You Can See Me (5 page)

Pres had just finished with his evening chores of walking Josey, sanitizing his already spotless kitchen, and listening to some notes from one of his reviews. He was sipping a glass of Merlot when he picked up his cordless phone and dialed his girlfriend.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Vikki, how are you, babe?” Pres put one hand behind his head as he reclined in his favorite chair.

“Oh, hiya, Pres. I’m fine. I was actually getting ready to call you,” she replied casually.

“Really?” Pres replied, feeling a little silly at how happy that made him.

“Yeah, my credit card bill came today, and they said because I missed the last two months’ payments that they were going to start collection activity soon. I don’t know what I’m going to do,” she huffed.

“It’s all right, honey. I’ll make your last two months that you missed,” Pres replied.

“Thanks, Pres. I appreciate that. Well, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Babe, wait!” Pres yelled. “I was wondering, if you weren’t busy tonight, then maybe you’d like to come over.”

“And do what, Pres?” Her mood immediately switched to irritated.

“I don’t know…maybe watch a movie or—”

“You can’t watch movies.” She cut him off, stating the obvious.

“I actually still like listening to movies, Vikki…but whatever. We don’t have to do that if you don’t want to. We can listen to some music and talk instead. What do you say? I really miss you.”

Pres was getting tired of begging her all the time to be with him, especially after he paid one of her many bills. Leo had told him to dump the high-priced hooker, but that was real easy for him to say. Leo had a warm body in his bed every night. He pushed down the thoughts of him and Leo. He’d done enough pining over that horrible fiasco for the last few days and refused to let his mind wander there again.

“I’ll call you back later, Pres. I got to go. I have another call coming through.”

Pres heard the definitive click of the line disconnecting before he could say another word. He let the cordless drop and sat there in silence, wishing he had some company. Automatically, his thoughts went to Ric and the wonderful time they’d had in the lounge last week…and how it’d ended.

He replayed Ric’s words.
“I
don’t really have the time to eat a real dinner anyway.”

Pres jerked upright.
Hmmm. Maybe you don’t have time to cook you a real dinner…but I sure as hell do.
He jumped up from his couch with a newfound determination.

Pres first turned on his favorite classic rock station and swayed his hips to the music as he grooved his way to his gourmet kitchen.
Hmmm. What would Ric like to eat tonight? He mentioned mac ’n’ cheese and mashed potatoes. You’re a startchy kind of guy, huh, Ric?
Pres moved around in his pantry feeling the Braille labels on his boxes of pasta.
Let’s see…fusilli, ziti, cavatappi, linguine.
Pres found the one he wanted.
Bingo, ditalini. I’m thinking, thinking…
Pres tapped his chin with his finger. It came to him quickly.

“Mini Swedish meatballs over parmesan ditalini pasta,” Pres whispered to himself as if he was in awe of his conclusion. Feeling the hands on his wrist watch, he figured he’d have this all done in two hours…and special dinner delivery at seven.

Two and a half hours later, Pres was popping the last Tupperware lid over the pasta and tucking it into the insulated thermal food bag. He cut a thick piece of fresh parmesan from his block and sealed it in another container.
Oh, don’t forget the grater.

Pres immaculately cleaned his kitchen. A real chef never left his kitchen dirty. Since he’d shaven and washed up while the meatballs baked, he was all set to go. He positioned the bag on his shoulder, grabbed his cell, and locked up his condo. He casually dragged his fingers down the wall of the wide hallway to guide him to the fourth door on his right. He tapped lightly and waited. After a few seconds, he tapped again a little louder and waited.
Oh shit.
For some reason, it never dawned on Pres that Ric might not be home. He never even asked the man what he did for a living.

“Goddamn it,” he whispered as he turned to go back to his place.

“Looking for me?” Pres heard the baritone voice ask from what sounded like almost at the end of the hall.

Pres stopped midstride and couldn’t stop the flush that rose up in his cheeks at the possibility that Ric probably heard him curse his disappointment at him not being home. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, actually, I am. I had all these leftovers from last night’s dinner and thought you’d like to have it.”

“Leftovers, really?” Ric’s heavy steps came closer, and Pres was again treated to the man’s delicious spicy scent that lingered underneath…
perspiration?

“Yep, would hate for it to go to waste,” Pres responded coolly like it was no big deal.

