20. Ford

CHAPTER 20

FORD

Beamer had laughed at me until I hung up on him, then he called me back to laugh some more. I hadn't gone so far as to tell him who I was dating, but the fact I was going on a date at all was apparently the highlight of his life. And that was saying something, considering he'd recently gotten re-married to his husband of nearly two decades and moved across the country to be with him.

"If it's meant to be, Ford, it's going to be," he'd said to me, which didn't feel like the magical and eye-opening kind of advice I'd been hoping for, but he didn't have anything else to offer.

I knew better than to call Brooks about it, and there was no way I was going to ask Kale, so I was unfortunately on my own. It wasn't the first time, though, and I was confident that even though I was new to dating, I could wing it.

It would have been easy enough for us to walk to dinner, but the nights were beyond cold, and I liked the idea of cozying up next to Boston in the back of a town car, so I'd dialed one up while I studied myself one last time in the full- length mirror in my bedroom. Milo purred like a freight train, winding his way around my ankles in a figure eight, swishing his tail up toward my knees before he plopped down on the toe of my shoe. We both looked at ourselves in the mirror, and I would have paid a decent sum of money for my cat to be able to talk and share me his thoughts on what I was doing.

"Now or never, Milo," I said, giving my foot a shake and divesting him of his seat.

He made an unimpressed harrumphing kind of meow, then flicked his tail at me one more time as he sauntered out of my bedroom like he owned the place. My phone vibrated, and I didn't need to look to know it was the car. I fished it out of my pocket and texted Boston to let him know I was on the way, then locked up and headed down to the street.

The ride to his apartment was a short one, and I was shocked to find he'd given my name to his doorman instead of meeting me down in the lobby. I didn't know why it surprised me, but on the elevator ride up to his unit, I couldn't stop myself from remembering it was an elevator ride that had gotten us into this mess. On Boston's floor, I found his front door cracked open, but I rapped my knuckles against the door frame to announce myself anyway.

"You ready, sweetheart?" I called out.

From behind the door I heard rustling and clattering, and then the door swung open with a rush of floral and linen scent that was definitely not anything I'd ever associated with Boston before. But I was quick to search out his mop of dark hair and the black frame of his glasses, his entire face half obscured behind a Kraft paper-wrapped bouquet of pink and white peonies.

"Am I too late?" I asked. "Did someone beat me to you? "

He lowered the flowers down, then awkwardly thrust them toward me.

"They're for you…" he trailed off, and I could have sworn he murmured a quiet Sir at the end, but it had been lost on my ears.

Without thinking, I took the flowers out of his hand, the Kraft paper sharp and rough against my palm, a violent contrast to the soft smell and look of the flowers inside of it. Dipping my nose down, I sucked in a deep breath of the fragrant blooms, keeping my eyes open and trained on Boston's nervous expression. His cheeks were darker than the darkest flower he'd given me, and the fine lines around the corners of his eyes only served to demonstrate his uncertainty over the act.

"No one has ever gotten me flowers before." I lowered them after a second smell, giving him the sincerest smile of my life.

Boston was a master at making me feel things without trying, but the emotions that swelled and wrapped around my ribs from the simple gesture were a whole new level of complicated that made it far too hard to breathe.

"Then I'm your first here too." His voice cracked, and he pushed his glasses up with the pad of his middle finger.

I licked my lips, already itching to lay him down and take him apart.

Suddenly, dating felt impossibly hard. Not because I didn't want to, or because I didn't care to know Boston beyond the bedroom, but because his mere presence overwhelmed me to the point of mindlessness.

"You are." I glanced down again at the flowers, such a small and also massive gesture at the same time. " These are beautiful, Boston. Can I put them in some water before we go?"

"Right." He cleared his throat and took a step back. "I wasn't thinking, didn't…"

"Boston." I shifted the flowers to my side, leaving nothing between us, and I slid my hand around the back of his neck, yanking our bodies together. I came close to kissing him without committing, but smiled against his mouth just the same. "This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me. Thank you."

"I'm glad you like them."

"I like you." I kissed the corner of his mouth.

He let out the softest whimper, leaning into me before swaying backward, almost stumbling. "Let me get some water and we can go. I don't want to be late."

I followed him into his apartment, closing the door behind me. "Late isn't for people like us, sweetheart."

Boston blinked at me, taking another step backward before turning and heading down the long parquet-floored hallway.

"The kitchen is this way," he said.

I went after him, doing my best to get a look at his apartment without making it obvious I was trying to get a look at his apartment. From what I could see, it was furnished more like a rustic farmhouse than a multi-million dollar listing, with an overstuffed and upholstered couch facing a bricked fireplace with a low wood table between the two. There were at least three crocheted blankets slung over the back of the couch, and a stack of magazines on the table, one open to a half-finished crossword. There were some picture frames on the mantle, but the view out the tall windows on the far wall wasn't anything to shake a stick at either.

