Better Than Chance (3 page)

Mel gave me a lopsided grin in response. Maybe she was feeling the same way.

T
HE
NEXT
meeting took place nearly two weeks later. Peter had been called out of town on business, which delayed the next scheduled presentation Mel and I were set to deliver. I was equal parts annoyed and glad about the delay. However, when we finally did sit back down with him, it went almost exactly the way our previous meeting had. He listened without input, told us both we did a good job, thanked Mel, and asked to speak to me again alone. When Mel slipped out of the room with worry written all over her face, Peter drew my attention to paragraph three of page six. This time my expression must have given me away. He couldn’t be serious. This man was a highly respected lobbying guru. He had a great reputation in the field as a young up-and-comer. Was it really because he was a grammar fanatic? Hard to believe.

His Gucci suit fitting impeccably on his tall, muscular, and well-proportioned form could not save him from a loss of regard in my eyes. I went into that room instantly taken by his broad shoulders, dark hair, and classically handsome profile, only to leave the room an hour and a half later thinking the guy had to be high. Why was he singling me out like that? None of it made sense. Unless, of course it was because of something that had nothing to do with work in the first place…. Maybe I was doomed from the moment he overheard my shoe commentary when the project first began. Maybe Mr. Morgan had decided he didn’t care for me because I was gay. The sentiment sounded a bit paranoid, but I couldn’t help thinking I just might be correct.

A
S
WE
neared the project’s completion at the end of March, the meetings included all eight of the original group Peter had first assembled, and they lasted all day. A light breakfast of croissants and coffee was served in the morning. We took a forty-five minute lunch break that most of us used to catch up on e-mails and phone calls, before returning for a marathon afternoon session. A light evening snack was brought in as presentation after presentation was given. Reports were made and charts and graphs were displayed until our eyes began to cross and it was obvious that no one was retaining a damn thing. That was when our great leader would finally set us free for the evening. Of course, since it was eight o’clock, most of us went home, grabbed a quick bite to eat, and passed out from exhaustion only to wake up at four thirty the next morning and start all over again.

It was positively miserable. I now hated this esteemed, exalted project. I no longer cared about solar energy or any other form of energy at all. How could I when I had none myself? Most of all, I hated Peter Morgan. Hated him. In a very short time, I had gone from infatuated and admiring to cringing at the sight of him. Don’t get me wrong, he was still as breathtakingly gorgeous as ever, but he only had to open his mouth and I found myself waiting for the criticism to start. It was a strange type of critique too. It was never malicious per se, it was just nitpicky, and it made me feel self-conscious as I wondered how my teammates viewed my professionalism. Mel seemed undeterred, but again, the seed was sown. I felt unworthy and paranoid that perhaps the negativity stemmed from prejudice on his part. I wanted this project over and done as soon as possible.

Monday, April 10, my wish finally came true. It had to be the longest day in creation, but as the eleventh-plus hour drew to a close on an endless parade of presentations, there was no doubt that our team had knocked it out of the park. We hosted a dinner that evening for our highly regarded energy client at an elegant and exclusive DC steakhouse. It was a very respectable affair, although thankfully alcohol was served and I made sure to place my order early, though not too often. I just needed to get through this one dinner, and I’d be free of Peter Morgan for good.

I had to admit the man was a genius at his job. Peter was a smooth operator. He was well versed on our client’s position in a growing industry (thanks to my hard work), and he had a confident air about him that told the client, and everyone involved in the project, that not only did he care about their success, he was passionate about it too. Who knew, maybe he was. I, for one, was over it. I wanted nothing more than to light candles and go without energy for a solid week. No phone, no computer, no one bugging me, period.

What I really needed, however, was to get home at a reasonable hour, put on my tightest jeans and a hot, sexy low-cut shirt, and go dancing. And get laid. God, it had been way too long! I was horny as hell and now that this was over, I was going to do something about it. I was itching to take my cell phone out and text a message to Aaron. However, my chair at the table was directly in Peter’s line of vision, so I didn’t dare.