“I see. That’s awfully generous of you.” Ric was speaking in a suspiciously husky whisper, and it felt like he was right over top of him.

Pres didn’t respond for a few long seconds. “Are you busy? I can just leave this with you. I didn’t mean—”

Ric interrupted him. “You’re fine. Come on in. I just came from the gym. Do you mind if I freshen up some first?”

Pres could hear Ric jingling his key in the lock. “No, I don’t mind at all. If you direct me to the kitchen and get me a plate, I’ll whip it up for you.” He hoped Ric didn’t tell him to just leave it on the counter. Pres lived for feedback on his dishes.

Pres barely contained his startled reaction when he felt Ric place a firm grip on his elbow and lead him into his home. He silently wished he could see Ric’s kitchen. It didn’t feel like the man had very many amenities, as Pres was able to lay everything out on the very bare countertop. He was hyperaware of Ric’s musky male scent lingering close by.

“That’s an awful lot of food to be leftovers. Did you have a party or something?” Ric asked while standing directly behind him.

His hot breath ghosted over Pres’s neck as he tried desperately to concentrate on not making a mess while plating Ric’s pasta. His hands shook nervously when he pulled out the small block of parmesan and tried to get it inside the grater.
Fuck.
Pres knew this food looked freshly prepared and not from a damn leftover meal.
Why did I tell that stupid lie? Just tell him you want to be friends.

* * * *

Ric watched Pres make him a large plate of some type of small pasta rings with meatballs and cheese. Damn, it looked fucking delicious. He’d been working out for the past three hours…more like working off long–pent-up sexual frustration and was shocked to see the sexy chef standing at his front door, looking more than a little pissed that he wasn’t home. After Pres blew him off in the lounge last week when Ric turned the flirting up a notch, Ric wasn’t sure if he’d get to talk to him again.

But now the man had cooked a meal especially for him. Ric didn’t believe that leftover shit for one second, and he wasn’t letting Pres off the hook either. Ric was skating toward thirty-five years. He was too damn old to play games. He had told himself it was time to settle down…five years ago, but opportunity had not presented itself. Pres was a pretty awesome guy from what he could see, and they definitely had some awesome instant chemistry. Ric wanted to explore that, but he had to see where Pres’s head was at first.

Ric needed to go shower, but he wanted to get the truth out of Pres first. “Pres.” Ric grabbed on to Pres’s shaking hand that was trying unsuccessfully to grate some cheese over top of his dish. Pres didn’t answer. He turned Pres toward him so he could stare into the man’s gorgeous face. “Did you make me dinner, sweetheart?” He heard and felt the hard breath the beautiful man sucked in, obviously at Ric’s choice of endearment, but he wouldn’t hide the fact that he was very much attracted to this man…and not in a buddy-buddy sort of way. “Prescott, I asked you a question.”

Pres didn’t try to tear himself from Ric’s hold. “Yeah, uhh, I guess I did. You said you didn’t get much time to cook, so, you know…”

“No, I don’t know.” Ric persisted. He wanted to know what Pres thought.

“I didn’t like the idea of you not eating,” Pres huffed.

“Why?”

“Why what?” Pres sighed, almost exasperated. “Why are you making this difficult? Just eat the food—that happens to be getting cold now, thank you very much.”

“Oh, barking orders now, too. Tsk,tsk,tsk,” Ric teased and released Pres’s wrist, deciding to lighten the mood. Regardless of how things had come to an abrupt halt in the lounge last week, he knew Pres was feeling the chemistry too, and right now he didn’t want to apply too much pressure too soon and risk the man leaving without Ric having made at least a couple more moves. “All right, I’ll eat now, if you promise to stay and talk with me a little while after I’m done and not run away.”

“I’m not gonna run aw—”

Ric gently put his hand over Pres’s mouth to stop the man’s protest and noticed that his eyelids shuttered at Ric’s touch.
Duly noted, beautiful.
Ric brought his hand down, but crowded into Pres’s space so that their chests were just barely touching. Ric dropped his voice and purred sensually in Pres’s face, “I’m hungry. Feed me.”

Ric ate the delectable meal and was not short on the compliments he bestowed on the renowned chef, and Pres seemed to eat it up.

