Dinner for One (11 page)

She points her glitter gun menacingly at him and shakes it. “What you have going on is a glorified hookup. You need to take him out. Do something official-like. He’s going to get the wrong idea.”

“So like, dinner and a movie?” He doesn’t see how that’s all that different from what they’re already doing, but maybe it’s the leaving the house bit that makes it more of a “date.”

Fleur rolls her baby blue eyes and shoves a pile of neon construction paper at him. “Make that look pretty.” Once he’s bent his head to the task, outlining the paper with swirls of glittering paint, she says, “If you’re always making dinner for each other, maybe do something a little different. Go for a day out.” Her gaze narrows. “Something that doesn’t end with sex.”

“Could it be a day out that does end in sex?” He thinks that’s a decent compromise, but the look on his sister’s face tells him otherwise. “What’s wrong with that?”

She sighs, sounding dramatically put upon. “You like him, yeah? You want this to go somewhere?” She waits till he nods. “Then you need to make sure you two can do stuff without sex being involved. That’s called an adult relationship.”

Chandler, her husband, walks into the dining room then, and she turns to him. “Isn’t that right, honey?”

He looks like he’s considering backing out of the room, his gray eyes shifting toward the door. He’s a man of average height and slender build, with black hair and light brown skin, courtesy of his father being from Spain and his mother from France. “Is what right?”

“Adult couples don’t have sex all the time. They need to know how to do other things with each other.” Fleur sounds like she’s reading off something she found in an article.

Chandler sends Bastien a pitying look, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “It’s true,” he says, not sounding like he means it at all. “It’s heartbreaking when you find that out. Like seeing a pile of Christmas presents and realizing they’re all for someone else.”

Fleur swats at him, and he dodges, laughing. He bends to kiss her forehead. “What’re you working on,
chéri
?”

“Avery’s history project.”

Bastien sees him taking in the mess of glitter and paint and bright construction paper and poster board. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but shouldn’t Avery be doing this?” he finally asks, looking around like she’s going to appear from the pantry.

Fleur shoves him away. “She already did the work. We’re just putting it together.”

Bastien smirks down at the table as Chandler starts to suggest Avery at least help them put it together. When he starts to think their bickering is charming rather than aggravating, he knows he’s been there for too long.

They’re so busy arguing they don’t even notice when he leaves.

He works that night, so he won’t be seeing James. He googles good date ideas once he gets home and finds himself with some free time before his shift. He’s always been the simple kind of guy who takes people to dinner. What can he say; he likes food. He doesn’t find the Internet all that helpful. A picnic in the park still involves food—though it does fall under a day-out category—and a stroll along the waterside or around a park is well and good, but not exactly time-consuming. He could rent a boat for the day and take James out, but he thinks that’s definitely going to end in sex on the boat.

Still, he shouldn’t let that idea go to waste. He tucks it aside for another day.

The clock keeps ticking, and he has to go to work. His staff was helpful in the choosing of that first dish. Maybe they’ll be of assistance with this too. Of course he has to wait for them to finish laughing at his expense.

Once they get going, though, he’s inundated with ideas.

“I took my girlfriend to see a Broadway show.”

“We went to the Central Park Zoo.”

“I once had a date take me mini-golfing.”

“Bowling can be fun.”

“The botanic garden is nice.”

“There’s a great rock-climbing place.”

“Sports games are always a safe bet.”

“A burlesque show!”

He blinks at that last one, puts his hand out to stall the rush of suggestions. “Let me think about those before you give me anything else,” he says, already scrambling to remember what half of them were.

He’s got too many options now. What will James like?

Charley claps him on the shoulder as he walks by. “I’ve got two tickets to a Yankees game if you want them.”

Sports, he thinks. James has sports magazines on his coffee table. That seems like it could work. “If you’re not going to use them….”

Charley laughs. “I wouldn’t have mentioned it if I was. They’re all yours. The game is this Thursday. I’ll bring them into work tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” he says, resisting the urge to hug Charley out of gratitude.

When he takes his break, he texts James.
Got two tickets to a Yankees game Thursday night. Want to go?

He doesn’t know anything about baseball, other than the absolute basics. He’s going to have to look it up so he doesn’t appear completely confused at the game. Should he buy a jersey or something? Maybe a hat….

