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Phillip saw David’s smile and rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that David couldn’t quite make out but could take a good guess at.
The hostess, of course, knew nothing of this. “Your server tonight will be Melissa,” she announced as if it were the most important thing in the world. “She is going to take such good care of you. And let us know if you need anything.”
Then came that candy smile, the bob of the ponytail as she whirled around and headed back toward the front.
“Some things never change,” Phillip muttered.
“We’re older now,” David said, trying for levity but not sure how successful he was.
“Really,” Phillip said dryly. “You don’t say. I couldn’t tell by the crow’s feet I see in the mirror every morning.”
What he wanted to say to that was You look better than you ever have, but what he actually said was “Yeah. I think the same thing.”
“Did you do what your boy at the bar asked you to?” Phillip asked, lips quirking as he looked over the menu. “Seemed important.”
David flushed at that. “He’s not my boy—what the hell. He didn’t ask me to do anything.”
“Maybe you should check out that receipt.”
David was confused, because here they were, finally, and they were talking, actually holding a conversation, and they were talking about the bartender of all things. “I don’t—” He frowned and looked down at the bourbon. The receipt was wrapped around it, sticking to the sides. He carefully peeled it off, and there it was, written in jagged, clipped letters.
CALL ME IF YOU WANT
MATTEO xx
A phone number was underneath.
“What the fuck,” David said faintly.
Phillip snorted in that way he did when he found something really funny but was trying not to laugh. He cleared his throat, shook his head. Snorted again. And then he giggled, just a little, breath huffing out his nose in a staccato beat.
“He was hitting on me,” David said, as if Phillip didn’t get it.
“You clearly made an impression, buddy,” Phillip said. “He’s probably looking for a well-to-do older man, and you fit that bill to a—”
“What the hell,” David hissed, dropping the receipt as if it’d scalded him. “That’s not even—why would he do that?”
“Oh boy,” Phillip said, finally looking up. “If I have to explain it to you, then I must have been doing it wrong all these years.”
There it was. The first reference to them. David swallowed thickly, trying not to make it more than it actually was. Phillip had just thrown it out there, an off-handed thing, but it was there. An oblique allusion to a shared history that neither one of them could ignore. But Phillip hadn’t obviously meant anything by it other than what it was, so David tried to let it go as quickly as possible.
“I’m not going to—” He started. Then, “It wasn’t anything. I don’t want to call him.”
Phillip flipped to the next page, cool as ever. It was maddening. “And why is that?”
“Why? He looks like he’s in college.”
“Well, you know what they say about the stamina of college boys.”
“Jesus. I don’t care about the stamina of college boys.”
“They sure seem to care about you. He’s probably one of those macho studs asserting their masculinity but when you get them in the bedroom, their face is in the pillow, ass in the air, and they’re just begging to be fucked. I wonder how fresh the swordfish is.”
David almost slapped the menu right out of Phillip’s hands. “You can’t just—
”
“Hi!” a woman said, appearing beside the table like it was the greatest joy of her life. “My name is Melissa, and I’ll be your server tonight. How are we, gentlemen?” Another bubbly college student, bright and peppy. She was tall and curvy, her skin dark and lovely. Her hair was tied back, a loose strand curling near her ear.
