More, Sloan Parker [guided reading books TXT] 📗

to take three different subway routes to be sure I wasn't followed.

“Don't worry about it. Richard's still cooking. I don't think he does it all that often.” Matthew laughed. “He's dropped like three pans since I got here. And burned the first round of garlic bread. I'd be cursing and stuff, but he keeps at it.”

Matthew led me into a dining room. It reminded me too much of my parents’ with the long, solid wood table, a sideboard covered in crystal stemware, and a low-hanging brass chandelier. Formal. Polished. Stuffy. I wanted to turn around and leave. Matthew waited across the room. I went to him, my body anxious for him again. No way was I leaving while I was so close to him.

The smell of charred bread greeted us as we stepped into the kitchen. The smaller room reminded me nothing of my parents’ home. Their kitchen had been large and impersonal. Richard's was comfortable and inviting. A small table sat off to one side, and a long counter sported bar stools for close conversation with the cook. His home was impressive. Nothing like my place.

I was more impressed with the large man bent over, peering into the oven, his firm ass encased in denim.

Richard straightened. Oven mitts covered his hands. He held them in the air like a doctor who had scrubbed for surgery. A long black line of burned fabric streaked one side of a tan-colored mitt.

“Luke.” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders and kissed me. The mitts pressed into my back. Soft and billowy, not like his warm, firm grip at all. Did people kiss at the beginning of a first date? Maybe when you'd already fucked. He stepped back. “You made it.”

“I guess I did. You've got a nice place.”

“Thanks. I bought it for the location. Not too far from my office downtown, but the neighborhood makes it feel like I'm in the suburbs. Have a seat. Dinner will be up in a minute.” He shed the oven mitts and tossed them on the counter. “I hope you guys like Italian. Want a soda?”

“I'm not picky,” I said. “A soda's fine.” A beer sounded good, but I assumed I'd never have another with Matthew nearby. Richard handed me a bottle of soda, and I took a seat on a stool.

“Did you find a new apartment?” Matthew asked as he sat next to me.

“Not yet.” I'd looked at four places available immediately, and none of them offered the necessary locations to hide any security cameras outside.

“What are you looking for?” Richard leaned against the counter behind him. “My business has a lot of real estate investments. Apartments. Condos.”

“You own the business?” I asked.

“I do.”

“Does it pay for this place?”

“It does.”

“Then the kind of apartment I'm looking for is way below your radar.”

Matthew chuckled.

“This place must have set you back,” I said.

“I do okay. I didn't invite you here to show off.”

“I didn't say that. I just... ” I was already fucking up. “I don't like to spend a lot on where I live. I doubt anything you'd invest in is what I'm hoping to find.”

“Fair enough.” He crossed his solid arms over his chest.

We glared at each other. Had I pissed him off, or was he working something out in his own mind?

Matthew's voice broke the silence. “I know what you mean. I've been looking around and everything is expensive in this city.”

Richard checked the bread in the oven again. “You're moving too?”

“I need to. I'm... ” He picked at the label on his soda. “I live with my mom.”

Richard stepped across the kitchen. He laid his palms on the counter in front of Matthew and lowered his head until eye level with him. “There's nothing wrong with that. Everyone's gotta start somewhere.”

Matthew shrugged. “She needs the rent money I give her. She's a great mom, real supportive of me. I have to be able to afford a place and still help her. It makes it harder to leave, you know?”

“That's nice of you,” I said.

“It is,” Richard said. “You'll work it all out. You'll find a place.”

Matthew nodded. He plucked away at the label on his soda.

Richard leaned back against the counter again. “So, Luke, can I ask why you're moving?”

I gulped down half the soda. “I can't stay where I'm at. I've gotta be out in a week.”

“Doesn't leave you much time.”

“Yeah. I'll figure something out.”

A timer on the stove chimed. “Bread's up.” Richard gestured to the table behind us. “Have a seat.” He dished out heaping plates of garlic bread and penne pasta covered in a thick tomato sauce before he spoke again. “I realized the other night I don't know your last names. Since we aren't at the club anymore, I'd like us to come clean. My name's Richard Marshall.”

Matthew smiled at Richard. “Matthew Stewart.”

They turned my way.

I hadn't given my last name to any man I'd fucked in years. Couldn't we have started with something like my favorite brand of beer or action flick? But this wasn't a make-some-small-talk-till-you-get-in-his-pants conversation. This was a date. “Luke Moore.”

“Well, Matthew Stewart and Luke Moore, dig in. I hope you like the pasta.” He took a bite and groaned in approval of his own effort. “So, tell me about yourselves.”

No matter what, there were things I wouldn't tell them. Hell, I couldn't think of one thing to say. I stuffed a large forkful of the pasta in my mouth and gave Richard a favorable nod.

Matthew hadn't eaten yet. He looked between me and Richard as if waiting for me to answer or for Richard to encourage me in some way.

“Matthew, where do you work?” Richard asked.

Matthew settled an elbow on each side of his plate. “I work part-time at Champion Music. It's in the Southview mall. I manage the inventory and cover the register when I'm needed. I don't make a lot but enough for now, I guess.”

As each word passed over his lips, I relaxed into the chair.

“I'm thinking about going back to