by Chris Scully
“Just whose side are you on?” Demetra demanded with narrowed eyes. “I’m going to bed.”
Whose side, indeed? Louie’s knees wobbled as she left the kitchen. The safest thing would be to put some distance between himself and Peter. He’d show Peter he couldn’t mess with people like that. He’d learned his lesson the first time around. He wasn’t about to have his heart broken a second time.
A WEEK later, Louie was dangerously close to caving. So far he’d managed to avoid Peter in person, but that hadn’t stopped Peter from calling or texting. Even when Louie didn’t respond. Especially when Louie didn’t respond. Now his phone was full of funny jokes and videos that made him laugh and kept threatening to evaporate his anger. It was as if Peter was working overtime to make amends by being as sweet and charming as possible.
He couldn’t concentrate at work. His stomach was constantly in knots. He was wracked with guilt whenever he looked at Demetra and more than a little grateful she had been away most of the week on a business trip. Despite all this, he wanted to see Peter again. He missed him. That’s when he knew he was truly in trouble. He was falling for the man. And not just in a “I want to jump your bones” way, but an “I want to come home to you every night” way.
But what did he mean to Peter? Was this just an experiment for him? Just physical? Did he get a kick out of torturing Louie and making him crazy? Straight guys could be the biggest teases, but somehow he couldn’t imagine the man he’d come to know doing that. Or was Peter more like Aaron and Nick, wanting some excitement on the side with a casual fuck?
And the fact that he wanted to know those answers had him on the verge of breaking down. Last night he’d even lingered outside the restaurant for a good half an hour, walking up and down the block as he waged an internal debate over whether he should go in or not. But Mrs. Georgiou had been working the cash register, and Louie hadn’t been brave enough to face her. He’d had to content himself with glimpses through the window of Peter bussing tables. It had been like high school all over again.
“Could you tell me about the first one again?”
Louie started. He’d been so lost in his thoughts he’d forgotten he still had a customer on the phone. He sighed and began running through the list of Disney packages for the third time. It was way too late for this. He stared longingly at the clock on his computer. Only twenty more minutes until closing. His colleague Tammy, who sat next to him at the long desk, gave him a knowing grin and a roll of her eyes. He struggled to keep the laughter out of his voice. “I can e-mail you all this information,” he offered. “It might be—”
His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His heart skipped when he saw the text from Peter.
Need help packing 2nite?
Sandra had dropped off the keys to the condo earlier today, and tomorrow he would officially move his meager belongings into the space. Peter had insisted on keeping his promise and helping. He wouldn’t take no for an answer, and Louie had given up protesting. He had a feeling Peter would show up at his doorstep no matter what.
“Hello? Are you still there?” demanded the indecisive woman on the end of the line.
“Uh, yes, ma’am. Sorry about that.” Louie cleared his throat. Heat crept up the back of his neck. “If you’ll give me your e-mail address, I can send you all the details. Then you can review them at your leisure.”
“But you explain it so well.”
Clearly not, Louie thought, if she still couldn’t make up her mind.
It took another five minutes for his customer to accept she was still undecided. She asked for his direct line and promised to call him back next week.
Louie heaved a sigh of relief. He sent Peter a reply saying he had packing covered—he hardly had anything to pack—but would see him tomorrow morning. When he’d had time to steel himself to see Peter again. This time would be the last, he promised himself.
“Want to come out for drinks tonight with us, Louie?” Tammy slid closed the glass doors fronting the store.
He began shutting down his computer. “Thanks, but I’m just going to crash. I’m moving tomorrow.” Actually, he’d been thinking of going home and catching a nap just in case Peter did stop by after work. He should probably pick up some more beer too.
He caught himself. Shit. He was doing it again. Going out of his way to be there for a guy who wasn’t even his. A guy who’d lied to him. Shutting himself off from friends and hanging around on the off chance he might show up. Had he learned nothing with Aaron?
“You know what, Tammy? I will come for a drink after all.”
