Better Than Chance (18 page)

Peter pulled away from me slightly and stared intensely into my eyes as though he were looking for something. I smiled, satiated and tired. He was here and this felt so damn good. He lay down on his back and brought my body along with his, tucking me securely into his side with my head resting on his chest. I remember thinking how well we fit together and immediately hoping I hadn’t spoken that sentiment aloud. I didn’t want to scare him away. I wanted at least a little more time before he headed back out into the night to his own bed.

W
HEN
I
woke the next morning, the sun was making a valiant effort to pierce through my bedroom blinds. I could hear the sounds of my neighbors beginning their day. I stretched my arms above me and was instantly aware of an unfamiliar sound. Soft snoring. I wasn’t alone. Peter was still in bed beside me sleeping peacefully. I watched him warily for a few minutes. This was a new one. He’d never spent the night before. He had obviously been exhausted and needed the rest. I certainly didn’t mind, but I wondered how he would react.

Peter opened one eye and caught me staring at him. He blinked a couple times before rolling onto his back. I let him shake the last vestiges of sleep in silence, wondering who would be the first to question what our overnighter meant. Or if it meant anything at all. I could feel the wheels in my brain start to churn. Panic was slowly beginning to seep in, making me edgy and nervous. Not a good combination before coffee.

“Um. I’ll go make some coff—”

“Shh. Come here.” He pulled me back over to his side and forced my head to rest against his chest. My eyes were wide open, and I was fairly simmering with energy now. I had to get up.

“I’ll bring you some.” I planted a chaste kiss on his mouth and made a beeline for the door before he could stop me.

I took a deep breath when I got downstairs. I hadn’t woken up to a man in my bed since Ricky had left. It was weird. I wanted to say it was a good change, but I wasn’t sure. I was dangerous without coffee first thing in the morning. The last thing I needed to do was overthink Peter’s presence. Go with the flow, I reminded myself.

The sun streaked golden rays of light across the dark hardwood floor in my kitchen. I loved my kitchen. My townhouse wasn’t particularly large but the kitchen was one of the largest rooms. It was an entertaining space with state-of-the-art appliances and a granite island that invited company to sit and visit with me while I cooked. The living area adjacent was tiny by comparison, but there was a large-screen television situated for optimal viewing while I cooked. There were plenty of windows letting in natural light, and the ceiling was a little higher than normal, which made the space seem much bigger than it actually was.

I enjoyed cooking. I wasn’t as good at it as Aaron, but I could happily chop vegetables all day if I knew something wondrous would come of the effort. My Achilles’ heel was my coffee. I wasn’t proud to admit it, but the truth was that I bought my nectar of the gods from my favorite coffee shop every day. I owned a coffeemaker, but I rarely used it. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to make my favorite beverage. I did. It just never seemed as good as anyone else’s. And trust me, everyone agreed. Today I vowed to make my first cup of really good coffee.

I had moved on to making eggs and bacon when I heard a shuffling noise behind me. I smiled a tentative greeting as Peter took a seat at the island. His wavy hair was mussed from sleep, and his eyes looked heavy as though he really wasn’t quite awake yet. I set a cup of coffee in front of him, which earned me a grateful grunt. Turning my attention back to my eggs, I jumped when he started coughing.

“You okay?”

Peter’s eyes were watering, but he was nodding his head yes as he struggled for composure. I bit the inside of my mouth nervously. I hoped he’d say the coffee was a touch too warm, but I had a bad feeling that wasn’t the problem.

“Uh… well.”

“I know. I’m sorry. It’s bad, isn’t it? I haven’t even tried it yet. I was too nervous. I hoped you’d say ‘gee, this is good’ or better yet just not say anything and….” I stopped and crossed my arms over my chest when I realized my companion was laughing at me. He had that funny laugh going where it’s almost silent and you aren’t sure if they’re okay or not.

“I’m ss-sorry, but damn….” He was off again. Finally, the need to breathe encouraged him to gather his self-control. He smiled widely at me, his eyes sparkling with humor as he regarded me over his coffee cup. Then he did the unthinkable and lifted his cup to take another sip. I watched as he unsuccessfully attempted to drink without shivering in disgust.

