Better Than Chance (21 page)

P
ETER
WAS
away on business that entire following week. At the last minute he was called to assist on another project based on the West Coast. He sounded down when he called to tell me about it and asked if I was free Sunday. He was flying in on a red-eye and would land early that morning. I remembered Aaron’s words of warning, but I shrugged them aside and told Peter to call me when he got in. When I hung up the phone I vacillated between being excited to see my lover and a little worried at my reaction. Aaron was right. I had it bad.

When I opened my door to him Sunday morning, I noticed the dark circles under his eyes. He looked exhausted. I was sure the fact that he made an effort to come see me right away had to be promising. I set aside my inner turmoil and lunged into his arms. I wanted to play it cool, but I couldn’t seem to do it. Peter squeezed me in a tight embrace before nudging my nose and licking my lips in request for entry. His kiss was passionate and hungry.

“Upstairs. I need you, baby.”

I took his hand and led him to my bedroom. What more was there to say really? Our lovemaking was passionate and charged with an energy I couldn’t quite place. As though we were speaking through the physical connection we shared. I didn’t know the language, but I sensed the meaning was important. He entered me slowly and stared longingly into my eyes, breaking the contact only when his struggle for control made him tremble as he held himself above me. When he came, it was with a force that shook us both. He held on to me, shaking in my arms as though I were his lifeline. Something was shifting and changing here. There’s no way I was the only one to feel it.

Peter fell asleep in my bed. I watched him lying there peacefully for a while. The lines of stress and tension from his never-ending travels seemed to have melted away, leaving him relaxed in an almost childlike slumber. He was always extraordinarily handsome, but he carried a mantle of responsibility and authority that set him apart, making him inaccessible to the rest of us lowly beings. In sleep he was just a man. A beautiful man, but one with the same worries, hopes, and dreams as the rest of us. Or was that wishful thinking on my part? Deciding psychoanalysis really wasn’t my forte, I rolled out of bed quietly and left him in my bed to rest.

A
N
HOUR
and a half later I heard the tread of bare feet on stairs. I was tucked into my favorite comfy armchair, reading a book with my long legs curled under me. I looked up to find Peter standing in the doorway, sleep still in his eyes and a crease on his cheek from the pillow. He looked adorable. For the second time in one day, I would have said there was a boyish quality about him. I offered him a smile in greeting and held out a hand for him.

“I’m sorry. I can’t believe I fell asleep.” He wore a look of chagrin as he entwined his fingers in mine for a moment before perching his hot self on the coffee table near my chair.

“Well, you were obviously exhausted. And I didn’t mind.”

I turned it over in my head to see if I was being honest and decided I really didn’t mind him falling asleep on me even though we hadn’t spent time together in a week. If anything, there was a part of me that enjoyed the unspoken intimacy of Peter feeling safe enough to fall asleep in a bed that wasn’t his own. It was a dangerous train of thought and surely one that was bound to disappoint, but I couldn’t help myself.

“Are you hungry? I’d offer to make you coffee but….”

“Please don’t.” Peter gave me a sweet, teasing smile. “I am hungry, though. I think it’s my turn to make you something. Want to go back over to my place? I’ll make you dinner.”

There was an almost bashful look in his eye as though my answer mattered more than he was letting on.

“Yes. That sounds great, but it’s barely ten in the morning. Isn’t it a little early to think about dinner?”

“Maybe. But I’m thinking authentic Italiano. Homemade pasta, the works. To do it right, I’ll need fresh ingredients.” He stood up as he warmed to his topic. “Let’s go over to the farmers’ market. We’ll grab some fresh produce, cheeses, and whatnot, and a cup of coffee for me. What do you say?”

What could I say? Peter was brimming with enthusiasm over the very idea of making me dinner. I was charmed.

T
HE
FARMERS
’
market was an easy walk from my house in Dupont. I grilled him all the way there about his culinary aptitude. I was an unrepentant foodie. My coffee-making skills might be questionable, but I enjoyed food. Cooking was something I loved to do, but it went beyond the time I spent in the kitchen. I enjoyed the full experience. I like to know where my ingredients are from, what regions offer better produce and meats, and how different people view food from a cultural standpoint. Once I was able to set aside my excitement that Peter wanted to cook for me, I was curious about his interest.

