American Hunks

by Adam Carpenter

  “You’ve certainly got that in me,” he said. “I mean, Rich Stone. Not exactly exotic.”

  “Is that why you chose Stone as your signature name?”

  “Sounds better.”

  “It also fits you,” Matt said, wishing he hadn’t said it. This was professional. The guy’s hot body and face shouldn’t matter. But it did. Connoisseurs might take to his work, but photographers would love his look. “Anyway, for now, I’d love to see some of the pieces you brought with you.”

  “I packed three canvases and carried them onto the plane. Never out of sight.”

  “Smart. Let me see them.”

  Stone stood up, unzipping the black portfolio and opening it up on Matt’s expansive, empty desk. Matt was not exactly an art major, but he knew what he liked, what spoke to his sensitive heart, and wasn’t that what truly mattered? It’s what he’d responded to with Anton’s work, seeing the truth inside the paintings he had for sale along the banks of the Seine. He felt the passion brushed upon those canvases, saw the gleam inside the artist’s blue eyes. It’s what had brought him back to his kiosk, what had led them to a sharing a drink, a meal, a night of passion. And now a shared life. So when Matt gazed upon the first painting that Stone revealed, he held his breath. It was an explosion of color, but of shadows too, of darkness found within the lines. His eyes focused, trying to figure out just what he was looking at. It was striking.

  “Do you have a name for this?”

  “Forest through the Trees.”

  Hearing those words was like bringing the painting to vibrant life. Of course, the dark lines were the shadows found between trees, the sweeping foliage leaves that punctuated the canvas. If he had to compare a style, he found Stone was less contemporary, more interpretive with his subjects. His wide brush strokes reminded him of the Impressionists. It was retro, but modern at the same time. Matt held his gaze.

  “It’s beautiful, you have a unique eye,” he said. “May I see another?”

  Stone turned to the next canvas, and again that urgent vibrancy leaped off the page. More color, more fuzzy-clear images, and only when he concentrated could he see the wide vistas that had been created from empty space. It was a piece he called Texas at Night, and Matt envisioned a hovering silver moon against an orange horizon, both of them blurry against a sky that seemed to stretch beyond the edges of the canvas.

  “Spectacular,” he said. “How many pieces do you have in all?”

  “Twenty-five I’m really proud of, a few others that are more raw. Painted before I understood myself.”

  “You have an amazing use of color. You’re not afraid of it.”

  “I call my collection the Colors of the World.”

  Matt nodded, again taking in each piece, as though his heart was remembering the passion with which they were born. If the rest of his works were along these lines, the single-named Stone was going to be the next artist to show his work at the Gallerie Passione. Because wasn’t that what it was all about? Passion? A visceral response to what was really just a splash of paint? But when the mind was allowed to imagine, that’s when you saw art.

  “I’m impressed,” Matt said. “I think we can do something together, Stone.”

  “Really? I mean, this is unreal. No one’s ever taken a chance on me. Back home, I feel that gallery owners are always looking for a reason to say no.”

  “That’s the beauty of Paris. We like to say yes here. We live a positive life here. Too bad I opened the wine, because I should have planned for celebratory champagne. Oh well, we’ll have plenty of time for that later. For now, Stone, welcome to Paris. Welcome to your future.”

  Before he realized it, Matt was in the man’s tight embrace. Not that he minded, Stone was cute, young, passionate, caught up in the moment. He could only hope that Stone found, in addition to professional success, a personal connection here in the city of lights. One thing Matt was certain of, Stone was as gay as they came.

  He pulled back, saw the needy expression on the young artist’s face.

  “How can I ever repay you?”

  Those were dangerous words, suggestive words from the obviously sexy artist. He wasn’t so naïve as he’d originally thought. Matt had to swallow hard, forcing down his growing attraction to the man in front of him. He had Anton, he was engaged, his life was settled. This man was just getting started, he was young and eager, and if Matt was feeling anything for him it was jealousy. Had he ever been so young? So uncertain in a new world? Then he inwardly laughed. Yes, he had. Despite having lived in New York for ten years, when he arrived in Paris he might as well have arrived directly from corn country. Feeling grateful to someone helpful was a natural response.

