Dreaming of You (3 page)

I took my seat, laid my leather briefcase flat on my lap, set my food on top of it, and began to inhale my croissant. I looked around, shook my head, and smiled, knowing that Finn would take one look at the room and scream, “Beige invasion!”

Everything in the room was some form of the color beige with the exception of the wood stage and a black curtain hanging behind the podium on the stage. I began imagining that I was in the audience of Bravo’s
Inside the Actors Studio
, pretending that James Lipton was sitting on the stage across from Julia Roberts when I heard, “Excuse me,” startling me out of my daydream. I turned to my left to see Mr. Chiseled Jaw from the restaurant the night before, standing beside me sporting an award-winning Jack Nicholson smile.

“H-hi,” I fumbled out while scooting back in my chair. I shoved my legs under the seat, allowing him enough room to shimmy by. He slid by me with his perfectly formed ass, which was deliciously wrapped in jeans, right in line with my face. I felt a stir in my pants and thought, Hot damn…this is hands down the best fucking seminar ever!

Aside from me, the room was still empty, so when he took the seat right next to me I immediately felt my face flush and the moisture begin to collect under my arms. He placed his arm on the armrest of his chair, and chills ran up my arm as his brushed against mine. I looked down to see the soft blond hair on his arm tangling and intertwining with the dark hair on my arm. Feeling my cock begin to strain against the fabric of my jeans, I recrossed my legs, attempting to adjust myself. I peeked over at him to see that he was looking at me, and we both burst out laughing due to a mix of both nervousness and excitement.

“Logan Price.” He offered his hand while making direct eye contact.

I reciprocated with my hand and name. His hands were large with long fingers, and I got an instant mental picture of how they’d look between my legs. I marveled at the way his smile gave me a feeling of warmth and anticipation. I found it was suddenly difficult to catch my breath. I felt a slight panic as I tried to remember the last time a man had made me feel like that. “Are you from Atlanta?” I asked.

“Originally, yes, but now I live in Los Angeles. I own a restaurant there, but I still come back here every year for the trade show. It’s an excuse to see my family. You?”

“My partner and I own a restaurant in Missouri. I’m from Missouri; that’s where I went to school…lived in the state all my life.”

His smile faded slightly as he rubbed his hand over his leg. “Oh…that was your partner you were at dinner with last night?”

“Yeah, Nathan.” I was ecstatic that he remembered me as well. “He’s a fantastic chef.”

“How long have the two of you been together?”

“Oh, oh,” I said, eyes widening, “we aren’t that kind of partners, just in business together.”

He nodded with a smile. “Good to know.”

He had the sexiest full lips, and I immediately began to think about the way they’d feel pressed against mine.

We spent the remaining ten minutes prior to the seminar talking about our restaurants, and his sounded unbelievable. Serving mainly Mediterranean food, it was set on a hill overlooking the ocean. He described it as intimate outdoor dining with several levels looking down on the other. There were a lot of little coves and nooks that gave it a very romantic “private” dining atmosphere. As other people began filing in the door, I started to feel slightly irritated, as if they were uninvited guests crashing our party for two.

“So”—I was nervously twisting the brass notch that closed the flap on my briefcase—“do, uh, do you have a partner?”

He turned to look at me. “No, in neither a business nor personal sense, but I’m always looking.”

I picked up the spoon I’d used to eat my yogurt and began twisting it in my hands. “Good to know.”

The speaker began testing his microphone, and I jumped slightly as the plastic spoon flipped out of my hands. It sailed through the air, landing about six feet down the aisle. I sank down in my seat a little as the blood rushed to my cheeks, thankful I hadn’t hit anyone with it. I closed my eyes and prayed Logan hadn’t seen that. I glanced over, and he had his hand in a fist over his mouth trying to keep himself from laughing out loud.

Closing my eyes again I heard a voice in my head scream, Loser!

The attendees began to settle down, ready to absorb what would hopefully be some new infinite wisdom that would make running their businesses a little easier. I placed my half-eaten croissant and empty yogurt container back into the paper bag and placed it on the floor next to my feet. I glanced over at Logan and caught him looking back at me, smiling. I wondered if my breath would stink by the end of the lecture as I heard that pesky voice nagging in the back of my mind.

You just had to stuff your face, didn’t ya, little piggy!

