Chapter Three

Chapter Three

“You shoulda seen your boy here last week. He was making all the right moves on this older dude and left with the guy.” Anthony’s brows waggled. “Had a good night there, Nico? Eh? Eh?” he sniggered.

Nico threw daggers at him. “Shut up. And how would you know? You and your boy toy were going at it like you were making a porno flick. I thought you’d whip it out right in front of everyone.”

Anthony’s face grew red. “Don’t call Sergio that. And I can’t help it if he can’t keep his hands off me.” He flexed, and Nico and Jack both rolled their eyes and groaned. Anthony loved wearing tight T-shirts that showed off his muscles and tats, although lately Nico had noticed he’d leveled up his wardrobe from Hanes to Alo and lululemon. Definitely the new boyfriend’s influence. Anthony had never cared what the hell he’d worn before he’d started dating Sergio.

“Marone a mia, are you fucking serious with this bullshit?” Was it possible Anthony was so taken in by this twinky kid? He’d always gone for the gym-bro type with tats and bulging biceps. A mirror image of himself.

“Yeah, I am. Matter of fact, Sergio’s moving in with me next month.” Anthony’s words hung in the air like a challenge to Nico, daring him to say something negative.

“No shit. Good luck.” Perhaps sensing the tension, Jack raised his beer, while Nico sat with his jaw hanging open. An elbow to his side from Jack forced him to speak.

“Yeah, good luck.”

“Gee, thanks,” Anthony responded, sarcasm dripping from his words. “I’ve given enemas to people more enthusiastic. What? You don’t approve? Not that I need it, but let’s get it out in the open. Why don’t you like Sergio?”

Nico drank some whisky and popped a stuffed mushroom from the plate of appetizers into his mouth, using the chewing time to gather his thoughts. “I don’t not like Sergio. He’s a cute kid. But you got real serious, real fast. And he’s unlike any of the other guys you’ve been with—the total opposite, in fact.”

“Yeah, exactly. Maybe I was looking for the wrong thing all along.” Anthony didn’t get passionate about much besides the Mets, food, and the gym, so to see his brown eyes blaze and his finger pointing in Nico’s face was surprising. “Once I met him, I didn’t need no one else, ’cause he makes me feel good about myself. Like I can do anything. He treats me like a king, and I treat him like he’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me ’cause you know what? He is.” Anthony played with the rim of his glass. “Sometimes when you know, you know.”

Dumbfounded, Nico had to ask. “Are you in love with him?”

Underneath his scruff, Anthony flushed pink, and he shrugged. “I mean, I’ve told him, yeah.”

“I think it’s sweet.” Jack nudged him again. “Don’t you, Nico?”

No, I think he’s being led by a pair of blowjob lips.

But he couldn’t say that if he wanted to keep his head attached to his body. “Yeah, sure. Definitely.”

The server came with their food, but none of them began to eat. Tension radiated in the booth of the diner where they often congregated after work. Anthony, determined bastard that he was, refused to let it go. “You don’t get it because you’ve never been with nobody who’s put you number one. Someone who thinks of you first.”

“That’s ’cause I’m not looking for a boyfriend. I’m fine as is.”

Anthony snorted. “Bullshit you are. This is all because of Prickface Payson.”

A knot twisted in his stomach. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“He hurt you,” Anthony said softly. “Don’t think I forgot.”

“Well, I have,” Nico lashed out. “So fucking drop it and let’s eat. I had a full day of tours, and I’m starving.” He picked up his burger and took a big bite. Jack, ever the peacemaker, began to ramble about his latest job putting in tile in a house in Howard Beach and how the woman propositioned him, hoping she could get a reduction in the price.

“I had to tell her—very nicely, of course—that I don’t play for her team.”

Nico managed a faint smile, but Anthony’s words remained stuck in his head like a fucking earworm of a song. Why had he brought up Payson? He’d managed to stuff away the fucker’s cruel words into a black place he hadn’t visited in years.