The sound of a faucet turning on pulled me through a narrow doorway into his kitchen, which was as unremarkable as most New York City kitchens. Bigger than most, but still considerably smaller than mine. Boston was at the sink, pouring water into a crystal vase that probably cost five figures on its own. The dichotomy of this man was forever going to keep me on my toes.

I joined him in the small and narrow space, unwrapping the paper and dropping the stems into the waiting container. He took the paper out of my hands like we'd rehearsed the transition a thousand times before, and I worked my fingers through the stems, giving the flowers room to settle and breathe. I set the filled vase on his counter and turned to find him watching me expectantly, cheeks colored with an entirely different kind of flush than before.

I crooked my finger and beckoned him, and he came like there was a string connecting us. Boston fitted himself between my legs and my entire life flashed before my eyes. The depth of promise took my breath away, and before I could try to get it back, Boston's mouth was on mine, his tongue diving eagerly into my mouth. Cradling both of my hands around his neck, I kissed him back until my cock ached. With a gentle shove, Boston groaned, his chin tilted up and his eyes still closed.

"We have to get going or we'll be late," I whispered, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose.

"I thought late didn't exist for people like us."

"It doesn't." I pressed another kiss against his forehead, then let my hands slide off his neck and over his shoulders. " But tonight is supposed to be a date and if I kiss you any longer, it's not going to be."

"Would it hurt if I told you I was a sure thing?" He blinked his eyes open, a sly smile flashing across his face before he took a step away from me of his own accord.

"Eventually," I muttered, grabbing his hand and threading our fingers together.

I liked the way his palm felt against mine, clammy and cool, his grip a little tighter than necessary around my fingers, like he wasn't sure if it would be the only time he got to hold me like that.

"Let's go," I said, pulling him back through his house and toward the front door. "Do you have everything?"

"I have you."

"Boston." I groaned, backing him into the wall and burying my face into the crook of his neck. There was the familiar smell of him that I'd already gotten so used to. "You can't say things like that."

"Why not?" His hips bucked against me, drawing another groan from the back of my throat. He was like a pubescent teenager, and he was going to be the absolute death of me.

"Let's go," I said again, kicking the side of his shoe with mine.

"Yes, Sir." With his free hand, he gave me a pretend salute, and I had to put enough space between us to breathe.

While he locked the door, I pressed the button of the elevator, spine stiffening when I felt the heat of his body come up behind me. Instead of fighting it, I tilted my head back and bumped against him. There was no denying that it felt good to be with him that way. Much in the same way Boston's attraction to men hadn't manifested until he was focused on me, I didn't think I'd feel the same about dating someone who wasn't him. There was nothing easy about him, but being with him wasn't hard either. Being with Boston made sense in all the ways nothing else ever had before.

The elevator let out a soft chime as it arrived on his floor, and he shuffled behind me into the small space. When the doors closed, he pushed the button for the lobby, but otherwise kept as much of his body pressed against mine as he could manage. I shoved my hand into the pocket of his pants, keeping him close. We didn't say a word, but I didn't think we needed to. On the street, I took his hand and walked him to the waiting town car, closing the door behind us both.

"Where are we going for dinner?" he asked, settling back against the heated leather seat.

"It's a bit of a drive," I said. "Westchester."

"What's in Westchester?" Boston laughed and smiled, glancing out the window as we began to make our way out of the city.

"A restaurant I think you'll like."

Boston rolled his head toward me, looking at me from the corner of his eye. "Are you not going to tell me?"

"I want it to be a surprise."

I knew Boston was a central California boy at heart, from the way he always spoke fondly of his childhood on the farm to the way he wasn't scared of the immense amounts of produce his parents always shipped to him and Kale. He missed that life, missed his family, and I knew he was planning a trip back home sooner rather than later. I'd be lying if I didn't say I hated the idea of him leaving. I was just starting to get used to him, only for him to pack up and ship out for God knew how long. And even though Boston said he wanted more dominance out of me, I knew better than to tell him not to take the trip back to California. It just so happened I'd heard about the farmstead restaurant at Blue Hill in passing months before, but I'd never imagined myself going there, let alone taking a date there. But I'd never imagined a lot of things for myself before Boston wrapped his hand around my thigh and asked me to teach him how to fuck.

The restaurant was booked out for months, but much in the way people like us could never be late, reservations also meant little. Money talked, for better or worse, and I'd secured a last minute, end of night, private dining room for the two of us. It cost me the same as if we'd brought ten of our closest friends, but it was worth it. Getting out of the city offered two incentives, the first being there was zero chance of running into Kale or anyone who knew him, the second that I could get Boston back to the farms he loved so much.

Even if just for a night.