I opened my briefcase, pulled out a yellow legal pad, and readied myself for the seminar. Logan did the same, and every couple of minutes one of us would be caught looking at the other, causing us both to laugh. The speaker began talking. I was trying to force myself to pay attention to what he was saying, but my brain continually ran amok with thoughts about the man sitting next to me. What was he like? Did he like me? What kind of a couple would we make? Was he interested in
me
, or just interested in fucking me? Then there would be the killjoy evil thoughts:
Of course he only wants to fuck you. He lives in California, and you live in Missouri, you fucking idiot. Well, Mr. Ego, aren’t you full of yourself? What in hell makes you think he’s even attracted to you?

I was startled out of my inner ravings when Logan slid a folded piece of paper on top of my legal pad, which, after fifteen minutes of the lecture, was still blank. I looked at him. He winked at me, smiled, and nudged his head as if to say, read the damn thing already. I unfolded the piece of paper and looked down and read:

Will you spend the rest of the day with me? Circle Yes or No.

I smiled, feeling like a teenager again passing notes in church. I laughed at the sweet cheesiness of it, circled
Yes
, and folded the paper before passing it back to him. Without even opening the note, he looked at me and whispered, “Good.”

My head began to swim with a druglike euphoria. My vision seemed keener as well as a little fuzzy, and it once again became more difficult to breathe. I tensed when he began to caress my hand with his pinky. An electric shock ran straight up my arm and worked its way through my body to my cock. Not wanting him to think I was uninterested, I hooked my pinky around his, hoping the lecture didn’t end until my hard-on subsided.

Finally free of the lecture, we opted to head for the trade floors as opposed to wasting any more time in seminars, which wouldn’t hold our attention. I felt slightly drunk and was hoping it was mutual. As we walked through the showrooms, Logan gave me personal demonstrations of kitchen equipment, something I’d never given two shits about in the past. I was now completely enthralled despite the fact that I had the culinary aptitude of a toddler. We talked about ourselves, unable to learn about the other fast enough. We asked each other questions and kept looking at one another and smiling.

Logan was thirty-two, which shocked the hell out of me because he looked no older than twenty-five. In retrospect, I should have realized the improbability of a twenty-five-year-old owning and running a restaurant, but when your senses are running wild, you tend to not have much sense.

Logan seemed to be about six feet tall, I guessed, since he stood slightly over my five feet nine inches and had that beefy build that made my knees weak. He had on a short-sleeve button-up blue shirt that made his blue eyes pop. The top few buttons were undone, revealing a smooth chest, and the shirt was just tight enough to give me a mouthwatering visual image of what lay beneath.

Logan was from a rather well-to-do family in Atlanta. He’d spent several years in Europe, where he’d trained in a couple of culinary institutes. His father died several years ago, leaving both him and his younger sister a substantial amount of money. His mother still lived in Atlanta in the house he’d grown up in. He described her as being a sweet, gentle soul. His sister, whom he loved dearly, also lived in Atlanta and was a wild child. She always had to be the center of attention wherever she went, which sounded suspiciously close to the way I’d describe Finn.

Neither his mother nor his sister had flinched when he told them he was gay, and had both been very supportive. He didn’t tell them until after his father had died. He felt a little sad about that, like he never gave his father the chance to know him completely as an individual, and often wondered how his father would have handled it.

He’d worked really hard while living in Europe to lose the Southern accent, which I told him was a shame, since I had a thing for accents.

He immediately looked at me. “Well, it’s not completely gone; I’m able to kind of snap back and forth. If you’re good,” he added, raising one eyebrow and flashing a devilish little smile, “I might be inclined to dredge it up for you.”

As goose pimples ran over my body, I smiled uncontrollably. I told Logan that I was from Cape Girardeau, the oldest of three, and the only boy. With the exception of my sisters, I had never told my family that I was gay. Where my parents were concerned, it was pretty much understood but completely ignored. Cape was a fairly small city where everyone sort of knew everyone else through either personal contact or acquaintances. My parents had wanted me to go to the university in Cape, but I refused. I wanted to get the hell out of there so I could feel free to be more open without having to worry about people talking about it. Logan and I were both raised Southern Baptist and could certainly relate to one another on the horrors of growing up gay in that mess. While he had pretty much become a Buddhist, into yoga, eastern philosophy, and all that stuff, I was what he called “riding the fence,” referring to myself as agnostic.

