldn't have gone if it was at all up to him.

But his best friend, Chase, said he had to show some team spirit and make a brief appearance. That short appearance turned into protecting half his drunken team from being photographed and trying desperately not to have booze spilled on him.

If he hadn't gone, the media would have a field day with guesses as to why he didn't go; conflict with the team would be their main focus as it always was. The last time that headline had hit the sports section, Jamal sped to the gym. He had to ask his best friend when they'd started beefing. It wasn't true but that hadn't stopped one newspaper from printing it and the rest of the media to jump on the bandwagon. Eventually he managed to peel himself away from the party and snuck out the back with his best friend in tow. When he finally barged into his house, it was to strip and dive for the phone. The moment his mom's voice came over the line, he felt better.

"Congrats baby boy!" His mother cheered. "Sorry I couldn't be there."

Jamal grinned. "You owe me honey buns."

"I've created a monster!"

"Mom, are you sure you don't mind me going

somewhere else for vacation?" Jamal asked into the receiver. He pressed it between his head and shoulder as he dumped some whiskey into a glass.

"I get it," Tamara Samuels said. "You want some time off after the season. But as long as you know that I want some time later on it's all good."

"Always Mom," Jamal said softly.

"Are you all right? Did you get the basket I sent you in San Francisco?"

Jamal laughed. "Oh, I got it all right. Did you really have to send the picture of me with the naked booty bathing in the sink?"

"I'm your mother." She laughed. "If I can't embarrass you, who will?"

After their conversation, he downed his drink and climbed the stairs.

Rubbing his eyes to clear the memory, Jamal rolled over in bed, dreading the fact he had to get up. His eyes caught the plane ticket on the bedside table and he wanted to cry. Why he'd made his flight so early was beyond him.

The ticket symbolized his much needed vacation. Perhaps that would explain why he'd barely slept a wink since putting his head down. With a groan, he rubbed his tired eyes again while pushing his feet out of bed. He was finally standing when his phone began blaring. Moaning, he grabbed it and without checking the display, he pressed it to his ear.

"What?"

"Whoa! Who got your panties in a twist?" Chase Henderson asked.

"Sorry—I'm just crabby today. I guess it's the thought that I have to get on a damn plane in a little while."

"Free agency?"

Jamal chuckled. "Hardly. Trust me, it's the plane ride. But speaking of my free agency—I keep getting these offers and none of them feels right. I mean the Lakers?

Two years ago they didn't want anything to do with me.

The head coach laughed when someone brought up my name and now they want me? Look, it's too early to talk business. What's up?"

Chase laughed. "Well you're right about that. I wanted to tell you about this restaurant called Anatolis. I know your obsession with honey buns."

Jamal pressed the phone between his head and

shoulders then made a face. "Thank my mother for that one. I think I can pretty much wait until I see her in a few weeks."

"Yes and she does make the best honey buns in the world but these guys are up there with those. Trust me. I have them shipped in all the time when I'm away. I know you can wait until you see your mom but just try the ones in Eros, okay? Just trust me, all right? Besides, if you're going somewhere else you might as well have a taste of home."

Jamal laughed. "Fine—but if you're wrong I reserve the right to kick your butt."

"Smart ass. So you have everything you need for this little away time? Did you talk to your mom?"

"Yup, spoke to her last night." Jamal nodded. "And yes, I have everything and then some. I'll be fine. Don't worry."

"Who's worried? Just don't go down there and disappear like some anti-social bum. Go out, party, have fun… meet a sexy man… do anything."

"Did you just say sexy man?" Jamal couldn't help the laughter that rippled from his insides. He fell on the bed on his back laughing so hard his sides hurt.

"Well, you don't have to be that way about it,"

Chase said. But Jamal could hear laughter in his voice. "I'm just saying. I couldn't say sexy woman because you don't swing that way so what did you expect?"

"I don't know." Jamal chuckled. "I don't know.

Anyways, I have to get moving if I want to get my plane.

And remember, if you can't be good, be careful."

Chase purred and Jamal simply laughed and hung

up. "That kid keeps me young." Jamal smirked, walking into the shower.

He didn't spend long—he just didn't feel like it. By the time he was ready and sailing through the streets of New York in the back of an airport limo, he felt less crabby and a little lighter. Dozing off in the backseat, he kept thinking of his upcoming birthday. Each time the feeling of getting old popped into his head, Jamal felt an

overwhelming sense of depression swim over him. Every birthday, it was the same thing for Jamal. All he wanted to do was lock himself in a room for the day, devoid of colour and that stupid happy birthday song.

He was finally getting that chance—but knowing

Chase it was probably wishful thinking.

The car finally came to a stop and he pushed from the vehicle before the driver could get out and open the door. Grabbing his duffle from the driver, he reached into the side pocket for his ticket and passport then made his way into the airport.

* * * *

Anatolis was a block away from the hotel. It wasn't really cold—just a bit windy. It wasn't a bad walk, however, for it took him along the water, through a lane of empty flower boxes and down a well-lit street. The street was wet but the snow had melted. He stuck his hand deeply into his pocket and took a deep breath. He mumbled the address over and over like a little boy being sent to the store by his mother. When he finally stopped in front of 3425 Baiser Street, he arched a brow. The place was quaint to say the least. It reminded him of a small café in Paris across the street from the Seine. The building itself was a brownstone; the windows were beautiful with flower trays.

