Page 2 of Simply Perfection
Tim looked over his shoulder and whipped back to the table, pad at the ready. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ve let my mouth get away from me. Will you still be dining with us this evening?”
Matt looked over Tim’s shoulder and saw a middle-aged, pencil-thin man with a permanent scowl on his face staring in their direction. He’d been so eager to try this place after Logan and Clay raved about the food and service. “You know what … yes. I’ll have the flattened lemon chicken with za?atar and Turkish cheese pancake. I’d also like a glass of the Boutari Moscofilero.”
“Excellent choices. Do you wish me to remove the other place setting?”
“Please. Who aspires to be reminded of unpleasantness with a delightful meal in front of them?”
The waiter removed Jaime’s place setting with a little wink, and Matt had to smile. Tim seemed like a good kid, and Matt would leave him an extra large tip for the ego stroke.
When Matt’s wine appeared, he took a sip. The cool spicy flavors and aroma filled his senses. Perfection. Matt nodded his head in appreciation. Despite dining alone, Matt was determined to make the most of the evening, and come tomorrow, he sort out his love life—or lack thereof.
Man, the cold bit outside. Trevor Mitchell shivered as a gusting north wind made its way through a gap in his coat. He jogged across Dorchester, clutching the warm bag of takeout from his favorite barbeque place. Because he didn’t want his dinner to get cold and because he hoped to absorb some of the heat leaching from the bag. Fall, winter, spring, or summer didn’t matter, he easily got chilled. At work, an efficient air conditioner frequently sent him running for a jacket, which always made Logan laugh. Logan always told Trevor if he would put a little bulk on his frame, then he’d have some extra insulation. However, despite Trevor’s life-long efforts, the top of his head never crossed beyond five foot nine, and the scale never tipped over a hundred and fifty. He’d tried godawful protein shakes that tasted like chalk and working out till his legs collapsed beneath him, but nothing helped. Now that Trevor was twenty-eight, he'd accepted the fact that Rambo he never would be.
One benefit of his smaller stature was it allowed him to catch the eye of some seriously hot, bigger men, and Trevor did like them big. The bigger the better, in his opinion. Unfortunately,those wonderfully big bodies often came with enlarged egos and attitudes.
A shiver, not from the cold, raced over Trevor’s body when he remembered some of his previous relationships. Not that he minded a little rough sex occasionally. However, more than one of them wanted to take the games out of the bedroom and make them real. Trevor had no intention of being a part of that scene. It wasn’t only with sex either.
His smaller stature might explain why dates often infantilize him, attempting to control his life. It annoyed Trevor when they would demand to know where he was at all times, call constantly to check up on him, or try to tell him what he should eat and wear. He’d been on his own for years!
Logan had been livid when he’d caught sight of bruises around Trevor’s wrist a few times at work. Trevor dismissed it, but his friend, a former Army Ranger, vehemently refuted his attempts at justification.
Trevor stopped and looked over his shoulder when he heard heavy, fast-paced footsteps behind him. Nothing was visible. Not one person. When he turned, all Trevor saw was darkness. Despite their valiant effort, the warm glow from the spaced streetlamps did not dispel the harshness of the fall night. Maybe the weather had driven everyone inside and only Trevor was foolish enough to be out and about. When walking alone at night from the ‘T’ station, Trevor was always on guard. He didn't consider the area around his apartment crime-ridden, but he always believed in the motto, 'better safe than sorry'.
Safety played little in Trevor’s decision to sign the lease in Dorchester after getting his first job at the crime lab, though. More like the cheap rent.
He shook off the heebie-jeebie feeling and increased his pace. Fortunately, his place was only another couple of blocks down Greenwich.
Maybe the time had come to invest in a car, so he wasn’t dependent upon public transportation. Up to this point, it had seemed uneconomical when he was a quick ten-minute walk to the ‘T’ station and could jump the Redline to work at the Boston Police headquarters with ease. Not to mention the cost of insurance, parking, and initial investment. The thought of riding home from work in a warm car was appealing, though.
Trevor ran up the flight of exterior stairs to his front door. The building housed six units, and his was on the back side on the second floor. He searched the pocket of his coat for his keys. A loud crash from some metal trashcans in the alley alongside his building made him almost drop his dinner and scream like a little girl. A low yowling from a cat had him looking over his shoulder. The poor thing sounded scared, and Trevor felt the same when he spied a hulking shadow peering around the corner of the building next door. Perhaps his imagination played tricks, but the faceless form appeared to fix him with its gaze. He flung open the door to his apartment and locked himself inside.