“Anyways, tell us about the mysterious older man, Nico.” Anthony kicked him under the table. “Lemme tell you, the dude made a beeline for our boy here, and the two of them were into each other the whole night.” He took a bite of his burger, chewed, and swallowed. “Guy looked like he had serious bucks—Sergio made his shoes as Gucci. You get in?”

“Oh, yeah?” Jack set his turkey sandwich on the plate, big blue eyes wide with interest. “Tell us. No secrets between us Brooklyn boys, ammirite?” He and Anthony raised their glasses.

“Nah,” Nico protested. “It wasn’t like that. He was on a tour that morning and lost his wallet on the bus. I found it and returned it to him at his hotel. It was dumb luck that he showed up at Stonewall that night.”

“But you left with him. Nico Andretti don’t strike out.”

“Yeah, well, maybe if I’d made a move, but the guy had a little too much to drink. It wouldn’t have been nice.”

“Who are you?” Anthony gawked. “What happened to love-’em-and-leave-’em Nico?”

Nico lifted a shoulder. “This was different.”

“How?” Anthony persisted, eyes narrowed.

“It just was. Can we stop with the twenty questions?” He continued eating, alternating between frustration and annoyance as Jack and Anthony discussed him as if he weren’t present.

“Maybe he likes the guy,” Jack was saying. “It could happen.”

“Oh, trust me,” Anthony the know-it-all declared. “Our boy was into him. They were staring deep into each other’s eyes.”

“Yeah?” Jack darted a glance to him. “Did they kiss? Nico don’t usually go for that in public.”

“Almost. I’m telling you—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Nico smacked his hand on the tabletop. “Dacci un taglio! You two clowns are really gonna sit and talk about me like I’m not here?”

“Ooh, someone’s pissed. You always start speaking Italian when you get mad.”

“Then listen to me, for fuck’s sake.”

Unimpressed by his outburst, Anthony finished his burger. “You ain’t sayin’ nothin’, so I’m drawing my own conclusions.”

“Well, pick up a crayon and draw this. Nothing happened. Period. Not everything is always about sex. Marone a mia, can’t a guy talk to another guy without their dicks being involved?”

“A guy, yes. You? Not so much. I’ve known you since we were two. You can’t pull that shit with me. Why is it so hard to admit you like the guy?” Anthony’s brows shot high, and a crafty smile quirked his lips. “Ohhh, wait a sec. I know.”

Tense with anticipation, Nico attempted nonchalance as he popped the last few fries into his mouth. “Yeah? What do you know?”

“You wanted it, but he turned you down. Damn. I don’t think that’s ever happened before.”

“You’re so stupid.” Nico was ready to be done with the conversation. “And you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” Thoroughly disgusted, he pulled out his wallet and threw some bills on the table. “I’m outta here.”

“No, come on, dude. Stay.” Jack grabbed his arm, but he pulled away and left the booth.

“Nope. Have fun talking shit about me.” Without looking back, he stalked out of the restaurant and into the night.

Walking home, he ignored the happy couples he passed. He and his friends had made plans for the evening, but that was obviously a wash. Over the years, they’d had their little spats, but Nico sensed a shift in their friends group—Anthony wrapped up in Sergio, and Jack dating a bunch of different guys, looking for something, but for what, Nico didn’t know.

Nico liked the thrill of the chase and a hot new kiss every time. Each man was a present to be opened and played with, but after, he easily became bored. He’d tried to see if the dating life was for him, but when the guy became clingy because they’d spent the night together, that was his cue to step away and say good-bye. Nicely, of course, with a kiss of regret and an it’s-not-you-it’s-me speech. His mother raised him to be a gentleman and never be cruel, though life had treated her like shit.

He reached his mother’s house and sat on the steps to the porch. The Marzettis next door were having a fight, their shrieking voices reaching him from their upstairs bedroom window. Nico had no idea why they stayed married. From what his mother told him, Joe was a serial cheater, and Christine always eventually found out. Each time Joe would apologize, buy her a piece of jewelry, and nine months later another kid would be born. They were up to five now.

