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Pattern
Chapter 9 of "Where There's Heat"
Brian and Justin's POV
“You
like Ethiopian?”
“They’re a little bony.” He stares at me for a minute and then narrows his eyes. My smile fades, “Bad joke?” I shrug.
“Yeah, anyway, do you?”
“Never had it.”
“You’ve never had Ethiopian?”
“Uh, no. Never appealed.”
“You should try it. I know a…”
I chime in before he can finish and we say in unison, “a great little place.” It makes his jaw tense in the ‘I am going to kick your teeth in’ way. I’ve noticed that look pointed at incompetent employees during less than stellar presentations. I’d bust my ass from here to eternity just to be sure I never got that look at work. I continue to smirk, however, because he’s giving it to me in his bathroom.
“Fuck you,” he growls before walking away.
I spent the night at his place again last night. I can tell it’s getting to him. We're good together, too good. I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t rattling me too. It’s turning into more than just my first job and more than a casual fuck and more than either of us counted on.
I finish dressing and pour myself a cup of coffee when I get to the kitchen. I eye him as he packs his briefcase. I can’t tell if he’s actually pissed off or just disturbed by the fact I can finish his sentences.
We ride to work in silence. When we get into the building he heads off toward the coffee cart and I decide that it’s best to let him be. I catch the elevator up to our floor and start another day.
I decide to pop Brian an email after lunch that simply says, “Pick me up at 8.” If I’ve learned anything about Brian it’s that sweetness, apologies, groveling and cuteness get you nowhere. So I simply leave it at that.
**
At 8:45, about three seconds before I give up on him, there’s a buzz from downstairs. I grab my wallet and keys and check myself in the bathroom mirror. I’m wearing baby blue, he has a hard time keeping his hands off me when I do that.
He’s back in his car waiting when I stroll out the front door. Brian is the only person I know who fucking drives everywhere in the city.
“What’s up?” I slide myself into the plush leather seat of his vintage Corvette. I fucking love this car.
“I’m hungry,” he grumbles. Great, he’s in a bad mood. And so I am cause I had a shitty day at work, but I can't talk about it with my date because he’s also my fucking boss. The boss who I happen to be fucking. How the fuck did I get into this situation? Oh yeah, he’s a really, really excellent fuck. Fuck! Brian’s fucking Tourette’s has worn off on me.
Brian
I worked until 8 and then I had to rush to get home and then to get over to pick up this princess because he gets really annoying if I’m really late. It’s this thing he has about having dinner at a reasonable hour. I say do a bump and shut up about it.
We drive to dinner in silence. This Ethiopian place is one of my favorites in the city. It’s tacky as hell and has excellent food. Justin will get drunk on honey wine and we’ll sit knee-to-knee at one of their non-tables and then maybe I won’t be so fucking pissed off after he regales me with gossip-ridden tales from the art department.
I order for us without consulting him and he eyes me suspiciously. When the wine comes, an entire bottle for him, with a separate glass of liquor for me, he smiles, “Are you trying to get me drunk Mr. Kinney?”
“No, I don’t need to, you’ll give it up regardless,” I smile despite myself. What is it about this kid?
Fuck.
Justin
Brian orders all of our food and drinks. He gets a bottle of wine just for me. I polish off half of it inside of ten minutes and feel lightheaded before the food ever hits the table.
We eat with this crazy spongy bread. Everything is in mysterious heaps and is brightly colored, but it all tastes amazing. Brian got us some vegetarian platter, which made me want to kill him, but it’s so good. I’m amazed by how easily he’s able to pick out what I’ll like off any menu.
I tell him about what’s going on at work, well the stuff I feel like I can get away with telling him. I gush about the projects I’m working on, as if he doesn’t know every move I make in the office. It must be the wine, but I can tell ’m a little too animated when I go on about the new Rolex ads for fifteen minutes.
He pays, he always pays (I’ve tried, it’s just stupid for me to keep continuing to engage in that battle) and we leave.
In the car I’m silent. Even though I’m always almost sure that Brian will take me home with him…well, there is always that bit of doubt and that is enough to cause flushed cheeks, sweaty palms and stomach-churning. Of course, that could also be the shit load of food and bottle of wine I just downed.
I don’t let out the breath I’m holding until we pass my part of town. I settle back with a self-satisfied grin on my face, but shortly I realize we’re headed away from Brian’s place.
Brian
I was headed back to my apartment when I realized if Justin stays tonight it would be three nights in a row. I cannot fucking handle that. I cannot fucking let this sick pattern begin where this kid feels like he is fucking living with me.
Shit, now I’ve got three problems to deal with.
Problem number one, I’ve already passed his part of town.
Problem number two, I’m really fucking horny.
Problem number three, well there isn’t really one…but whatever the first two are big enough.
I think quickly and start to head over to Roxy, it’s all the way on West 18th. Whatever, fuck it. They’ve got stiff drinks, loud music, pretty boys and plenty of places for me to get off. Justin’s been listening to me tell him that we’re not fucking boyfriends, but I think the point might need a little reinforcement.
“Been to the Roxy yet?” I ask him as if I’d had it planned all along.
“No,” he’s confused.
“Every young gay man just imported to New York should test the waters at Roxy. It’s ridiculous and over the top, but that’s why it’s famous.”
He nods and keeps his eyes on the road, I can’t really tell what he’s thinking, which is fine because I don’t want to know.
Justin
We pull up to the valet in front of the club, which doesn’t look too crowded or impressive until we get inside. It’s 11 o’clock on a Thursday night and apparently every gay man in Manhattan has shown up to party.
I know there are like a thousand gay clubs in the city, but I’ve only seen a couple of neighborhood bars that Brian’s taken me too and a little disco place by my apartment. I’ve been too busy working and fucking my boss to really experience the New York nightlife. I’d be thrilled if I wasn’t so painfully aware that Brian is up to something…
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