His back pressed against the door, the bag of take-out gripped so tightly in his hand, it was a wonder his fingers didn’t rip right through the paper. A few seconds later Trevor realized what a ninny he was being and shook his head at his overactive imagination. No boogeyman haunted him.The Thingdid not lurk outside his door.
He tossed his coat on the hook beside the door and walked the three steps to the edge of the wall that formed a rectangle in the center of his apartment. A kitchenette sat on the exterior side of the rectangle, sharing space with his living area. His bedroom rested at the opposite end, and a tiny but functional bathroom was housed in the interior. Bare brick walls and hardwood floors kept the atmosphere minimalistic. All in all, Trevor thought the little hideaway was perfect for him.
He flicked on one of the small under-cabinet lights he had mounted and set the bag of take-out on his three feet of counter space. Reaching up into one of the three frosted glass cabinets, he removed an oven-safe dish, a plate, and a glass. He opened his mini-fridge under the counter, only to discover his milk had expired two days ago. Trevor gave it a sniff and, detecting a hint of sourness, poured the remaining contents down the round, undermounted stainless sink. It looked like he would have water with his dinner tonight, which had become cold despite his best efforts. Trevor pushed the buttons on his stove to preheat the oven. The thing was half the size of a regular appliance, but sufficient for his needs. It wasn’t like he was a gourmet chef.
Trevor walked the few paces over to his sofa and dropped in exhaustion. He looked out the two large windows overlooking the backyard of the building and caught sight of a shadow from the branches of the large oak tree blowing in the fall night air. The weatherman had said a cold front was approaching tonight and by the feel of things on Trevor’s way home, he could definitely confirm the prediction. Trevor searched for the remote in the edge of the cushions for a minute then clicked on his new television.
He was a bit of a self-admitted audio- and videophile. Trevor worked with top-of-the-line equipment during the day for the Boston crime lab unit, and a couple of months ago he’d reached his breaking point. Unable to stand coming home to the second hand laptop he’d picked up at Goodwill when he moved in for one more second, he’d withdrawn part of his savings and sprung for a new forty inch smart tv couple of months ago. The colors leapt off the screen and, despite not forking over the cash for the surround-sound system, Trevor thought the sound quality was excellent. It wasn’t like his apartment needed surround-sound anyway.
The oven beeped, and he placed his barbeque chicken and corn in the dish to heat up, then slipped it in to heat for a few minutes. Trevor walked down the short hallway to his bedroom and, despite his inner pep talk by the door, peeked out the blinds of his window to see if anyone stood on the corner. Just as he thought, there was nothing.
Trevor pulled a pair of comfortable sleep pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt out of his dresser. He didn’t bother to turn on his bedside lamp. He knew every inch of his bedroom. The well-washed fabric was soft and slid over his body with the comfort and familiarity of an old friend. Trevor eyed the bed with longing but knew he should eat at least a portion of his dinner before collapsing. It had been a long day, and he hadn’t taken the time to eat lunch. If he went to bed without dinner either, he would probably wake up starving later, and Trevor had every intention of sleeping a full eight—if not more—hours tonight.
He shuffled back into the living area and retrieved his dinner. Setting his food down on the sofa, he got comfortable. His love of his sofa was a necessity; the apartment lacked space for a dining table. He channel-surfed until the classic movie station flashed up on the screen, and he saw they were playingOperation Petticoat—a Cary Grant comedy he loved.
Two of the characters were trying to steal a pig, and Trevor’s laughter echoed off the bare walls. He looked around. While he was proud of being able to support himself, it was times like this when he wished he had someone to share his space with. Share his life with.
Maybe someday he would meet the right man, but until then, he always had Cary.
Chapter One
Three Weeks Later
Matt placed some brochures for his psychiatric practice on a table at the annual health fair sponsored by Fenway Health. He often got referrals from the LGBTQ+ friendly medical center, and he made it a point to reserve a table every year. Recently, his practice had become well known for offering mental health services for individuals in the community. He hadn’t opened his practice with that specific intent, but wasmore than happy to have the confidence of his brothers and sisters.
Matt looked across the large meeting hall and nearly swallowed his tongue at the beauty of the man on the other side of the room. Black silky hair floated across the width of his shoulders, his wide chest tapered down to a lean waist above jeans that molded to his hips like a second skin. He looked up at Matt and their gazes locked. The other man’s eyes flared open and his chest expand with a great gasp. Matt hoped the response stemmed from attraction.