A FEW hours later, he waved good-bye to Tammy in the backseat of the taxi and let himself into the house. Three hours with a couple of bitter, single women and a pitcher of margaritas, and he was much less concerned about his own situation. It helped that he’d had one or two of those margaritas himself.
Louie locked the front door behind him and promptly tripped over something on the floor. Suppressing a startled curse, he flipped on the light switch and kicked the pair of brown men’s loafers to the side. Hang on. Men’s shoes. His heart leapt into his throat.
Peter was here. A grin split his lips.
But the living room was empty, along with the kitchen and the rest of the main floor. Which left only one other place.
His eyes drifted to the staircase. Some perverse instinct made him ascend.
He heard them before he even got close to Demetra’s closed door. His sister’s moans, Peter’s deep grunts.
The pain of betrayal hit him like a kick to the nuts, hard and fast, leaving him almost gasping for breath. He fled into his bedroom, but it was even worse in there with only a thin plaster wall separating his room from Demetra’s. The squeak of the bedsprings mocked him. The rattle of the headboard called him stu-pid, stu-pid with each knock against the wall.
Yeah, stupid is what he was, all right.
He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t stay here and listen to Peter bone his sister all night.
He slipped back downstairs and out the front door, only stopping long enough to send an angry text to Peter—Asshole, it said—and another one to Kelly to meet him as soon as he could.
AN HOUR later, Louie was on his second beer and still waiting for Kelly to show. With half an ear, he listened to the female singer strum her guitar and checked his phone again for missed messages. There weren’t any.
He wasn’t much into the club scene anymore, so Kelly had taken him here the other weekend, and it hadn’t seemed so bad. Less a “gay bar” than a casual, LGBT-friendly watering hole with the rainbow flag hanging in the window to prove it. Tonight, the crowd was an equal mix of gay, lesbian, and straight couples enjoying the live folk music.
He had found a stool at the end of the bar facing the door, and planted his ass to wait. The music was a touch too folky and plaintive for his taste tonight, but he didn’t know where else to go. He couldn’t go home, and he couldn’t just show up at Kelly’s door without an invite. And at least this place was close to home—in the same strip of restaurants as Peter’s diner, only at the farthest end—and the beer was cheap.
He remembered the keys in his pocket and brightened. He did have somewhere to go. His new apartment. His new empty, lonely apartment.
Louie finished his drink and debated ordering another. Hell, why not start a tab? Maybe if he drank enough he’d forget the sound of Peter fucking his sister.
A whisper of fresh air as the door opened made him look up. He was struck dumb by the sight of Peter Georgiou, looking good enough to eat, in the last place Louie would ever have expected. Peter scanned the room, his brow furrowing in concentration. His expression brightened as he caught Louie’s eye.
Impossible. He blinked. No, it really was Peter moving through the crowd toward him, that damned gorgeous smile widening as he grew closer, making Louie feel like he was the only person on earth.
A riot of emotions swirled in his chest—anger, disappointment, longing. Hot on its heels came the memo
ry of Peter’s low moans through the door of Demetra’s bedroom. Louie drained the last of his beer, but it did nothing to ease his suddenly dry throat. He could only wait as Peter approached.
The seat next to him at the bar was occupied, so Peter wedged himself in between the two stools, which essentially put him between Louie’s legs as he swiveled around. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.
Peter’s response was drowned out by the singer’s wail. Louie leaned forward to hear better. “What?” he shouted.
“You asked me to meet you here,” Peter said, putting his head close and speaking directly into his ear. “Of course, you also called me an asshole.” One hand came to rest on his thigh and Louie felt the heat of it through his slacks. His heart thundered.
“No, I didn’t,” he managed to say, his attention focused on Peter’s proximity, the smell of his cologne, and that hand….
“What?” Peter’s lips curled in amusement. It didn’t seem to bother him that in order to talk they had to stand mere inches from each other. But it bothered Louie. It bothered him a lot. Sweat trickled down his back. He had to concentrate on keeping his arms at his sides and not reaching out to touch Peter.
