Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Anthony found Nico in the kitchen of La Dolce Vita and cornered him behind the register. “Whassamatta with you?”

“Nothin’.” Nico smiled at Marie Vitale, with whom he went to high school. “Here you go. I got your chicken parm, eggplant rollatini, a kiddie meatballs and spaghetti, a side of sautéed broccolini, and tiramisu.” He handed a bag to the little girl next to Marie. “And a coupla sprinkle cookies for you, Missy, on the house. Tell your daddy I can’t wait to see him come in himself for dinner.”

Marie brushed back a tear. “Aw, thanks, Nico. You’re a doll. How much do I owe ya?”

“Nothin’. You just tell Jimmy to get better and that we’re all rooting for him. Anything you need, we’re here for you. We’re honored to help out New York’s finest.”

Marie’s husband had been shot while busting up a fentanyl ring, and the bullet just missed his spine. It had been touch-and-go for a while, but he was walking again after months of therapy.

Anthony nudged him. “That was nice of you. Marie’s been through hell.”

“I know. We take care of our own.”

“So you gonna answer my question? What’s wrong? You’re all mopey and shit.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’m fine. Just tired. It’s hot as fuck outside, and I’m doing tours every day and working here.”

“Sounds like all work and no play makes Nico a dull boy.” Anthony glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s ten o’clock, and you’re closing in a little while. Let’s go out tonight. I’ll be your wingman. You need to get laid. That’ll make you feel better.”

“Shh.” He smacked Anthony on the shoulder. “Don’t talk about sex in my mother’s restaurant. That’s disgusting—like a sacrilege.”

“She ain’t here no more. What’s the big deal?”

It had emptied out, so it was only the two of them and the cooks in the kitchen. Bobby, Anthony’s cousin and their busboy, had left for home. Nico started counting the cash in the till.

“It just is, okay? And where’s your boyfriend? Why isn’t he here with you?”

Like a proud papa, Anthony puffed out his chest. “He got chosen to go on some work retreat. They go away for a coupla days and get all Zen and shit.”

“Oh brother,” Nico mumbled.

“Anyways, I don’t wanna go home yet. Let’s get a drink at Maxie’s.”

“You’re not gonna stop naggin’ until I say yes, right?”

“Nope.” Anthony drummed on the counter. “So let’s get a move on.”

“All right, all right. Cool your jets. Lemme close up.”

Maxie’s was the neighborhood bar they’d been going to from the time they’d hit twenty-one. It was within walking distance of the restaurant. Anthony’s uncle, Frank, was behind the bar and waved to them as they entered.

“Hey, boys. Good to see you. C’mon, siddown. I got your whisky, Nico.” He poured him a hefty splash of Macallan and set the tumbler in front of him. “Anthony, here’s your beer. How’s your mother, Nico? She good? Feeling okay still?”

“Thanks, Frank. Yeah, she is, thanks.” Nico clinked his glass to Anthony’s.

“Beautiful woman. Always so sweet whenever I come by the restaurant. Tell her I say hi, okay?”

“I will,” Nico promised, and not for the first time, wondered if Frank had a little crush on his mother. Frank’s wife had died about seven years ago from breast cancer, and ever since, he’d seemed a little lost. Nico glanced around. “Busy night.”

“Yeah, it’s hopping. Got the Mets on, if you wanna order some wings and stuff.”

“Nah, but thanks. I just came from the restaurant and had baked ziti for dinner.”

“Set me up with some of them wings, Uncle Frank.” Anthony tapped the bar top. “I didn’t have dinner.”

“Why not? The boyfriend didn’t cook tonight?” Frank punched the order into the computer screen.

“He’s not home.”

As Frank teased Anthony about Sergio, Nico checked out the rest of the bar. The pool table sat empty, but there was a group of guys sitting at a table, watching the game, an empty pitcher of beer on the table between them. One of them had thick blond hair and beefy arms. He booed when the Dodgers pulled ahead of the Mets with a three-run homer, and met Nico’s eyes across the bar. A slow grin spread over the guy’s face, and the familiar tingle of arousal rolled through Nico.

He sipped his Scotch, and when Blondie stood and crossed the bar, coming toward him, he turned away, smiling into his glass.

