by Chris Scully
For the briefest second, his chest seized in panic. Had he done something crazy last night?
“Am I drooling?” Annie mumbled. “I feel like I’m drooling.” Her gaze was positively predatory.
“Hey,” Peter barked. “Table five needs more pita.”
“But—”
“Now.”
“Yes, boss,” she sighed.
Louie didn’t smile when he finally caught sight of Peter. Rather, his lips thinned and his jaw tightened beneath the expertly sculpted dark stubble. A surge of awareness swept up Peter’s spine, strong enough to make him take an inadvertent step back even though he was safely ensconced behind the bar. “Hey,” he said cautiously as Louie strode his way, bringing with him a faint, familiar citrusy-spicy scent that made Peter’s skin tingle. Oh no.
Right. Now he remembered. Those strong arms pulling him upright, that hard chest, the exotic smell of his skin.
“This place hasn’t changed since I was a teenager,” Louie remarked as he glanced around in amazement.
Peter cleared his suddenly dry throat. “What are you talking about? I replaced those booths a few years ago. And the bar is new. That was my idea,” he boasted defensively. Despite his father’s protests and tight pockets, Peter had been able to make a few improvements over the years. He’d fought long and hard to get the liquor license, since that’s where the real money was. He’d rebranded the menus, increased the marketing, and started setting up a booth at the annual Greek festival that drew in millions of attendees every summer. But every time he mentioned updating the place, his dad gave him the same “when I’m dead and you’re in charge, you can do as you wish” speech. Since that always cut a little too close to home for Peter’s comfort, that was usually the end of the discussion.
“Music’s the same,” Louie pointed out with an arch of one eyebrow.
Peter rolled his eyes. Piping through the dusty speakers was an endless god-awful loop of Greek pop singers from the eighties and nineties. “The playlist is strictly hands-off. I’m not allowed to touch it.”
Louie cracked a smile for the first time, showing off a dimple in his right cheek, right where the stubble ended. The sight made Peter’s heart race. “Do you guys still make that spanakopita?”
“Of course.” His grandmother’s recipe for the phyllo-wrapped spinach and cheese pie was legendary. One of their biggest sellers. “You know it?”
“Know it? I practically lived on it. I used to hang out here a lot. Spent most of my allowance here.”
“Really?” Peter frowned. He’d been cooking on the line since before he could drive. “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you.”
“Why would you? You were a popular senior. And I was just Louie the Queerboy.”
There was a bitter undercurrent in Louie’s voice that made Peter pause. The vicious nickname rekindled his memory and gave him an uncomfortable feeling. “Please tell me I never called you that.”
“Not to my face. So you’re off the hook.” His tone was cool as he held up Peter’s missing phone. “Anyway, I think this is yours.”
“Yes! Thank you.” Peter took the phone gratefully. “I was dreading trying to track it down.”
“You must have dropped it in the car.”
“Thanks. You’re a lifesaver. And thanks for last night. In case I didn’t say it then.”
“No problem.” Louie cocked his head and studied him. Again Peter experienced that disquieting feeling, but he couldn’t seem to look away. “You’re looking pretty alert for a man who couldn’t walk straight last night.”
“Tylenol and a gallon of coffee are all that are keeping me together.” They stared at each other until the silence became uncomfortable. “Uh, how is Demetra feeling? I was going to call her but….” Peter waved his phone.
Louie broke eye contact. “She’s, um, she’s better.”
“She probably just needed some rest. I’ll call her later.”
“Rest,” Louie repeated, all the while slowly backing away. “Yeah. Well, see ya around.” He pivoted, only to draw up short and start when he encountered a skulking Annie.
“Hi, can I get you a table?” she cooed, practicing what Peter surmised was a sultry smile. He groaned. Sometime in the last sixty seconds, she’d also lost a button on her black shirt, revealing an impressive display of cleavage. Louie didn’t even blink.
“Thanks, but I’m not staying,” he said.
“Are you sure? I could tell you about the specials. You might find something you like.”