The yelling stopped, and Nico looked up. Their shadows merged and clothes were tossed into the air.

“Looks like number six is on the way,” he muttered. “Crazy idiots.”

He couldn’t understand it. Why stay married if you were only going to cheat? Then again, his mother had gotten the rawest deal. After dating for five years, with a huge wedding planned, his sperm donor—because Nico refused to think of that bum as his father—bailed on her. He’d been cheating on her for months with the assistant at his dental practice.

A month later his mother discovered she was pregnant, and his father had wanted nothing to do with her or the baby.

Naturally, his nonno was enraged and threatened to go after him. With a baseball bat. Nonna intervened, saying his mother was better off without a man who would treat a woman so shamefully. The entire family rallied around her, helping his mother through her pregnancy, and Nico was raised with his cousin who lived down the block from them. Aunt Justine was like a second mother to him, and Uncle Louie stood in as a surrogate father, cheering him on at his ball games and helping him with what college to go to.

Until Uncle Louie decided he was bored and left Aunt Justine after twenty-five years of marriage to “find himself.” Where he found himself was with Brenda Rozetti, a very young, big-breasted waitress at the restaurant Nico’s grandparents had owned and given to their daughters when they retired. Aunt Justine refused to give him a divorce, and they hadn’t spoken in almost ten years.

All of which left Nico with a sour taste in his mouth for relationships, marriage, and fidelity in general. In the end, everyone screwed the one they said they loved.

His ass hurt from sitting on the hard cement, so he opened the gate and unlocked the door to his apartment. With both Nonno and Nonna gone, his mother wanted him to take over the two stories of the house, and she would live in the little apartment downstairs, but he refused. No way would his mother live in a basement.

Inside, he stripped to his boxers, poured a Scotch, and turned on the ball game. Wouldn’t kill him to stay in for a night. His feet were tired anyway, and he wasn’t in the mood to talk to some rando.

As he sipped his drink, an ad came up on the television for some fancy Manhattan dermatologist specializing in laser surgery. Immediately, Dr. Ford St. Claire came to mind. Not that he’d been far from it in the past week. St. Claire would always be the one he let get away, but he stood by his decision not to take advantage of the man. Drunk sex wasn’t his style, even if the man was insanely good-looking and Nico had desperately wanted to know what his kisses tasted like.

Nico opened his laptop, typed in St. Claire’s name, and up popped the website of St. Claire’s office—Fresh Faces. He clicked on the About Us tab, and there he was. A sweep of golden-brown hair, those lion-like amber eyes, and the most kissable lips Nico had almost come into contact with.

As one half of the founding partners of Fresh Faces of Fort Lauderdale, Dr. St. Claire is dedicated to helping patients achieve healthy, clear skin. He specializes in the diagnosis and treatment of various skin diseases, including skin cancer, and is one of South Florida’s top Mohs surgeons. Dr. St. Claire is happy to offer patients lifestyle coaching, both in person and virtual, to assist in their goal of looking young and staying healthy.

A native of Florida, Dr. St. Claire attended the University of Miami for college and medical school. He did his residency at Broward Health Medical Center, and along with Dr. Leonard Nova, opened Fresh Faces of Fort Lauderdale.

Recalling that St. Claire’s partner was his ex, Nico clicked on the About tab for Dr. Nova and was met with a photo of a dark-haired, dark-eyed man with a wide, fake smile. Instant dislike rose in his gut. He never trusted a man with fake-as-hell, too-white teeth. He’d bet the man cheated. He had that scummy appearance of someone who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants. Why would anyone want someone else when they had a man like Ford St. Claire at home?

“Lifestyle coaching, huh?” Nico rubbed his chin. “Maybe I should think about it. He did tell me to watch my sun exposure. And the consult is free.”

Long after he’d filled out the form, Nico was still grinning.