The door was like a home—one red door with a golden handle. He smiled and walked in. The feeling inside was warm and welcoming. Soft, instrumental music could be heard from unseen speakers. He smiled and pushed from his leather jacket.

"Welcome to Anatolis," someone said from behind him. "I can take that."

Jamal turned to see a rather handsome host dressed in all black with a dark red bow-tie. He nodded and released his hold on the coat.

"How many?"

"Just me?" Jamal glanced behind him wondering why he was asking. It was obvious he was the only one there.

"All right," the host said, grabbing a menu. "Follow me please."

Shrugging, Jamal followed him to a cosy seat close to the fireplace. Thanking the man, he ordered a glass of wine while looking through the menu. His eyes were looking for honey buns but there wasn't any on the list. He frowned.

"Stupid Chase," he muttered. Even with that he looked through the menu again and still couldn't find it.

Sighing he closed the menu in time for the host to return with the bottle of wine which he set in the ice after pouring a glass. "Can I speak with the owner? Is that possible?"

"You're in luck. Gimme one second."

Jamal nodded and reached for the glass. He never

did like white wine but for some reason he just had a feeling for it. Taking a swallow he placed the glass down and began looking through the menu for actual food. He settled on the baked lobster with vegetables. He was off season but he couldn't just blow his diet to hell. Sighing, he glanced at his watch.

"I was told you wish to speak with the owner." The voice was manly, strong, yet friendly. Looking up into the most beautiful silver-grey eyes he'd ever seen, Jamal arched a brow. There was no way he could be the owner. He didn't look like a man who would own a restaurant but a man that would be in a board room calling the shots. He was dressed in a chef's uniform that left no secret to the well-toned body beneath.

Jamal had to force himself to remember the man

had spoken and probably would like an answer. Fighting, he remembered the statement and nodded his head while clearing his throat. "Yes."

"Savaro Anatolis." The man extended a hand.

Shaking his hand, Jamal motioned to the seat across from him. "Please… sit."

The man looked a little wary. He shoved a strand of dark hair behind his ear but pulled out the chair and sat down. He rested his elbows against the table to level his stare to Jamal. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to have a conversation about honey

buns," Jamal said.

"For real? I've never had anyone say that to me before. But all right, what about them?"

"My best friend told me this restaurant sold the best honey buns in town and I came here specifically for honey buns but you don't have them on the menu."

"Er… this is the weekend menu, sir. We serve honey buns during the week because we noticed less of a demand on the weekend."

It was strange to have a man calling him sir—Jamal suddenly felt old and his birthday was still another three days away. He swallowed the creeping fear of getting old and frowned. "So—what do I do?"

"I could make a batch for you but you'd have to wait and they take a while."

Jamal laughed. "Yeah, I don't have that much time tonight."

"I could have them delivered if you'd like." Savaro tilted his head.

Jamal smiled and nodded. "Good man, Savaro.

Thank you, that would be great. I'm staying at the Monte Cello on Main Street."

"Ah, a tourist."

"Not really. I don't really like that word. I am hiding."

"From what?"

"I think the better question should be, what am I not hiding from? But it's nothing illegal, I assure you. More of a life thing."

"I see," Savaro said, standing. "What's your name?"

"Jamal Kendricks."

"Very well, I'll get those over to you by tomorrow morning."

Jamal watched him walk away wondering why

more gay men didn't come in a package like Savaro Anatolis. A pity Savaro didn't swing his way. Jamal didn't let that stop him from admiring and appreciating the perfection of Savaro's ass as it slowly disappeared in the distance then through a door. He sighed sadly and emptied his glass. He tried turning his attention to the atmosphere around him but his mind kept playing tricks on him.

Savaro naked.

Savaro begging.

Savaro jacking off.

Savaro, Savaro.

"Are you ready to order?"

Jamal jerked slightly and peered at the host

wondering why he was back. When the man repeated his question, Jamal quickly gave his order and rubbed a hand over his face. A large man walked by his table and disappeared into the kitchen and Jamal wondered for a moment who he was. Then his brain put the two men together. He curled his fists and gritted his teeth.

"Down boy," Jamal said.

Walking away from the table and the stranger,

Savaro could have sworn he felt the man's eyes on his ass but he could be wrong. In the kitchen area however, he walked over to a small one-way glass. Savaro peeked out the small window at the man who'd ordered the honey buns. He looked familiar but he just couldn't put his finger on why. Still, he admired Jamal's wide shoulders and the way they sloped down into long fingers. He couldn't see from where he was but he imagined the fingers were perfectly manicured. Why his mind went there was beyond him but it felt necessary. His hair wasn't shaved but had rows of cornrows going backward. Closing his eyes, Savaro hauled in an unsteady breath, held it then pushed it out his mouth. He was trying to pick something up from the stranger but so far nothing. Rolling his eyes like an insolent child, he pushed away from the window.

"You all right?"

He jerked around and took a breath. "Don't sneak up on me like that!"

"Er…" Laird grabbed a fish stick then started juggling it. "Ow! Hot! Hot!"

Savaro fought the urge to laugh and watched his

brother do a strange imitation of a dance with the heated piece of food. Instead he shook his head, grabbed the fish stick out of the air and pulled off a piece of napkin. He dropped the piece of fish in it then handed it to Laird before walking away. "Ever heard of a fork?"

"That would take too long and I want something in this empty stomach, like yesterday," Laird smiled.