“When did you learn how to cook? Did your mom teach you? You said she’s a great cook. Does she bake too? Do you bake? What’s your favorite dish?”

Peter humored me good-naturedly. In fact, I noticed him visibly relax as he told me about growing up with an Italian mother who spent every free moment in the kitchen.

“My sister and I both learned to cook early… I have memories of being five or six, peeling onions and learning to chop peppers. I think for my mom it was her connection to her home in Italy. Cooking kept her from being homesick.” Peter had a faraway look in his eyes as though he’d traveled back in time in his head thinking about his childhood. The moment passed and he flashed me a heart-stopping grin. “I have to warn you, I’m nowhere near as skilled in the kitchen as my mother or my sister… or you probably, but I have a couple of signature dishes that are pretty damn tasty if I do say so myself. No baking, though. The last time I tried that I was nine.”

He regaled me with a story from his childhood when his sister Maggie and he begged his mother to make their favorite cannoli. She was busy but promised she would do it later. They wouldn’t take no for an answer and told her they would start the recipe for her.

“I asked her what I needed, and when she told me, I ran back to the kitchen to tell Maggie, who then set it out for her on the counter. I went back and forth at least five times and on my last trip Maggie had pulled out the bin of flour too fast and it fell. The floor, the counter, well… everything looked like a snowstorm had hit. She burst into tears and I got mad at her. Naturally, that’s when Mom came to see what had happened.”

Peter stopped on the street corner in front of the farmers’ market and pulled his sunglasses down so I could see the glint of humor in his dark eyes.

“The look on her face when she saw the mess we’d made was priceless. She yelled at us in Italian to clean it up and gave us five minutes to make it perfect. She walked out of the kitchen, I grabbed the flour bin and tried to take the top off, but it had never been sealed properly after Maggie dropped it the first time. Plus I’d done it so fast that the whole thing exploded all over me. It was in my hair, in my eyes… everywhere. My mom ran back in the room, and by then I was in tears, thinking I was in for it. I heard this huge gasp and then nothing. Then I opened my eyes and saw my mom crying. I was freaked out for a minute… and I mean freaked out… until I realized she was laughing. Hysterically laughing.”

He set his glasses back on his nose and looked out into the market area, indicating that the story was over.

“I loved to hear her laugh. I hated it when she was unhappy.”

Peter must have heard the wistfulness in his own voice at his last statement. He gave me a lopsided grin and all at once the boyish sweet quality was back. I felt as though I had gotten my strongest glimpse yet of the real Peter Morgan. I wondered about his relationship with his parents and his mother in particular. It was clear that his family was important to him, but I got the feeling things were, in his words, complicated. I wondered if it had something to do with his sexuality or what the true story was. But I wasn’t going to rock the boat this morning. He was happy, and I didn’t want to bring up anything that might upset the sunny Sunday morning mood. I returned his smile and gestured for him to lead the way into the market area.

The farmers’ market was packed. It was always a popular destination, so when I planned on going I would usually make a point of getting there early to beat the crowds. There were people everywhere taking in a gorgeous, albeit humid, summer morning. Fresh produce, flowers, meats, and breads from various local farms were piled high for as far as the eye could see. As an avid shopper, I was in instant heaven. The beautiful displays and brightly colored fresh goods seemed to call my name. I pulled Peter from table to table like an overly excited child until he finally stopped me and gave me a basket and a list of very specific items he needed for his recipe. Armed with a purpose, I was soon in danger of dislocating my shoulder due to the weight of the basket I was carting. I couldn’t stop myself.

“Hey! If you buy more than we’ll use, it will just go to waste. There’s just the two of us, babe.”

“I know, but I can’t hel—” I stopped abruptly when I saw a familiar face amongst my fellow produce shoppers. “Isn’t that your friend Kelly?”