“Okay, okay. You’ve had your laugh.” I grabbed the cup before he could protest and gave him my best evil eye.

“Oh man. I’m sorry, but… wow.” He chuckled lightly. I shook my head in mock anger, though in truth I loved the sound of his laughter. He looked relaxed and carefree. His morning stubble, boxers, and tight-fitted T-shirt gave him a sexy air he seemed unaware he possessed.

“Eat something first, and then we can go out and grab a cup of coffee. I apologize that my brew isn’t up to your rather high standards.”

“High standards? That stuff isn’t up to anybody’s low standard! Are the eggs safe?” he teased.

“Hardy har har. Take your chances. I dare you.” I set a hot plate piled high with eggs and bacon in front of him, giving him a playful swat at the side of his head for making fun of me.

Peter smiled and gamely picked up his fork.

“Mmm. Not bad.” He stopped suddenly, set his fork aside, and threw his hands up to his throat and gasped as though he were about to start a whole new round of choking. I set my hands on my hips and watched his theatrics with a scowl firmly in place. Again, I was charmed. Who knew Peter Morgan had a playful side?

I smacked him again and scurried to the other side of the island when he stood abruptly as though he were going to return the gesture. He sat back down and dramatically rubbed the side of his head instead.

“Baby,” I admonished, tucking into my own breakfast.

“Hey. I thought that word was off limits! No ‘baby’ or ‘babe’ if I’m remembering correctly.”

“Well, in this case, it was a direct insult and not a term of endearment. So it’s permissible.”

“Hmmph.”

We ate in companionable silence for a while. It felt… nice. Homey even. I wondered if this would get awkward at some point or if Peter really was okay with waking up in my bed on a Saturday morning.

“So what are your plans this weekend?” He tried to make the question sound innocuous, but I caught the slightest note of vulnerability in his tone. Interesting.

“Well, after you buy me a proper cup of coffee, I don’t know… gym probably, catch up with laundry, groceries. Boring stuff.” I shrugged my shoulders absently, as though it was no big deal that I’d basically outlined how unexciting my life was.

“Well, how about after I buy you a proper cup of coffee, which needs to happen sooner rather than later….” He stopped and looked around him absently as though looking for something that should have been at his fingertips. “What did I do with my phone?”

“Upstairs?” I offered with a shrug. I wanted to get him back on track, though. “You said, ‘How about after I buy you….’”

He cleared his throat suddenly looking a little self-conscious.

“I’m supposed to go kayaking this afternoon with some friends. I was… um well, would you like to join me?” He looked at me with an expression I couldn’t quite read before adding, “As friends, of course.”

“Of course.” I mulled over the invitation, wondering if it was a bad idea or if I should just consider it the same way I would an invite from any other friend. Did I want to go kayaking on a beautiful day in mid-May? Yeah. It sounded like fun. Way more fun than laundry.

“Where? And who are your friends?” I couldn’t help myself. I was detail-oriented in strange ways. I wanted to get a feel for what I was about to agree to.

Peter flashed me one of his heart-stopping smiles before answering me.

“On the Potomac. We start in Georgetown near the Key Bridge. And my friends are Kelly and her husband Kevin. You in?”

I didn’t answer right away, although I was sure I wasn’t fooling either of us.

“Sure.”

Peter stood and brought his empty plate to the sink before standing behind me and wrapping me in a tight embrace around my middle. He nuzzled my neck with his nose, the scratchy morning abrasion from both of us sent a wave of desire through me as I turned in his arms and slung my arms over his shoulders. We kissed deeply. There was no urgency, just a sweet, passionate joining. A promise of good things to come.

“I’ll need to stop by my place first. We can leave from there.” He kissed my forehead and stepped aside. “But coffee first, babe.”

“Don’t call me babe,” I called after him as he headed back up the stairs. It was a weak protest at best. I loved it when he called me babe. The problem was that I was pretty sure he knew it.

P
ETER
LIVED
in Adams Morgan, a small bedroom community just a short five-minute drive north of my gayborhood in Dupont Circle. I was curious to see how and where he lived and even more curious to meet his friend Kelly and her husband. It did not escape my attention that this was the first time I was getting a glimpse into Peter’s private life. I felt a shift in our “friendship,” but I wasn’t sure what any of it meant.