His phone vibrates, and he looks down to see a
Sure :)
.

He thanks Charley again before he leaves, and when he passes a stand and sees a Yankees hat, he goes ahead and gets it. For James he can make an effort to like some of the things he does.

An hour of research later, he’s left feeling pretty convinced baseball isn’t going to be his thing.

“WHAT DO
you even wear to a baseball game?” James asks Georgina, riffling through his closet for
something
that could work. “I didn’t even know he liked baseball. There’s nothing sports related in his house!” He turns to her. He feels absurdly off balance. “I wasn’t prepared for this.”

She’s sitting on his bed, laughing her ass off at him. Her long blonde hair is swept up in a messy bun, and she’s wearing a pair of lime green yoga pants with a gigantic patched sweater. She should look homeless, but she pulls it off somehow. “It’s baseball,” she says. “Not the end of the world.”

He glares at her. Bastien is going to be here in an hour, and he’s got no clue what to wear. He turns back to the closet. “Baseball,” he mutters.

Her laughter only gets louder. “You’ve been to sports games before. How is this any different? Dress like you would if you were going to a hockey game.”

“Hockey’s awesome,” he says under his breath, and louder, “That’s inside. In a cold rink. I’d wear a jersey and a pair of jeans. That doesn’t really work here.”

She flounces her way over to him, shoving him aside so she can search through his closet. “I think you have more clothes than me,” she says, flicking shirts aside with her manicured fingers. She runs a bright pink nail over the fabric of one of his dress shirts. “Oooh, this is nice.” She makes a tutting noise. “Remind me to buy you more casual clothes for Christmas.”

Eventually she throws a pair of jeans at him. They’re not his normal designer ones. They’re old, and there’s a hole in the knee. The bottoms
flare
. “I don’t even know if I’ll fit in these,” he says, frowning down at them. “How about khaki shorts?”

“Hopeless.” Georgina scowls, but she takes the pants back so he doesn’t really care.

He ends up in khaki shorts and a sea-blue polo. She makes him walk in front of her before she nods. “It brings out your eyes,” she says, and in response he rolls them. She tries to flick his forehead, and he dodges.

“Thanks for the help.” He tilts his head to the door, but she ignores his obvious gesture for her to hit the road and sprawls herself on his bed instead. She props her pointy chin in her hand and lazily kicks her legs in the air.

He sighs.

“So is this the guy you’re lying to?”

And there it is. He closes his eyes. “I’m not lying,” he says. “I’m waiting till the right time.” Even he doesn’t think that sounds true.

“Uh-huh.” She looks like she’s judging him.

“Marcy and Laurence both told me to do this.”

“If they told you to take a dive from a cliff, would you do that too?”

He glares. “If I wanted to listen to Mom berate me, I’d have called her.” He points his finger at her. “You came and helped me get dressed for this date. If you disapproved, you could have said no.”

Georgina shakes her head. Her bun sways wildly. “Laurence told me you’ve got a new man, and he’s got you all shaken up. I had to see for myself.”

“All shaken up,” he repeats, baffled. He’s never once heard her use that phrase before.

She shrugs. “I paraphrased.”

“Since when do you say ‘all shaken up’?”

Her smile turns mischievous, and he wants to take back the question. “You’re not the only one with a new man.”

He groans. “Spare me.”

“He’s a cowboy from Texas, and my my….”

He covers his ears and sings, “Lalalalalala.” He doesn’t stop until the only sound her mouth is making is laughter. “I can’t deal with this right now,” he tells her, motioning at the door. “I have to sit through a baseball game. I don’t need to contemplate your love life while I do it.”

She pats his shoulder as she passes, bare feet quiet on his wooden floor. “Maybe you’ll come away from this a massive baseball fan. I can put little Yankee accessories in your Christmas pile.”

“Christmas isn’t for months yet. Don’t go wasting your money.”

They continue on like that all the way to the door, and he thinks that’s going to be the end of it. He should have known better. She turns to him before he can close it, face set in serious lines. “I think it’s great you’re happy. I think it sucks it’s going to fall apart because you’re a moron.”

And that’s Georgina, bluntly truthful. “Duly noted,” he says. He can’t exactly argue with it. Deep down, where he’s tried to lock it away and bury it, he has the same thought.

