Something Like Thunder (38 page)

“No,” Nathaniel said immediately. “I’m not interested.”

“You haven’t even seen him yet.” Marcello focused on his computer, clicking the mouse repeatedly. “These photos are old. Nearly eight years. Still, you’ll get the idea.”

He turned the monitor so Nathaniel could see. The photos were professional, two shirtless guys with their arms around each other. Both were good-looking, one of them especially so. Nathaniel stared.

“The one with the dark hair and silver eyes,” Marcello prompted, poking at his keyboard to cycle through the images. “What do you think?”

“These aren’t photoshopped?” Nathaniel asked, mouth watering a little.

“No, these are scans of the raw negatives. Ah, except for this one. It was touched up for publication.”

The guy in question now appeared annoyed, probably due to the tongue jammed in his ear. “Wow.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Marcello said. “His name is Tim Wyman. I’ll give you his phone number and you can—”

“No!” Nathaniel said, feeling panicked.

Marcello blinked. “Why not?”

“He looks like my age in these photos. How old is he now?”

Marcello clucked his tongue. “So picky! Very well, here’s a more recent one.” After more clicking, he brought up a new photo, this one taken at an evening party, the flash too strong. Tim was wearing a suit, standing next to Marcello and looking just as handsome with clothes on. One of them appeared gleeful, the other exasperated.

“Are you grabbing his ass?” Nathaniel asked.

“Indeed I am. I know it’s difficult, but tear your eyes away from me and consider him. You’d make such a handsome pair!”

Nathaniel was tempted. He’d be crazy not to be. But he still felt tender, his wounds barely healed. He pushed away from the desk and stood. “I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

“Keep him in mind,” Marcello said. “He’s not going anywhere, believe me! Not unless one of us drags him there kicking and screaming.”

Chapter Fourteen

Three months. Days filled with work, nights filled with movies, weekends filled with road trips or hikes—Zero at his side. The dog had blossomed like a Chia pet. Whether it was relief from stress or food allergies or some mystery of body chemistry, Zero’s empty patches of skin had filled in with thick fur, silver on his back, white on his legs and belly. The woman at the shelter had claimed Zero was a Siberian Husky, but Nathaniel hadn’t believed it until now. The dog looked more like a wolf these days, having gotten taller and beefier. But he was still every bit a puppy on the inside.

Nathaniel, on the other hand, felt he was losing his hair. The mirror proved otherwise, but working for Marcello meant more than just scheduling events, worrying about budgets, and balancing the books. Nathaniel had to answer to Marcello’s every whim. This was never anything trivial, such as brewing him a cup of coffee or fetching his dry cleaning. The tasks were more involved, such as when Marcello wanted a humidor installed in his office. A simple box wouldn’t do. The humidor needed the capacity to store one hundred cigars—presumably just in case a small army dropped by—and Marcello wanted it filled with a wide enough variety to please even the pickiest connoisseur. He also needed it to be on prominent display so it would, as he put it, “intimidate those intelligent enough not to smoke, and charm those wise enough to value camaraderie.” Whatever that meant. So Nathaniel not only had to shop for a humidor, haul it through the building and install it, but also learn about a pastime he cared nothing for so he could stock it with the right cigars. Marcello feigned ignorance about what was needed until the very end, when he mentioned a variety of cigar Nathaniel had overlooked.

Many weekends and nights were spent researching surveillance equipment, foreign policies, or even ballroom dancing, just to cater to Marcello’s latest impulse. If Nathaniel was honest with himself, he loved it. His life was rarely boring. He was much too busy to dwell on the past. At times he felt like he was still in college, stuffing his brain with knowledge, but now he was getting paid for the privilege instead of the other way around. Nathaniel was happy.

Mostly. Occasionally while at work, he would open the file folder with Tim’s old modeling photos and check him out, trying to imagine touching that handsome face. Or even having a simple conversation. As the weeks flew by, this became something of an obsession, so he decided to do something about it. One way or another, he needed to purge this temptation from his system.

“Remember that one guy?” Nathaniel said during one of his many visits to the upstairs office.

“Yes,” Marcello said confidently. “I’ve never met a man that I haven’t remembered for one reason or another. I suppose Thailand might be the one exception, since I indulged too much and blacked out, only to wake up feeling chafed in the strangest of places.”

Nathaniel pressed on, the only way of keeping a conversation on course with Marcello. “The one with the silver eyes. The model.”

“Ah! The fabulous Mr. Wyman. Is this what I think it is? Has the time finally come?”

