You Can See Me (4 page)

It was Sunday afternoon. Pres took a cab to his parents’ house to visit with them for a few hours. He and his mom made grilled salmon and pasta for lunch. Pres always loved cooking with her. She made cooking fun and exciting. She played games with his sense of taste, always challenging his unique ability.

He told her about the new restaurant on the harbor that he’d critiqued, how great the food was, and offered to take her and his father there whenever they had some free time. He hoped his mother didn’t pick up on how desperate and lonely he was…again.

He played a couple games of chess with his father before leaving. Although his father didn’t go to the vision-impaired school with him like his mother did after the accident, his father found his own way to bond with him. He showed him how blind people play chess. Before the accident, it was their favorite thing to do, a battle of wits between him and his old man. It hurt him very much when he thought they’d never have that time again. But his father really shocked him. It was difficult to grasp at first as he listened to his dad call out his movements, but after lots of practice, he was able to really compete with his dad again.

The cab driver announced they were in front of his building. He opened his wallet and reached for the bills with the right corner folded down—those were his hundred-dollar bills. He grabbed three of them and told the driver to keep the change. Richmond was a three-hour drive.

He slowly walked through the lobby and heard the piano player in the lounge. It didn’t sound as if there were too many people in there, so he figured a drink was a good idea. Besides, there wasn’t anyone waiting for him upstairs.

He barely used his cane as he made his way across the carpeted floor to the entrance of the lounge.

“Will you be dining in tonight, Mr. Prescott?”

“No, thank you, Jules. Just a drink at the bar.” Pres didn’t know what the young lady looked like, but her German accent was unmistakable. She didn’t work here before his accident, but he’d come to know her a little over the last two years. She was always courteous and polite, but not annoyingly helpful. She didn’t do stupid shit like try to help him sit on the barstool like the other hostess had. Why would she think Pres didn’t know how to fuckin’ sit down?
Whew.
Some people.

He’d been at the bar for over an hour and was on his third round when he caught a very familiar spicy scent. The scent just lingered around him for about thirty seconds, never fading or getting stronger.

“Well, are you going to sit down, Ric, or just stand there staring at me?” Pres said matter-of-factly.

Pres heard a deep chuckle come from the man before a broad shoulder brushed against him as Ric took the stool next to his. “How the hell did you know it was me?”

“Don’t think this is strange…but your scent gave you away. My nose is a little more sensitive than others’. I remembered your cologne.” Pres smiled, hoping that Ric was smiling too and not thinking he was creepy.

“I don’t think that’s strange at all. But let me ask you this. Do you remember most people’s scent?” Ric asked, his voice dropping a couple octaves.

Pres smiled a little wider. “No, not most people. Why?” he asked, intrigued.

“Well then, I’m flattered that you remembered mine. It’s good to see you again, Pres,” Ric said in his deep, manly voice.

Pres felt a light tap from Ric on his right hand so he lifted his and gripped the tall man’s hand for a friendly shake.

“Nice to talk to you again, Ric. Can’t exactly say it’s good to see you, now can I?” Pres laughed, and surprisingly, so did Ric. Pres was immediately relieved that the man could laugh with him about his disability
.
He picked up his drink and drained the rest of the glass.

His shades were still on even though he was inside. He tried not to do that too often, but after having three drinks and a beer, it was probably safe to assume his eyes looked like shit. His mom always said his eyes were bluer than the Mississippi, but they looked as red as the devil’s when he got drunk.

“What are you drinking, Pres?” Ric asked him.

“Whiskey sour,” Pres replied.

“Sounds good.”

Pres heard Ric ask the bartender to make them another round. “Thank you for the drink. I’ll get the next one,” Pres said.

“I’m not going to refuse that.”

He heard Ric shift on his seat and felt their knees come into contact. Pres made sure he didn’t jerk his leg away.

“So it looks like you’re trying to wind down from a difficult week,” Ric said.

Pres smirked at Ric’s weak attempt at small talk. “I guess you could say that. More so tiresome than difficult.”

“Tiresome, huh? Not sleeping well, Prescott?” Ric asked, his voice now lower…softer.