Anthony whispered, “Smooth move. Not even here five minutes, and you pulled one.” He shifted over, making room for the man, who slid in between them.

“Yo,” the guy called out, his voice rough. “Hey, over here. Lemme get another pitcher of Bud.”

Nico frowned. He didn’t like the bossy tone the guy used to speak to Frank. Not even a please? Who the fuck did he think he was? Only two bartenders were working, and they were both busy.

“Mets suck ass this year,” Blondie said to him as he waited. He had pale-blue eyes, a nose that had obviously been broken several times, and full lips.

“Yeah.”

“I’ll bet you do too.” Blondie’s lips hit his ear. “Meet me in the bathroom in five.” He banged the pitcher against the shining wood railing. “If these fuckers ever move their asses. Jesus Christ, they need to hire people with IQs higher than their age. Come on. I need beer here.”

Annoyed now, Nico moved away from him. “Hey, chill out. They’re doin’ the best they can.”

“Yeah? Well, this is a business, and they need to take care of their customers.” He eyed Nico. “Tell you what. I’ll wait on the beer, and you come with me. I can’t wait to get you on your knees.”

On the other side of the man, Anthony coughed, and Nico drained his glass, then set it on the bar top with a thump. “I don’t think so.” Ignoring Blondie, whose shocked face led Nico to believe people rarely told him no, he looked over at Anthony. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” Anthony said. “Let’s roll.”

Nico turned to Blondie. “I don’t get on my knees for anyone, and sure as hell not for an obnoxious piece of shit who doesn’t know how to talk to people right.” He took out a twenty and handed it to Frank, who was working the tap in front of him, filling the asshole’s pitcher. Anthony did the same. “Frank, love you. See you soon.”

“Okay, guys. Take care.”

The stores and many restaurants on Fourth Avenue were closed this time of night, but the bars and coffeehouses remained open. “Guy turned into a douchebag, huh?”

“You heard the way he talked to Frank. That doesn’t fly with me.”

“You wanna go somewhere else and hang out? Get a cup of coffee?”

They reached the corner. “Yeah, sure.”

They opted to sit outside and ordered cappuccinos. The night had turned balmy, and sidewalk cafés were filled, enabling Nico to enjoy his favorite sport—people-watching.

“So what’s wrong?” Anthony sipped and licked the foam from his lips.

“Nothin’. Like I said, I’m tired.”

“Eh, that’s bullshit. You’ve been in a funk for a while now. Even Sergio mentioned it.”

Nico snorted. “Yeah? He knows me like that?”

But Anthony remained serious. “Laugh, but it’s the God’s honest truth. You think ’cause he’s a young guy he don’t know nothin’, but he’s…whaddya call it, perceptive. Before he left, he says to me, ‘Make sure you see Nico and find out why he looks so unhappy.’”

“Oh, uh, well, that’s nice of him.” Nico felt bad for thinking so negatively of the kid. He should lighten up.

“So? What’s the deal?”

Nico curved his hand around the cup. “No deal. Haven’t been feeling it lately. Happens sometimes, you know?”

“Not to you. Last few times we all went out, you left early.”

Nico didn’t answer right away. He watched the people walk past, couples arm in arm, some laughing and holding hands, others silent, side by side. “I’m just…I dunno, in a funk. Wondering if I’m wasting my time with the tour work, thinkin’ I should maybe go back to school.”

“Huh. You ain’t talked about that in a while.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like to in case my mother overhears. She gets all upset still, since I shelved it to take care of her.” He sighed and drank some more of the milky, cinnamon-laced coffee. “Maybe it’s all a pipe dream.”

“Don’t say that. You can always go back to school. And maybe you gotta, like, adjust and shit. Instead of owning your own company, work yourself up into management. Then you can make suggestions.”

Nico hadn’t thought of that. He’d always been focused on owning a business. “Yeah? You think?”

“I mean, you got a college degree in business, and you know your shit. You ain’t a slouch.”

One thing he could always count on was Anthony’s support. The brother he never had.

“Thanks, bro. Maybe you’re right.”