He was envious of my partnership with Nathan and told me how nice it would be if he could spend all his time in the kitchen without having to worry about the front of the house. He’d been living in Los Angeles for about a year and a half, working in a couple of different restaurants out there before his father died. He was basically doing the “watch and learn” bit, picking up tips here and there about the business end of running a restaurant. He purchased his restaurant with the money his father had left him, and spent about eight months revamping the place, which had been there since the 1930s. It was kind of a landmark from old Hollywood. He’d been able to obtain a historical grant that helped fund the restoration, which in turn garnered him substantial media attention and ended up being fantastic free advertising.

“I’m getting kind of hungry.” Logan looked at his watch. “Good Lord, it’s almost three thirty. We yapped our way right through lunch.”

I stopped in my tracks, feeling completely wretched. “Oh my hell, I was supposed to meet Nathan for lunch at noon.”

“Oops,” he said, with a half-guilty, half-pleased expression. “Well, why don’t you let me take the two of you to dinner tonight to make up for me depriving him of his lunch companion? I’d really love to see some more of you.”

“Um, well…” I wondered how Nathan would feel after the sexual walk down memory lane we’d taken the night before. “That would probably be fine, but I should talk to him first.” Hell, he may have other plans at this point…
Wishful thinking, you big ho. That would make things entirely too easy
. “Why don’t you call me at the hotel later on, and I’ll see what I can work out?”

“Great…I’ll go ahead and make reservations for the three of us, just in case.”

“Okay, that’s great.” I was wringing my hands, not wanting him to go. “Well, I guess we part here?”

“Until later then.” Logan leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on my lips right there in front of God and everybody.

“Damn,” I said in a soft whisper as he pulled away, causing my face to flush realizing I’d spoken aloud.
That’s good, Aden, way to be subtle
. “I’ll wait to hear from you then.”

I smiled, waved good-bye, and hoped like hell he was watching me walk away. I’d been told on more than one occasion I have a great ass, and I’d been Vicky Vain about it ever since. When I glanced back to see him watching me leave, I smiled and waved, feeling a mild sense of gratification.

As people began filing into the dining room, I nodded to Finn that I’d be right over as I stopped and spoke with Colleen, who was the very first employee I ever hired. She was now married with a new baby; seeing her instantly carried me back to the beginning when Nathan and I first opened Harlow’s. I was really glad to see her there for the end, well, at least my end. Everywhere I looked, a smiling face was staring back.

Nathan had Finn plan out a seating arrangement with place cards for everyone. I rejoined Finn, who sat me in the center of the banquet along the west wall at a long table. Finn and Nathan sat down on either side of me, and our friends took their seats around us. Our servers began bringing out bread and butter for the tables and filling up wineglasses. The salads soon followed and I laughed, listening to the conversations going on around me.

“Are you having fun?” Nathan asked.

“Of course; I still can’t believe you two actually worked together to set all this up.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Finn chimed in. “But as soon as he accepted the fact that I was in charge, things began to fall into place.”

I turned to look at Nathan, who was rolling his eyes.

I began patting him on the hand. “Have another drink; the more liquor you have, the less annoying she is.”

“Now you tell me.” Nathan picked up his glass.

Finn shot me a nasty look. “I totally heard that.”

“Don’t be a bitch,” I scolded, taking a drink of water. “It isn’t everyone that can love you as unconditionally as I do.”

She gave me a worried look. “That’s what scares me more than anything.”

I smiled and put my arm around her. She leaned into me, resting her head on my shoulder, and snatched the piece of bread I had buttered off my plate and ate it. I smiled at her, thinking back to Atlanta and the first meal I shared with Logan.

* * * * *

When I got back to the hotel, I knocked on Nathan’s door to find that he wasn’t back yet. I fished through my briefcase, looking for a pad of Post-its. Much to my dismay, there were none. I kept digging and came across a large paper clip. Pulling it out and ripping off a piece of paper from my legal pad, I scribbled a quick note telling him to come to my room when he returned. I untwisted the paper clip, wrapped one end around the doorknob, and made a little hook on the other end, which I used to pierce the note. I stood back to admire my work, patting myself on the back for being the kind of boy who’s always prepared for anything. “I’m a fucking gay MacGyver.”

