Billy
He'd eaten his pancakes with gusto, finishing before I did, which was a remarkable feat. Obviously, he was accustomed to something more than our swarthy-looking waitress; Gertie, who reeked of cigarette smoke and bacon grease. We'd seen her under the bright yellow glow of the Waffle House sign, plumes of smoke drifting about her like clouds of pollen. She'd handed us our menus with a phlegmy cough and Connor held the menu, as if it were covered in deadly pathogens, was comical. He'd washed his hands more than once before we left.
We'd spent the better part of two hours and a bottomless pot of coffee, dredging up our pasts. We steered clear of relationships, though an anecdotal story of his trip to Europe with Bex hinted at a past relationship. I could tell he struggled with the memories as if they were yesterday and not over a decade past.
The invitation to his place was asked softly as we walked to the waiting limousine.
I'd decided, early in the evening, in a rather heated internal debate, to decline any invitation. I hate to admit it, but my superego has a pretty tight reign on the id and ego, despite the tantrums my id might display.
The truth is I felt the pull, his charms and charisma were blatant and compelling. When Rand had suggested, I fell fast and hard, it was not an exaggeration. I was incapable of a simple transaction.
"This is a nice place." I ran a finger absently over the thick black marble countertop, though my eyes remained on Connor. I don't know why I said it. It's not like I was expecting a double-wide trailer perched on cinder blocks.
"Would you like some wine?" He was already pulling glasses from a cabinet and looped a finger around the neck of a chilled bottle of chardonnay. I nodded absently. I could hear the whine of dogs somewhere in the dark. Connor gazed off in the direction of the sound.
A dim light illuminated a row of photographs on the wall. I walked over to study them. A much younger Connor Chase smiled in all of them. Bex had her arm around his waist in several and one had Bex, Connor, and another young man. Behind them the lights of the Eiffel Tower blazed brilliantly; the three of them glowed with vitality. His story of their trip played in my mind and I felt a smile bloom. I wondered about the man in the picture, who was he, and what he meant to Connor.
Connor uncorked the bottle and placed the glasses and bottle on the counter. He grabbed leashes off a hook from the inside of a pantry door. I watched him walk into the dark, his shoes whispered across the plush carpet. The whining grew more insistent, then two dogs came loping out of the dark, straight past me, to the front door.
Connor bent and hooked leashes onto their collars. "I'll be right back. Make yourself at home." He pulled the door closed behind him and the dogs.
I studied the photos more closely, stepping sideways from photo to photo. Connor hadn't changed much, since the photographs were taken, rather he'd filled in, became more solid, more present. Bex looked small and mousy as if she'd not found herself yet and hadn't blossomed into the formidable confident woman that I knew. In another; that reminded me of a movie I'd watched while going through my am-I-or-aren't-I-gay period, the young guy was in the middle, all of them laughing, both Bex and Connor grasping at him.
In another photo, Connor stared longingly at him.
The dogs were suddenly sniffing around my feet and Connor came up behind me, his own cold nose pressed to the back of my neck. I leaned into him.
"Who is he?" I gestured at the photos on the wall.
I could feel Connor's smile against my neck. "The one that got away?"
"Really?" I turned.
"I dunno. Maybe. Maybe not. He seemed perfect at the time." He laughed and pulled away, itching the back of his head. "They always seem perfect at the time, don't they? I think it's the sex. The endorphins blind us."
"So, you were blinded."
"Well, the sex was good." He looked at the photos on the wall, a half-smile dimpling one cheek.. "No. He really was a great guy. He was just moving in a different direction. We both were, I guess. And now..."
"You think he'd disapprove of your... Occupation?"
Connor's laughter filled the apartment; the dogs barked. "You're so tactful. I love it. Actually, it was his idea. He was joking, of course. We were contemplating another trip, just the two of us." He looked at the door and leaned close, whispering. "Don't tell Bex." A grin ghosted across his face. "We wondered how we were going to pay for it. He jokingly suggested we whore ourselves on the street corner. Told me, I could get anything in the world I wanted. The boy had a silver tongue like nobody else." Connor blinked at the memory. He inhaled sharply. "So, here I am."
"Do you ever talk to him?"
Connor didn't say anything, shrugging and staring at the photo. "He sends Christmas cards sometimes. Birthday cards. We share the same birthday." The last he whispered. The light had gone out in his eyes. "That's hard to forget."
"Sorry."
"For what?"
I shrugged. "For being a nosy asshole?"
He tugged me away from the wall, looping his arm through mine and guiding me to the marble counter. I could feel the heat of his touch through my shirt. "Let's have that wine."
I laughed. "You're supposed to say I'm not an asshole."