“I said I didn’t ask you here.”
The first signs of unease drifted across Peter’s face. That smile slipped a fraction. His brow creased. “Yes. You did.” When Peter pulled back, Louie gulped some much needed air into his tight lungs. Peter held up his phone and showed him the text message he’d meant for Kelly.
Shit. Talk about your Freudian slips. He’d sent both texts to Peter. “Oh.”
“I take it this one wasn’t meant for me, then.” Peter swallowed, turned his head, and gazed out over the crowded room. He didn’t appear to be uncomfortable—just embarrassed. Louie couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. What the fuck? Why was he the one feeling guilty? Peter was the one who had been in bed with his sister an hour ago. Speaking of which….
“Wasn’t Demetra pissed that you took off so quickly?”
Peter squinted in confusion. “What are you talking about? I was at the restaurant. It’s Friday night. That’s why I’m late.”
Liar, he wanted to challenge. I know exactly why you were late. That’s when he realized Peter still wore the tight-fitting black shirt that made up his uniform. His eyes dropped to the floor. To the worn, black sneakers. He sucked in a breath. “What size shoes do you wear?”
“Sorry?”
“Your shoes? What size?”
“Eleven.”
Eleven? The shoes in the hallway had to have been a thirteen. And they were loafers, not sneakers. His eyes widened. His heart gave a little skip.
ELEVEN
GO FOR it, Annie had told him as he’d raced to close up the restaurant tonight. What did she know?
Now Peter wanted to sink through the pub’s scuffed wooden floor in humiliation. He had thought Louie was ready to talk, but that text—the one he’d hung his hope on, anyway—hadn’t even been for him. Louie was meeting some other guy.
“It wasn’t you,” Louie murmured.
“What?” Peter shouted over the music. His face and neck burned. He hoped Louie couldn’t see it.
He was so stupid. He’d thought there was something more there. The more he hadn’t felt with Elena. And definitely not with Jason. Too late he remembered once again that Louie wasn’t looking for a relationship. In the end it had only been him. He’d misread everything.
Peter choked on his humiliation. He needed to get out of here. Fast.
He started backing away. “Sorry about messing up your plans tonight,” he said loudly, unable to meet Louie’s eyes. “Oh, and about moving tomorrow. I, uh, I have to work after all. One of the line cooks had a family emergency.” The lie came quickly to his lips. “So… I’m sorry. I’m just… I’m gonna go now. Have fun.” He whirled and bolted before Louie could stop him.
Dimly, he heard Louie call after him, but no way was he stopping. Outside, the oppressive summer heat had continued to build while he was inside. The storm the networks had been predicting all day was definitely brewing. Just then a flash of lightning lit up the sky; thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. He quickened his pace and immediately the sweat began rolling down his back.
“Peter, wait,” Louie shouted somewhere behind him. Not wanting to seem more immature than he already was, he halted and waited for Louie to catch up. He took a steadying breath and concentrated on keeping his wounded pride under wraps. He should be good at that by now. Louie reached him, not the slightest bit out of breath. “It sounds like a storm’s coming. Can you give me a ride?”
“I walked today.”
“Can I walk with you, then?”
He felt a flash of anger. What kind of game was Louie playing here? “I thought you were waiting for someone. Maybe it’s not too late to call him.”
“I-I kind of changed my mind.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” He turned and resumed his brisk strides, Louie keeping pace at his side as they wove through the crowd on the sidewalk. This part of restaurant row was crammed with pubs, and on this warm Friday night, laughing, happy people spilled out into the street, ignoring the roll of thunder.
Peter had never felt more alone.
After several silent blocks, Peter finally asked the question he’d been avoiding. “So if it wasn’t me, who were you expecting to meet tonight?”
“It’s not important,” Louie mumbled, echoing Peter’s earlier words. “But I’m glad you showed up.”