Not long after she leaves, when he’s sitting on the couch watching Gordon Ramsay scream to distract himself, there’s a knock. He turns the show off and tugs his clothes into place.

Bastien’s just outside, dressed in dark slim-fit jeans, the hems rolled up above his gray suede boots, and a charcoal gray V-neck shirt. His hair is straightened. He’s holding a Yankees hat. He looks good. James tilts forward, unable to resist brushing a kiss over his soft lips. “Hi,” he says.

“Hi.” Bastien follows him, chasing his lips, and they kiss slowly in his doorway, giggling into each other’s mouth. “We’re going to miss the game,” says Bastien, pulling away slowly and looking like he wouldn’t mind.

James is tempted to capitalize on that, to twist his fingers in Bastien’s shirt and drag him inside. But he paid for tickets, and that would be wasteful. Instead of indulging in what is sure to be fantastic and enthusiastic sex, he shuts his door behind him and follows Bastien to the elevator.

He contents himself with watching the sway of Bastien’s plump rear end in his tight jeans, and when they’re in the cab on the way to stadium, he makes sure to press their thighs together. Ironically neither of them talk about baseball, at least not until they get to the stadium and Bastien blurts out, “Did you know, today could be a record-breaking day for Warren?”

James stares up at the massive stadium, dropping his sunglasses down to avoid blindness from the bright sun. “I did not,” he says, trying to sound interested. He wonders what record this Warren guy could be breaking. “That’s cool, though. It’ll be exciting to see if he does.”

“Oh definitely.”

Getting into the stadium is a slow process. They’re scrunched together in line, the day unreasonably hot. James glances down at Bastien’s jeans. He must be dying. “They should do these at night,” he says absently, waiting while someone’s scalped ticket gets rejected as a fake.
It’s so much cooler at night.

“That would be ideal,” says Bastien, hooking his index finger in one of the loops on James’s shorts and tugging. “I’ve been told it’s good to get out in the daytime for something other than work.”

“Who’s been feeding you these lies?” asks James with mock outrage, turning to swipe his thumb over the heat flush on Bastien’s right cheek. “Did you bring sunblock?” Bastien’s pale face is going to burn if he didn’t.

Bastien shakes his head ruefully. “No.” He shrugged. “It’ll be fine.”

James arches a brow. “You’re already turning the color of a strawberry. You’re going to peel something awful.” His cheeks are warm to the touch, the little hairs near his sideburns already curling. He tries to smooth them down, but they spring back up. He smirks. “Will all your hair start to curl?”

His hand gets batted away, and gorgeous red hair sways as Bastien moves. “Just a little. It’ll mostly look frizzy.” He sounds like he’s admitting a horrible secret.

James grins, curling his hand around the back of Bastien’s neck and tugging on the little hairs there. “So it’ll look like I’ve just fucked you?” He whispers the words in Bastien’s ear, pressed close enough to delight in the way he shivers and sighs. He laughs when Bastien pushes him away.

“We’re in public,” Bastien reprimands. He side-eyes him. “Who knew baseball made you so…?” He tilts his head meaningfully.

James could groan in horror. He doesn’t want Bastien thinking baseball is a turn-on for him or something ridiculous like that. Thankfully the lady in front of them finally moves through the ticket entrance, and he’s spared having to come up with something to say.

They’ve got good seats once they find them. They’re solidly in the middle of the right side of stands. He takes a seat and looks up at Bastien, who has finally put his hat on his head. His hair sticks out adorably from underneath. “Nachos and beer?” If there’s one thing he can do, it’s sports food.

Bastien rolls his bright blue eyes. “Sure,” he drawls. “Coming right up.” But he does go off to find them, so James thinks he can’t have minded too much. While Bastien is gone, he takes the opportunity to do some research he probably should have already done.

He googles:
How long does a baseball game last?

The answer is a little painful, but he thinks it’s definitely manageable. He’s sat through movies that were awful and were around that long, and he paid to go to some of those. He wonders if this means he can start inviting Bastien to hockey games when the season starts in a month. That leads to wondering if they’ll even be together by then. He rubs his face. He needs to tell Bastien. Soon, he thinks. He’ll tell him soon.