Page 1 of Breakfast Included

ChapterOne

Thursday, December 22

“Ugh, kill me now.”

Reno dropped his head into his hands when his tenth date of the night got up and moved to the next table. He drew in a deep breath, held it, and exhaled slowly on the off chance he could “Zen away” his frustration. Who knew four-minute speed dates could be so painfully long? Only halfway through the event, and he didn’t know if he could make it to the end.

“Go to The Rainbow Inn,” his dad had said. “Get out of your music studio and meet some men,” he’d said. “It’ll be good for you.”

Reno snorted.Right.

He really hadn’t had the time to spend driving all the way up to The Rainbow Inn—as it was known to the locals but was officially named The Retreat—for their gay speed-dating event, but his dad was set on him finding someone to share his life with. Before Christmas, which was all of three days away. He thought Reno spent too much time alone with his music and was constantly trying to set him up on blind dates.

Reno loved his dad. He couldn’t have asked for a better role model growing up, and his dad hadn’t batted an eyelash when Reno had come out. He’d just ruffled his hair, kissed the top of his head, and said, “I love you. Now, go set the table for dinner.”

So, for his dad’s sake, Reno said yes to a night of festive speed-dating. At least this way he didn’t have to spend half the night trying to come up with the politest way to cut a date short. A couple dozen four-minute dates with built-in endings he could handle much better.

And thank his gay stars for that.

His first date’s opening line was “I just want someone to have sex with while I look for my soul mate”. Insulting much? Reno had never used it before, but he was pretty sure that was what Grindr was for.

Things hadn’t improved a great deal from there.

Next up was a gorgeous young man—emphasis onyoung. He must have had some incredible fake ID because there was no way the kid was even old enough to drive, let alone attend a speed-dating event where the minimum age was midtwenties. He’d only been interested in finding a Sugar Daddy, it seemed. The moment Reno had said that wasn’t his scene, his “date” spent the remaining few minutes scanning the crowd for better prospects. Interesting thing Reno noticed: when the young man wasn’t all bright eyes and big smiles, he did look old enough to be there.

Following him was a very attractive man in a stylish suit that probably cost as much as Reno’s baby grand piano but whose personality was drier than the first Christmas turkey his dad had cooked after his parents divorced. All Reno could glean from the guy was that he worked at some legal firm in downtown Denver and was, of course, rich. Maybe this man was whom Reno’s last date was looking for.

There had been one interesting man. He was shorter than Reno by a good half foot, with curly dark hair, a closely trimmed beard, and kind brown eyes, who worked as an oceanographic cartographer. He’d been wearing an ugly green Christmas sweater depicting a naked muscular man with a Santa hat. A gift box hid his junk, and the saying read, “I have a big package for you.” Reno had laughed out loud. The ice breaker had been perfect, and he’d enjoyed their short conversation. Unfortunately, there had been zero spark. A romantic relationship wasn’t on the horizon for them, but Reno could see them becoming good friends.

Then there was the guy who looked down his nose at Reno with disdain after learning Reno was a musician. Funny how so many people assumed the “sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll” stereotype when he told them what his career was. Of course, his age and appearance leaned a little more toward rock ’n’ roll than classical composer. He didn’t have long hair or wear dark eyeliner; he didn’t have a ton of piercings and wasn’t covered in tattoos, though his fashion sense did tend toward denim, leather, and Doc Martens.

But the date that took the cake was the one that had just ended. The man hadn’t fully sat down before he started talking a mile a minute. His hair was dyed as black as night, and his complexion was so pale he could have passed for a vampire. His eyes were an unnatural shade of gold that could only be attained with colored contacts, and his veneers were so blindingly perfect Reno found he couldn’t look at them directly for more than a couple of seconds. Reno hadn’t said a single word as his vampire date barely took a breath—maybe hewasa vampire!—as he regaled Reno with stories of his lavish jet-set lifestyle and all the countries he’d visited. The man had been trying way too hard to impress. Under all that costume and big talk and name-dropping, he was probably a great guy, if terribly insecure in himself to be putting on such a show.

Reno sighed and took a long draft of his microbrew. One thing about The Rainbow Inn, they always had the best local beer in Colorado. He rolled his shoulders back and mentally sang along with a jazzy Christmas song playing in the background while he psyched himself up to sit through another painful four minutes.

His next date, a tall, lean-muscled redhead, sat down, and the world tipped on its side. Or maybe it was just the ground shaking. Like when a semitruck and trailer rumbled past his house and the whole place shook.

Tate . . .

Reno’s breath caught in his throat.

It was Tate-fucking-Boylan. His eyes—a gold-specked green hazel that Reno had never forgotten—widened in surprise, and his mouth formed a soundless O. It had been over a decade since Reno had last seen Tate. Twelve years to be exact. Tate was his older brother Ricky’s best friend—the “straight” best friend who’d kissed Reno and then run away—but Reno would have recognized him anywhere. His heart raced and lurched to punch at his ribs as though it knew the heart beating just a few feet away was its other half.

“What are you even doing here?” Reno blurted.

Shit. Even he heard how breathy his voice sounded. Heat burned his cheeks, and he took a desperate gulp of his not-nearly-cold-enough-to-cool-him-down beer. How could he still react like he did as a teenager after all these years?

This wassonot how Reno had pictured seeing Tate again. Not once in the thousands of reunions he’d imagined in his mind, year after year. He should be angry. Thought he would be.Wantedto be. He was due some righteous indignation for the way Tate had bolted on him. But at that moment, he felt like he’d finally reached an oasis after walking too many miles across a sweltering desert.

“Reno Pierce,” Tate replied with a note of awe in his voice, a voice that was deeper and huskier than Reno remembered. A shiver of excitement cascaded over his skin. “As I live and breathe.”

Dumbstruck and lovestruck. That’s what he was, and it was just as frustrating as it had been when he was a kid. When he’d followed Ricky and Tate around like a lost duckling that had imprinted on the wrong species and was never more than a foot off Tate’s heel. When he’d worshipped the ground Tate walked on, hung on his every word, and doodled their initials inside hearts in his schoolbooks. When he’d dreamed that Tate loved him as much as he loved Tate, and Tate would sweep him off his feet, and they’d live happily ever after. Just like in the movies.

But then Tate had broken his heart after one blissfully exquisite moment in time when their lips had touched and every single nerve in Reno’s body had lit on fire. Reno closed his eyes for a second, needing to push away old memories and regroup. He’d outgrown his Godzilla-sized Tate crush years ago. Or so he’d thought.

A round of gasps spread throughout the room like a wave.

“Well, this is different,” Tate said in a hushed amusement-infused voice. He sounded the same, but there was a lower resonance to his voice that came with age and experience.

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