by Jamie Lake
He wasn’t going to give into temptation this time, however. He promised himself. He was going to find out whatever Tony wanted and then he was going to go home and get some much needed rest.
But as he stepped inside Tony’s office, he saw, laid out on a conference table, place settings and candles set for fine dining. It all looked so beautiful and romantic that it took Peter's breath away. He stood, staring, his heart pounding.
“Come on in,” Tony beckoned, looking dapper, dressed in a fine black silk suit and tie. His salt and pepper hair was slicked back and he wore that sexy smirk of his, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
“What?” Tony said, noticing Peter’s shocked look, holding his hand out to grasp Peter's hand.
“What’s all this?” Peter asked, stepping in, sweeping his arm to gesture at the fancy place settings and candles.
“I thought we’d have a little dinner tonight,” Tony said, motioning for him to sit down. “Red or white wine?”
“Oh, neither. I’d prefer water. Peter was lying to himself of course. He wanted nothing more than a drink to calm his nerves. But he was worried that a glass of wine might lower his inhibitions like it always did when he was around Tony, and then he'd break his promise to himself. No, he needed his mind sharp and wary, not befuddled with booze.
“Nonsense, I have Riesling for you. You’ll love it,” Tony said, pouring him a drink anyway as he sat down. “Taste it and tell me it’s not the most delicious thing you’ve ever tasted.”
Peter sighed. He guessed one sip wouldn’t be so bad. He just wished that Tony would accept “no” for an answer at least once.
“Are you sure you should be drinking? I mean your doctors ...” Peter started to say.
“Doctors don’t know shit. You only live once,” Tony said, taking a sip. Peter watched his lips wrap themselves around the wine glass: it looked so sexy. His dark eyes shifted to watch Peter. He didn’t say a word for a second, but his eyes said it all: I’m going to fuck you tonight. No ifs, ands, or buts…
Peter took another nervous sip of his Riesling and tried to change the subject. “So, you said there were some things you wanted to talk to me about?” His voice rose in pitch and he swallowed thickly. He hated when that happened. It always gave him away.
“Yeah,” Tony said, lifting the lid off of a silver-plated platter, “but that can wait. Lobster?” There upon the silver plate were beautiful, bright red, steamed lobster tails and melted butter resting on a bed of decorative kale.
“Wow! Sure,” Peter said, his stomach rumbling. The steam filled his nostrils. It smelled delicious and was the lobster was smothered in cream sauce too. How could he say “no” to this?
Tony served him as he spoke. “And how was school?” he asked, dropping the ruby lobster shells onto his plate, along with some crisp baguette and a dollop of caviar, but he did it with a rough East Coast Italian American straightforwardness that made it seem no more glamorous than macaroni and cheese with fried hot dogs.
“School was a nightmare,” Peter said. “Half the kids were sick or driving me crazy.” He didn't like to complain, but he couldn't help it. He really needed to vent.
“Yeah … that’s kids for you. My sons were out of control when they were that age,” Tony said with a rueful chuckle.
“How old are they now?” Peter asked, taking a bite of his lobster. The white meat melted in his mouth. It was the best thing he had tasted since ... since last night with Chip. The memory of that made him swallow with mixed feelings.
Tony blushed, “My sons are just a little bit younger than you.”
“Oh,” Peter said, not knowing exactly what to say, “What are their names?”
“Jack and John. Named them after my father and favorite uncle. They’re good boys,” Tony said, almost as if he was surprised to say it.
“What do they do? I mean, for a living?” Peter asked. It was nice having a normal conversation with Tony for once. In fact, it may have been the only pleasant, positive conversation he had ever had with Tony that wasn’t about sex.
“One of them works at the casino here with me. The other is trying to find himself. He never stays at one job long enough,” Tony said sadly, forking a big bite of lobster into his mouth.
“I used to be like that until I found teaching,” Peter said. “He’ll find his way.” The caviar was delightful. How on earth was he eating this? A couple of nights ago, he had a cup of Ramen Noodles and a packet of Swiss Miss for dinner.
