The Right Words (7 page)

His sarcastic tone told me it wasn’t a welcome surprise. Although I was very curious about what had transpired, I didn’t ask any more direct questions. The air of tension surrounding him seemed to have dissipated, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I needed to get hold of myself.

I felt Michael’s appraising stare again, but this time I bravely held eye contact and even managed a slight smile. Michael shook his head once as if lost in thought. When he turned back to me, the sharp lines of his handsome face softened and his grin was nothing short of dazzling. I had no idea what was going on in his head. His expression had gone from dangerous to cheery in a flash. He literally took my breath away.

Michael pointed his crutches toward a side yard adjacent to the main house and inclined his head slightly.

“Come this way, I want to show you something else.”

We followed a rough dirt path along the side of the house leading toward a cliff-side promontory point. The view was even better than the one from the terrace. We were literally perched on a bluff thirty-plus feet above the sandy beach with nothing but the wide expanse of ocean before us. The afternoon sun sprinkled the waters with a glitter-like effect. It was spectacular.

I loved the water. I wasn’t a surfer or a sailor, but I was a strong swimmer and there was nothing like being in the powerful Pacific. I took a deep, cleansing breath of the sea air and turned to find Michael watching me curiously. I wondered if he’d asked me a question and I’d been caught daydreaming again.

“This is truly amazing. You are so lucky to live here.”

“Yeah. I like it. I like the quiet.”

“Do you miss LA at all?”

“I haven’t had an opportunity to miss it. I’m there all the time for doctor appointments and physical therapy.”

“How long is the recovery supposed to be?” I kept my gaze out toward the ocean.

He didn’t answer for a long moment, and I was beginning to think he wouldn’t when I heard his soft reply. “Another three or four months.”

“Oh.”

“It was a pretty bad tear.” He shrugged.

“I may be sorry I asked but exactly what did you tear? Don’t get graphic. Basic info is fine.”

Michael turned and grinned. His eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses, but I could tell his humor was now fully restored. “I tore the ligament in my knee. The gist is I’d probably been walking and playing with a slight tear for a while. I figured it was just normal joint pain, so I iced my knee regularly. Unfortunately icing only takes care of so much, and I tore the fucker clean off my kneecap at an exhibition game. Hurt like a bitch. I needed surgery but had to wait another month for the swelling to go down to actually do the procedure.”

“When did it happen?”

“Mid-July. Surgery mid-August. It’s been a fucked-up summer.”

“You can say that again,” I mumbled.

Michael looked like he was about to ask about my misadventures this summer, but I intercepted, hoping to steer conversation away from myself.

“Medical technology is amazing. I’m sure you’ll be kicking the ball again in no time!”

“We’ll see.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “But you’re right about technology. It was arthroscopic, and the biggest decision seemed to be whether or not they could make a graft from my hamstring tendon or use a cadaver’s.”

“A cad—oh please, don’t tell me any more. I’m feeling nauseous.” I made a face and fixed my attention on the horizon. I wasn’t remotely kidding. A skinned knee could make my stomach turn. I was not the guy to share medical war stories with.

Michael chuckled beside me. A sweet, musical note that hung for a moment on the breeze.

“How much longer will you need the crutches?”

“Two weeks. The idea is to get my knee ambulatory and slowly make my way back to normal. According to my doctor, I need to walk before I run.” He crossed his arms over his chest as though protecting himself from something unseen. “I’m not used to walking.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond. I had a feeling we were speaking analogously, and while I could relate a little too well, the sentiment made me sad. There was something very dissatisfying about being reminded you’re only human. I sought for a lighthearted conversational shift but came up blank and decided that was my cue to say good-bye.

“So tomorrow we shop!” I took a quick look at my watch and decided it was time to take my chances on the highway and head back to LA. “I’ll be here midmorning to pick you up.”

“I’ll be ready. And Luke?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“Staying.” He shrugged and smiled a little self-consciously. My heart did a funny flip at the sweet gesture. Michael Martinez was good-looking, charming, and gay. He was also a closet case with his own set of demons. It was becoming very clear to me that I had a thing for complex people with complicated situations. I was doomed.

O
UR
FIRST
stop was a tile store along a stretch of road known to those in the biz as “tile row.” Shop after shop catered to designers, contractors, and their clients looking to tile any imaginable surface. Some stores were grand with stylized showrooms decked out in marble, travertine, granite, and simple porcelain tiles to give customers ideas for their kitchen or bathroom remodels. Others were more humble shops that supplied samples of the various colors, shapes, and sizes available. It was up to the professionals to do the design work. My usual practice was to take a client to see the stylized, opulent vignettes before going to peruse the more basic racks of samples. I felt it was a good way to visually understand the wealth of design possibilities for the project at hand.

I had set appointments at two of the high-end showrooms on the boulevard and figured we could check out samples at a third stop before tackling flooring options. Our first meeting was with Brenda, a stylishly attired older woman with jet-black hair cut in a smart bob who was dressed from head to toe in the same dark hue. Her fashionable ruby-red eyewear was her only personal concession to color. They gave her the look of a hip grandmother. I liked her at first sight.

While I gushed over Brenda’s sharp choice of accessories and thanked her profusely for meeting us on such short notice, Michael wandered unattended into the main showroom. I caught his eye roll as he passed by, and for one uncharitable moment, I fought a strong impulse to put my foot in front of his crutches and send him flying. He was acting like a complete ass… or a poorly behaved child.

On the way to the tile store, his initially amiable disposition took a nosedive in the form of a phone call. Unfortunately I didn’t know enough Spanish to provide any clues to his now-rotten mood. It could be anything from work or his injury to his ex. Either way, I wasn’t going to be rude to Brenda. I was a professional and it was time for me to do my thing.

