Seth hadn’t thought to check with Bryce on any of the excursions since they were already booked and paid for. He figured the guy was agreeable and willing to go along with whatever choices had been made. What he hadn’t expected was their big fight over assigned dining.
“What do you mean we have to dress for dinner?” Bryce asked as Seth stopped him from joining the buffet line. “I’m hungry and want to eat right now.”
“We’ll have better food in the main dining room,” Seth explained. “We’re signed up for the first seating at six o’clock.”
“Every night?”
“Yes.”
“Who the fuck eats dinner at six?”
Seth stared at him with wide eyes.
“I’ll tell you who—old people!” Bryce said harshly. “What are my other choices?”
“There’s an eight o’clock seating,” Seth said, flustered. “But… it’s probably already filled. Then there’s open seating. You have freedom of choice and can eat whenever you want, only not at the same table each time, and you may have to wait a few minutes until a spot opens up.”
“But you’re not on anyone’s clock, and if you can’t stand the company, you have the advantage of seeing someone different the next night. Let’s do that,” Bryce said.
“You’ll never get to know your dining companions if they change nightly,” Seth protested. “One of the nice things about assigned seating is making new friends.”
“Seth, I’m not here to make new friends; I’ve got plenty back home. More importantly, I refuse to be locked in to a time slot with a bunch of geriatrics. That’s nonnegotiable,” Bryce added. “Take it or leave it.”
“And if I choose to leave it?” Seth asked flatly.
“You eat alone.”
“Bryce, be reasonable.” Whining, he added, “It’s only dinner.”
“I’ve made one big concession for you already,” Bryce said firmly. “You need to make one for me.”
“What are you talking about?” Seth asked. Recalling the early wake-up calls he insisted on for writing, he added, “Never mind. I’ll contact the concierge and let them know about the change.”
“Thank you,” Bryce said. “Now, can I get some food?”
“Here?”
“Why not?”
Seth looked around in distaste. It felt like feeding time at the zoo with everyone crowding around the tables as if they hadn’t eaten in years. People walking away had plates of food piled to overflowing. It sickened him.
“If you don’t mind, I’d like to be served in the main dining room.”
“Seriously?”
“Please?” Seth begged. “After my bout with food poisoning, I want something that hasn’t been sitting under heating lamps for God knows how long.”
Bryce snorted in amusement. “You think they’re serving a side of salmonella with the potatoes au gratin?”
Seth didn’t reply but made a moue of disgust instead.
Shaking his head, Bryce asked, “Will I have to change?”
“Just your shirt.”
“Come on,” he said, heading toward the elevator at a brisk clip.
There was a small crowd waiting for both elevators, and Bryce murmured an expletive, reached for Seth’s hand, and pulled him toward the staircase.
“This way,” he directed. “It’ll be quicker if we take the stairs.”
“What’s the rush?” Seth asked.
“Hunger.”
Their cabin was five decks down from the Lido, and by the time they were standing in front of their door, Seth was out of breath and reasonably certain he was about to have a heart attack. Bryce hadn’t broken a sweat. Seth swiped the key card, pushed the door open, and threw himself on the bed.
“That was a good workout,” he commented.
“Going down a few flights of stairs?” Bryce looked at Seth in astonishment. “You’re so out of shape. I can’t wait to get your lazy ass in the gym.”
“Unlike yours,” Seth reminded him, “my job is very sedentary.”
“No one says you have to be glued to your chair all day. You can take walking or biking breaks. They’ve recently developed standing desks so people don’t turn into slugs or end up with blood clots. You should invest in one,” Bryce suggested. “They even have fidget bars for people who can’t sit still.”
“I don’t have ADHD,” Seth remarked. “Sitting still has never been a problem.”
“Not me,” Bryce admitted. “I don’t like sitting for long periods of time. That’s why I prefer to be out on construction sites rather than dealing with paperwork.”
“Do
you
have ADHD?”
“I don’t think so,” Bryce said. “But I’m easily bored by routine.”
“How many people are on your staff?” Seth asked, buying a few more resting minutes. It didn’t escape his notice that Bryce was already digging through his suitcase, which had been delivered while they were upstairs. The man was constantly on the go.