“I know I am. You love doing it, and the people love you. Every time I go on one of your tours, I see how the people eat up your spiel. I bet you’re their most popular guide.”

“Yeah, I mean, Carlos, the supervising dispatcher, says that a lot of repeat customers ask for me by name when he reads the information on the ticket bookings that come in.”

“See what I’m sayin’?” Anthony pressed on. “That’s good. Maybe one day you could casually, like, drop a hint that you’re looking at moving up in the company. See what they say. That’s how I got to be the supervising tech.” He finished his cappuccino. “I’m thinking of goin’ back to school and becoming a physician’s assistant. I can make a lot more money.”

“You should. You’d be great.”

“Thanks, bro.” He slanted a glance at Nico under his thick lashes. “It would be good, especially if Sergio and I get married.”

Shock zinged through him. “Married? Are you kiddin’ me? Damn. It hasn’t been that long. Only a few months.”

Anthony’s cheeks pinked. “Yeah, but I ain’t never felt like this before. I was talking to my mother, and she said it was like that with her and my pops. When you know, you know.” He shrugged, and Nico wondered if this was the beginning of the end for their group. Joey and Teresa would be getting married soon, and now Anthony and Sergio? Suddenly chilled, he rubbed his arms. Would he be the one left behind? No real job to speak of, and no one to love and love him in return.

They paid the bill and walked toward home. Anthony lived about five blocks from him, and they parted ways on the corner of Third Avenue and 78th Street.

“Talk to you.” They hugged, and then Nico stood there for a moment, watching Anthony cross the street and disappear into the night.

Once home, he sat in bed with his laptop and looked to see if any management jobs were open with the tour company. His jaw dropped when he saw the salaries were more than three times what he made as a tour guide.

“Whoa. Maybe Anthony was right.”

He started taking notes.

**

Summertime was prime tourist season in New York City, second only to the month between Thanksgiving and Christmastime. Today he only had a half day of tours scheduled—for the past month he’d been going nonstop, and he was fucking tired. This was his last tour of the day, and he planned on picking up lunch and heading over to the park to catch some rays. He grinned, thinking how the sexy Dr. St. Claire would be proud that he’d upped his sunscreen game to SPF 45.

“Everyone have your tickets ready, please.” He stood outside the doors of the bus and took each one from the passengers as they passed by him. “We’re almost set to go.” He took a swig from his coffee cup, and the lid fell on the sidewalk. “Dammit,” he muttered as he bent to pick it up. He turned to gulp as much of the coffee as possible before tossing it into the garbage can. He couldn’t carry an open cup on the bus.

“Would a bottle of water suffice?” a deep, husky voice asked, and Nico’s jaw dropped as he spun around.

“What the hell?”

Ford St. Claire stood in front of him, in all his gorgeous flesh.

“Hello, Nico. Remember me?”

Remember you? I jerked off to you every night for weeks.

Hmm. Maybe he should keep that private and act casual.

“Yeah, of course. How ya doin’, Doc?”

“I’m well.” He handed him his ticket. “Here for the tour.”

Nico stuck the ticket in his folder. “Why’re you taking the same downtown loop when you could do the uptown one? You’ve already seen these sights.”

“I know. But when I called and asked which bus route you were on, they told me this one. I came to see you again, Nico, not the Statue of Liberty.”

Rarely if ever tongue-tied, Ford’s honesty left Nico at a loss for words. “Oh, uh, yeah. That’s nice. Uh, you’d better take your seat.” Regaining his composure, he tried to make light, even though St. Claire’s words shocked him to the core. “And hold on to your wallet this time.”

“I plan to,” Ford assured him. “I’ll need it to take you to dinner tonight. If you’re free, of course.”

His stomach jumped, then did a free fall even as his heart slammed and explosive thrills burst through him.

“Oh, uh, sure. I think I am.”

Ford’s gorgeous face lit up, and his eyes glowed. “Great. I’d better take my seat.” The man had beautiful style, and that morning he wore a pair of almost-white jeans with a dark-green polo that set off the golden sparks in his eyes. A dark swirl of chest hair peeked out of the shirt.