“Yeah?” he asked with a sarcastic edge. “Thought I was an asshole.”
“About that….” Louie’s tentative touch on his arm made Peter slow. The surge of longing triggered by that simple touch left him breathless. When Louie dropped his hand, he actually felt the loss. “Peter, I need to tell you….”
He steeled himself. The couple strolling behind them glared as they were forced to step around them. “Just say it, Louie.”
“Demetra’s cheating on you,” he burst out.
Peter’s first emotion was relief. “Oh.”
“Oh? That’s it? You’re not surprised?”
A bark of bitter laughter escaped Peter. “Fuck,” he breathed, suddenly furious at himself, at her. He had deceived Louie, lost out on a chance for something good, for Demetra. She had put him through all this torture, and now she was the one screwing it up?
“You’re not even upset, are you? You two are a piece of work, you know that?” Louie sneered. “You deserve each other.”
“It’s not what you think. There’s a lot you don’t know.”
“Like what?”
Peter opened his mouth to confess everything just as a bolt of lightning split the dark sky. A transformer two blocks away exploded in a shower of sparks. “Jesus,” Louie yelped as the streetlamps went out.
A second later, the first big fat raindrop hit Peter squarely on the head. He looked up and the skies seemed to open. Shrieks of laughter filled the night as people ran for shelter from the downpour.
Peter grabbed Louie by the arm and sprinted down the nearest side street. “Where are we going?” Louie shouted over the crash of thunder. More lightning flashed. The rain came down heavier.
“The restaurant.” They ran through the back alley, splashing through the rapidly forming puddles, finally taking cover beneath the dripping fire escape outside the rear entrance of the restaurant. Louie barreled into his back as Peter stopped to unlock the door. He huddled close and damned if Peter wasn’t enjoying it too much to tease him about it. He suppressed a giggle; he felt like he was fifteen again and sneaking a girl in after closing. “Are you sure this is okay?” Louie asked, his breath hot against Peter’s neck. He couldn’t control a shiver.
“Yeah,” he replied, disgusted with the telling hoarseness of his voice. “It’s not the first time I’ve snuck in after hours.”
“Was this your make-out spot?”
“I couldn’t very well take anyone home, could I?”
Peter flipped the light switch just inside the door. Nothing. “Power’s out.”
“Here.” Louie used the flashlight app on his phone to light the way.
“This shouldn’t last long. It’s just a summer shower. We can wait it out in here.”
Louie led him through the dark corridor and into the restaurant proper. Peter stopped to grab some clean towels from the supply closet and tossed a couple to Louie. There were some votive candles under the bar—he just needed to find the lighter.
Louie threw a towel over his head and went to look out the window while Peter searched. Outside, the wind roared. Rain pelted the glass, sounding like a barrage of gunfire. “It’s hailing, Peter,” Louie cried. “And the water’s almost up to the curb. I’d forgotten what summer storms could be like here.”
“It’ll blow over soon.” Peter found a book of matches and lit the candles. The glow was weak, but provided enough light for him to grab the bottle of ouzo from the wall shelf.
“I don’t know about you, but I could use a drink,” he said. “Call it a perk of the job.” He poured himself a generous shot and tossed it back like a pro, with barely a grimace. The booze burned a welcome fiery path all the way from his throat to his stomach. Then he refilled the shot glass and handed it to Louie. Louie seemed to hesitate but then slammed the clear liquor back.
“I forgot how much I hate this stuff,” he rasped.
“The second one goes down easier.”
Peter stripped down to his undershirt and draped his cotton work shirt over the back of a chair to dry. He toweled off as best he could and avoided looking at Louie as he did the same. Hell, if he was going to sit around in the dark with a bare-chested Louie, he definitely needed another drink.
He poured a third shot, which Louie politely declined. Peter held the glass up like he was making a toast, feeling the liquor warm his insides and blot out his earlier humiliation. “To girlfriends. Apparently I have no luck with the fake ones either.”