Bryce stopped his search and looked at him. “Six in the office, and I wish you’d move your butt so we can go to dinner.”
“What’s up with you and my butt? You’ve mentioned it twice in the last five minutes.”
Bryce grinned. “Is that right?”
“You know it is.”
Bryce chuckled, ducked his head, and returned to the task of pawing through his clothes. He pulled out a black button-down in triumph and raised it above his head. “Hooray for shirts that don’t wrinkle.”
“Lucky you,” Seth commented dryly. “Mine have to be pressed.”
“That’s because you buy the wrong stuff.”
“Right, I forgot I was rooming with the fashion police.”
“Shut your hole and get up.”
Seth pushed himself to an upright position. “Are you always this bossy?”
“Yes, but more so with you.”
“I feel special.” Seth oozed sarcasm. “How about turning your attention elsewhere.”
“Get a move on, or I’ll undress you myself.”
Seth’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a threat?”
Bryce surveyed Seth from head to toe, lingering a few minutes at his crotch, which was responding to the intense scrutiny. Seth was getting hard and couldn’t hide it.
Bryce’s generous mouth curved into a wicked smile. “More like a promise.”
Seth practically levitated and hurried into the bathroom, where the sound of Bryce’s soft laughter continued to taunt him. He stared into the mirror and didn’t recognize the guy staring back at him. His cheeks were flushed, his hair was uncharacteristically standing up in tufts because he’d neglected to apply product that morning, and his pupils were overly large like he was on drugs or something, and the boner… well, it lingered long after it should. He closed his eyes and hoped to get a grip before exiting the bathroom. He was so fucked.
IT WAS
a little past six when they stepped into the Coral Dining Room and gave their names to the headwaiter. Still on the master list, they had assigned seating and followed the hostess to their table. As Bryce predicted, the majority of their fellow diners were elderly, and to make matters worse, not a gay vibe in sight. Not that Bryce was expecting to find a clutch of lesbians or gay men in their midst, but it would have helped him feel less uncomfortable if he could find one or two kindred spirits. Fortunately, Jeannie and Andrew Callahan were at their table, and the warm greeting they exchanged paved the way to an enjoyable evening.
Bryce wasn’t a shy man by any means, and in his line of work, he dealt with all sorts of people from the stuck-up Lake Forest socialites to the gritty South Siders who were mistrustful of strangers. He’d always been able to hold his own at any level of society and couldn’t remember the last time he’d been wary about revealing his orientation. Those days had long gone, and yet he found himself a little reticent with the early baby boomer demographic. Instead of being more accepting of gay rights, his parents—barely in their seventies—and their friends were overly critical. Surprising, considering they’d been part of the generation that advocated drugs, free love, and peaceful protests. They’d looked on in silent horror during the AIDS crisis and done nothing. He’d come out to them a few weeks before leaving for college, and his mother and father had tried to shut him down, calling him an abomination and claiming the disease was God’s retribution against homosexuality. Bryce had ignored them and researched the virus, arriving at conclusions that worked for him.
Through the ensuing years, his opinion of his parents and their friends hadn’t changed. They didn’t evolve with the times but instead turned into the establishment they’d reviled in their youth, still viewing gays as bed-hopping deviants. Clearly, this was the reason Bryce gravitated toward a younger crowd. True, there were still pockets of hate, regardless of demographic, but he was most comfortable with the Millennials who, like himself, believed in change, human dignity, and individual freedom. Bryce enjoyed spending time with guys who shared his mindset rather than engaging in long and depressing conversations with men fast approaching fifty or more. All they talked about was erectile dysfunction, broken relationships, the highs and lows of their stock portfolios, and where they’d like to live once they retired. Legitimate concerns, for sure, but too premature for Bryce’s current frame of mind.
Mark’s suicide had been more than a wake-up call for him, and it should have been the same for Seth. It only reinforced Bryce’s belief that life was unpredictable, and missed opportunities, because of fear or societal expectations, were a waste of precious time. He’d have to convince his roommate, who was growing on him despite his pinkie-lifting affectations, that this trip would be the perfect time to make a fresh start and discard the scruples weighing him down—like those about meaningless sex.