“So, what about you? I realized we haven’t done much … talking whenever we’re together. I hardly know anything about you, besides what’s between your thighs.”
Peter almost choked on his drink as he laughed. “Nice,” he said sarcastically. He rolled his eyes, but good-naturedly.
“Well, it’s true,” Tony smiled, his eyes sparkling.
“I don’t know… I mean, I grew up in Oregon. That’s where my parents still are.”
“And are you close?” Tony asked, sounding interested as he interrupted Peter.
“Um … not as close as I’d like. Not as close as we used to be,” Peter said.
“Why not?” Tony asked.
Peter sighed, not really wanting to talk about it, “Dad wanted me to follow in his footsteps and become a lawyer.” But that wasn't all. He looked down at his plate. "And since I came out..."
“I see,” Tony said, letting the fork slide out of his mouth.
“So, I didn’t want to join my dad’s firm. I haven’t exactly followed the path
they wanted me to,” Peter continued.
“Well, you’ve got to do right by yourself, as my son Jack says,” Tony said, and folded up his napkin.
“Exactly,” Peter agreed.
“Oh, so I got you something,” Tony said, digging something out of his jacket pocket. It was an oblong box wrapped in gorgeous emerald green wrapping paper. It shimmered in the candlelight, and Peter had to admit, in spite of all the insanity and cruelty, controlling behavior, and everything else - he was touched. A rush of excitement went from his head to his toes. He was always a sucker for shiny objects!
“Wow! You didn’t have to …” Peter started to say, but he was anxious to tear it open as Tony handed it to him. Whatever it was, it was a little heavy, “It’s wrapped so beautifully, I almost don’t want to open it. What is it?”
“Open it,” Tony said, leaning forward with a smirk on his face, almost as anxious for Peter to open it as he was.
Peter peeled the wrapping paper off and opened the box. He smiled.
It was a state-of-the-art smart phone.
“A phone?” Peter said, not sure if he liked it so much.
“It’s brand new. I noticed you needed one.” Tony sat back and shrugged as if spending that much money on him was no big deal.
“It’s gorgeous.” Peter had to admit, when taking it out of the box and looking at it. Tony reached over and turned it on.
“It’s already activated and ready for you. It’s got your phone number and everything,” Tony said.
“My phone number?” How the hell did he swing that, he wondered. He even bought a case for it: patterned with ancient Egyptian hieroglyphics in bright colors. A charm was hanging from the corner: a charm encrusted in what looked like diamonds.
“Yeah, I’ve got some friends over at AT&T. They installed the chip and took care of it. I even prepaid the first 6 months for you. Unlimited everything.” Tony smirked again, clearly pleased with himself.
“Wow. I don’t know what to say,” Peter said. And truly, he was dumbfounded at the thoughtfulness. He supposed he was grateful, but somehow, he felt as though he owed Tony something for this.
“I told you, stick with me, and I’ll take care of things.” Tony said, wiping his face with a linen napkin.
Peter didn’t know what to think. It was a sweet and thoughtful gesture. One of the kindest things anyone had ever done for him, but it almost seemed too generous with real diamonds and everything, an
d he wasn’t so sure he felt comfortable having anyone take care of him. As broke as he had been lately, he was still very much independently-minded. He wanted to at least feel like he was self-sufficient, even if that did mean he had to resort to erotic massages at night.
“How about just thank you,” Tony said, his grin crooked. He tilted his wine glass back and winked at Peter, who was still ogling the phone.
“I’m sorry, yes, of course, thank you.” Peter’s mind trailed off, thinking about how Chip had thrown his phone against the wall. His stomach sank, thinking about his shattered dreams and the fact he still hadn’t called or texted him back. It hurt. It hurt much more than he thought it would.
“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Tony asked. God, he was observant. Peter felt as if he could see right through him.
