AllFreeNovel
Share Us
While Holden got them a car for the next day, Greg opened Yelp on his phone and scanned the list of choices for that evening weighing the pros and cons of each restaurant. He was searching for someplace that wasn’t the kind of place you’d go with out-of-town work associates or that screamed romantic date, nor did he want the kind of place that catered to families or grandparents. And while he wanted to treat Holden to a nice dinner, he didn’t want to spend his life savings to do it. It wasn’t easy to strike the right balance, but he finally found a small jazz club/speakeasy that offered a New Orleans-inspired menu, had a great pre-Prohibition era cocktail list featuring locally distilled spirits, and, most importantly, wouldn’t break the bank for him.
As he made the reservation, Greg glanced up from his phone to see Holden staring at him, a softness in his gaze that sharpened as he realized he’d been caught and smiled.
“How do you feel about a Porsche?” Holden asked
“For tomorrow?”
“Uh-huh.”
Greg shook his head. “Not practical.”
“Unless it’s a Cayenne.”“You can’t do that. It’s way too expensive.”
With a devilish grin that caused his laugh lines to appear, Holden nodded and tapped his screen. “Okay, then it’s the Lexus.”
Greg shook his head. “My turn. How do you feel about jazz?”
“Love it.”
“Good.” That was all Greg would say about the place, even though Holden tried to get more information out of him all the way to the art museum, which was the next stop on their snow day tour of Denver.
ItturnedoutHoldenhadn’t been kidding about his love of jazz. He nodded all the way through dinner in time to the beat, knew all of the standards and most of the other pieces, and could tell Greg which legendary musician the current group was emulating in their own compositions.
“Have you ever been to New Orleans?” he asked Greg.
“Only the airport. I’ve never had an overnight in the city.”
“Now, that’s a shame. It’s just a short jump from Norfolk to NOLA. You ever want to visit, I’ll return the favor of your hospitality in Aspen and be your tour guide.”
Greg had been pushing a piece of andouille sausage around on his plate, contemplating whether he wanted to eat more of the excellent dish or save room for dessert, but paused and looked up to find Holden’s hazel eyes fixed on him. The heat in them was unmistakable, and Greg felt warmth in the middle of his chest. He licked his lips and swallowed, and Holden’s gaze turned as sultry as the music flowing around them.
“I’d like that.” Greg didn’t break the intense eye contact. He cleared his throat, his heart pounding in his chest as he made a split-second decision. “So, uh, I need to tell you some things about myself.” His voice came out tight from anxiety.
Holden opened his mouth to answer, but at that moment, their waiter reappeared to ask how they were doing, if they were thinking about dessert, and if they wanted another round of drinks. Holden raised his eyebrows to Greg in question, and Greg figured another drink wouldn’t be a bad idea. They’d been drinking beer, but Holden went for a classic and ordered a Viecux Carré cocktail. Greg ordered a Sazerac, thinking the liquid courage would help him have the conversation he needed to before things went further with Holden. While they waited for the waiter to return, he glanced around the restaurant, trying to figure out how to start.
To his credit, Holden waited patiently, but Greg was having difficulty getting beyond his own fear and the whisper in the back of his head that told him it would be safer to walk away than face another rejection.
By the time they got their drinks and had decided to share an order of beignets for dessert, Greg had convinced himself that he needed more time to figure out if he was truly interested in Holden or just feeling lonely and grateful to have someone with whom to spend time while he waited out the storm.
He began talking about his childhood in Denver, covering up his near confession by sharing stories about the city. With relief, Greg noted that Holden let the moment pass as well, seeming to accept that this was what Greg had wanted to talk about. He asked questions and shared some stories about his own childhood in Seattle.
Greg slowly relaxed, getting caught up in the sound of Holden’s voice and the way it grew huskier as he sipped his drink. The warmth in his belly expanded, and he found himself swaying to the sultry jazz. He gazed across the table at Holden, taking in the man’s salt-and-pepper hair—it was still less salt than pepper except at his temples which made him look distinguished—the fine lines that lightly creased the corners of his eyes and mouth, and the dark dusting of scruff that framed his jaw. Holden had trimmed it just before they left for dinner. Greg couldn’t tell if the man’s complexion was naturally tanned or if he spent a lot of time in the sun, but as he leaned back in his seat and raised the glass to his lips, Greg was struck once again by how much Holden reminded him of the star of those beer ads. At the moment, he was definitely the most interesting man in Greg’s world.
Almost as if he’d read Greg’s thoughts, Holden inclined his head and took another sip from his glass, and Greg’s mouth went dry. He raised his own glass, Holden’s gaze immediately dropping as Greg swallowed, barely noticing the alcohol’s burn as it flowed across his tongue and down his throat.
They both leaned forward at the same time, setting their glasses on the table. Holden reached out, his fingers grazing lightly across Greg’s, and Greg glanced down. The fingers Holden had touched straightened, following Holden’s hand as he started to pull away. Their fingertips touched, and Holden stilled, maintaining the contact between them. It was the barest of physical connection, not even a square inch of flesh touching, and it wasn’t sexual at all, but Greg sighed.
Holden opened his mouth as if to say something.
“I’m asexual,” Greg blurted, the words coming out as a single syllable as if rushing to fill the space between them before Holden could.
The chatter and music fell away as Greg’s attention focused on watching Holden’s reaction, waiting for his expression to change or to pull his fingers away as if Greg had burned him. It didn’t happen. Instead, Holden leaned in, turning his hand so he could interlace his fingers with Greg’s as he nodded.
“Tell me what that means for you,” Holden said, his tone so gentle and encouraging, so open, that Greg nearly teared up and had to take a deep breath before he could answer.
“Basically, I don’t feel sexual attraction. I rarely feel aroused or turned on, even when I’m with someone I’ve gotten close to. I’m not sex repulsed,” he added. “I like sex, actually.”
“That’s good to know.” Even in the dim light of the restaurant, Greg saw the sparkle in Holden’s eyes, the teasing grin, which made it easier for him to continue.