“Annie,” Peter warned, drawing his finger across his throat in the universal gesture to cut it out. “We don’t have any specials.”
She looked Louie up and down before dropping the act and putting her hands on her hips. “This isn’t working for you, is it?”
“Not one bit,” he replied with a grin. “Sorry.”
“I thought so.” She sighed and walked away in a huff. Peter heard her mutter, “All the good ones are gay.”
Peter’s face heated. “I’m sorry about that. She’s not usually so….”
Louie chuckled. It was deep and rich and made the hair on Peter’s arms stand up. “Don’t worry about it. It’s good for the ego.”
Somehow Peter didn’t think Louie had to worry about self-esteem. Not looking like that. He suddenly didn’t want Louie to leave and that worried him.
“Hey,” Peter called before he could stop himself, then was left scrambling for something to say when Louie turned around and stared at him expectantly. “I, uh, looked you up in the yearbook this morning,”
“Yeah?”
He couldn’t stop his grin. “Nice pompoms.”
Louie narrowed his eyes menacingly, but beneath those well-shaped brows, they sparkled. That lone dimple flashed briefly. “Really, mullet man? You want to go there?”
Peter ran a rueful hand over his shaved head and chuckled. “Yeah, I guess I’ve changed more than this place.”
“It suits you.”
“First time I’ve heard that.”
He thought Louie might have blushed a little. But at least he was smiling and not looking at Peter like he was gum on the bottom of his shoe anymore. Maybe Louie had just expected a little more gratitude. After all, he had gone out of his way for him. Twice. He really should return the favor. “Do you want something to eat? On the house.”
Louie seemed surprised, judging by his expression. “Rain check? I’m looking at a couple of apartments this afternoon.”
“Oh, sure.” Peter shrugged. Why the hell was he so disappointed?
“Guess I’ll see you around, then.”
“Yeah. Come by. Any time.” His eyes trailed after Louie’s departing figure, lingering too long for his own comfort on the slim hips and well-muscled legs, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He thought he might be in trouble.
Why now? And why Louie Papadakis of all people?
“Well, well. Look at you,” Annie cooed, sneaking up on him once again.
Startled, Peter’s hand flew to his face. “What?”
“I think that might be an actual smile.” She cackled at her own joke. “Of course, I can’t remember the last time I saw it, so I can’t be sure. If I didn’t know better, I’d say someone made you happy.”
He froze, gut clenching. “I got my phone back. Of course I’m happy,” he snapped. “I can’t afford to replace it right now.” That sounded like a real excuse, didn’t it?
“Whatever you say, boss,” Annie said with a knowing smirk. “I need two more Buds when you’ve got a minute.”
Flustered, Peter grabbed two icy bottles from the cooler, popped the tops, and set them on her tray while she waited. “You know it’s okay to be happy, right, Peter?” she asked quietly, in a serious voice totally unlike her. But Annie didn’t give him time to respond, just picked up her tray and walked away, leaving Peter trying to ignore the meaning behind her words.
FOUR
LOUIE SLOWED his pace so that he had time to cool down as he rounded t
he last corner toward home. He’d had a busy week adjusting to his new work location in a shopping center downtown, and a good run was just what he’d needed this morning. But the shimmering pavement and car-lined streets were a far cry from the lush, tranquil beauty of Stanley Park where until recently he had jogged every weekend.
The sun beat down mercilessly on the back of his neck. An ache that had nothing to do with his run sprang up in his chest. He missed his friends, even missed the perpetual Vancouver drizzle. Most of all he missed Aaron.
Times like this he wondered if he had made the right decision. His head said yes; his heart was slower to agree.
Louie walked the last block. He waved to Mr. Kotsopoulos, who lived three doors down and whose lawn Louie had mowed weekly as a teenager. The now-elderly man got up from his seat on the front porch and went into his house without acknowledging him. Louie’s face stung. He’d known it would be difficult returning to the neighborhood where everybody knew everybody’s business, but he hadn’t counted on how much it would still hurt. Even as a grown man.
