from years of holding barbells. The car warmed up fast and the tinted windows glazed
over with fog. Their clothes fell in a rumpled pile.
When they were both naked, Rush reached between Harold’s strapping thighs and
grabbed his erection. He wrapped his warm hand around the shaft and jerked it up and
down a few times.
Harold took a deep breath and pressed his palm on the top of Rush’s head and
forced him down to the floor. Rush went down to his knees without resistance, then
opened his mouth, yanked Harold’s erection to his face, and wrapped his lips around the head. Harold’s body jerked backwards and his hips bucked forward. He rested his head
on the back of the black leather seat and spread his legs. While Rush’s lips went all the
way down to Harold’s pubic hair, Harold placed his other palm on Rush’s head and
guided his face between his legs.
Rush’s cheekbones indented and he took a deep breath through his nose to inhale
the sweet masculine aroma between Harold’s athletic legs. His lips puffed out and rubbed
against Harold’s wiry pubic hairs. He remained this way for a few minutes, with Harold’s
erection filling his mouth, pressing his tongue to the bottom of Harold’s shaft and
sucking as hard as he could.
When he finally lifted his chin, slowly, Harold’s shaft slid out of his mouth until
just his lips were wrapped around the head. He held this position for a moment without
moving, then started moving his head up and down. Harold placed his palms over Rush’s
ears and guided his head with care. “We’re so good together,” Harold whispered. “I
love
the way you do this. And I really
love
when you suck on the tip.”
While Rush was sucking, it occurred to him that they’d never actually said the
words, “I love you,” to each other. Harold often told Rush that he loved the way Rush
gave head, or that he loved the way Rush knew how to tighten and clamp down during
anal sex. Harold usually paid him compliments and told him he loved the way he looked.
In return, Rush did the same. But they’d never actually looked into each other’s eyes and
said the words, “I love you.”
Fifteen minutes later, Rush was leaning over the back seat and his legs were
spread wide. Harold was still inside Rush’s body and they’d both just had outrageous
climaxes. While Harold was pulling his erection out of Rush, he tapped Rush’s ass and said, “I
love
the way you tightened up this time right before I came. It felt like a clamp
around my dick.” Then he pulled his penis out of Rush’s body and smacked it against
Rush’s smooth bottom.
Rush lifted his head and he turned back to face Harold. “But are you
in
love with
me?”
“Huh?” Harold said. He was already reaching down to the floor for a box of
tissues so he could wipe his shrinking penis. They always used a generous amount of
lubricant and Harold hated how the greasy, messy lube felt on his penis when the sex was
over.
“I’m curious, is all,” Rush said. “You said you love the way I tightened up this
time and clamped down on your dick. You said you love the way I give head. But are you
in
love with me?”
Harold wiped his penis dry and said, “I love everything you do.” Then he handed
a few clean tissues to Rush.
Rush reached for the tissues and shook his head. Harold hadn’t answered his
question. The sex they’d just shared had been good and he didn’t want to ruin it, but he
had to know the answer. “I love everything you do, too, Harold. But I’m not sure I’m
in
love with you, Harold. Are you
in
love with me?”
Harold smiled and reached down for his pants. Without looking Rush in the eye,
he shoved his right leg into his pants and said, “I already told you. I love everything
about you.”
Rush lowered his head and frowned. He didn’t ask Harold again, because he knew
Harold wasn’t going to give him the answer he desperately needed to hear.
Chapter Two
On Monday morning, Rush gave two weeks’ written notice that he was leaving
his position at the law firm in Connecticut and moving to New York. On Tuesday, he
signed a lease to sublet an apartment in Chelsea and faxed it to the landlord. And two
weeks after that, on a cold Sunday morning in Connecticut, Harold, his mother, and his
aunt drove him to the train station to see him off. He’d asked his mother to sell his car. In
New York, a car would only be a problem.
His mother and aunt packed some homemade food and a family photo that had
been framed in pewter, so he wouldn’t go hungry and he wouldn’t forget where he came
from. This was the first time he’d ever been away from New England for more than a
week. Before he boarded the train, they hugged him as hard as they could and wiped tears
from their eyes, smiling and wishing him well the entire time.
Harold just stood there watching, a few feet behind Rush’s mother and aunt. His
hands were in his pockets, his legs were spread apart, and he was smiling with his lips
pressed together. After Rush hugged his mother and aunt, Harold extended his right arm
and shook Rush’s hand. “Have a good trip,” he said, in a low, solemn voice. He didn’t
throw his arms around Rush and he didn’t shed a single tear.
Rush smiled; it was so businesslike and formal. “Thank you, Harold.” He knew
Harold was not happy with his decision. Harold hated disruption and he hated it when his
normal routine was altered. They had argued for two weeks about Rush moving to New
York and there wasn’t much left to say. Harold did not hide the fact that he thought Rush
was making a huge mistake. When Rush had told him he needed time to figure out who he was, Harold had just frowned and shook his head instead of grabbing Rush and
begging him to stay.
“I wish you luck,” Harold said, putting his hands back into his pockets. His voice
went even lower and there was a sharpness to it that Rush hadn’t heard since the time
Harold’s car had been stolen.
“I know you do,” Rush said. He also knew something else. Though they hadn’t
officially broken up, and Harold thought he’d come running back to Connecticut within a
month, Rush knew this was the end of their relationship.