“Oh, just … nothing. I guess I'm a little tired, that’s all,” Peter said, not wanting to talk about it. He couldn't talk about it with Tony anyway. He'd promised the man that he wouldn't see Chip anymore. It looked like he wouldn’t have to lift a finger in order to keep that promise.
“You’re so tired all the time. You know what we ought to do?” Tony said, pouring himself another glass of wine. The purple liquid bubbled into his crystal glass.
“What?” Peter asked.
“Take off. Just you and me on a vacation,” said Tony. He lifted the Riesling and topped off Peter’s own glass, which he had barely drank from.
Peter chuckled, “A vacation?” He had to admit, that sounded really good right about now. Just getting away from everything. Escaping from the world. Peter knew that Tony could do it, too.
“Yeah, where would you like to go? Where have you always dreamed of going? Paris, London? Fiji? What about South Africa?”
Peter chuckled again and then he realized that Tony was not joking. It was flattering and scary all at once. Maybe Tony really and truly did care about him. Maybe Peter should just relax and allow himself to have a sugar daddy - and what a sugar daddy - for the first time in his life.
“Name the place and we’ll just go, you and me, for a few days. For a month, if you want to,” Tony said, his eyes lighting up about the idea.
Peter took a sip of his drink to curb how uncomfortable he felt. “That’s very kind of you and I’d love to go ...”
“Good. Name the place,” Tony said as if it were settled. Again, he interrupted. It was so hard to say “no” to Tony.
“But Tony, I have responsibilities. I have children to teach and ...”
“Take a break. That’s why God created substitute teachers,” Tony said, miffed, and his brow furrowing as if he couldn’t fathom why on earth anybody would be resisting such a wonderful temptation.
“Unfortunately, our school doesn’t exactly have the budget for that sort of thing. And those kids need me and maybe more importantly, I need them.” He lifted his chin. He had to stand up for himself. He was really tired of being pushed around. This was where he had to put his foot down.
Tony just stared at Peter. He could tell he was upset, but keeping it under his lid. “I see. Well, I … I respect that, Peter, but as soon as you have some time off, we’ll go.” The way he said “respect,” was like he had found a hair in his mouth and was trying to pull it out.
“Sure,” Peter said, hoping that was enough of a response to satisfy him. The tension still sat in the air like the vapor of a bad cigar.
“Good,” Tony said tersely, folding and refolding his napkin. “Speaking of time off, I forgot to mention it to you: I think I have your first client.”
“Client?” Peter said, raising his eyebrows.
“He’s a high roller and he really enjoys a … gentleman’s massage.” What on earth could that possibly mean? Peter wondered. Of course, he had a general idea that it would be something that crossed the line.
“Oh,” Peter said, surprised, but not sure if he should be grateful or terrified. With every massage there was a risk of being caught, and it seemed to stuff him deeper down the rabbit hole than he really wanted to go.
“His name is Ken Hashimoto. He’s a tech-head billionaire from Tokyo, and only comes into town to have a good time. I want you to make sure that he does that: have a good time, that is.”
“Sure, Tony, I can do that,” Peter said, swallowing. “When is he coming?”
“Any moment now,” Tony said, his voice uncharacteristically high-pitched. As if he was delighted that Peter would be unexpectedly spending his evening working. “I’ll call you on your new phone when he arrives.”
“I appreciate that,” Peter answered. He tried to keep his voice even and steady. He wasn't sure that he was ready to take on a massage client right now, but then again, it would help take his mind off Chip.
Tony took Peter’s hand in his, “I really enjoy spending time with you, babe. I don’t want you to think that every time we’re together I expect sex. I enjoy sex with you, very much so. It’s just I want something deeper, richer with you too.” Tony stared into Peter’s eyes, his irises glittering black.
He was shocked. He wanted that too, but he wasn't sure that he wanted it with Tony. Peter swallowed, not sure how was he supposed to respond. It’s not that he didn’t like or appreciate Tony because he did; but the truth was, even after Chip’s explosion this morning, his heart was really with Chip. Even if Chip was done with him, as he seemed to be, he couldn't just let go that easily. Once his heart decided something, it wouldn't have it any other way.