  Matt had to dissuade any hint of impropriety.

  “Tell you what, Stone, why don’t you come to my engagement party later this week? You’ll get to meet some people, see Sheeba. You’ll also get to meet my fiancé.”

  He hoped those words would dampen the heat Stone was giving off.

  He hoped those words would dampen his own desires, too.

  ***

  The rain from the other day had finally passed, leaving Paris in a glow of fading sunshine. The sky was embracing nightfall, and at the moment, Anton was mirroring nature’s instinct. He held Matt in his arms, facing him, their lips just parting from a kiss.

  “You ready?”

  “Not sure. Simone is…unpredictable.”

  “She’s your friend.”

  “Which is why I know she’s unpredictable. This might be our engagement party, but she’s not the wallflower type. She’ll be all over this party, taking credit for everything—from choosing mini cupcakes instead of a sheet cake to picking the pont she and I walked across, which led to me finding you. She might even take credit for the Eiffel Tower.”

  “I think Gavin might choose that one. He’s into phallic images.”

  Matt ignored the comment, not wanting to think about the first man he’d slept with in Paris, even though he fully anticipated seeing him tonight. As Simone’s business partner, he would undoubtedly be part of the night’s festivities. They were presently in the trendy Saint-Germain arrondissement, where the offices of Simone & Simon were located, atop an office building on the corner of the Boulevard St. Germain and Rue de Seine. The rooftop access they enjoyed provided picturesque, panoramic views of the Parisian skyline. He remembered his first visit here, a cocktail party where he’d known no one, but where the seductive Gavin Simon had made his move. How easily he’d given in to his surface sophistication. Matt was wiser now, more worldly. He had Anton on his arm.

  No longer able to put off the night’s celebration, the two men entered the lobby and headed up the lift to the top floor. They emerged into a beautifully lit office, candles enhancing the sconces dotting the walls. A server with a tray of champagne flutes stood at attention, offering up a glass to each of the party’s new arrivals. Anton and Matt were impressed, each of them taking a glass and quickly, clinked them in a private toast. This was their last moment alone tonight; they would soon be swept into a party that swirled with activity and well-wishers. While Matt and Anton might be the center of attention, they probably wouldn’t get a moment to themselves. Simone was like that.

  “Boys, over here…oh my, don’t you both look handsome.”

  Simone had said it was a dressy affair, so they had both donned suits, sleek dark ones, Matt with a tie, Anton bucking convention by going without and leaving his shirt undone three buttons. Matt was freshly shaven, Anton with his usual patchy beard. But they paled in comparison to the effervescent Simone, who, in a sleek black dress and a tight red belt around her narrow waist looked as if she had reason to celebrate too. Her dark hair was cut short, a stylish bob. The only other hint of color came from her lips, painted a ruby red, creating a striking contrast to her dress. Her lips had also left an impression on the rim of her champagne glass.

  “Simone, thank you for this,” Anton said.

  She air-kissed both of his chee
ks, then turned to her friend. “And you, Matthew…darling, how you’re grown. So sophisticated these days. Paris definitely agrees with you.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you…wow, the office looks transformed.”

  “Wait till you see the rooftop. We had colored lights strung all over, and there’s a string quartet, and a chocolate fountain and fresh fruits to indulge your passions. Nothing is too over-the-top for my beautiful boys. Who would have thought, a wedding?”

  Instead of her usual air-kiss, she hugged Matt deeply. He felt warmth as well as regret.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Someone should be happy,” she answered, wiping at the corner of her eye.

  “Is that a tear?” he asked.

  “Tell anyone and I’ll have your balls.”

  He laughed. “Okay, that’s the Simone I know. Not that girl from…”

  She playfully slapped his cheek. “Don’t even go there.”

  He kissed her cheek, and smiled.

  “Come on, boys, circulate. At first I thought I’d go intimate, but then thought why? Invite many, please many. It spreads good karma, among friends and business associates alike. Perhaps the two of you will inspire others to pursue their own dreams.”