“What do you think of this Carrara marble? This piece has the perfect amount of gray, which I think is exactly the ideal base color for the house. If we choose a light shade for the master bath, we can go a little darker in the bedroom.”

Silence. Great. I underestimated how draining and difficult it was to deal with a surly, uncooperative client. The man was maddening! He gave monosyllabic answers in a barely interested tone when presented with various selections.

“We can check out other stone options as well. Brenda, do you have any suggestions?”

“Yes, of course! Let me grab a small sample board. I’ll be right back.” Brenda didn’t appear overly concerned about Michael’s lack of enthusiasm, but I was irritated.

The moment Brenda was out of earshot, I turned to face him. His attention was back on his phone. Everything about his attitude suggested he would rather be anywhere other than where he currently was. There had to be other ways to keep his mind off his problems than hopping around on crutches looking at materials for a remodel he seemed barely interested in.

“Michael?”

“Hmm.” He kept his head down as he furiously typed a text message to someone lucky enough to have a portion of his consideration.

“Are you all right? You seem distracted.”

He lifted his head and looked me straight in the eye for the first time that morning. His expression was anything but distracted now. It was direct and more than a little dangerous. I felt like I’d woken a sleeping lion. But I wasn’t about to back down. Not this time. I was being paid to do a job. He claimed he wanted to be physically present for material selection and decision making. If that were true, the least he could do was pretend to be civil.

“Distracted? Yeah, I guess you could say I’m distracted. I’ve got things to—can we just get whatever samples you want so we can get out of here?”

I didn’t trust myself not to say something I’d regret, so I bit my tongue hard and pasted a smile on my face as Brenda strode purposefully toward us carrying a large sample board.

We left the luxury tile store half an hour later with a large bag of samples and a promise to keep our fabulous saleslady abreast of our remodeling plans. As soon as we stepped out into the parking lot, I lost my phony happy-designer smile and let myself stew in righteous indignation. It was his idea to come along. Not mine. I wanted to lambaste him and ask him what the fuck was his problem, but I wasn’t exactly free to do so. He claimed he wanted to play an active part in choosing all materials and finishes. What he really wanted was to be out of the house. We couldn’t shop together. Somehow I had to convince him to let me gather the samples alone.

“Brenda gave us some great ideas. We can go back to the house and see what we think of—”

“Don’t we have a couple other places to check out?”

I counted to ten as I waited for him to put his crutches in the backseat of the car before taking his place next to me. I made it to eight before turning to face him, making every effort to unclench my jaw when I spoke.

“Sure. We can do that but—”

“You said you had a bunch of places lined up. That was boring as hell, but don’t we have to go to a few stores to see other things and maybe get better pricing? Some of that stuff was laughably expensive.”

“I’m happy to bring the samples to you. It does get a little boring. I have an idea! We can divide the work. You stay back at the house and deal with the various contractors for estimates while I gather samples!” I tried to make my suggestion sound spontaneous, but alas, Hollywood would not be calling soon.

“Nice try. You’re trying to get rid of me, aren’t you?”

“No! Not at all. I was just trying to be helpf—”

“Save it. I’m coming with you. Someone has to make sure you watch the budget,” he said snarkily.

“Mr. Martinez, I am always mindful of the budget. I take great care to present high to lower-end options within my client’s means. I apologize profusely if I misjudged your budgetary constraints. You didn’t indicate that you wanted to keep cost at a certain mark, but if you’d like to look only at lower-end materials, I can arr—”

“I don’t want a bunch of crap in my place! Don’t be ridiculous. I can afford the high-end shit. No need to be patronizing, Mr. Preston.” The sneer on his face was close to the final straw, but I managed to remain civil.

“Mr. Martinez, I don’t mean to patronize at all. Again I apologize for—
”

“Stop calling me that!” he snapped. He whipped his dark sunglasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Then stop calling me ‘Mr. Preston,’ ass—!” I stopped myself midinsult, but the damage was done.

I ground my back teeth and wrapped my fingers tightly around the steering wheel. We were still parked in front of the store. I was glad there were no windows for Brenda and her staff to witness the meltdown in progress. I could feel the beginnings of a horrible headache at the base of my skull and knew the stress of the past few months was about to catch up with me in the form of an ugly migraine or a panic attack if I didn’t pull it together fast.

“I’m sorry.” My voice was low. I couldn’t look at him. I was angry and upset now, but I didn’t want to concede total defeat.

Michael sighed deeply. “Hey.”

I knew he wanted my attention but I didn’t trust myself to speak, so I kept my eyes fixed ahead.

“Hey, I’m… Luke?”

“Hmm?”

“Look at me.”

I grudgingly turned to face him and was taken aback by the blatant misery in his eyes. I couldn’t hold on to my last thread of anger when I saw his distress. I barely knew this man, but he was obviously unhappy.

“I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m bad company and I know it. I got a call that… whatever. It isn’t important. I’ve had an impressive string of bad luck lately, and I’m tired of constantly being frustrated and disappointed. I wish I could….” Michael turned his head to look out the window, rubbing his chin absently with his thumb.

“What?” I prodded.

“Fuck, do anything but sit around and wish time away.”

We were silent for a moment. We’d known each other less than a week and had already experienced a couple of awkward exchanges, revealing more than most strangers would in such a short time. His sadness comingled with mine and created a tangible pallor in the small car’s interior. It left me feeling uncertain and off-balance. Everything in me wanted to retreat and maybe try again on Monday. But I sensed Michael needed to make the decision. Not because it was entirely important but because any semblance of control was vital to him in a time when nothing was going his way. I could definitely appreciate the feeling. I swallowed hard and turned the engine on.