“Guess you could say that,” Pres replied as he picked up his fresh drink now back in front of him.

“Sorry to hear that,” Ric replied cooly, his knee still touching his.

“Are you now?”

“No. But it’s the nice thing to say, right?” Ric chuckled.

Pres laughed, too. “Say what you mean, Ric. I prefer the direct approach.” He smiled as he felt Ric shift a little more, their knees still touching, and then Ric was leaning closer. Pres found himself holding his breath.

“All right then.You not sleeping well means that there’s no one in your bed making sure that you do. Which suits me just fine. How’s that for direct?” Ric asked, dangerously close to Pres’s cheek.

Pres let the air whoosh out of his mouth at Ric’s statement.
What am I getting myself into here?
He found himself smiling and replied, “Better.”

After a couple more rounds, Ric suggested they get more comfortable at one of the low tabletops in the far corner on the other side of the bar. It wasn’t complete seclusion, but it was just private enough that they didn’t worry about others eavesdropping. Pres lost himself in an easy give-and-take banter with Ric. The man was witty and funny…and they flirted the entire time. Pres was extremely relaxed several drinks later and immensely enjoying Ric’s company as he tried to explain to him why instant mashed potatoes from a box were not the same as homemade.

“It’s faster and easier, and tastes just as good. I’ve gotten rave reviews on a few of my dishes, too, Chef Vaughan, and don’t get me started on how my Hungry-Man meals never have ice chunks in the middle…all evenly warmed,” Ric boasted.

Pres had a hard time containing his laughter. Ric was like a breath of fresh air. Pres had been so bummed after leaving his parents’ house, and now he was sitting here with this awesome guy, and maybe even a new friend, wiping the tears from his eyes as he cracked up with each new joke Ric told.

“Yeah, those dishes sound one of a kind, Ric,” Pres responded sarcastically.

“Thank you very much. Now I can say that the most popular food critic on the East Coast endorses my easy mashed potatoes.”

Pres paused with his drink halfway to his mouth and asked, “Wait. How did you know I was a food critic?”

“I have my ways,” Ric responded slyly.

Pres felt his face flush with heat. Ric’s voice had dropped two octaves lower. His scent was right up under his nose, and Pres had enough alcohol in him that his cock was no longer under his command. Last thing he wanted was to stand to leave and have a large bulge with a wet spot for all to see.

Pres stumbled on his wording. “It—It’s not exactly top secret. I just didn’t know you knew who I was.”

“Yeah, I know who you are, handsome,” Ric whispered against the shell of Pres’s ear.

Oh fuck.
Pres didn’t move, and neither did Ric.
What am I doing? I have a girlfriend.

“Um, I—I should get going now. I—I have an early morning tomorrow,” Pres stammered.

“Didn’t mean to scare you off.” Ric pulled back.

“No, it’s not that at all. I’m not scared,” Pres said a little too loudly and chastised himself for sounding like a first-date virgin.

“You’re calling it a night at seven thirty?”

Pres’s mouth kinda hung open at the realization of the early time.
Shit, no one goes to bed at fucking seven thirty.
“I just got some work to finish up, and Josey needs to go out now.”

“Sure, I understand. Well, it was nice talking to you.”

Pres could hear Ric sliding his chair back, the disappointment clearly evident in his now monotone. He didn’t want Ric to leave with bad thoughts. He knew he wanted Ric as a friend and maybe even…

“Have a good evening, Pres. Hope you get all that work done,” Ric said before Pres heard him push his chair in.

Pres stood abruptly. “Wait! Ric, hold on. I was wondering if you’d like to come by my place this week and let me prove to you that homemade is better than instant.” Pres smiled.

“I’ll let you know. I actually keep a pretty busy schedule myself. To be honest, I rarely have time to even sit and eat a meal…but thanks for the offer. Good night.”

Before Pres could say another word, Ric’s footsteps were loud as he walked away.
Goddamn it.
Pres yanked his wallet out of his back pocket and made his way to the front side of the bar to pay the tab.

