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Now I barely had time to think about the short days because they were packed with things. All kinds of things, and not just law enforcing things, but Tony things. The man was not one to sit still for long. Even back in college, he was always tromping from one side of the Drexel campus to the other for plays, fundraisers, chorus practice, and his baking club. Amazingly, he still had that drive. Most of us slowed down with age. Not Anthony Gugliotti. He kept me moving constantly, and not just on outings, but in bed as well. Trust me, I was not complaining about the bed play. I’d been pretty much celibate for years now, so having sex on the daily or close to it was frigging amazing. As I sat staring at Tony across a table with a checkered cloth and a stumpy candle in a festive pine bough decorative base, I confessed to myself that I wasn’t really complaining about the hustle of outings and dates. Dates. Like the one we were on right now.
A cozy little inn that straddled the New York/Pennsylvania border which served the best steaks in either state. Tony had somehow found this remote rustic log cabin and booked us a meal. Or perhaps it had been Mignon who had set up this dinner. Whoever it was, kudos.
I was far enough away from Rockmount that no one knew me, which was a blessing all on its own. It’s hard to be wooed when everyone and their damn Treeing Walker Coonhound knew you and stopped to visit your table. We’d not had one meal out where someone didn’t come up to me to talk local shit or gush over Tony. I found it hard to believe that there was a person alive in the Keystone State that didn’t have a selfie with Anthony. Things here at the Mossy Elk Inn had been so peaceful and mostly free from adoring fans. They’d given us a private dining room. All to ourselves, with only impeccably trained staff to wait on us.
“Did you set up this date or was it your PA?” I asked as I lifted a sesame breadstick from a cloth-lined basket. A roaring fire snapped in a stone hearth under a thick pine slab of a shelf holding festive wood carvings of Old St. Nick and his reindeer.
“Why?” he asked as he began cutting up his salad. Soft holiday tunes played around us. The sounds of other diners could just be heard if one strained. I wasn’t straining.
“Because I need to know which of you is getting dicked into my bed tonight.”
He snickered as he chased a cherry tomato around his bowl. “Now you realize that I’m going to say me even if it was Mignon. I’m a very jealous lover, Stillman. You know the Gugliotti blood runs hot like lava from Vesuvius.” Yes, I did know that. And I really loved it. “It was me. Honestly. Mignon found five, but I made the final call. So perhaps just give my PA a gift card to Hermes and dick me into the bed.”
“Fair,” I mumbled and doused my salad with thick, pungent blue cheese dressing from a little carafe. His eyes glowed like the votive candles on each empty table around us. How he finagled to get a private room at peak dining season and times I couldn’t hazard a guess, but it was working. Big time. I might be a big, bad bear of a cop, but I have a tender underbelly. I made a mental note to get a gift card for Mignon. Tony’s thank you required no online action.
We dined on perfectly prepared T-bones—mine rare and his medium well—buttery baked potatoes, and a tender shoot of asparagus. The coffee after the meal was rich and bold and went perfectly with the slices of double chocolate cake we both had. I joked about having to run to the gym tomorrow. Tony said he would ensure we would both wear off the luscious meal when we got into bed.
“As much as it pains me, I have to admit that you’re doing well on the wooing,” I confessed as I forked up my last bite of cake. He beamed as I chewed and moaned in total bliss. “I don’t think you’ve missed much in the past ten days or so. And all so romantic.”
“I pride myself on my romanticism. It’s a gift that all Italian people possess.” Cocky bugger. He was right, but still did he have to know it? “What all have we done for our wooing?”
“Well, we went bowling. Not sure how romantic that is,” I said and got a sour look.
“Bowling is terribly romantic. Also, in my defense, it had snowed, and the roads were dicey, so that left little to choose from locally.”
I nodded. He was right. It had snowed. The town had been simply glorious the following morning with a few inches of white powder. The set designers for the movie were so thrilled I feared one little guy in a beret might have orgasmed right there on Main Street.
“What else did I do to win your heart?” he asked over his cup of coffee, those brown eyes sparkling with secrets and mischief.
“Well, other than bowling, we’ve been to the library for a Jane Austen holiday reading,” I replied as I leaned back to stretch out my legs under the table. Tony did the same, his socked toes finding my calf, then began a slow rub up and down. The tease. “Then we took a class at the candy store and made little chocolate candy canes. One night we went to the glass museum to shop. We spent a few nights at home where you cooked and then we watched holiday movies.”
“Hmm, well, that night we watchedDie Hardwas questionable.”
We’d playfully bickered about if the Bruce Willis classic was, in fact, a holiday movie. I said it was. He didn’t seem convinced. So I sucked his dick after the movie and then he conceded that I had been right all along.
“It’s not really Christmas until you watch a terrorist fall from a high-rise.”
“I’ll stick with the less violent films for my holiday viewing.”
“You know, we’ve done just about everything there is to do in this county and several others close by, but we haven’t been to a movie in a theater yet.”
“I’m glad you brought that up.” He placed his cup on its saucer, then gave the little bell that we’d been given a ring. The doors opened, and the sounds of a packed eatery flowed in as four servers hustled in with a TV on a rolling cart, trays, and smiles.
“What is going on here?” I asked as I sat up, his toes still under my pant leg.
A young lady placed a tray of boxed candies on the table. Another server deposited a huge bucket of buttered popcorn beside the candy tray. Then another server placed two massive cups of iced drinks in front of us. Tony sat there smug as a hoot owl, smirking devilishly as the fourth server quickly parked the TV on the stand along a wall and slipped a DVD into the slot on the bottom of it. The tech server hurried over to hand Tony a remote as I sat there looking as dumb as a pine knot. Then, as fast as they arrived, they left, dousing the lights as the door was closed.
The room was dark now aside from the glow of the fire and the flickering candles burning low on each table.
“If you bribed the owners to let us watch porn in here...”
Tony chuckled as he sat up to eye the selection of candy. He couldn’t possibly be hungry.
“No, although that would have been a randy idea. But no, we’ve watched enough of that in bed since I arrived. You’ll love it, trust me. May I slide my chair around to sit beside you?”
“Keep your hands to yourself, mister.”
“I make no promises.” He moved around the table, sat at my side, and then let his head fall to my shoulder while he pointed the remote at the large screen. “If I get frisky, will you paddle my ass?”
