Page 31 of Hush
It was Tom’s turn to flush and stare into the swirls of his margarita. “I swim at the judicial plaza gym. Three times a week in the morning.”
“Swimmer, huh?” Mike sat back, appraising him. “I can see that.”
He wasn’t going to live through this margarita. Asking Mike out was a bad idea. He couldn’t control himself. Forty-six-years-old, and he was helpless, hopeless in the face of Mike’s smile and his teasing humor. He preened, pushing out his chest a bit, straightening his shoulders. “I do what I can.” He smoothed his tie.
Mike smiled slowly and opened his mouth.
A blaring cell phone ring stopped short whatever he was going to say. Wincing, Mike reached into his suit jacket and pulled out his phone. He cursed as soon as he saw the screen. “Shit.”
“Your ex?”
“No. I’m late. I totally forgot I had this… thing.” Mike swiped his screen and answered the call.
Oh. Well, tonight might be the night his dreams were crushed. OfcourseMike had a new boyfriend. Of coursehe had someone he was supposed to see. Friday night, and Mike was hanging out with Tom? No, he had a far better place to be. Of course.
Tom sat, suspended between dread and hope, trying not to eavesdrop on the call, trying not to watch Mike out of the corner of his eye as he scraped the bottom of his margarita with his tiny black straw.
“Yeah, I know, I know. I’m sorry.” Mike patted his pockets as if he was looking for something. He slid off the barstool. “I’m out with a coworker. I lost track of time.” Silence. “Yeah, I’m on my way now. Yeah. You too.”
Tom could fill in the missing gaps on his own. He poked at the melted ice, slush in the bottom of his glass.
“I’m sorry, Judge B. I totally forgot about this other thing I’m supposed to be at right now.”
“It’s all right.” He smiled. It felt forced. Hell, it was forced, but he hoped he looked better than he felt.
Mike dug into his pockets and pulled out his wallet.
“No, no, this is on me. You paid last time.” Tom shook his head. “Go. I’ll take care of the check. You don’t want to keep them waiting any longer.”
Smiling, Mike nodded. “I appreciate that. I’m sorry to cut this short. We’ll have to do this again, Judge B.”
“Yeah.” He tried to muster his enthusiasm. Tried to sound excited.
But all he wanted to do was go home. Complain to Etta Mae. Wallow in self-pity for a while.
Mike shot him a final grin and strode out of the bar. He didn’t look back.
The waitress appeared as if she’d been watching Mike and had tried to get there before he scooted out. “Your friend leave?” She frowned and grabbed their glasses, and then spotted the folded napkin she’d left for Mike. It was untouched, right where she’d slid it.
“He has a date tonight.”
She pursed her lips and sighed, blowing air out of her pert nose. With a twirl, she walked away, ponytail swinging. She didn’t ask Tom if he wanted another drink. Just as well.
He tossed a fifty on the high top and grabbed his briefcase. Time to go lick his wounds in private. This wasn’t anything other than what he knew was going to happen. He’d known it would be like this. He’d only ever nurtured his fantasies in a vacuum, a pretend make-believe of his desires amid his delirium.
Mike would always be the man who kick-started his midlife crisis, though. If it ended well, he’d be thankful.
If he crashed and burned…
Well, he only had himself to blame.
Chapter 9
“Yes, yes, I know you do not like it here.” Vadim Kryukov sucked down his cigarette and rolled his eyes. The voice on the other end of the phone kept bitching, whining about the heat, the humidity, the bugs. It was never this hot in Moscow, never.
“Look, it is only for a little while longer, yes? Until we finish. Then you can go home.” Vadim spotted his date striding up the sidewalk. He needed to end this conversation. “Look, I will give you something to make you feel better, yes? I will give you something special.”
The voice grumbled, snapping his displeasure about America and Americans, and everything he was forced to endure.