“It’s already taken care of, Mr. Vaughn,” he heard the bartender say after he tried to hand the man his credit card.

Fuck.
He’d blown Ric off for no fucking reason, and the man had paid both their tabs
. Shit.

Pres made his way out of the lounge, trying desperately not to stumble or wobble. It was a little unnerving to see a blind man drunk and falling all over the place.Pres made his way to his apartment with very little trouble, and as soon as he opened the door, Josey was there wagging his tail.

“All right, boy. Come on.” Pres grabbed the leash off the hook and turned around, heading back to the elevators. He caught a faint whiff of Ric’s cologne that still lingered in the hallway. Pres’s brow creased with frustration.

Ric probably wouldn’t want to escort a blind man around town anyway. Forget it. I’ll probably never have a real friend again.

The thought pained him more than he wanted to admit. The fact of the matter was he was lonely and miserable eighty percent of the time. His girlfriend barely came to see him…let alone made love to him.
Maybe she’ll come by tonight…right.

Thirty minutes later, Pres returned from his walk with Josey and let himself into his condo. Josey let out a low, menacing growl, and Pres’s footsteps halted in the foyer at the sound of his shower running.

What the fuck?

Pres smelled a subtle cologne fragrance lingering in the entrance to his home. He began to move toward his bedroom when Josey began whimpering and pulling on his pants legs. He bent down and gave him a reassuring rub.

“Calm down, boy. I don’t think a criminal is going to wash up first before he hurts me.”

Pres unhooked Josey’s collar and continued into his bedroom. He pushed open his bathroom door and was bombarded with steam and the scent of his favorite body wash.

“You’re a detective. You should know breaking and entering is a felony.” Pres leaned against the wall and pulled a fluffy towel off the rack. He heard the shower door slide open.

“You should have a better lock on that door, sexy. Anyone can get in here.” Leo’s husky voice penetrated right through Pres’s intoxication.

Pres sucked his teeth, but couldn’t stop the smile from forming on his mouth. “What are you doing here, Leo?”

“I told you I was coming, remember? Have I ever not done something I said I was going to do?” he asked while taking the towel from him.

“No, I guess not.” Pres huffed tiredly as he began to walk out the bathroom. He felt Leo reach out and grip his arm.

“Hey,” he whispered.

“Hey,” Pres whispered back. He let his frat brother and longtime friend pull him into his wet, solid chest. Pres held on to the rock-hard body. He couldn’t help but remember back to how Leo looked when he lay underneath him so many nights in their senior year. Pres would stare at the tribal tattoo on Leo’s left pec before tonguing and tugging on his nipple piercings, exactly how Leo instructed. Back then Pres still didn’t consider himself gay. “Just doing typical college experimenting,” he’d tell himself.

Pres let Leo intertwine their hands and pull him into his bedroom.

“Get comfortable. I’m going to grab us a couple beers.”

Pres began to do just that. He swapped out his shirt and slacks for a pair of soft, threadbare sweatpants and no shirt. He pulled back the heavy comforter and flopped down tiredly on his large bed. He grabbed the remote and turned on the television. The channel was still tuned to CNN, and he heard a commentator speaking on a recent scandal uncovered in a politician’s campaign. Pres immediately tuned it out.

“Are you hungry, Leo? I could whip you up something quick if you want?”

“Nah, dude, I’m good, but if you twist my arm, I’ll let you make me eggs Benedict in the morning. I can only stay for tonight. We’re on a big case, and if I don’t show up by tomorrow evening, my partner will never let me hear the end of it. I barely got out of there today,” Leo voiced from the kitchen.

Pres felt Leo drop his lithe frame onto the other side of the bed. “You drove ten hours to stay for one night?” he asked his friend.

“No. I caught a federal prisoner transport flight into Williamsburg, and then I drove one hour to see you. But I would’ve driven ten hours for even a half of a night, because you needed me to, whether you’re going to admit it or not.” Leo situated himself more comfortably on the bed. “What’s going on, Pres? I call you. I e-mail you. If you do finally respond, it’s always a few sentences and a bunch of shit about how busy you are.”

