I focus on the business card. Do I want to call Emmet? Yes. Will he really want to spend time with me, or was he just being polite? There’s only one way to find out.
Chapter Four
Emmet
Home sweet home. There’s nothing like coming back to my apartment after a few days away. As I stayed awake on the flight, I’m tired enough to sleep, which means jetlag won’t be a problem for once. Here’s hoping. I check my fridge and throw out a couple of things, leaving it empty. It’s not like I was looking forward to cooking. I call my favorite takeout place and put in an order. While I’m waiting, I freshen up in the shower and change into well-worn jogging pants and a t-shirt. Comfort is the name of the game when I’m home alone.
Food arrives, and I eat on the couch, watching my favorite crime show. The life of a bachelor is super glamorous. What’s Ty doing now? He’ll have caught up with the friends he’s staying with. I was intrigued by their relationship: a Daddy and two boys. At least, that’s what I surmised based on what little Ty told me, although he seemed to think even that was too much. He was scared, though, and blurting things out, which he might not have done on a normal day. Damn, he was cute. Will he call? I sure hope so, but I’m not going to bank on it. He has his friendsto hang out with now, so he doesn’t need me. The chances of us bumping into each other at the Pride march are basically zero.
I clean up, grab a whisky, stand at the window, and gaze at the park across the street. Not that I can see much of it in the dark. I was damn lucky to score an apartment here. The monthly rental fees are eye-watering, but it’s not as if I have much else to spend my money on. No kids, no pets—a good thing as I’m not allowed any here—no responsibilities. Am I lonely? Sometimes, but that’s why I frequent kink clubs. It’s not hard to find a guy who wants to be taken care of for a night.
Would Ty want to be taken care of by a Daddy? Not on a plane, but in the bedroom. I swirl the amber liquid around in the tumbler and smile. For that to be an option, he’ll have to call. I down the whisky, gasping as the warm liquid hits the back of my throat, burning softly, before sliding down my throat. It’s good stuff, but now it’s time to sleep. I put the tumbler by the sink—I’ll deal with it tomorrow—brush my teeth and slide into bed.
I’m about to close my eyes when my cell phone screen flashes with an incoming text message from an unknown number.
Unknown:
Are you free to be my tour guide tomorrow?
Me:
Ty?
Unknown:
I should have started with that, huh? Yeah, this is Ty. Hi.
He finishes the text with a smiley face emoji. Grinning, I add his number to my cell.
Ty:
Are you working tomorrow?
Me:
Yes, but let’s meet after.
Ty:
You’re sure?
Me:
Yes. I’d love to show you around. Meet me outside the Empire State Building at 6:30.
Ty:
Why there?
Me:
Because it’s big and easy to find.
Hopefully, he’ll laugh at that, rather than being offended.
Me:
Do you have plans for the rest of the day?