“I can’t remember having a meal that good. Thank you so much, Pres. You saved me from ramen noodles and strawberry Pop-Tarts.” Ric laughed and rubbed his stomach as he brought two beers into the living room and dropped his large frame down beside Pres on his couch. After taking the fastest washup ever, he’d hurriedly thrown on some comfortable shorts and a T-shirt, making sure his company didn’t miss the time he was gone.

Pres sat comfortably on his couch, looking more relaxed than Ric thought he would. “It was nothing, really…but you’re welcome,” Pres replied.

“So how has your week been?” Ric asked. He saw a variety of emotions flash across Pres’s features.
Regret…no, hurt.
Ric wondered what had happened to him, but if Pres didn’t volunteer, then he wouldn’t push.

“Fine,” Pres stated simply.

“Not sounding too convincing,” Ric responded. He wanted to scoot closer, but thought to play it cool for now. He’d make his move soon enough.

“Just had a falling-out with a friend, and my girlfriend’s been a little difficult lately.”

What the fuck…girlfriend? You’ve got to be goddamn kidding me.
Ric mentally kicked his own ass for thinking that Prescott Vaughan might be gay. Maybe Ric had seen something in the lounge or in Pres bringing him dinner that wasn’t there to begin with. None of those actions had to mean that Pres was interested in him sexually. Ric had found himself really wanting to explore more with the sweet man. Now that did not appear to be possible.

“You have a girlfriend?” Ric practically spat the phrase out like it was venom.

“I guess you could say that,” Pres said drily.

Wait, I might can work with this. Doesn’t exactly sound like wedding bells are about to ring.

“Could say that or it is that?” Ric asked boldly.

“Like I said, she’s becoming difficult. It might be coming to a screeching end very soon,” Pres said easily before taking a deep gulp of his beer.

Ric observed Pres as he spoke about the potential breakup like it was no skin off of his back and definitely no love lost there.

“But I don’t want to talk about her. Let’s talk about anything else…sports, work, food—hell, the weather,” Pres said hurriedly.

Ric let out a throaty chuckle and had no problem turning the conversation from the future ex-girlfriend to something that would work out more in his favor…like getting Pres a little tipsy and flirting with the man some more.

True to form, three beers and two mixed drinks later, Pres was practically leaning against Ric on his small couch while he slurred on about his business partner giving him a difficult time on his recent reviews. Ric was enjoying the various conversations and found that Pres was the type of man he’d like to have around for a while. He was fun and easy to talk to, and the fact that he smelled wonderful made Ric want to keep leaning in and subtly sniffing the man. When Pres steered the conversation back to his “rigid” girlfriend—that’s how he described her—Ric wasted no time telling Pres how he’d treat him if he was his.

“She’s a damn fool,” Ric purred. He wasn’t drunk, but he was damn sure relaxed and feeling uninhibited.

Ric watched Pres roll his head on the back of the couch to face him as if he could see him. “What makes you say that?”

“Because if you belonged to me, then sex wouldn’t be something you’d have to beg for.” Ric leaned into Pres’s ear. “At least not that kind of begging…maybe begging me to not stop.”

He had taken the step again and kicked up the flirting to see how Pres would respond. Ric was shocked to see a wistful expression on Pres’s face appear and disappear just as quickly.

Pres shifted a little, and Ric realized that over the course of their conversations, he’d slouched down low, spread his legs wide, and was almost sprawled out on the small couch with his throat bared as his head rested on the back of the cushions. “You wouldn’t make me beg, Ric?”

“Only when you’re being bad…but I would always give in to you,” Ric said. He was inwardly pumping his fist at this small victory. Pres was definitely interested. No completely straight guy would ask that type of question and listen to Ric’s flirtatious dialogue if he wasn’t curious.
He’s bi-curious at least…I can work with that too.
Ric thought it was well worth the effort to woo Prescott Vaughan, regardless of his disability. The man was sex on a stick, smart, funny, capable, and cared whether he ate a decent meal.

“I need to be getting back.” Pres sighed hard, sat up higher on the couch, and let his head drop for a few minutes while aggressively rubbing what looked like a million knots on the back of his neck. Ric brought his own hand up to take over and do it for him while effectively breaking the touch barrier. Pres didn’t pull away either.

Ric used one strong hand to knead the stubborn knots on Pres’s neck and heard the man let out the sexiest motherfucking moan he’d ever heard.
Oh fuck.
If Pres could see, he’d know that Ric’s cock was hard as steel and his thin basketball shorts couldn’t contain the rod that was straining to get out.