“You don’t have to smile like that,” Nathaniel grumped. “Is he still single?”

“Tragically so.” Marcello reached for the phone. “Let’s see what we can do about that!”

“Wait!” Nathaniel said, reaching across the desk to stop him. “Nothing fancy. Not even a real date. I just thought it might be fun to hang out.”

Marcello nodded. “Understood. There’s a wonderful little bed and breakfast outside San Antonio. I’ll see if they still have the weekend free.”

Nathaniel glared. “Dinner and a movie.”

Marcello looked pained. “Please! Anything but that! How about a nice cabaret? I know of one where the boys on stage put fruit in their—”

“Dinner and a movie,” Nathaniel repeated firmly. “No reservations needed. We’ll grab something from the food trucks before the movie.”

“And when is he allowed to pick you up for this dream date?”

“I’ll pick him up,” Nathaniel said. That way, if the guy turned out to be a jerk, Nathaniel wouldn’t be dependent on him for a ride. “Saturday. Around seven.”

“In the morning, no doubt. That should wring the last drops of potential romance from this encounter.”

“At night is fine,” Nathaniel said, standing to leave. “Text me if he says yes. If not, don’t bother. Doesn’t really matter to me.”

Except it did. Nathaniel spent the rest of the day periodically checking his phone, stomach churning. Marcello was probably getting his revenge, making Nathaniel squirm. Or maybe Tim had said no. Nathaniel was just coming to terms with that possibility when a text finally delivered his answer. One little word that made him feel both excitement and dread.

Yes.

* * * * *

Nathaniel drove to West Lake Hills, the car’s air conditioner cranked up to keep him from sweating. When he found the right address and pulled into the driveway, he wished he could dunk himself in an ice bath. Ahead of him was a separate garage, which was hardly noteworthy. The house to the left had him intimidated. Size wasn’t everything, but a house this large signified money.

Nathaniel was already late, so he stopped gawking and got out of the car. He was heading up the walkway when the front door opened. Even framed in light, features cast in silhouette, he could see that time had been kind. Nathaniel couldn’t help but compare Tim to the old modeling photos as the man shut the door behind him and strode forward, offering a hand. Black hair, no longer gelled into spikes but natural and brushed to one side. The same piercing silver eyes. A handsome smile that seemed genuine, if not completely certain. The body still impressed, even when hidden beneath a black dress shirt and gray slacks. Nathaniel preferred a slimmer build, but at least Tim was a few inches shorter than him. Then again, most guys were. They made contact, the palm of Tim’s hand soft and warm as they shook. The smile widened.

“Nathaniel! Nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” he replied, grasping for words and finding a few that didn’t make much sense. “Blind date, huh?”

“I guess it is,” Tim answered smoothly. “Not totally though. Marcello kept sending me photos of you. And a video, which was weird, because you were just sitting at his desk talking. No audio either.”

Surveillance equipment. The very system Nathaniel had installed. “Marcello can be a little weird at times.”

“Brother, you ain’t kiddin’!” Tim’s smile wavered. “So you work for him? He was a little vague about the details.”

“I do.” Nathaniel nodded at the house. “But if I’d known that being a model paid so much, I would have applied for that job instead.”

Tim’s smile disappeared. “You’re one of his escorts, aren’t you?”

Nathaniel scowled. “I’m not an escort!”

Tim matched his expression. “I’m not a model!”

After staring each other down, they both laughed.

“Let’s start over,” Tim suggested. “I’m an old friend of Marcello’s. Everything you see behind me I inherited. I don’t have the discipline to be a model or much of anything else.”

Nathaniel took a deep breath. “I’m… You know what? I don’t think I even have a job title. I just do whatever Marcello needs me to.”

“You have my sympathies,” Tim said. “Wanna tell me all about it on the way into town?”

That’s exactly what they did. Nathaniel was grateful for such an easy topic. In truth, him talking about his work probably bored Tim to tears, but the guy acted interested, and even asked questions that helped prevent awkward silences. By the time they pulled into a parking lot filled with colorful trailers, Nathaniel felt more relaxed.

“What are we eating?” Tim said as they got out of the car.

“Ever heard of Torchy’s Tacos?”

“Yeah! Tacos from a trailer. Sounds awesome!”

If he was being sarcastic, Nathaniel couldn’t tell. They walked along the trailers, each converted to serve food. The interiors were filled with everything needed for a kitchen. Each trailer had a window used by workers to take orders and hand out food, customers eating their meals on nearby picnic tables. Not exactly luxury dining. As they took their place in line, Tim seemed cheerful enough.