Then Rush picked up his luggage, boarded the train, and sat down in a window
seat. As the train pulled out of the station, Rush took a deep breath and sighed. He waved
to his family and Harold until he couldn’t see them anymore, then stared out the window
until the quiet, snow-covered New England countryside faded and skyscrapers started to
appear.
When Rush reached Manhattan, he took a taxi to his new apartment in Chelsea.
He had never actually seen the apartment, but it wasn’t much different from what he’d
expected. It was a typical New York studio, on the fourth floor of a newly renovated
building that had a doorman. The walls were white and the floors were parquet. Basically,
it was one square room with a small bathroom, a wall of closet space, and a kitchenette
concealed behind louvered folding doors. The only window in the apartment was up front.
It faced busy Tenth Avenue and he could hear the honking traffic swish by. In one corner,
there was a full-size bed and a small glass nightstand. In the opposite corner to the right
of the window was a small flat-screen TV fastened to the wall. Altogether the entire apartment couldn’t have been more than five hundred square feet, about half the size of
his old bedroom back in New England.
Rush placed his suitcases on the floor next to the bed and scanned the room with
his hands on his hips. When he looked at the kitchenette, he smiled at the small two
burner built-in cook top. There wasn’t even an oven—just the cook top and the tiniest
refrigerator he’d ever seen. But he wasn’t worried about whether or not he’d get used to
living in such a small, meager place. He hadn’t moved to New York to set up his dream
home and he wasn’t much of a cook. He’d moved to New York so he could meet new
people and have new, exciting experiences. The only time he planned to spend in this
apartment was when he was sleeping.
On Monday morning, Rush went for a long run before work. Then he showered,
trimmed his thin beard, and put on a brand-new light gray business suit. He wanted to be
extra early his first day, to give a good impression.
When he crossed into the reception area of his new law firm, there was a full
figured middle-aged woman sitting behind the desk. It was the same woman he’d seen
during his interviews, but he wasn’t sure if she’d remember him. She’d been busy with
phone calls each time he’d been there. This morning, she seemed just as busy. She’d just
hung up the telephone and was writing something on a notepad When Rush looked down,
smiled, and said, “Good morning. I’m Rush Goodwin and this is my first day.”
The woman looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. Her puffy hair was deep
red, she was wearing a bright green dress, and she had reading glasses on the end of her
nose. She put down the pen and stood up from the desk. She extended her hand and said, “I’m Esther. It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Goodwin. Mr. Hasslet is on a conference call right
now with an important client. I’ll let him know you’re here as soon as he’s finished.”
Rush smiled and thanked her. Mr. Hasslet was the senior partner and the man in
charge. Hasslet, Hasslet & Sharp wasn’t the largest law firm in New York, but it had an
excellent international reputation as a boutique firm. It specialized in the field of
entertainment law, and the clients it represented were some of the most famous celebrities
in the world. The senior Mr. Hasslet had started the firm with his brother, and together
they had built it into a thriving business. Mr. Hasslet’s brother had passed away five
years earlier and Mr. Hasslet, who had to be in his late seventies, refused to retire. When
he’d interviewed Rush and asked about Rush’s prior experience, Rush told him the truth.
Rush’s limited experience as a lawyer in New England had been in criminal defense, but
he’d always been interested in entertainment law. When Rush told Mr. Hasslet he was
willing and eager to start at the bottom and learn everything he could about entertainment
law, Mr. Hasslet seemed to like the fact that he could mold Rush into the lawyer he
wanted him to be. If Rush had already had experience in entertainment law, Mr. Hasslet
probably wouldn’t have hired him.
Esther crossed from behind the desk and said, “I’ll take you around and show you
the office while we’re waiting. It’s still early, though, and no one’s here yet.” She had a
deep, no-nonsense, husky voice. If she wasn’t a smoker, she probably had been at one
time.
Rush smiled. “I’d like that,” he said.
While Mr. Hasslet was on his conference call, Esther gave Rush the grand tour of
the entire office. She walked with heavy steps and greeted people as if she were the senior partner instead of Mr. Hasslet. She made a point of making Rush understand that
she knew everything going on at all times. Rush met a few of the office workers, one
intern, and a computer tech guy. When Esther approached these people, they stopped
whatever they were doing to concentrate only on what she wanted. Evidently, Esther was
both respected and feared by everyone.
Esther showed him the office doors of the other junior lawyers, but she didn’t go
inside. When they reached the smallest office at the end of a long narrow hallway, she
stood in the doorway and extended her arm. “This is where you’ll be working, for now.”
She lifted an eyebrow, as if goading him toward a negative response.
Rush stepped into a small windowless room. The walls were beige, the miniature
metal desk was shoved up against a wall, and there was a metal bookcase to the right of
the desk. It looked like a sample—a scaled-down version of an office instead of a real
office. But he smiled and said, “This is very nice. I’m looking forward to working here.”
Esther gave him a look and lowered her eyebrows. “Let’s go back and see if Mr.
Hasslet is ready to see you.”
On the way back to the reception area, Esther stopped in front of an office and
pointed. The name on the door read, “Lance Sharp.” She smiled and said, “This is Mr.
Sharp’s office. I know he’s not in yet because there isn’t a line outside his door waiting to
get him coffee.” Then she pressed her fingertips to her lips and snickered.
Rush tilted his head to the side. “Why would there be a line outside his door?”