He poured the wine and offered me a glass. "I haven't known you long enough." He smiled into his glass, as he drank, his eyes lit again.
"Oh, that's how it's going to be, is it?"
Connor nodded. "If it makes you feel any better, you're doing fine so far."
“Just fine?”
“Jury’s still out, but I’ll let you know.” He held his hand out and I took it and let him lead me to the bedroom.
* * *
""I don't usually do this." Connor stretched, the morning light shading his beautifully sculpted contours. The warmth of his bare flesh, his scent, and the way he peeked at me with one eye closed dizzied me.
"Do what?" I inquired as he played fingers across my chest, then traced a line across my abs. I smirked. "Bring your... dates home?"
He covered his eyes and a blossoming grin.
His awkwardness left me completely besotted. "Well,..." I reached over and pulled his hands away from his face. His eyes were still closed. "Rest assured, I'll not be asking for a refund."
That brought a bark of laughter. "Just so you know, I don't have a refund policy. All sales are final. Your money's already been earmarked for M&Ms and Cheetos." Connor's smile wilted for a moment, his eye suddenly distant.
I took that as my cue and sat up. The urge to cover up as I walked to the bathroom didn't cross my mind. As I bent to grab my underwear off the floor, I heard a guttural growl and turned. Connor had raised up onto his elbows for a better view. "You have a spectacular ass. I mean, my ass is great, but yours is..." Connor shook his head at a loss for words.
I felt a blush warm my cheeks as I reached back unconsciously, cupping my left cheek. "Why, thank you." I looked at the bathroom and saw his glorious shower, all glass and steel. "Mind if I take a shower?"
Connor looked away.
"What?"
"I was wondering if we could do this again? Maybe more than again."
I grinned. "Hmmm. That depends."
Connor sank back down into the plush comforter and pillows. "On what?"
I strolled back to the bed and straddled him. I took his hands in mine and admired how perfectly our fingers fit together. "How good are you with a Loofah?"
Connor grinned. "I medalled in Loofahing in high school. All state. I incorporated the WOWO method."
I guess I looked befuddled.
"Wax on. Wax off." He demonstrated as he spoke, mimicking Mr. Miyagi as he ran his hand across my chest.
I shook my head. "You're weird."
He pulled me down and then maneuvered about until I was spooning him. "I don't know if Bex told you anything about me. How long I've been doing… this. Well not this..." he pressed my arms tighter around him. "But the job."
I smiled against his neck.
"I've been thinking about retiring." He laughed quietly. "Makes me sound old." He shook his head. "Anyway, it's probably not the time or place or..."
I spoke softly against his neck. "How 'bout this? We do that whole loofah thing, see if you're still in medal contention..."
Connor jabbed me with his elbow. "And then..."
"Then we can grab breakfast; something without the aura of Waffle House yellow. Before Bex gets home." I started to look around automatically. "Where is Bex, by the way?"
"I messaged her that I was bringing you home and that you were in.." he pondered for a moment. "a state. I asked her to make herself scarce."
I felt my shoulder drop. "Oh god. I'm so going to hear about this. It's bound to be my fault that she was out on the street all night long..."
"It's my understanding that she and Rand..."
I sat up. "Wait, what?" I turned him onto his back so I could see his face as he spoke.
"Yeah. She said something about being Cinderella sans the glass slipper at the ball.” He shook his head. “They were just leaving the gala when we left Le Waffle House."
I couldn't help but laugh as he said it, the revulsion in his voice almost palpable. “Just so you know, Le Waffle House is a gourmet staple of American cuisine.”
“I don’t even think poor Gertie would agree with that statement.”
“Well, she knows all the horror stories. What goes on behind the scenes. Where the mop bucket is stored. She’s terribly biased.”
“Uh huh.” Connor smiled as he studied me. And quirked a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Where the mop bucket’s stored?”
I grinned, nodding. “Before I was the scion of high society that you see before you, I was just Billy. Once upon a time, Billy worked at a major fast-food restaurant chain to learn what it felt like to earn a buck and to work for the man. For the record, I lasted all of two weeks. I think that’s what my father intended. ” I closed my eyes envisioning the stainless steel surfaces. I can close my eyes and see a dirty dripping mop hanging upside down over the sweet tea dispenser.”
Connor cringed. “I’m never eating out again.”
My laughter fills his bedroom. “I imagine, wherever it is you eat, there’s nary a mop bucket in sight, not to mention the staff of 16 to 18-year-olds who are more likely to spit…”
Connor covered my mouth his other hand slipping around my waist. “Do not ruin fast food for me.”
I pulled his hand away from my mouth and let it come to rest on my chest. “When’s the last time you had anything fried…”
“Does pan-seared count?”