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“You’re here now,” I say.
He meets my eyes, and his face warms at once, his big dimples coming out with his relieved smile.
Well, I wasn’t planning on this, but now or never, right? “You’re just in time to meet my dad.”
Richie’s smile vanishes. “Meet your who …?”
I take hold of his hand and drag him right in, leading him up to the table where my dad, about to dig into another scrumptious bite of his over-easy eggs, peers up from his plate with wide eyes that grow wider upon seeing another man before him.
“Dad,” I announce, “meet Richard. Richard, meet my father Phil.”
Neither of them are prepared for this. It shows. Still, Richie puts on a polite face and says, “Nice to meet you. Your son’s said so much about …” He is at a sudden loss, realizing I haven’t said many pleasant things about my father at all. He literally stands there for a solid ten seconds, entirely unable to produce an end to that sentence.
It doesn’t matter. My dad saves him by setting down his fork and, after an appraising glance at the man, nods once. “Nice to meet you, too.” He rises from his chair and extends a hand. “Put it there.”
Richie clears his throat, straightens his back, then takes my dad’s hand. He isn’t prepared for it. My dad’s handshake is three times more powerful than Richie was expecting, nearly throwing him off balance completely. After my dad stares him down awhile, and Richie stares back with an uncertain, wary expression, my father’s face relaxes finally (nearly to the point of laughter), and he looks my way, reassured. “I like this man.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Oh, do you?”
“Don’t you notice he’s trying not to piss his pants?” They’re still shaking hands. “I like a man who fears the father. Shows he’s got his gut in the right place.” He turns his eyes back on Richie. “Are you gonna continue being a good man to Issac?”
“I, uh … yes, sir,” Richie answers, then blinks with surprise as he realizes he called my dad “sir”.
“Good. You be a good man to my son.” Then he lets go of Richie’s hand—which appears to be squeezed into a noodle—and turns on me. “It’s my cue to go. I’ll call you when I get home, son. Don’t be a stranger.” He gives me a sudden hug, crushing me in his arms, then lovingly slaps the side of my head. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t. Actually, that is terrible advice. Go to town. Do everything I’d never dream to do. It’s what makes you, you.” He pats my shoulder, then heads for the door.
“You didn’t even finish breakfast,” I protest.
My dad opens the door, then glances back at me over his shoulder. “You two men enjoy the time you’ve got. I’m gonna go down these stairs and pray my car’s still parked down the street and not hijacked by some damned hooligan.” He gives Richie another look. “Treat my boy right.” Then, with an assured nod at me, he sees himself out.
When the door shuts, Richie and I turn to each other in the silent apartment. The soft sounds of my father’s footsteps going down the steps slowly fade away, and then we are truly alone.
“He struck the fear of God in me,” Richie then says. “He’s damned right. I almost peed myself.”
I smirk, amused, then slowly close the distance between us. “I’m so fucking glad to see you.”
“Are you?”
I press my lips to his at once. His eyes close as he gives in to my kiss. Suddenly he’s sitting in my chair at the table and I’m straddling him, hooking my hands behind his neck and nearly grinding my ass into his lap.
He pulls away. “Jeez, Isaac. You can turn just about anything into a sexy dance, huh?”
I grin as I look him in the eye. “You know it.”
“I made a decision.”
His sudden declaration catches me. “Decision?”
Richie slides his hands around my lower back, holding me straddled on his lap. His eyes dance around my chest in thought. “I decided I don’t … I don’t want to live two lives. Why would I even put myself through that? I just want to live my own, the one I know is within my grasp … and I know I can have, if I just reach for it.”
My heart dances at his words. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean my work is wherever I am. And my life is wherever I want it to be. And maybe I’ve …” His next words come out in half a chuckle. “Maybe I’ve outgrown my modest Mississippi house. I’m in need of something more fitting. Like …” He eyes me suddenly. “A sweet pad here in the city. I think I can find a lot more fulfillment here in the city, in the heart of where everything happens.”
