Chapter Two

~ Beck ~

I stared down at my phone, unsure if I should call Scotty or not. His message had been pretty neutral, especially after he pretty much brushed me off when I had first called him.

I just didn't know if he had truly meant to brush me off or if he really had been headed into a meeting.

Working in a bar, I had been hit on more times than I could count. I'd also thought I'd met someone I could get interested in only to find out that they were just looking to get laid by the cute bartender.

I was really hoping Scotty wasn't one of those. Men like that had pretty much turned me off of the whole dating scene. Yeah, I enjoyed getting laid as much as the next guy, but I usually liked to at least know the name of the guy I was shagging.

Repeat performances were few and far between.

Knowing staring at my phone isn't going to get me the answers I want, I dialed the number Scotty had written down for me and then held the phone to my ear.

"Hello," Scotty said as he answered after the second ring.

"Hey, this is Beck."

"I'm glad you called back."

I didn't say anything.

"You did get my message, didn't you?" Scotty asked.

"I did." I heard Scotty's sigh through the phone, but it was a bit muffled. "How was your meeting?"

"Oh, man, it sucked." Scotty sounded weird. Almost off. "I hate those damn meetings, but they are mandatory. Every freaking Monday we get pushed into a small conference room like sardines and have to listen to the bosses go on and on about increasing productivity for the good of the company." Scotty snorted. "The only thing that would increase productivity is if the bosses quit."

So, apparently he was serious when he said he had a meeting. "Where do you work?"

"Prescott Textiles," Scotty replied. "I'm in the accounting department."

"So, if you hate it so much, why don't you quit and work somewhere else?"

"Long story."

"I've got time," I replied. "I don't have to be to work for another couple of hours."

"Unfortunately, I don't, not right now. I'm on my lunch break. But maybe we can meet for dinner like I suggested in my voicemail?"

"Um, yeah, about that."I winced. "I'm not exactly out of the closet." That sounded so dumb considering I was pursing him. "I mean, I am, but I'm not." That sounded even dumber. "My family is pretty homophobic so I don't tend to go out on dates in public."

"I'd invite you to my place, but the doorman is on my stepmother's payroll."

"And that's a problem why?" I asked.

"Remember that long story?"

"Yeah."

"My father had a stroke about ten years ago. My stepmother holds that over my head to get me to do what she wants. If I step out of line, she doesn't let me see him."

Holy shit.

"I'm not sure that's exactly legal, Scotty."

"It's probably not, but I don't have the finances to fight it right now. Remember that job I hate? My stepmother is the CEO of the company where I work and she makes sure I don't get the good jobs. I only make enough to keep my head above water."

My situation wasn't exactly like that, but close enough.

"I might have a solution if you really want to get together."

"I'm all ears."

I smiled despite the fact I had to hide that I was interested in another man from almost everyone. I quickly rattled off an address to my friend's apartment.

"Meet me there tonight after work, say seven o'clock? I'll provide dinner."

Scotty's laugh was delightful. "Why don't you tell me what kind of food you like and I'll provide dinner."

"Anything Italian or seafood."

"Okay, then. I'll see you at seven o'clock."

"Sounds like a date," I said to test the waters.

"Hopefully, the first of many," Scotty replied, which was just the answer I was looking for.

"Just one thing." This was the hard part. "I need you to bring dinner for three."

"Three?"

"I'm borrowing a friend's apartment," I explained. "The cost is dinner for her."

"Oh, yeah, I can do that."

As soon as I was done with my conversation with Scotty, I called my secret weapon. "Hey, beautiful."

"Hey, sexy boy, what's cooking?"

"Not me, but I hopefully will be tonight at seven."

"Oh?"

"I need your apartment, Chelsea."

"Is he cute?" she asked.

I chuckled deeply. "Very."

"Is he single?"

Oh, shit.

"I think so."

"You think so?" Pure indignation laced her voice.

"I forgot to ask."

"Beck!"

I winced at the reprimand. "Yeah, yeah, I know, but I was just so stoked that he called me back that I forgot to ask."

It was a weak excuse, but all that I had.

"So, call him and ask," Chelsea insisted. "If he's not single, what's the point of meeting up with him?"

