headed for the door. “I’ll hold down the fort. You finish up and come on out when you’re done. Take your time.”
He pulled the bedroom door shut behind him but didn’t close it completely. Mikey blew out another long breath and walked over to grab his shoes and sit on the side of the bed to put them on and tie the laces. Finished, he stood and checked himself over in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He ran his fingers over his hair, which had gotten a little messy from his shoe search, and then smoothed his palms over his shirt, a blue button-down he wore with the pants from his one suit—the same pants he’d worn to his job interview.
He studied his reflection. He knew he was cute, but he wasn’t convinced he had enough going on to keep the attention of two older men as confident as Cory and Jimmy.
He shook his head. They know what they’re getting , he reminded himself. It’s not like this is a blind date.
The attempt at self-reassurance didn’t do much to steady his nerves, but at least when the door buzzer sounded, he didn’t jump out of his skin.
T HE RESTAURANT looked like something out of a movie: low lighting, soft music, quiet voices in intimate conversation. Mikey let Cory guide him forward with a hand at his lower back, but despite Riley’s assurances, he felt underdressed. Flanked by Cory and Jimmy, who wore similar outfits but somehow ended up looking suave and worldly, Mikey felt like a little kid playing dress-up.
“Lassiter, party of three, for seven thirty.” After giving his name to the hostess, Cory turned to smile at Mikey. “Smells amazing in here, doesn’t it?”
Mikey’s nerves had kept him from noticing much beyond the opulent appointments of his surroundings. He took a deep breath, both to calm himself and to get a whiff of the restaurant’s offerings. Heavy on the garlic—no surprise for an Italian restaurant—overlaid with the sharp tang of red wine and a rich smokiness that reminded Mikey of barbecue. “Smells like… a cookout?”
“That’s the brick oven,” Jimmy said, standing close by Mikey’s side but not touching him. “They serve pizza at lunch, but at night they use it for bread and the baked pasta dishes. The manicotti is particularly good.” Jimmy said the word as “manicot,” as if the final two letters weren’t there, and Cory gave a soft laugh.
“Jimmy’s grandmother was Sicilian, so he knows his manicotti.” He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me. ‘Manicot.’”
A hostess appeared just then, three large leather-bound menus tucked into the crook of her arm. “Gentlemen, I’m Janie. Your table is ready. If you’ll follow me?”
They did, Jimmy in front, Mikey in the middle, and Cory behind, once again with his hand at Mikey’s lower back. He’d had a hand on Mikey just about the entire time since they’d picked him up from Riley’s, starting with taking his hand at the door to helping him into and out of the car. Jimmy, in contrast, hadn’t touched Mikey except for a quick peck on the cheek when they’d gotten into the car outside Riley’s building, where Jimmy had waited for them at the curb.
When they reached their table, which was tucked into a corner out of the main traffic areas, Jimmy pulled out the chair nearest the back and nodded toward Mikey. “C’mon and have a seat, babe.”
Mikey did, and Jimmy did touch him then, but just a soft brush of his fingers across Mikey’s shoulder. Jimmy and Cory took the other two seats, Cory on his right and Jimmy on his left, and then the hostess handed them their menus.
“Nina will be your server tonight. She’ll be with you in just a few moments.”
“Thank you, Janie.” Cory gave her one of his winning smiles, and she returned it with a nod before leaving them alone. Mikey shook his head at Cory.
“I didn’t even catch her name,” he said, and Cory chuckled.
“It’s kind of my job, honey. Working in advertising, it’s amazing how much good it
He pulled the bedroom door shut behind him but didn’t close it completely. Mikey blew out another long breath and walked over to grab his shoes and sit on the side of the bed to put them on and tie the laces. Finished, he stood and checked himself over in the full-length mirror on the back of the door. He ran his fingers over his hair, which had gotten a little messy from his shoe search, and then smoothed his palms over his shirt, a blue button-down he wore with the pants from his one suit—the same pants he’d worn to his job interview.
He studied his reflection. He knew he was cute, but he wasn’t convinced he had enough going on to keep the attention of two older men as confident as Cory and Jimmy.
He shook his head. They know what they’re getting , he reminded himself. It’s not like this is a blind date.
The attempt at self-reassurance didn’t do much to steady his nerves, but at least when the door buzzer sounded, he didn’t jump out of his skin.
T HE RESTAURANT looked like something out of a movie: low lighting, soft music, quiet voices in intimate conversation. Mikey let Cory guide him forward with a hand at his lower back, but despite Riley’s assurances, he felt underdressed. Flanked by Cory and Jimmy, who wore similar outfits but somehow ended up looking suave and worldly, Mikey felt like a little kid playing dress-up.
“Lassiter, party of three, for seven thirty.” After giving his name to the hostess, Cory turned to smile at Mikey. “Smells amazing in here, doesn’t it?”
Mikey’s nerves had kept him from noticing much beyond the opulent appointments of his surroundings. He took a deep breath, both to calm himself and to get a whiff of the restaurant’s offerings. Heavy on the garlic—no surprise for an Italian restaurant—overlaid with the sharp tang of red wine and a rich smokiness that reminded Mikey of barbecue. “Smells like… a cookout?”
“That’s the brick oven,” Jimmy said, standing close by Mikey’s side but not touching him. “They serve pizza at lunch, but at night they use it for bread and the baked pasta dishes. The manicotti is particularly good.” Jimmy said the word as “manicot,” as if the final two letters weren’t there, and Cory gave a soft laugh.
“Jimmy’s grandmother was Sicilian, so he knows his manicotti.” He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me. ‘Manicot.’”
A hostess appeared just then, three large leather-bound menus tucked into the crook of her arm. “Gentlemen, I’m Janie. Your table is ready. If you’ll follow me?”
They did, Jimmy in front, Mikey in the middle, and Cory behind, once again with his hand at Mikey’s lower back. He’d had a hand on Mikey just about the entire time since they’d picked him up from Riley’s, starting with taking his hand at the door to helping him into and out of the car. Jimmy, in contrast, hadn’t touched Mikey except for a quick peck on the cheek when they’d gotten into the car outside Riley’s building, where Jimmy had waited for them at the curb.
When they reached their table, which was tucked into a corner out of the main traffic areas, Jimmy pulled out the chair nearest the back and nodded toward Mikey. “C’mon and have a seat, babe.”
Mikey did, and Jimmy did touch him then, but just a soft brush of his fingers across Mikey’s shoulder. Jimmy and Cory took the other two seats, Cory on his right and Jimmy on his left, and then the hostess handed them their menus.
“Nina will be your server tonight. She’ll be with you in just a few moments.”
“Thank you, Janie.” Cory gave her one of his winning smiles, and she returned it with a nod before leaving them alone. Mikey shook his head at Cory.
“I didn’t even catch her name,” he said, and Cory chuckled.
“It’s kind of my job, honey. Working in advertising, it’s amazing how much good it
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