“What do you say?” Tony pressed, “Would you like to be my boyfriend?”
Peter swallowed hard. If he refused, he knew there would be hell to pay, and if he were to lie, he knew eventually the truth would come out and well, Tony wouldn’t be very pleased about that.
CHAPTER 9
The headache that Peter had been fighting all day was threatening to win. That he was sure of as he drove down the freeway, the twinkling Las Vegas Strip lights fading behind him. How he weaseled his way out of that conversation with Tony, he didn’t know exactly, but he knew it would buy him only so much time before Tony would bring it up again and he’d have to answer definitively. And the answer had better be yes - or else. Tony just didn't take no for an answer.
What a pickle he’d gotten himself into. He looked in the rearview mirror. There was only a lone white car far behind him. No one else seemed to be on the freeway, which was sort of refreshing, because he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with people, especially not with a headache beginning to pound behind his eyes.
That’s when he saw the flashing blue and red lights behind him and the blaring sound of the patrol car.
Shit.
Just what he needed. He sighed and pulled over. What had he done now? He was pretty sure his tail lights were fine. He’d had them checked a few weeks ago. He’d been driving just above the speed limit, but nothing out of the ordinary or worth getting pulled over for. He pulled to a stop, rolled down the window, and waited for the officer to get out of the car. He couldn’t see much because of how dark it was on that part of the highway, so while he was fumbling to grab his wallet and insurance, the cop got to the window and knocked on it before he was ready.
Peter looked over and his heart skipped a beat. “Jesus!” he shouted.
It was Chip.
The window rolled down and Chip bent down, his clean-shaven jaw catching the white light of his patrol car's headlights.
“What ... what are you doing here?” Peter asked, jittery.
Chip leaned down so his head was in the window, and he sighed.
“Just wanted to check and see if you were okay,” he said, softly.
“So, you were spying on me again?” Peter said, offended. Not just offended, but a little creeped out too. How long had he been followed? The casino? Before?
“No, just checking on you,” Chip repeated firmly, defensively.
“Great. So, now I have a cop stalker on top of everything else,” Peter mumbled, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel.
“I wa
s worried about you after you didn’t return my text messages,” Chip said, his voice a little defensive.
“Your text messages?” Peter said. “What about mine, and what about my phone calls?” He scowled up at Chip, not in the mood for games.
“It said your phone was disconnected,” Chip explained.
Peter folded his arms. Oh, so now he was lying?
“You don’t believe me?” Chip said. “Fine. Watch this.”
And that’s when Chip pulled out his phone and dialed Peter’s number right in front of him. He pressed speakerphone. It rang once loudly. A semi drove by and just as it cleared off, Peter heard the electronic phone prompt lady. “The number you have called is disconnected. Please hang up, and dial the number again.”
“What?” Peter said, confused, but before he could come up with another possible explanation, Chip pulled out another phone from the police department and dialed Peter’s number from it. It rang on speaker, again and again. Then he heard his own voicemail.
“Hi, It’s Peter Vanderbilt. Please leave a message. Thanks!”
“What is this?” Peter asked, horribly confused. He didn't understand what was going on at all.
“It’s simple. You blocked my phone,” Chip said. “Look, I know things got out of hand this morning, but I didn’t think it was anything that we couldn’t talk through.” He looked so sad, just as heartbroken as Peter felt. Why did he have to be such a perfect sweetheart? And what was going on with his phone?
“Chip, I never blocked your phone,” Peter said, shaking his head.
“Then why is that ... never mind.” Chip stopped himself from saying it.
“Tell me,” Peter said.
“I was worried about you so … so I called the phone company and … they told me. You called in to block my phone number this morning.” He huffed out a sigh, probably knowing how creepy that sounded.
“That’s impossible. I was teaching class this morning,” Peter said. “And I would never do that. Why would I text you over and over again, and call you, only to block your call?”
“Well, if you didn’t do it, somebody did,” Chip pressed.