One of the servers assigned to pour water and keep clean napkins and a fresh supply of bread on the table, brushed against my arm. I ignored the gentle nudge until he passed by and brushed by me for the second time. Casually, I looked up in time to catch his wink. I did a quick double take. He was young but pretty in a cute college-boy sort of way with wavy dark curls that covered his right eye enticingly. I felt myself grow hard in response to his mild flirtation. Damn! I was really hard up if a little ole wink was all it took to get my motor running. In fact, he may have just had something in his eye, and I was horny enough to think it was my hot bod he was after.

The third time he jostled my arm, I knew he was trying to tell me something. I smiled up at him, letting him know I was interested in as discreet a manner as possible. I’m not sure exactly what I was thinking would be gained by ogling the waitstaff but hell, I had a client on either side of me, and both had talked ad nauseam about their families over dinner. If nothing else, it was a harmless flirtation. When I was sure waiter boy understood my meaningful smile, I turned my attention to the table, suddenly aware of the weight of a heavy stare. Peter Morgan was looking at me with another one of his inscrutable glances. Only this time, I saw something more. Curiosity? Warning? I couldn’t tell. Had he seen the interplay between the server and me? It seemed highly unlikely, unless he was paying very close attention to me. I felt a warm flush creep over my skin. Maybe I wasn’t so paranoid after all.

After dessert and coffee was finally served, we began the lengthy departing process. We shook hands and backslapped our clients, fervently thanking them for the opportunity while we waited for the valet service to bring our cars around. I said my good-byes and excused myself to use the restroom, hoping to make contact with the curly-haired cutie. The young man in question entered the small corridor in between the kitchen and the restrooms and slipped a piece of paper in my hand. I didn’t stop to say a word, just put it in my pocket, washed my hands in the bathroom, and left the restaurant to retrieve my car from the valet.

Once I was in my car, I took the folded sheet from my coat pocket. He’d written his name and phone number next to the number ten. Shit, I hoped I could stay awake until ten. I was horny, yes, but I was also tired as hell. I called Aaron on my drive back to my Dupont-area condo.

“You have to be kidding me! You’re really asking if you should call him?” Aaron’s disbelief was honest and funny. I laughed out loud.

“I guess you’re right. I am pathetic. I don’t know if I remember how to do it… what if I fall asleep? Times like this, I wish I was still with Ricky. Having a boyfriend right now who I could rely on for steady sex when I need it would be nirvana.”

“No, Ricky was not nirvana. You’re just horny, not hard up. And you’ve been working too hard, which is the only reason you haven’t been out doing your thing. You, my friend, need to get laid. Call that boy now!”

“You’re right. I’m going to. I’m almost home. I’ll call him from there.”

“No. Call him now. I know you. You’ll get inside, get into something more comfortable, lie down on your big, yummy down comforter, and fall the fuck asleep. Call him now, so you aren’t tempted to blow it off. Let him blow you instead.”

“Good one.” I rolled my eyes. “Okay, well, let me go so I can get one step closer to conquest.”

Aaron’s laughter was like music to my ears.

“You are so corny sometimes. Don’t talk to him if you’re going to say things like that! By the way, do you think he’s a top?”

“I’ll tell you in the morning. Bye, honey!”

Aaron was right, I thought as I pulled into my parking spot in front of my condo. If I didn’t call—I looked at the paper again—Justin now, I probably wouldn’t. I dialed the number he gave me, left my address and the message that I’d expect him no later than ten thirty. Feeling a sudden burst of energy, I practically skipped to my front door and ran to my master bath to shower the stress of my long day away while I waited for my gentleman caller.

As the steamy hot water sluiced over my skin, I closed my eyes and tried to clear my mind of all thoughts of work. It’s all I had done for almost three months. I barely saw my friends, and I hadn’t been to visit my family in Virginia at all. My sister lived in the city, so I did see her a couple of times, but I missed everyone back home. I decided I’d visit this weekend. I’d call my mom in the morning. I picked up the soap and laughed at myself. I had a booty call coming my way within the hour, and I was thinking about going home. That wouldn’t do. I closed my eyes and tried to conjure an image that was more appropriate.