I knew Nathan was a little miffed when he called from his room as opposed to coming to my room. I told him about Logan, how the day just ran away from us, and that I completely forgot about lunch. I could tell by his voice that he was somewhat relieved. He’d been worried that
I
was freaked out over our dinner conversation the night before and, knowing how I tend to deal with personal conflict, which is to avoid it, had just not shown up. He agreed to dinner with Logan, and I told him I’d call him back once Logan got back to me with the details.

Hanging up the phone, I stripped down to my boxer briefs, lay down, and tried to take a nap. My head was racing and refused to slow down long enough for me to relax. I rolled onto my back and closed my eyes and thought about the kiss he laid on me before we left one another. I felt the tingle between my legs and my cock began to stir. I flashed to the image of his ass as he slid by me in the conference room. I thought about the way it would feel naked beneath my hands. I moaned as my cock began to leak and make a wet spot in my boxer briefs trying to push itself out from underneath the material. I slid my hand down my stomach and slipped my fingers under the elastic band, wrapping my fingers around the wet, swollen head. I pictured him going down on his knees as I raised my hips and used my other hand to push down the briefs, releasing my hard-on. I imagined Logan’s full lips opening as he slid his hot, wet mouth over my cock and I jerked my now-precum-soaked dick faster, pretending it was his mouth sliding me all the way to the back of his throat. I began to moan loudly, thrashing my head from side to side. I felt my balls clench up, and let out a final deep moan from the back of my throat as the hot fluid sprayed out over my fingers, shooting up my stomach and onto my chest.

I smiled and for a few perfect moments felt relaxed. Then I turned my head and looked at the time. It would be hours before I saw him again. It was no use; I was as nervous as a nellie queen in a biker bar. This man, whom I’d known for a total of eight hours, had me tied in knots, and he wasn’t even my dream man. I tried to compare the two, which of course was impossible since my dream man was, well, stuck in my dreams. As far as looks went, it was like apples to oranges. I wouldn’t kick either one of them out of bed. I bounded off the bed and ran into the bathroom to wash the now-cold cum off my chest and abs. After I walked back into the room, I began to riffle through my clothes, trying to figure out what to wear. I had to look great, but at the same time I didn’t want to look too obvious. I knew Nathan would take one look at me and know exactly what was going on.

As I stood in front of the mirror holding different shirts up, trying to decide what looked best against my skin, I kept reminding myself that under no circumstances was I to sleep with him tonight. “It’s just so tacky to sleep with a guy on the first date,” I told myself in the mirror. “Not if I ever expect it to be anything other than a one-nighter. Besides, if I were to sleep with him, it would be too cliché. I don’t want him to be my vacation trick. I like him.”

Who are you kidding? The voice shouted out in my head. What the fuck are you expecting from a man that lives in California? He probably sees you as a vacation trick.

“No, it doesn’t feel like that. I’m not getting that vibe from him.”

What if he does, though? Would it be leading him on to go to dinner with him and not fuck him?

“It wouldn’t be fucking. It would be making love.”

Please, you barely know him, and he doesn’t know you. It would be fucking.

“Well, what’s wrong with fucking? It’s not like I’m out screwing a different guy every night. Give me a break; I’ve barely had sex with anyone but myself for almost a year.”

Don’t pretend like that is due to some type of high moral standard. You work fourteen-hour days, six days a week.

“What is your point?”

That you wanna fuck him three ways to Sunday.

“Bitch!”

Whore!

* * * * *

While Nathan and I rode in the cab to the restaurant, I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. Would I still feel like this after seeing him again? Would some of the magic have rubbed off since this morning? Why did
this
man affect me this way? What if he and Nathan didn’t get along? Food…if it wasn’t going well, get them talking about food.

Nathan reached over and placed his hand on top of mine to stop me from rubbing them together as if I had just put on lotion. “I take it you really like this guy?”

“It’s silly, I know.” I began to settle down as the heat from his hand radiated into the cool skin of mine. “I barely know him, but there’s something there. I actually had trouble breathing today just being around him. I’ve never felt that before. I was beginning to think I wasn’t capable of feeling this way. Like the romantic in me that dreamed of true love had been stoned to death long ago, leaving behind a dry, empty husk that runs a restaurant.”

