What We May be (2 page)

“That’s a little hard to do when there’s an earthquake rubbing against my thigh.” She twisted slightly to give a little more privacy to their conversation. “Why don’t you eat something? It’ll take your mind off it.”

It
was the fact that he’d been stood up for the first time in years. As the time for seating approached, Jared had combed the room for signs of Mr. Tall, Blond, and Buff, only to come up empty-handed no matter where he looked. He’d waited as long as he could before finally dragging Theresa to an edge table, but his mood had plummeted the longer he had to sit there and listen to the two men across from him flirt outrageously with each other.

“Do you know how much cheese and butter they probably put in this frittata?” he complained instead. “I eat that, and I’ll blow up like a Macy’s parade float.”

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Theresa stared at him. “Gee. From one-sixty to one-sixty-one. Yeah, that’s a real tragedy.”

Irritated, Jared tossed his napkin onto his unfinished plate and leaned back in his chair. “Let’s get out of here.”

She grabbed his elbow before he could stand. “Because one guy didn’t come over and sit with you? Grow up, Jared.

He’s working security, remember? He probably got busy.”

She swept an arm toward the other tables. “Do you see him anywhere else, chatting up another guy? No. Because he’s not.” Plucking his napkin off his plate, she tossed it at his chest. “So eat and stop being such a drama queen.”

The only reason he took the napkin was because the others at the table had stopped eating and started listening to them.

And maybe because Theresa had a small point. Heat rose in his cheeks as he picked up his fork and broke off a tiny piece of the frittata, but Jared shot a wicked smile to the others in an attempt to disarm their curiosity.

“Well, she got the queen part of it right, anyway.” He held the smile while a ripple of laughter broke their attention, only dropping it when he was no longer the focus of it.

“So what’s the deal with this guy?” Theresa asked. She dug into her food as if nothing had been amiss. Steam wafted up from her baked potato when she broke into the skin. “Did I miss something juicy when he gave you a dry shirt?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“So what is it?”

“You have eyes. The man is beautiful.”

“You deal with male models every day. I don’t see you 9

WHAT WE MAY BE

going so gaga over any of them.”

Jared rolled his eyes. “Maybe because most of them barely slide out of jail and into bait.”

“Still.”

“No ‘still.’ I wanted to get to know him better, okay? He knew Leo. And he’s taller than me. And he’s hotter than David Beckham sunbathing nude in the Sahara. Do you know what a narrow demographic that really is?”

Theresa slowly chewed her potato, her gaze contemplative.

He hated when she did that. She always reminded him of his grandmother at the Sunday dinner table, watching and waiting for him to explain his latest ensemble.

“Fine,” he said. “I hate thinking he might’ve gotten a better offer. Satisfied?”

She grinned. “Just don’t tell him that or you might not get a third chance.”

“A third…” His voice trailed off when he turned to follow her gaze over his shoulder. Rick marched in his direction, his mouth grim, his steps long and sure. He slowed only as he approached, focusing on Jared with a velvet intensity that made him sit up a little straighter.

“There you are.” Rick gripped the back of Jared’s chair and leaned down, either ignoring the curious stares from the rest of the table or completely oblivious to them. Jared wasn’t sure which. “Listen, I got an emergency call and can’t stick around. But I didn’t want to just take off after we made plans.”

In spite of his earlier annoyance, Jared smiled with every ounce of warmth that had overtaken his body at Rick’s 10

WHAT WE MAY BE

nearness. “Oh, you didn’t have to worry about me.” Beneath the table, Theresa’s foot connected with his ankle, but Jared was proud that he didn’t even blink. “I hope everything’s okay.”

“Well, we’ll see about that.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his jeans pocket and set it in front of Jared. “If you want to get together sometime, give me a call. I want that conversation you promised me.”

Rick straightened with a smile, but with his mission done, didn’t linger. Jared watched him leave, his gaze invariably straying to the man’s ass again.

“Okay, you win.” Theresa wasn’t even looking at him when Jared turned back to her. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one checking Rick out. “He’s way better than any of the twinks the agency sends us.”

