Page 25 of Provoking the Punter

“I didn’t know where else to go… I…” He glanced at Chester and then at the busy restaurant before looking straight ahead.

Chester didn’t need to know anything about him to see that there were cracks forming. It wasn’t his place to care or comment, nor did he want to get caught in the mess.

“I’m sorry, I can leave.”

“You’re here now. Have dinner.”

“I don’t want dinner. I need someone to talk to.” From the look on Garrett’s face, it killed him to admit it.

“The team has people for that.” The team provided everything for the players. They were expensive and needed to be tended, so the team got a return on their investment.

Garrett gave him a glare that would’ve killed another man. “I can’t talk about that with them, you know that.”

Right. The scandal that hadn’t become public.

This wasn’t his problem.

“Just because we had a… connection,” he said carefully. “Doesn’t mean…” It didn’t mean what? Garrett was new to the city, closeted, with an ax hanging over his neck, and all he wanted was someone to talk to.

And Chester had enjoyed talking to him. He raked his teeth over the ball of the lip ring, knowing what the smart thing do was, while knowing he wasn’t going to do it. He didn’t want to throw a baby gay football player to the wolves and later hear about a disaster unfolding and knowing he could have done something.

“This isn’t the place,” he finished lamely.

Chester pulled his notepad and pen out of his back pocket. There were already four items that he needed to deal with tomorrow. He turned the page and wrote his phone number, sure that he was about to regret this, but unable to stop himself. He ripped off the page and pushed it towards Garrett. “This is my number.”

He hadn’t given it out to a man in a long while. While he wasn’t about to admit it to anyone, Garrett was the first man he’d been with since his breakup with Michael six months ago. In his twenties, he hadn’t taken a week off dating before jumping back in. Now he was enjoying being single and married to his businesses.

Garrett stared at the piece of paper.

“Can you try to look as though you’re having a good time?” Because if the photographer was there now, he’d see Garrett scowling. If there had been another spare table, one where he was out of view…

Garrett looked at him and smiled sans dimples. The mask was back in place. He was terrifyingly good at putting it on. “What time do you finish?”

“I’m a little short-staffed tonight, thus why I’m behind the bar.” He needed to get back there. “I’m hoping to finish before midnight. I can come to your place.”

Those words should not have fallen off his tongue, but the flicker of hope in Garrett’s eyes was enough to soothe the doubts. “Text me your room number and leave a key at reception.”

Garrett shook his head. He pulled a plastic card out of his pocket and placed it on the menu. “Use this one.”

That way, reception would never know what room Chester was going to. “I need to place your order. I’ll let the staff know you’re drinking soda and lime… unless you need something stronger?”

“No.” Garrett shook his head. “And I’ll have the steak.”

“Medium.”

Garrett nodded. “You remembered. You’re good.”

Chester stood, gathering up the menu and sliding the card into his pocket, along with the notepad and pen. “It’s my job to know what people like.” But he rarely remembered after the first night. He remembered what Garrett liked because he was interested.

Because clearly, he was feeling as though his life needed a little more drama and angst and heartbreak, because that’s where this was going to end up. He knew better. Or at least he liked to think he did.

He walked away before he said, or did, something he would later regret.

He gave Garrett’s order to the server working his section, as well as instructions on the drink, claiming he was a VIP. His phone vibrated against his ass. He didn’t need to check to know who it was from. It almost killed him not to turn around and look at Garrett sitting there having dinner alone. “And give him the chicken entrée on the house.”

Not that chicken would make up for anything.

By the time he managed to take another break from the bar, Garrett was gone, leaving a thrilled waitress whom he’d tipped a hundred.

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