The thought of touching another man’s skin was enough to make me hard. To run my hands over his hard, smooth chest, stopping to take each nipple in hand and pull hard enough just to excite before my hands resumed a downward journey. I swallowed and wrapped my hand around my own hard flesh. I thought of resting my hands on his hips for a moment before I reached down to cup his beautiful hot ass. My fingers itched at the thought of tracing his crack. I could almost hear him moan, although I knew it was my own voice. I could feel the frenzied fire build inside of me, and I knew my hands would be everywhere in an attempt to touch and taste every bit of my lover at once. I would lick and suck at his beautiful broad chest until my knees weakened and I had no choice but to fall at his feet and finally touch and taste the rock hard perfection between his legs. I would look up, hoping to receive his permission and approval. And I would see…Peter Morgan’s intense gaze meeting my own before he took firm grasp of my hair and moved me forcibly toward his weeping cock.

My eyes sprang open. Peter? What the fuck? I heard a bell ringing somewhere, and all at once I came back to reality.

Shit! I turned off the water, jumped out of the shower, and dried my body haphazardly before giving up. I tied the towel around my waist and made my way, half-naked, to answer my front door. I was moving on instinct alone. A bell rings, you answer it, or at least check the peephole or caller ID and decide whether or not to bother. I was shaken in a way that was hard to put into words. I was completely aroused and more than just a little horny, but the fact that Peter Morgan, the man I detested more than any other on the planet, should figure at all in any fantasy of mine, somehow rattled me.

My hand was shaking as I approached the front door. At the last second, I remembered I was a city boy now and needed to check to see who was on the other side. It was the server from the restaurant. Justin. I swallowed and wondered if I should open the door. This wasn’t like me. Not by a long shot. I have plenty of friends who wouldn’t think twice about picking up a guy and doing the dirty without knowing much more than their name, if they even bothered to ask that question. I wasn’t that guy. Tonight was an anomaly. It was out of character that I even went back into the restaurant, giving Justin the opportunity to give me his number, let alone actually calling the number. It was a testimony to how out of sorts I was since this project began. Peter Morgan’s impossibly handsome face immediately sprang to mind, and I realized how damn hard I still was from my shower fantasy time. The towel around my waist was no match for my straining member. So I did something I hadn’t done in a very long time, I opened the door to a perfect stranger.

Justin stood on my front porch with his hands stuffed in his pockets. It made him look even more like a college student. His curly, dark hair was windblown. He lifted his hand to push it back from his eyes and flashed me a bright smile. I smiled in return. He was cute, and I had him by at least three inches and twenty pounds. I could take him on if I had to. I stood back and held the door for him to enter.

“Hey. I…. It’s cool if you changed your mind. I don’t live far from here and….” Justin stopped in his tracks as he turned to face me and realized for the first time that I was wearing a towel that barely hid my hard-on and nothing else. I heard his audible gulp and silently congratulated myself for keeping up a diligent workout routine.

I might not be as effortlessly hunky as my erstwhile boss, but the truth was that I knew I was considered better than average-looking, and I made an effort to stay in shape. I swam in high school and had kept my swimmer’s physique: broad shoulders with a leaner build and slim waist. Generally, I was attracted to men who were physically bigger than me, and I definitely had a type… tall, dark, and handsome.

Justin wasn’t my type. He was shorter than me at probably six feet even and although he had dark hair and dark eyes, he was cute… not handsome. He flashed me an even bigger grin than he had when I first opened the door and all coherent thought left. He was pretty in his own way and had a killer smile. He unzipped his leather jacket and carefully removed it, laying it on the bench in my foyer. I heard his breath hitch as he inched toward me. He was nervous. That seemed to even out the playing field somehow. I stood still and let him make the first move.

I watched his Adam’s apple move in his throat as he unbuttoned the top buttons of his white shirt. He moved closer, completely invading my personal space. Then he looked up and set a tentative hand on my bare chest. His touch was gentle, but his fingers felt like hot coals. It had been so long since I’d been with a man like this. Suddenly tall, dark, and handsome didn’t matter. I was instantly energized and hungry for more. I had to touch him. I reached out and with a surprisingly steady hand, unbuttoned the rest of his shirt, letting it fall open to reveal his toned chest. The boy worked out, I noted with approval. He had a light pelt of hair on his chest and a sweet treasure trail that pointed south, dipping just below his low-slung black trousers.