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He presses his lips together, refraining from an initial reaction as his eyes dance down to my shirt, gathering his thoughts. “You are very smart, Zak.” He brings his gaze up to mine. “Maybe smarter than I first gave you credit for. Mmm … I do make that mistake too often.”
“What mistake?”
“Underestimating young men.” Richie chuckles nervously, then crosses his legs. He puts a finger on the rim of his untouched glass, as if considering it. “Y’know, it feels like yesterday, I was your age.”
“I bet.”
“No, no. You think you understand now, but you don’t. When you work for a living, day in and day out, and you set aside your own needs for the needs of a company, and you ignore that growing, gaping hole in your chest … it becomes a chasm, and by that time, it’s too late, because in a blink, you’ve just celebrated your fiftieth birthday, and what do you do then? Visit the nightclub like you used to when you were thirty?” He chuckles. “Ah, there’s no better wake-up call quite like going to the nightclub and realizing no one looks your way. Not anymore.” He draws a circle around the rim of his glass. “They say time goes by in a blink, and you doubt it, and you blink, and there it goes.”
“They say age is just a number,” I point out.
“Oh, just a number. Yes, I’ve got lots of those, too. Numbers. My cholesterol. My blood pressure, systolic and diastolic. My weight. Oh, that’s the cruelest number of all, and never what it should be. No matter what they say, the doctor’s office scale always lies.”
I chortle at that.
Richie appreciates the laugh. He stares into my eyes, then his tone changes. “The truth is, I’m not like the other guys in your chat room. Yes, I do know that sounds like one of those things everyone says … ‘I’m not like the others, I swear!’ … But I see what others demand of you, daily. I see how they try to strip you naked, the way they treat you, like you’re just a service, a toy to give others pleasure. You’re not a toy. When I see you, I see the human being, not the performer. I see …” He gives me his full gaze suddenly, every fleck of green and brown and beauty in his irises catching the light in a surprising way. “I’d like to think I see the real you. And I want to know that real you. I want to know the man I’ve been speaking to, the man who is so cautious, yet open. So wise, yet innocent. You are a fascinating contradiction, Zak.”
A moment passes where we just stare into each other’s eyes. It’s surprisingly comforting.
I think I might understand him more than even he realizes.
Just like that, something falls into place. I pick up my glass, give it a knowing smirk, and at once, I’m my old, cocky self again. “I’ve decided I trust your intentions, Captain Richard.” I take a sip.
His eyebrows pull together with questions.
I answer them over the rim of the glass after I take my last sip, and all that remains is ice. “Have you noticed not one of your endless compliments has been about my looks?”
He studies me for a moment. I’m not even sure if he’s considering what I just said.
Then he lifts his glass at last, takes one hearty gulp from it, and closes his eyes, as if to savor.
A smile breaks over his face. “It’s been a while since I’ve tasted something so sweet.” Then he eyes me. “Or heard something so sweet.”
That’s what I like to hear. I push my emptied glass away. “Tell you what, Richie, my new friend. I bet a nice place like this has a nice restaurant. How about I get us a little midnight bite? On me.”
“On you, you say? Not happening. Oh … is it midnight already?” He checks his watch.
And I’m left to marvel for a moment as a man checks his watch, not his phone, for the time.
“Unfortunately, the hotel restaurant is closed at this hour,” he notes, then eyes me. “Thankfully, I know something that isn’t … if you trust me.”
4
That “something” is room service.
And that requires our relocating to his room.
The elevator ride up is long, during which we are accompanied by a rigid, suited woman (whose harsh, judgmental glances are not lost on me), but we are freed from her before arriving at his floor.
The top floor.
“You didn’t mention you were staying in the penthouse suite,” I exclaim.
He pulls out his keycard. “I like my privacy.”
When he opens the door, an enormous living space spreads out before us. Huge windows line the tall walls, hugging a lush white sectional couch with a chaise. A kitchenette overlooks the room from a semi-raised platform complete with a long bar and padded stools.