To Bryce’s way of thinking, there was nothing wrong in having sex without a romantic connection. It was a bodily function as necessary as food and drink, and much more enjoyable. Seth was obviously in need of a good pounding, and Bryce was more than interested—he wanted the guy in the worst way. Somehow, he just knew Seth would be worth the wait. Seth’s passionate nature was cleverly disguised behind his biting wit, but his eyes—and occasionally his dick—gave him away. Submerged beneath that frosty exterior was a sensual man who poured his repressed feelings into his writing.
Bryce would rather have a root canal than admit he’d read a historical romance, but he’d been curious after Mark mentioned his partner’s profession and had bought one of Seth Wilder’s books. He’d been pleasantly shocked at the level of eroticism hidden within the pages of the seemingly innocuous novel. Seth had succeeded in inducing a boner with his talented scribbling. His stories were intelligent and cleverly plotted, and the sex scenes were explicitly stimulating. Secretly, Bryce became a fan and began collecting the paperbacks. As soon as e-readers were invented, he had Seth’s entire backlist loaded on his Kindle.
Seth was damned good at his job, and it stood to reason that there was a passionate nature at the core of an individual who could paint such vivid images—borderline porn to be exact—with his masterful prose. Imagination could only get you so far, though. Bryce wanted to peel away the many layers that held Seth imprisoned by his own rigid moral code. First thing on the agenda was to figure out a way to ditch the guilt sure to follow if he ever succeeded in luring Seth to his bed. Did Bryce want to deal with tears and recrimination? Not really, but he hoped that the experience would be so noteworthy Seth would have no regrets.
“How long have you and Seth been partners?” Jeannie asked, interrupting his train of thought. He was sandwiched between her and Andrew with Seth to Andrew’s right.
“We’re not partners,” Bryce corrected. “Just friends.”
“Oh, my bad,” she said, looking apologetic.
“No worries,” Bryce assured her.
“But you are gay, right?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “Is that a problem for you?”
“Heavens no,” she said, breaking out in a girlish giggle. It seemed incongruous coming from a woman her age but refreshing somehow. It lightened the mood exponentially.
“We have two sons and a daughter, Bryce. Our oldest son is gay.”
“Oh, so you’re part of the tribe,” Bryce said, smiling. “Are any of them married?”
“All three of them are. John, the oldest, has been married a few years and recently had a baby girl by surrogate. It was the happiest day of my life.”
“I’ll bet,” Bryce said. “Thankfully I have a sister who’s providing the grandkids, or my parents would be out of luck.”
“You have no desire to raise a family?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t you like kids?” she asked, looking more curious than judgmental.
“I like them just fine, but I’m not cut out for that job.”
“Well, I commend you for your honesty. Not everyone is meant to be a parent, yet the vast majority can’t help criticizing people who come right out and say they don’t want kids. It takes balls to stand against mob rule.”
Bryce laughed. “I couldn’t have said it any better. I wish my parents were more like you.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” Jeannie said with a grin. “I’ve been told more than once that I’m far too outspoken and have embarrassed my children when they least expected it.”
“I’d rather have the truth than deal with innuendos.”
“Perhaps I’m more forthright because I was a teacher for many years. Nothing would get done if I had to sugarcoat everything.”
“But don’t you have to be politically correct at all times?”
“Fortunately, things weren’t as strict in my day.”
“Come on,” Bryce said. “You don’t look that old.”
“I’ll be sixty-eight in two days,” she said. “When I was a young teacher, there was no such thing as PC. We were allowed more freedom in the classroom, and believe me, things ran a lot smoother.”
“I’m sure they did. Plus, there was no social media to contend with,” Bryce remarked. “The whole texting thing must be a huge problem.”
“Not only is it disruptive on campus, it’s turning people into illiterate morons who can’t spell or talk properly. It’s an enormous problem; I’m glad to be rid of it.”
“Yet one more reason not to have kids,” he said.
She smiled indulgently. “Children can be a blessing and a curse.”
“My mother would never admit that out loud, but I’m pretty sure there were days she wished she’d stopped at one.”