  Indeed, the party was in full swing, with nearly 30 people in attendance, many of the faces unfamiliar to Matt. Leave it to Simone to turn his engagement party into a business venture, soliciting clients with the promise of high-end champagne, delicacies, and a pinch of Parisian love. But he gave in to the moment, and moved into the center of the room, Simone taking him in her arm and introducing him around. Anton told him to have fun, and Matt watched as his lover walked over to the bar and refilled his glass. That’s when he saw Gavin Simon wander over to him, and the two became engaged in a long conversation.

  Matt, meanwhile, glad-handed those who congratulated him, but he was feeling a bit out of place; without Anton at his side, he felt like his engagement party was more like a separation, and he wished he could excise him from these people—as nice as they were—and feel the warm comfort of Anton’s embrace. They caught each other’s eyes at one point, a secret message passing between them. Just wait until later, after the party, when they could be alone with their thoughts, their passions. Matt knew he’d be opening himself up to Anton’s cock later, and just the idea of it produced a heated rush throughout his body. The buzz in the room was threatening to overwhelm him, and finally he excused himself and made his way up to the roof.

  “Matt, there you are!” he heard the moment he emerged onto the rooftop.

  Sheeba Handers was waving to him, her small but round body jiggling in anticipation of seeing him. He wandered over and kissed her cheek, then that of her girlfriend, Amanda, who was surprisingly tall and slim; they were a study in contrasts until it came to their haircuts. Each had a short style, abrupt in the back, longer in the front, as though they went to the same stylist. At their side was the artist known as Stone, who was looking mighty sexy in a pair of jeans and dark jacket, his open-buttoned shirt revealing his smooth, tanned chest. His brown eyes had caught the light of the stars, giving him an alluring appearance.

  “Hi, Matt, great to see you again. Thanks so much for the invite. I mean, two days in Paris, and already I’m at this sizzling party, meeting all these interesting people from all over the world. Hey, where’s Anton? I’m looking forward to meeting the man who changed your life. Is he up here…?”

  Matt shook his head. “He’s still downstairs, lost in conversation. I needed some air. This party…it’s all, well, it’s a lot to take in.”

  “Typical Simone,” Sheeba added. “A chocolate fountain?”

  “I wouldn’t mind bathing in it,” Amanda said, with a laugh.

  So Sheeba and Amanda decided to indulge themselves with the aforementioned chocolate fountain, and as they coated fresh strawberries with the luscious liquid, Matt watched for a moment as they fed each other, kissing with little regard for anyone around them. When Matt turned back, he saw that Stone was looking his way.

  “It’s nice to see Sheeba finally comfortable in her own skin,” he said.

  “You went to college with her, right?”

  ‘Junior high, high school, undergraduate. We’ve known each other since we were 13.”

  “That sounds like a horrible age. It’s much more fun being a grown-up.”

  Neither Matt nor Stone had spoken, and both turned to see a new man enter their conversation. It was Gavin Simon, and he was smiling like a shark who’d just zeroed in on his hungered-for prey. Matt knew the feeling, since it had been in this very location where Gavin had put the moves on him—quite successfully. Now his gaze was focused on Stone, and Stone was looking right back.

  “Matt, were you planning on introducing me to this fine specimen?”

  “You seemed to be doing well on your own, but sure. Rich Stone, from Dallas, Texas, meet Gavin Simon, from wherever he decides to tell you he’s from.”

  “Oh, Matt, you give my enigmatic nature far too much credit,” Gavin said. “A pleasure.”

  “Call me Stone.”

  “Hmmm, I like you even more now.”

  He shook hands with Stone, and Matt imagined the energy passing between them. Gavin was as slick as ever, his dark eyes hooded by thick eyebrows, both completely focused on the man standing before him. He was handsomely turned out in the finest cut of Italian suit, its fit perfect against his fit frame. He too had foregone a tie, but that was his usual mode of dress, and tonight his shirt was undone several buttons, the curling black carpet that defined his chest on display. On his furry wrist he wore a shiny Rolex, and he checked it once before announcing they should have a drink together.