The sooner he found his own place, the better.
He was still deep in thought when he reached the house he’d grown up in, which is why he didn’t notice Peter Georgiou coming down the street from the opposite direction until he was almost on top of him.
Louie plucked the earbuds from his ears. “Hey,” he said in greeting. He hoped he didn’t sound as breathless as he suddenly felt. Peter was rocking the Andre Agassi look in shorts, a baseball cap, and polo shirt. The top two buttons were undone, giving him a glimpse of a delicate gold chain nestled amid some dark chest hair. His stomach did that strange little tumble of excitement again. This was bad. He had to get rid of this crush he still had. What if Peter and Demetra got married? The guy might one day be his brother-in-law.
“Hi.” Peter shifted the duffel bag that hung from his shoulder. “I, uh…. Thanks again for last weekend.”
“Don’t worry about it. I wasn’t doing anything important anyway. Just me and Zelda hanging out.”
“Zelda?”
“My cat.”
“You named your cat after a video game?”
“A really awesome video game. And she’s a bit of a princess. It fit.” Louie lifted the hem of his T-shirt to wipe the sweat from his face. “Are you here for Dee?”
“What? Oh, yeah.” Peter blinked, as if suddenly remembering what had brought him here. “We’ve got a foursome at the courts this morning.”
“You’re playing tennis? With Dee?” Louie asked incredulously, balancing on one leg as he stretched his quads. His sister’s idea of a good workout was shopping.
Just then, Demetra burst from the house, keys in hand, and a massive purse slung over one shoulder. But she was too dressed up for tennis. She stopped at the sight of both of them, her eyes wide. “Oh, Peter, I’m so sorry. I was going to call you. I have to go in to work today. We’re in the middle of this big project, and everyone has to do overtime….”
Louie frowned. She hadn’t mentioned anything last night about working. Not that she had to report her plans to him. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. Last weekend, when he finally pinned her down about the migraine story, she had given him some excuse about not wanting to hurt Peter’s feelings because he hadn’t been invited to the same party she had, but now he wondered if there was more to it. Demetra didn’t seem to be as into Peter as he seemed to be in her.
It was none of his business, he told himself.
“You promised, Demetra,” Peter cajoled. “You already canceled last weekend.”
“I know. But what can I do?” With a sultry smile, she cupped Peter’s face and caressed the bare nape of his neck. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
Louie looked away when she leaned in for a kiss. Seconds later, Demetra darted past him and jumped into her car.
Peter exhaled a loud breath. Was that relief Louie saw flash across his face? “I don’t suppose you’re free?” he asked hopefully.
“Me?” Louie couldn’t hide his surprise. Yes, yes, yes, he wanted to shout, overjoyed at the prospect of not spending another day on his own. But he couldn’t quite figure Peter out. Maybe he’d read too much into Peter’s reaction last weekend, because the guy certainly wasn’t showing any aversion to him now. Or… or maybe he only wanted to get in good with his girlfriend’s brother. Oh hell, what if Demetra felt sorry for him and was roping Peter into spending time with him? Louie frowned at the sudden thought.
“Hello?” Peter waved a hand in front of his face. “Tennis?”
“Look, Peter—”
“I know. It’s not my first choice either. But Adam picked it, and… and I’m trying to make up for being an ass last weekend.”
Louie peered at him closely, searching for signs of deception, of resignation, or forced endurance, but he saw none of it. Peter seemed sincere. Louie wavered. “I think I was a kid the last time I played tennis.”
“Don’t worry. This isn’t a competitive game. We just hit a few balls back and forth. There’s a public court over—”
“By the library,” Louie finished. “I remember. But I don’t have a racket.”
Peter’s grin widened as he held up his racket case. “I’ve got two.”
Louie’s loneliness won out. And that smile. When Peter smiled he looked years younger—like the boy Louie remembered. “Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he threatened. He glanced down at his sweat-stained T-shirt and ratty shorts. “Do I have time to shower and change?”
“That depends. Are you faster than Demetra?”