We stopped in front of a large brick townhouse on a quiet tree-lined street. It was a peaceful residential area that brought to mind wholesome family sitcoms. Or maybe that was just me. I pegged Peter for a contemporary, modern city-living type, so I was intrigued and more than a little interested to see what the inside of his home was like. Was he really more of a “Leave It To Beaver” type?

Peter pulled his overnight bag and briefcase from the back of his SUV. His snug T-shirt showed off his toned abdomen to perfection. I turned to face his townhouse in an effort to get my overactive libido under control. It looked like a row house from the turn of the last century that had been converted back to a single-family residence. The homes on his street were attached but each had its own unique look. Peter’s was a red brick Federal-style home with black shutters flanking the generous windows. His next-door neighbors had siding, but similar shutters at their windows. It was very… traditional.

I followed my host, offering to hold his briefcase while he opened his front door. He wordlessly handed me his bag and opened the door with a flourish.

“Welcome.” He arched his brow and held a hand out indicating I should enter first.

Wow. Now this was more or less the kind of place I imagined Peter living in. The narrow foyer led into a living area with high ceilings, an enormous brick fireplace, and old, wide plank wood floors. Very traditional elements. However, the space was decorated for someone with modern taste. The furnishings were streamlined and sparse. A sleek black leather sofa was up against an exposed brick wall with a huge, colorful contemporary painting hanging over it. Two barcelona chairs sat opposite, and a geometric area rug anchored the sophisticated space.

“This is a very nice,” I gushed. I immediately thought of Aaron admonishing my uninspired adjective choice and tried to think of another. “Elegant.”

“Thanks.” Peter smiled. “I like it. I’ll go get dressed quickly. I told Kel we’d be there by noon. You can go on through to the kitchen and explore if you feel like it. I’ll be back in a minute.”

He bounded up the narrow staircase before I had a chance to respond. I decided to take him up on his offer and explore the downstairs. In true row-house fashion, the house was narrow but deep. A spacious dining room was just off of the living area. It featured a steel-and-glass table surrounded by leather-backed chairs. A gorgeous crystal chandelier hung high above the table. But the room beyond was the pièce de résistance. The kitchen was sublime. It was enormous… twice the size of mine. It was a state-of-the-art contemporary space with modern lighting, sleek cabinetry, and a beautiful island topped in a gorgeous dark wood. It was in flawless juxtaposition to the large Federal-style windows, overlooking a pretty garden, and the exposed brick along the far wall where a large-screen television claimed a fair amount of space. In short, it was my idea of perfection.

“Hey, you ready?”

I turned at the sound of Peter’s deep voice. He was dressed similar to me in tight black leggings and a lightweight navy pullover. I noticed that his hair had grown a little in the last few weeks since we’d started seeing one another as… well, whatever we were. I liked it. I felt a sudden impulse to reach out and touch him.

“I love your house. As in love it! Not one thing I don’t love… except maybe that it’s not in Dupont, but I love it!” I was gushing, but I couldn’t help myself.

Peter chuckled and thanked me a little shyly.

“It’s actually a great location for me. Far enough from work and pleasure, but close enough too. Make sense? Walk while you talk. We need to get moving.”

He clasped hold of my hand and led me back toward the front door and outside to his SUV.

“Sure. That makes sense. I just always wanted to be in a gay-friendly area.”

“This area is very diverse and gay-friendly. Plus it’s quieter. I can go to the action when I choose to. Visit the club or go to other bars and restaurants. But there are a lot of great spots here too.”

“I never really asked before but why do you own that club?”

“It’s complicated.” He sighed heavily, his eyes trained on the traffic.

“Hmm.”

“I’m a part owner, and I’m actually thinking of selling soon, but it’s been a connection for me. I’m…. I’m not like you, Jay. I’m not as free in a way.” He shrugged as if to say he didn’t have any other explanation. Again, I sensed a bigger story, but I didn’t want to push. Peter Morgan was a complex man.

“Who do you own it with?”

“Kelly and her husband, Kev, and her brother.” He spared me a quick glance.

“Why are you going to sell it? Do they want to also?”