“You’re so melodramatic.” Nathan smiled and shook his head. “You have a whole other world inside that head of yours, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I watch you sometimes at the restaurant, sitting alone at a table staring off into space with the sexiest little half smile on your face. I always wondered where it was you went to. I figured wherever it was, it must’ve been good. I envy you for that.”

“Well, don’t, Nathan. That’s part of my problem. I need to come out of that world. I need to find a life, as opposed to sitting back and daydreaming about what my life could be. Ten years ago, if you’d told me I’d be alone at twenty-nine, I would’ve laughed in your face. What the hell have I been doing with myself for the past ten years, and when did whatever that was become more important to me than falling in love and having a relationship?”

“You’re too goddamn hard on yourself, Aden.” He patted my knee. “You’d never allow someone else to treat you as badly as you treat yourself. You know…I hate to be the wet blanket here, but you did say he lived in California, didn’t you? I hope you keep that in mind. I don’t want you to expect more than you can possibly get out of this.”

I took in a deep breath and exhaled, attempting to expel my anxiety. “I’m trying to leave expectations out of it. All I know is that this feels really good, and I refuse to sit down, overanalyze, and rationalize the situation until I kill all the warm gooeyness. I just want to have this and let it be whatever it’s going to be.”

He smiled, leaned over, gave me a little peck on the cheek. “Okay.”

* * * * *

We walked through the heavy wooden doors of the restaurant greeted by a blast of cool air that blew over us, taking with it some of my anxiety. The place was kept dark and dimly lit with floor-to-ceiling dark wood panels running along the walls. There was a stage directly to our left with a grand piano, as well as an empty chair and microphone. There were candles twinkling on top of the tables, sending an amber-colored hazy light over the crisp white tablecloths. Ella Fitzgerald was playing in the background as we followed the maître d’ to the table. The restaurant was long and narrow.

Cigarette smoke hung in the air like a ghost slowly moving and twisting. The bar was a small cube against the west wall. There were only about six bar stools around it, which were all full. Glasses hung upside down above the people’s heads on glass racks, and the back bar was packed to the ceiling with wine racks filled with bottles. Heaven, I thought, looking at all the wine.

The place was crowded, and the bartender was furiously shaking a martini shaker in one hand and pouring a glass of wine with the other. Something I could never do. I was never one of those kids who’d been able to rub my head and stomach in opposite directions at the same time while chewing gum.

Along one wall was a row of booths that were actually old church pews that had been cut in half and pushed up against the wall. The booths were filled with throw pillows you could use for cushions. The back of the dining room was two upper levels with tables scattered about in no certain order.

I smiled and my chest filled with pressure as I saw Logan getting out of a booth to greet us. As I made the introductions, the maître d’ politely excused himself and disappeared back to the front of the restaurant. Nathan slid into one side of the booth; Logan held out an arm signaling me to slip in and then followed by scooting in next to me.

“I know the place may seem like the kind of restaurant you take a date you don’t want anyone to see you with.” Logan looked between the two of us. “But they have the best French cuisine in the city.”

“It’s exactly that quality that makes it cool,” Nathan stated as he surveyed the room. “You almost feel a little naughty when you walk in the door.”

“You guys just missed the first set.” Logan pointed to two women sitting at the bar. “Those two are amazing; they’ve been playing here for as long as I can remember.”

The duo appeared to be in their mid to late forties. They were completely
Ab Fab
, with big bar hair, excessive makeup, and martini glasses in hand.

“I
love
them,” I said.

“You haven’t even heard them play yet,” Nathan said.

“I don’t care, they look crazy cool.”

“So what have you done with your afternoon, mister?” Logan asked, picking up the bottle of French Bordeaux and pouring Nathan and me each a glass.

Masturbated, I thought, grinning. “Just sort of lounged around the hotel room.” I was nonchalantly trying not to get excited as he pressed his leg against mine. “What about you?” I asked, picking up the wineglass to take a sip.

“Well, I went to my mother’s and made the reservations. I then had a little afternoon cocktail with Mom and told her all about you.”

My throat closed up on me, causing me to spew my wine, which left little red stains on the clean white tablecloth. Nathan and Logan both started laughing as I wiped my chin. “You did not!” I tried to swallow.