“Way better,” Jared echoed. And then repeated it again in his head.

Thank you, Leo.

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Rick tossed the last of his T-shirts into the washing machine and closed the lid. His whole body ached. All he wanted was to crawl into bed and forget about the next week in favor of deep, dreamless sleep. The smell still clinging to his skin made that impossible, though. He needed a shower.

Badly. As badly as his clothes needed to be soaked in a bucket of bleach and sanitized.

He stripped out of his jeans and jockeys on the way to the bathroom, tossing them onto the toilet instead of into the hamper. They would be in the next load of laundry. Twisting the hot water tap in the shower as high as it would go, he let it start to fill the room with steam while he grabbed a clean 12

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towel. Everything was on autopilot. He got like this after a particularly tough client. It was as if all his thought processes went to them, and when they didn’t need him anymore, Rick’s brain shut down.

Getting nearly scalded worked wonders to wake him up.

He scrubbed down with an abrasive loofah, almost taking off the top layer of skin as he worked to get rid of the smells. His skin prickled in protest to the heat, but his muscles shouted their hallelujahs more loudly. Rick was tempted to add his voice to the chorus. Sometimes, there wasn’t anything holier than a hot shower.

With his wet towel and jeans dangling in his hand, he abandoned the comfort of the bathroom for the utility closet in the hallway, switching out the loads. His bed beckoned. For the first time since walking through his front door, Rick did what he wanted to do, rather than what needed to be done.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. He didn’t remember dreaming. When he finally peeled his eyes open to squint at his alarm clock, he vaguely remembered thinking he’d heard a phone, but that could’ve belonged to anyone. Once, he’d stumbled out of bed to answer what he’d thought was his cell, only to hear Mrs. Krimnik next door start yelling at her grandson in mixed English and German for waking her up so early.

The answering machine blinked at him in cool reprimand when he stumbled out to make a pot of coffee. He hit play and listened as he fought to separate out a single filter from the stack.

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“Hi, Rick. This is Jared Harvey. From Leo’s charity dinner? The one you swapped shirts for when I got my drink spilled on me. Oh, God, except what if that happened more than once? Shit. I didn’t think of that. And considering how many sour apple martinis that guy drank? I would be surprised if I
was
the only one. Well, okay, then I’m the guy you were going to sit next to at dinner. Hopefully, I’m flying solo on that one. Anyway, I owe you a conversation, and I’m hoping we might be able to work out a time to get together.”

A huge grin plastered across Rick’s face as he listened to Jared rattle off his phone number. Of course, he remembered Jared. Tall, lean, dark hair and fair skin, with the most amazing green eyes Rick had ever seen. They glinted like he was best friends with residents from both Heaven and Hell. He had the best mouth, too. Cupid’s bow lips, Rick’s mother would have called them. He’d wondered briefly if it was the product of plastic surgery, but they fit too well with the rest of Jared’s features to be fake. The last name surprised him a little bit, though. With Jared’s high cheekbones and long nose, there was at least one branch in his family tree with Eastern European roots.

He replayed the message in order to scribble down the number. Jared was more flamboyant than most guys Rick dated, but between the infectious gleam in the man’s eyes and the gorgeous exterior, Rick was willing to step outside of his comfort zone and give it a try. Besides, Jared had been friends with Leo in some capacity. That counted.

An hour later, Rick felt more human, with a full breakfast 14

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in his stomach and the caffeine from several cups of coffee coursing through his veins. He listened to the other end of the line ring and snapped straighter when Jared’s familiar voice picked up.

“It’s Rick Paulson. From the AIDS dinner. I’m sorry, I had a late night last night so I completely slept through your call this morning.”

“Oh, no problems. I crashed here because it got to be so late, I figured I’d just be turning around again right away to get my ass back.”

“Where’s here? Are you at work?” Rick hadn’t considered he’d be interrupting, but that was his own fault. He often forgot other people worked regular nine-to-five jobs rather than his crazy all-you-can-imagine schedule.