“I love the food trucks,” he said. “Haven’t tried this place yet, but everyone raves about it. What do you usually get?”

Nathaniel barely heard the question. Instead he considered the guy talking to him: handsome, gay, and willing to go on this date. His teenage self had dreamed of nights like this, before feeling foolish for entertaining impossible fantasies. Guys didn’t fall in love with other guys. But they did. Caesar had proven that. He had also taught Nathaniel many things he had never wanted to learn, and that made it hard to let go and enjoy this moment.

“Have you ever cheated on someone?” he blurted out.

Tim considered him in silence, then turned his attention to the menu posted beside the ordering window. Nathaniel felt his face burning. When Tim looked back, his expression was sympathetic. “What was his name?”

“Who?”

“People don’t ask questions like that unless someone has done a serious number on them.”

Nathaniel exhaled. “Caesar. He was my first… everything.”

“I get it.” Tim’s laugh was ironic. “I know all about those.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Benjamin was mine. If you’re waiting to get over yours, I’ve got some bad news. It doesn’t happen.”

“Oh.” They shuffled forward a few steps as the line shortened. “Did he cheat on you?”

“When we first met, I cheated to be with him. Later on, I tricked him into cheating. Sort of.” Tim’s brow furrowed. “Listen, you need to know who I am. I get that. But before I drag out every skeleton from my closeted days, I at least want a free meal. You’re paying, by the way.”

“Fair enough,” Nathaniel said. “To answer your original question, the fried avocado tacos are life changing.”

“Sounds vegetarian,” Tim said with a shake of his head. “I need meat. I’m a growing boy.”

They talked food until it was their turn to order, and despite what Tim had said, he insisted on paying. They found two free seats at the end of a bench, comparing notes on Marcello as they ate. When finished, Tim patted his belly contentedly and sighed.

“All right,” he said. “Here’s the deal. I’m sort of an asshole. Less so than I used to be, I hope, but still an asshole. When I first met Benjamin, we were in high school and I was struggling with my identity. Not just in regard to my sexuality. I was messed up about all sorts of things. I had a girlfriend at the time, so that’s strike one against me, although I did leave her for him. Wait, does that count as two strikes?”

Nathaniel laughed. “I don’t think so. Caesar left his girlfriend for me. Felt sorry for her, but I wasn’t complaining.”

“Okay,” Tim said with a nod. “Just one strike. Unfortunately I didn’t get my shit together in time and ended up ruining what Benjamin and I had together. I thought it was all over until college, when we met again. Great news, right? Not at all, because by then Benjamin had met this amazing guy. If you really need the details, I’ll give them to you, but basically I forced them to break up. I wouldn’t call that cheating. Using deceit to wreck a happy relationship might be worse though, so strike two.” Tim paused. “This is the part of the story where you get up and walk away.”

Nathaniel stayed where he was. “What happened after that?”

“The truth came out and they got back together.” Tim frowned, crumpling one corner of the foil wrapper left from his taco. “We met a third time. Fate had nothing to do with that. I went looking. I was in a bad relationship, which only made me miss him more. At first I just wanted to see him again, not to mess with anything. I needed help, and he gave it to me because that’s how Benjamin is.” Tim’s smile was sad. “We actually managed to be friends for a while. That’s all we could be, because that perfect guy of his was smart enough to marry him. But I couldn’t stop feeling what I feel, and even though this time I didn’t try to ruin anything, loving him made it impossible for us to be around each other. Strike three. I’m out.”

“Doesn’t count,” Nathaniel insisted. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Loving someone and not acting on it isn’t cheating.”

“Sometimes being a distraction is enough. At least I bailed in time. They’re still out there somewhere, living a fairytale life together. I guess that’s my consolation prize, knowing that he’s happy.”

Nathaniel considered him, then shook his head. “You’re way more generous than I am. I don’t want Caesar to be happy. I have fantasies where we meet again in twenty years, and he’s completely miserable.”

“And where are you in twenty years?” Tim asked. “With me? With anyone?”

Nathaniel looked away. “I don’t know. I try not to think about it.”

“You can’t love with stuff like that in your heart,” Tim said. “It gets in the way.”

“I have my reasons. Just imagine that you and Benjamin had made it to college and were still together, despite all the curveballs that life can throw. You’re perfectly happy together, or so you think, and then he cheats on you.”

“That’s rough,” Tim said.

Nathaniel sighed, returning his attention to his date. “I’m simplifying it too much. Caesar and I had all sorts of problems, but I’m not letting myself get hurt again.”