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I’m on the main island now. It won’t be long. I hope you’re hungry because Daddy insists that you eat everything on your plate.
He’s quite the adamant fella. I must hand that to him like an award for congeniality at the Miss America pageant. If there’s one thing I’ve lacked all my life, it’s an older male influence. In the presence of lesbian mothers with zero brothers between the both of them, I’ve only looked up to one guy as a role model of sorts. Mr. Zenith, my tenth grade biology teacher. Obviously the attraction was one sided. There’s no way he could show fondness for me at that age, let alone cross the ethical boundary at all. But he was fucking gayer than Brian Gallivan.
No sooner do I start to thumb my reply, when the shadow of a man steals my attention. I raise my head, instantly jittering at the sight of one particular man I’m not supposed to see until Monday. Reid Fairchild in all his entitled splendor. His enchanting voice sends a razor through my skin, because he’s incredibly sexy.I can’t very well fuck the guy I’m being paid to destroy, can I?But luckily, I’m not here to meet him. This is just one more chance run-in.Surely a popular man such as him is constantly seen all over Hawaii.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Reid says, the sun bouncing from a shiny silver box at his waist.
That makes two of us.My head wavers, all the while swallowing a hard gulp of air. “Yeah erm—me either—quite honestly,” I stammer. “Well, have a nice day,” I add, turning my attention back to Grindr.
Reid doesn’t enter the building. Instead, he props himself up against the wall next to me. All the while wedging a box in between an arm and his torso in order to read something on his phone. A loud, dry cough escapes my throat as I shoot a quick response to Eddie.
I’m here already, Eddie. Hurry up, because I’m standing next to the most spoiled, conceited man in the whole world.
Not but a second passes by, before hearing a raucous grunt exit Reid’s throat. Followed by an instant reply from Eddie. And then another.
Banana Boy is incredibly opinionated, isn’t he?
Here’s your dinner jacket, Kragen.
The sensation of a box smacks into my left shoulder, when it finally dawns on me that Eddie must be Reid.And he fucking lied about his name the entire time.My gaze locks with his, studying the silent indignation swallowing those pupils.
“So,” Reid says through narrowed eyes. “How are we gonna punish Banana Boy for his insolent behavior?”
Uhhhh what the ever loving hell have I gotten myself into?Reid is‘Daddy as fuck.’But it doesn’t change the immense awkwardness. Also, I still think he’s a precocious bastard who couldn’t possibly be more of a polar opposite to my personality. I’m generally the caring, philanthropic type who volunteers with Rainbows on Skates to bridge LGBTQ youth with shelter, safety, and allies of the queer public. Or serving meals to the indigent. This guy donates to charity to pad his ego, and for the potential of a tax write-off.
Entering the restaurant with Reid behind me is at least mollifying. Which goes to prove that Carrie and myself won’t need to worry about me being drugged and chopped to pieces, then later dumped all over the Pacific Ocean. A hostess escorts us to a table which he reserved immediately upon our conversation last night.
“This is your usual table, Mr. Fairchild,” she says, pointing to a booth up on a platform which appears to be for the uber-important island socialites. “Penny will bring your champagne momentarily,” she adds.
Reid insists that I choose whichever side of the booth I prefer, followed by taking his spot opposite me. “So Kragen,” he starts. “Do you like oriental cuisine or freshwater fish?”
I nod. “Yes, I’m not fond of seafood,” I admit, studying the shift in tone his eyes have made from just moments ago. “So long as they have a sort of beef and broccoli, I’ll survive lunch.”
He grins haughtily. “I suppose they do,” he grumbles. “But you will have at least one bite of my mahimahi, because trying new things is a part of personal growth.”
Oh I will, huh?“Gotcha,” I reply, clicking my tongue. “I haven’t eaten fish since like the third grade when my moms forced me to finish a plate of fish sticks.”
Reid’s chin meets his left shoulder. “Moms?” He asks, apparently piquing his curiosity. “You have lesbian mothers?”
“Yeah,” I affirm, noting our server who’s ascending the platform with a giant bottle of champagne which probably costs more than I make in four fucking months. “I call one‘Momma’and the other is‘Mimi,’” I add, clearing my throat.
Our server greets us with a smile, poising a bottle of Louis Roederer Cristal in her grasp. “Gentlemen,” she says, pouring yellow juice from a basin in her other hand. “Pineapple mimosas today?”
Reid nods. “Yes please,” he says, shooting me a wink as if he isn’t turned off by the revolting sight above my brow line. “You’ve had Cristal before haven’t you, boy?”
I shrug, grimacing the entire time. “I think I’ve had that ten dollar horseshit from Junction Liquors before.”
Reid groans to himself, all the while oscillating his head from one shoulder to the other. “No no, this is nothing like you’ve ever tasted.”
Champagne must be to him what Coke Zero is to me. That’s hardly all I can afford to drink as an occasional treat. And don’t get me started on the cost of a twelve pack in aluminum cans. He likely assumed that I’ve been as privileged as him or something. I can only surmise he earns my yearly salary in a matter of an hour, by just smiling pretty, or breathing in the clean tropical air or some shit.
But I’d be remiss if I didn’t admit it’s kind of exhilarating sitting in a place my moms would never afford. Not to mention the fact that I’m wearing a dinner jacket like the Duke of fucking Sussex. And a man hotter than the sun giving me the light of day, as if I’m not the ugliest duckling to waddle the Earth. All of this still can’t replace the awkward feeling in my gut. The fact that I’m about to get ass fucked by the one guy I’m being assigned to screw over in the most figurative sense.
Penny leaves our booth, allowing us a moment to decide what we want. Reid reaches across the table to retrieve the menu from my hands. “You won’t be needing this,” he says. “Daddy already knows what you’ll be having.”
Now my chin meets my left shoulder. “Is that so?”
Please just let it be beef and broccoli. And maybe an order of those $24 spring rolls.