“My studio. Inspiration always wallops me when I least expect it.”

“I didn’t call at a bad time, did I?”

“God, no. I’ve wanted to hook up since the dinner. It’s my fault. I should’ve called sooner.” Someone shouted in the distance. “Hang on.” Jared’s voice grew fainter as he answered the shouts with his own. It sounded like he was directing people where to put things.

“Listen, if you want to call me back when you’re not so busy—”

“No, I don’t want that. Let’s get something set up. Can you meet for lunch tomorrow?”

“No, I can’t unfortunately. Today’s my one day off this week. What about tonight?”

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Jared sighed. “That doesn’t work. It’s going to be another late day for me.” More shouts. A woman’s voice cut them off.

Theresa, most likely. “But tell you what. I’m stuck here, but it’s all supervising, really. Why don’t you come down and we’ll have a coffee? Theresa brought in some amazing crullers this morning, too. I’ll save one for you.”

Rick actually thought it was a brilliant idea. Coffee and pastries in an informal setting wasn’t really a date, so there would be no added pressures if it turned out they didn’t get along. If the only attraction was physical—and he had little doubt Jared was interested, considering the way he’d been looking at Rick in the service corridor—then they would at least know.

He jotted down the address on the same slip of paper the phone number was on and disconnected with a smile. Strong work ethic. Another plus in Jared’s favor. Rick had a feeling it was just going to be one of many.

* * *

He jogged up, expecting the space above to be just as cramped. An open-plan explosion of color awaited him.

Windows lining the street ran three-fourths of the length of the wall, letting the morning sunshine spill across the polished hardwood floor. Stacks of fabric were everywhere, but directly 16

WHAT WE MAY BE

in the path of the sunlight, though there was more than one mannequin standing ready and waiting to be dressed. At the far end of the long room sat a series of sewing machines, with a large drafting table standing at command next to them. On the wall nearest Rick, page after page of fashion designs were mounted on the brick. Designer decoupage. Oddly enough, it didn’t surprise him.

A head of bright red curls popped out from behind the row of mannequins, the scarlet mouth spreading into a wide grin.

Theresa was even more vivacious in her natural space as she’d been at the dinner. “Hey! Jared said you were coming in. He’s in the back, looking for some lace, so just go have a seat. He’ll only be a second.”

Rick wasn’t sure where exactly the back was, but the only place Theresa could be talking about was a table in the corner that had been fitted out as a small kitchen. The pink box in the middle of it held half a dozen crullers, and the coffee pot on the narrow counter was nearly empty.

When Jared didn’t immediately show up, Rick turned back to Theresa, only to find her knee deep in arguments with the two men he’d seen on the stairs. He hated having to wait. He wasn’t very good at doing nothing. He didn’t really blame Jared for not being ready for him when he arrived—he
was
at work, after all—but Rick didn’t want to just sit there like a lump on a log.

He was rinsing out the coffee pot when a door slammed and a stream of colorful curses filled the air. They stopped in mid-breath, and when Rick glanced over his shoulder to see 17

WHAT WE MAY BE

what had happened, he caught Jared staring at him, looking absolutely appalled.

“You’re washing my coffee pot? Why are you washing my coffee pot?”

Rick smiled. “Because you invited me over for coffee.”

“Right.
I
invited. That makes you the guest.” Tossing the bedraggled piece of dark lace he’d been holding onto the table, he strode up to Rick and took the pot out of his hands. “Sit down. I’ve got this.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to say he could help, but the look in Jared’s vivid eyes stopped him. Without a word, he took the chair at the end and watched Jared fuss around. No jeans and T-shirt for the man today. Today, he wore black pants that caught the light every time he moved, and a white shirt with the cuffs rolled back. He wasn’t the most bulked out guy, but Rick had had a good eyeful when he’d stripped out of the wet shirt at the charity dinner. He was lean and hard, built like an Olympic swimmer. Rick had to adjust himself discreetly while Jared had his back turned. He was likely to go through this entire coffee date with a hard-on and his ass clenching.