"Do you really think he'd tell me if he wasn't?"

"If you think he's going to lie about being single, then why in the hell are you having dinner with him?"

I groaned and dropped my head back to stare up at the ceiling of my apartment before admitting, "Because he's really hot."

Chelsea growled.

I smiled despite the severity of the situation. Chelsea was my best friend. Her being pissed at me currently actually made me feel good. It meant she cared, which was more than I could say for some people. Namely my family.

"If you're too afraid to ask him if he's single, then I'll ask him when he gets here tonight. But I am warning you now, Beck. If I don't like his answer, I'm kicking him to the curb. You don't need another jackass in your life, even if he is really hot."

"Fair enough." It wasn't like I could argue with her. It was her apartment and she was letting me use it for a date.

"What time is dinner?"

"Seven," I replied. "He doesn't get off of work until five o'clock. I figured two hours might be enough time for him to get home, change, and then grab dinner."

"Do you want me to stick around, eat in my room, or vacate the apartment?" Chelsea asked. "I need to know whether I need to make plans for tonight or not."

"Considering that it's a first date, I don't think you need to vacate the apartment, but we'll play it by ear for the rest of it."

"How did he react when you explained why you needed to meet at my place?"

"That was the easy part. He's not exactly in the closet, but more avoiding the public eye."

"Come again?"

"His stepmother doesn't want him to be gay so he has to play it straight if he wants to see his father, who apparently had a stroke several years ago and his stepmother holds visitation rights over his head. If he doesn't play her game, he doesn't get to see him."

"What a bitch."

That had been my thought as well.

"Why didn't you just go to his place?"

"He said his doorman is on his stepmother's payroll."

As outlandish as that sounded, it made total sense to me. While my doorman was not on my father's payroll, him and my sister did tend to drop by with no notice to check up on me. If they ever caught me with another man, I doubt I'd survive the beating.

"I need to go," I told Chelsea. "I have a few things to do before my date tonight. I'll see you around six."

"Yeah, okay," Chelsea replied. "I'll make sure the place is cleaned up."

"Don't worry about dinner. Scotty is picking up food for the three of us."

"Even better."

I chuckled as I hung up. If I played my cards right, this would indeed be the first of many dates.

After going home to shower and change, making sure I was clean inside and out, I stopped off at the drug store to pick up supplies—yes, I was hopeful—and then made my way to Chelsea's apartment.

I was at her door by six o'clock. By six-thirty I was pacing the floor. By six forty-five, Chelsea was pouring a glass of whisky down my throat to calm my nerves. When seven o'clock came around and no one knocked on the door, I was ready to climb the walls. When someone knocked on the door at five minutes after seven, I was ready to crawl out of my skin.

I saw the surprise on Scotty's face when Chelsea answered the door.

"Oh, uh, I'm looking for Beck."

Chelsea snickered before pulling the door open all the way and stepping back so Scotty could see me.

The smile was nice.

He held up a couple of white bags. "I brought lasagna from Nona Emilia's ."

"Oh, now you're speaking my language." Chelsea grabbed the bags and hurried into the kitchen.

I chuckled and shook my head as I walked over to invite Scotty in and then close the door behind him. "You'll have to excuse Chelsea. She's ruled by her stomach."

Scotty lifted one very fine eyebrow. "Chelsea?"

"Before you get any ideas, Chelsea is my best friend. She also acts as my beard when my family gets too nosy. As far as they are concerned, I'm here having dinner with my on-again off-again girlfriend and a friend."

"Oh." Scotty seemed to accept that explanation, but then he frowned. "Isn't that a little mean to Chelsea?"

"Normally, I would say yes, but Chelsea hates my family because of the way they treat me. She thinks playing my girlfriend is hilarious and the perfect way to stick it to my family."

"Oh," he said again. "Sounds like your family and mine would get along famously."

"I'd be thrilled if they did," I replied. "Then maybe they would leave me alone." I waved my hand toward the living room area. "Why don't we go sit down? We can talk until Chelsea gets the food ready."

"Is she going to be here all night?" Scotty asked as he went to sit on one end of the couch.