Louie laughed as he stripped off his sweaty T-shirt and ran it over his chest to dry off. “Five minutes,” he promised, already in motion. “Want to wait inside? It’s cooler.” He looked over his shoulder to find Peter unmoved, gazing at him with the strangest expression. He hid it quickly, carefully blanking his face, but Louie’s body jolted all the same. He’d been on the receiving end of similar looks plenty of times. It usually meant someone was interested. But this was Peter—his sister’s boyfriend. “Peter?”
“What? Oh, sure.” With a sheepish shake of his head, he jogged up the front walk. Louie left him in the foyer as he raced up the stairs.
“Make yourself at home,” he called, realizing too late that Peter was no stranger to the place. He took the fastest shower on record. Less than ten minutes later, he thundered back downstairs, fresh shirt in hand and ready to go. He found Peter in the living room perusing the box of DVDs he’d brought from Vancouver and had dug into last night. His parents had a limited cable selection; unless he wanted to watch Greek cinema, he was forced to delve into his own stash of oldies. But now he was a little embarrassed by Peter’s discovery of his taste in film.
“You weren’t kidding when you said you were quick. I like your….” Peter trailed off as Louie entered the room. “Uh, collection,” he finished weakly. His eyes lingered on Louie’s bare chest a fraction too long before quickly darting back to the DVD case in his hand.
Heat flashed beneath Louie’s skin. Now that was a look.
Unless… unless all he’d done was make Peter uncomfortable. And he certainly did appear uncomfortable, judging by the way he refused to glance in Louie’s direction.
He inwardly cringed and quickly pulled the T-shirt over his head.
Peter cleared his throat. “You’ve got a ton of movies.”
He would have to notice that. “Yeah, I’m a bit of a homebody.” When you couldn’t go out in public with your boyfriend, you tended to spend a lot of time in front of the television.
Peter held up the case for The Hills Have Eyes. “Good movie. But the original is better.”
The wistful pang surprised Louie. He’d thought he’d moved past this. That had been Aaron’s movie. It must have gotten mixed up with Louie’s. He’d spent most of it with his face buried against Aaron’s chest, unable to watch. “It’s older than either of us,” he managed to say, hoping his voice did not betray
him.
“Come on. Michael Berryman?” Peter crowed, naming the actor whose creepy features had made him a horror icon of the late seventies. “That guy was so freaky I had nightmares for weeks.”
Louie struggled into his sneakers. “You like horror movies, then?”
“Love ’em. Demetra’s not a fan, though.”
“I know.”
Peter’s eyes slid down his body a final time. He seemed to give himself a little shake. “Ready, then?” he asked, dropping the DVD back on the pile.
“As I’ll ever be.”
Peter retrieved his duffel and rackets, and Louie locked up the house. Since the public tennis courts were nearby, Peter suggested they walk.
“You’re not working today?” Louie asked.
“Dinner shift. I don’t start until five on Saturdays. Then I’m on until closing.”
“You work a lot,” he commented.
“Seven days a week.”
“That’s dedication. You must really love it.”
“Yeah, sure,” Peter agreed drily. “It’s always been my ambition to run a greasy spoon. Scratch that—I’m not even allowed to run it. Pop’s still in charge.” Louie was startled by how quickly Peter’s face changed: the way it grew tight and the light left his eyes. He’d obviously hit a sore spot.
“I guess it makes it tough to have a social life, doesn’t it?”
Peter was slow to respond. “If it’s not too busy, I can get some time off. What about you? Travel agent, right?”
“Yep.”
“You must travel a lot, then.”
“I’ve been to a few places: Mexico, Spain, Croatia. Last year I went on a tour of Japan—it was amazing. How about you?”
“I’ve been to Greece a few times as a kid, but other than that, no. Oh wait. There was the year I went to Daytona Beach for spring break. Does that count?” Peter’s laugh had a hard edge to it. Obviously Louie was hitting a number of sore spots today.
After a block, Peter spoke again. “I don’t think I’m making a very good impression, am I?”
