Page 26 of Provoking the Punter

It was just before midnight when he parked at Garrett’s hotel. Four hours since the text that he hadn’t replied to. Should he?

He should drive home, give it another half hour, and say it was too late.

But that was a dick move, especially if Garrett was waiting up.

He sat there for another thirty seconds, holding the steering wheel and hoping for some kind of magical solution to appear. It never did. He’d spent his entire life fighting for the right to go after what he wanted. This time, what he wanted wasn’t the wrong thing, and it certainly wasn’t the easy thing.

Since when had that ever stopped him?

It hadn’t.

But he didn’t want to step back into the shadows. He didn’t want to step into the bright light either or be the center of attention.

“Fuck.” He grabbed his phone and sent Garrett a message that he was there, and on his way up.

If this was a hookup, it would be easy, but then he wouldn’t know much about him. He wouldn’t even know who he was.

Hopefully Garrett was asleep.

He’d go up and knock, and if Garrett didn’t open the door, he’d leave.

He made it as far as the elevator when his phone vibrated in his hand.

Thank you

What kind of response was that? Had Garrett expected him to bail? Chester was affronted by the idea. He’d said he would come, and he was. He’d only considered bailing because it was so late.

It was why he was there that was eating him.

By the time he stepped out of the elevator, he still had no idea what he was going to say or do. He was sweaty and smelled of stale beer that had slopped on his clothes, but his heartbeat quickened with excitement as he walked towards the door. He couldn’t convince himself that tonight wasn’t going to be a repeat of the other night. He wasn’t that strong.

He swiped the key, and the light turned green, and he let himself into Garrett’s room.

Only the bedside lights were on, and Garrett was sitting on the end of the bed, elbows on his knees as if waiting to be given bad news.

Chester shut the door, not sure what to say. It had been a long time since he turned up at some random guy’s hotel room.

I’m here. What now?

He bit his tongue.

“I’m sorry for earlier. I don’t know what I was thinking,” Garrett said without looking at him.

It felt as though they’d had a massive fight and were trying to make up. Chester took a few more steps into the room, located the table, and pulled out a chair because joining Garrett on the bed was a bad idea. “If I hadn’t been behind the bar, it wouldn’t have been a problem. You could’ve come to my office.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“You don’t need to, honey. You’ve got my number.”

It was only then Garrett looked at him. Those four hours had been rough. Another man might’ve poured himself a few drinks in that time. Garrett had been writing. There was a pad of paper on the bed with a line up the middle. A classic pros and cons sheet.

While he could read the headings, he couldn’t read the rest of the writing, but he could assume what Garrett had been debating.

“Do you want something to drink? There’s some in the minibar.”

“No. Me drinking isn’t going to help. Why don’t you tell me why you needed to talk to me? You barely know me.”

Garrett raked his fingers through his short hair. “I know enough. And you know too much.”

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