I sat down on the other end before stating. "No, she'll either go out or go to her room after dinner."

"You've done this before?"

"A couple of times, but after the last guy, Chelsea insisted on vetting everyone I date."

"What happened with him?" Scotty asked.

"He turned out to be straight," I replied. "He tried to take my head off after we had sex. Chelsea came in as he was choking me and had to hit him with a baseball bat."

Scotty snorted. "Yeah, I've dated those once or twice." He seemed a bit more relaxed as he shook his head. "You'd think a straight man would stay away from another man, but they seem okay with sex until it's over and then they want to protest. Sex with another man is gay sex, any way you look at it, so maybe they are not as straight as they like to claim."

"That's always been my thought," I stated. "Anyway, after that, Chelsea insists on meeting any guy I go out with to insure they are not straight."

Scotty squinted at me for a moment. "How can she tell?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea."

In my experience, people could lie with a straight face and you'd never know. My sister was a perfect example. She routinely lied through her pearly white teeth and got away with it. People either bought her princess routine or were bowled over by her over-the-top attitude.

"Dinner," Chelsea called out from the small dining nook. "Come and get it while it's hot."

I smiled as I got up and then held my hand out to Scotty. He lifted one of his eyebrows again—which was sexy as hell—and then took my hand. It was readily apparent as soon as he stood that he was a few inches taller than me.

Be still my beating heart.

Scotty kept a hold of my hand as we walked to the dining nook. He didn't let go until we reached the table and then he pulled out a chair for me.

What a gentleman.

It was actually something I wasn't used to. I didn't date all that often, but most of the men I did date wanted to get down to the good stuff and romance didn't really factor into it too much.

I looked at the food on the table, taking in the rich, thick lasagna, the lightly toasted golden Italian bread, and the fresh salad. There was even an antipasto plate. Chelsea had added a bottle of red wine.

There was enough food for several people, not just three, and it all looked delicious. I was impressed.

"Nice choice," I commented.

"Well, you did say you liked Italian," Scotty replied.

"I vote for Chinese next time," Chelsea added in. "I love sweet and sour chicken and pork fried rice."

Scotty smiled as he grabbed his fork. "Noted."

I had to give it to Chelsea, she waited until almost all of the food was gone before she started hammering Scotty with questions, but I suspect that was simply because she was hungry.

Conversation seemed to flow easily as we ate. I had fun telling Scotty how I got the nickname Beck and why everyone called me that instead of James Beckerman. My father's always called me James in a condescending and judgmental voice and I hated it. In high school, I insisted my friends call me Beck as I was a Beckerman.

Scotty had a good time telling me about how he became Scotty instead of Maxwell Prescott. It was kind of the same thing. He got called Scotty because his last name was Prescott.

Kind of seemed like fate to me.

By the time dinner was over and we were all enjoying a second glass of wine, I knew a lot more about Scotty than I had when he walked in the door. Probably more than he wanted to let me know for a first date, but he didn't seem insulted by Chelsea's questions, even if some of them were a little more personal than others.

"Okay," Chelsea said as she stood. "I'm off to the movies. You guys are on dish duty. I'll be back in about three hours."

Was she giving Scotty her stamp of approval?

Scotty stood and started gathering the dirty dishes. I grabbed the rest and carried them into the kitchen. "I'll wash, you dry?"

"Deal."

I grabbed a couple of containers to put the leftovers in and then put them in the refrigerator. Chelsea would be thrilled that she had dinner for tomorrow night.

"Bye," Chelsea called out as she breezed out the front door, closing it behind her.

"I guess it's just you and me now," Scotty mused.

I handed him a clean plate. "And the dishes."

Scotty chuckled as he took the plate and began drying it. "And the dishes."

With the two of us working, it didn't take more than a few minutes for us to get the dishes done and clean up the rest of the mess left over from dinner.

When we were finished, I poured us another glass of wine and held one of the glasses out to Scotty. He had an odd expression on his face, almost as if he was contemplating something. His brow was scrunched and he was staring down at his wine as if it held all the answers of the universe in its red liquid.

"Scotty, is something wrong?"

Scotty glanced at me and then drew in a deep breath before asking, "Can I kiss you?"