It was a rhetorical question. Kelly was in fact walking in our direction with another man, but it wasn’t her husband. This guy was tall, dark, and to die for. He was extraordinarily handsome, on par with the man I was standing next to. When they faced us straight on, I knew he had to be related to Kelly. They shared the same coloring and fine bone structure. Even something in the way they moved pegged them as somehow belonging together. Siblings? Cousins? I turned to Peter to ask that very question, but something in his expression had changed. He was guarded now. Weird. I thought Kelly was his best friend.

Kelly spotted us first. Her whole face lit up in a welcoming smile as she made her way over to greet us.

“Well hello, strangers! Have you dried out yet, boys?” She kissed Peter on the cheek first and then gave me a teasing wink.

“Ha-ha. I’ll have you know I’ve been practicing like a madman. I vow never to entertain you by falling in the river again! I’ll find a less uncomfortable way, I’m sure.”

Kelly threw her head back and laughed out loud. She was lovely. There really wasn’t another word for it. Her raven hair was tied back in a casual ponytail that she managed to make look like high fashion. She was dressed in shorts and a tank top in deference to the weather, but she had tied a fashionable scarf around her designer wicker handbag, and her sunglasses and even flip-flops were Prada. However, it was her kind smile and friendly manner that made her truly beautiful.

My eyes wandered to the hunky man standing next to her. I was practically vibrating with curiosity. He was my height easily but much broader across his shoulders and chest than I was. His dark hair was longish and wavy. It looked good on him. He was dressed in shorts and a tank T-shirt, which emphasized his generous muscles and showed off the gorgeous tattoos on his left bicep. I was glad I was wearing sunglasses. Maybe the glare from the sun would make it a little less obvious that I was staring shamelessly.

“So… what are you two up to today? Jack and I were just…. Oh shoot! Jay, I’m sorry! Let me introduce you to my brother, Jack. Jack, this is Peter’s friend, Jay.”

Jack.

So this was Jack. Jack was Kelly’s brother? Jack was Peter’s former long-term lover? Jack must also be his business partner. I remembered Peter saying he owned the club with Kelly, her husband, and her brother. And Jack was… well, gorgeous. Peter hadn’t mentioned that.

Jack held out his hand, and I took it, remembering my social graces at the very last second. He was older than me for sure, and I would bet he was a few years older than Peter as well. Jack turned his attention directly to Peter.

“How’ve you been? I haven’t seen you in a while. Still traveling a ton?”

“Yes. How’s Shane?” Peter’s voice was coolly friendly, like he cared but didn’t want too much information.

“Good. We were hoping you’d come to our barbecue a few weeks ago….”

“Next time.” Peter gave him a smile that I knew didn’t reach his eyes. Of course I couldn’t tell with his sunglasses on, but I’d bet money I was right.

“Right. You know the sale is due to be finalized in the next couple of weeks, and I was—”

“Later, Jack,” Peter interrupted him. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Jack stared at Peter for a strained moment. I had no idea what was passing between them. It wasn’t unfriendly per se, but it was private, and it was frustrating to know I was the only one of the four of us standing in the crowded market who was completely in the dark. I felt like an interloper… awkward but unable to get out of the way gracefully even if I were inclined to do so.

“It was great to see you again, Jay. Let’s try another outing again soon. Bungee jumping, rock climbing? Your pick.” Kelly’s smile was kind and contagious in spite of her outrageous teasing. I appreciated that she made the effort to move past the odd mood her brother and Peter had imposed.

“Yes, let’s definitely go for something a little more challenging. If I don’t end up flattened or impaled on a rock, we’ll call it a success.”

Kelly laughed at my attempt at humor and kissed my cheek.

“Come on, Jack. I told Kev I’d be back by noon. I need to get a move on.” She hugged Peter and whispered something in his ear.

“Good to meet you, Jay. Bye, Peter.” Jack ran a familiar hand down Peter’s arm, squeezing his hand as he turned to walk away.

Peter and I both stood staring after them for a moment longer than normal, before I lightly nudged him in the stomach with my elbow. I gave him a weak grin, hoping to find him in a decent frame of mind. He gave me a reciprocal upturn of the lips and gestured for me to follow him. So much for our pleasant Sunday morning market experience. I didn’t know Jack, but already I was sure I didn’t like him.