  “If you’ll excuse us, Matt, let me show our new friend the view from up here—before we get to the festivities and surprises.”

  “Surprises…” Matt said, but he was speaking to empty air.

  Gavin had taken hold of Stone’s arm, leading him away and signaling a passing waiter for a refill on their champagne. Then they wandered to the edge of the building, where in the distance the Eiffel Tower was splashing an array of blinking colored lights. For a guy just off the plane, it was easy to fall into the trap of a sexy, seductive man. He saw Gavin’s hand reach behind and cup his ass. He also noticed that Stone didn’t resist.

  “Something caught your eye?”

  “What…oh, hey, Anton. There you are.”

  “Sorry, Simone was talking me up. Some client who wants original art on her walls. Could be lucrative, which is good considering we have a wedding to pay for.”

  “Anton, I told you, I don’t need anything fancy. I just need you.”

  “You sure?”

  “What does that mean?”

  Anton’s eyes indicated the edge of the roof, where Gavin was caressing Stone’s cheek. “The new guy. Who is he?”

  “That’s Rich Stone. Calls himself Stone. Gallerie Passione’s newest artist. He’s got a great eye.”

  “Not so far, he doesn’t,” Anton added. “Gavin is slime.”

  “Stone is a big boy, I’m sure he can handle Gavin.”

  Any further discussion was interrupted by Simone, clinking her glass with a large diamond ring on her finger. She caught the attention of everyone, Matt realizing the entire party had moved upstairs. Luckily it was a lovely night, not too cool, the women in wraps and the men content with their suit jackets. She quieted the crowd, her eyes falling to Matt and Anton. Matt felt his lover’s hand clasp his, whether out of love, support, or bracing themselves for whatever Simone had in store for them, the reason didn’t matter. She was not without dramatic flair, and not just in business and fashion.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, what a pleasure to have you all here celebrating the love between two dear friends of mine, both of whom were fortunate enough to find each other in this crazy, beautiful, complex city of ours. People often talk of the grand romances that give Paris its pulse, but rarely do you see it happen with such immediac
y, or with such devotion. Matt Donovan and I have known each other since before I even knew my real self—and Anton, well, he’s newer to my life but I feel like I’ve known him forever. That’s because of how happy he makes my friend, and in my book, that’s what counts the most.”

  Matt was surprised by her honesty, and her humility. Simone had an easy way of stealing another’s spotlight, but tonight her thoughts were centered mostly on Matt. Still, he wondered what else she had up her sleeve. He recalled Gavin’s mysterious hint of a “surprise.” Matt didn’t like those. He wanted to know what was going on at all times. He was the kind of guy who could be spontaneous as long as he knew about it in advance.

  “So before we get to the night’s big reveal, let us all raise our glasses and cheer our happy lovers. To Matt and Anton, may love fill your days, and passion consume your nights, tonight, and always.”

  It was a sweet toast with erotic overtones, and Matt felt himself blush a bit. But he clinked glasses with Anton and he kissed him in front of everyone, and they crowd clapped first, and then they drank. The sweet champagne tasted that much better with the lingering effect of their kiss.

  “Okay, now on to the surprise,” Simone said.

  “Simone… really, you’ve done enough,” Matt said.

  “Oh, Matt relax. This one’s not my doing. You do have more than one friend in Paris.”

  Just then the door from downstairs opened, as it on cue, and out walked a most handsome gentleman, tall and impeccably dressed, his tie matching the kerchief in his pocket, his tanned face stretched into a wide smile. His hair was flecked with the perfect amount of gray, giving off an air of distinction. Matt had known him the longest, he supposed, since his Parisian adventure had begun. He’d seen Matt at his highest—meaning, aboard the flight which had taken him to Paris—to the lowest, which meant after he and Anton had broken up late that summer. He’d seduced him first, soothed him next, a perfect lover without any hint of complication or expectation. His name was Colton Abbott, an international lawyer with connections all over the world, and he was now a good friend and the primary investor, along with his sister, Patsy, at the Gallerie Passione.