St. Claire mounted the steps, his fabulous ass only inches away from Nico, who sighed at its perfection. As he did the first time, Nico tracked St. Claire’s progress as he made his way to his seat. This time he wouldn’t be saying good-bye when the tour was over, and his mind went haywire at the possibilities.

Had St. Claire—Ford—really come to New York to see him?

Several times during the tour, he caught Ford’s eye as he spoke and was proud that he’d managed not to stumble over his words. He’d never looked forward to the end of the day so much.

Close to two hours later, Dave turned off the bus and discharged the passengers on Broadway. Waiting by the door, Nico offered restaurant and other city advice, and stuffed into his pocket the tips people handed him. Ford had hung back, waiting for the bus to empty out, and approached him after everyone had left.

“So…you’re done for the day?”

“I am.” Nico shifted his crossbody bag to the front. “Just have to drop my paper work in the office, and I’m free.”

“I’m at the Knickerbocker again. Can you meet me for lunch?”

Nico thought fast. He was supposed to have a shift tonight at the restaurant, but no fucking way was he going to miss this opportunity. His cousin would have to change with him.

“Yeah, sure. Where should I meet you?”

“What do you feel like eating?”

He couldn’t keep a smile from overtaking his face. “Anything you want.”

Ford blushed. “Uh, well, you know the city, so it’s your choice.”

“Definitely not in Times Square. Wanna wait inside the Hershey’s store for me? It’s air-conditioned, and I’ll meet you there in a few.”

“Sure.”

Stomach swirling with anticipation, Nico hurried to the building where the Hop to It bus company office was located, put in his time sheets, and gave the dispatcher the tickets.

“Have a good one, Nico. See you on Saturday.”

“Yeah. You too, Carlos.”

He had a day off before returning to the job, and hopefully it would be spent with Dr. Gorgeous Ass.

On the way to the Hershey’s store, Nico thought about where to go for lunch and what a man like Ford St. Claire would like. No Papaya King or Shake Shack, for sure. Nico imagined him in classy restaurants with tablecloths, fresh flowers, and tuxedoed waiters. Places where a glass of wine cost as much as a bottle at the spots Nico frequented. Much as Nico would’ve loved to experience one of New York’s best restaurants, he didn’t want to seem greedy by suggesting somewhere expensive.

“I know.” Decision made, he hurried over to the store, where he found Ford, looking like a damn GQ model, browsing the candies.

“See anything you like?” he whispered in Ford’s ear, and he jumped slightly. He turned around and gave a shy yet utterly sensuous smile.

“Yeah. I do.”

Nico itched to kiss those soft lips but refrained. “Hungry? Do you like Mexican?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“I have a great place, not far.”

Dos Caminos was located in the W Hotel and was midpriced. When he and Anthony graduated from college, they went there and got tipsy on margaritas, ate platters of nachos, steak tacos, and finished off with churros in dulce de leche ice cream. They topped off the night with a ride home to Brooklyn in an Uber.

Seated inside, Nico ordered a margarita, while Ford ordered his martini. “You’re not going to have a margarita?”

Ford shook his head. “Tequila and I don’t mix. It’s not a pretty sight.”

They ordered guacamole for the table, and Ford chose the chicken fajitas while Nico opted for nachos. Their drinks came, and Nico raised his glass.

“To unexpected lunches.” They sipped, and Nico crunched a chip from the basket. “So…what’re you doin’ back in the city?”

“The national meeting of dermatologists is being held here. Normally my ex goes, but this time I decided to come.” There went that cute little smile again. “For obvious reasons.”

His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand. “Yeah? Meaning?”

“I think you know.”

He did, but Ford St. Claire wasn’t some random he picked up at a club. He was class, and given his own past, Nico wasn’t sure he should trust his gut, which told him this man wouldn’t bash his heart to pieces. He shoveled some chips and guac into his mouth to give his brain a chance to catch up to his body.

“I-I’m really glad to see you. How long is your conference?” Acting casual, Nico was already planning how he’d sweet-talk his cousin, Joey, to cover for him. He wanted to spend as much time as possible with Dr. Ford St. Claire.

“Three days.” Ford’s gaze locked on his. “Does that work for you?”

He couldn’t help the grin breaking across his face. “It sure does.”