Pres’s voice was low as he tried to keep his emotions in check. “Yeah, I know, Leo. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to be a burden on anyone.” He took a large gulp of his beer and leaned back against the leather-padded headboard.

“Have I ever given you the impression that you’re a burden…fuckin ever, Pres? Don’t give me that bullshit. I don’t know what type of people you’ve been around lately—obviously the wrong kind if that’s the feeling you get from them. But don’t you put me in there with those assholes. You have been and will always be a very important part of me, Pres, and you know that. So, why the cold shoulder on me, man?”

Pres knew he had only a few real friends left in this world, and one had flown over six hundred miles to ask him what’s wrong.
I better take advantage.

Over the next three hours, Pres purged his soul. He told his friend everything. He told him about his so-called girlfriend and how he knew she was basically using him. He told of the many solo dinners and lonely nights. He explained that his worst fear was he’d never have a normal relationship again and would most likely grow old alone, all of this until his mind could no longer stand his dismal existence. By the end of his confession, Pres couldn’t hold in the tear that fell down his cheek.

“It’s so fucking dark in here, Leonidis.” Pres harshly tapped the side of his temple with his beer bottle. “It’s killin’ me, man.”

Leo took Pres’s beer from him and laid it on the nightstand before pulling him into a strong hug. “Fuck, Pres.”

There was nothing more Leo could say. He couldn’t change Pres’s situation, and the man wasn’t a therapist. Pres let Leo do the only thing he could do… He let Leo hold him until he fell asleep.

* * * *

According to the raised hands on his watch, Pres woke a little after five in the morning. Leo still had his strong, muscular arms around him, and Pres took a deep inhale and let his friend’s delicious scent invade his sensitive senses. He felt Leo stir and let out a sexy moan as he turned further into him and tucked his face into the crook of his neck. Pres groaned. His cock was hard, locked, and loaded.
What girlfriend?

Pres’s hips began to move instinctually, almost on their own. He maneuvered himself completely on top of Leo, all the while remembering exactly what his friend looked like and how much he used to like it when Pres would grind hard on top of him. Leo’s body was taut and firm with muscles, but not overly huge. He had blond hair that he used to keep in a buzz cut, but Pres could feel the length on it now as he rubbed the soft curls against his cheek. Vibrant green eyes used to stare up at him, pleading for Pres to do more. They would lick, rut, and rub against each other like wild animals until they both got off. Pres dipped his head and aimed his mouth for Leo’s barbell in his nipple. He could feel that Leo was fully awake now…but he wasn’t responding.

Pres stilled his thrusting. He sucked in a sharp breath and rolled off of a stiff, unresponsive Leo.
Oh my God.

“Pres, I’m sorry.”

Pres sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He was humiliated. He dropped his head and let his forehead rest in his palm. “It’s cool. I’m sure you didn’t come here for that. My bad.”

“I’m in a relationship now, Pres, have been for about six months. I’ve wanted to tell you, but—”

“I never fucking answer the phone. I know.” Pres cut Leo off before he could say it.

“Pres, don’t think—”

Pres stopped Leo again. “I’m not upset.” He couldn’t see Leo’s face, but he’d come to recognize the tone of pity in a person’s voice—matter of fact, he’d heard it so much, he was a damn master at honing in on it.

Pres had always told Leo that he wasn’t gay. That’s why every time he’d asked Pres for something deeper when they were in college, Pres refused him. Now here he was years later practically begging Leo for something deeper…how ironic.

After whining and crying on Leo’s shoulder last night, he couldn’t take hearing that sorrowful tone right now. It might be best to get Leo fed and out of his damn condo before he had a mental breakdown.

“I’m going to get cleaned up and make you some breakfast.” Pres jumped up and damn near ran into the bathroom. He heard his friend whisper, “Damn it,” right before he closed the bathroom door.

* * * *

Pres was dressed in his business suit although his critique wasn’t until noon. He set the plate of eggs Benedict and country fried potatoes in front of his friend while he sipped on his glass of juice at the breakfast bar.

He had the worst fucking headache, but he made sure to keep his expression neutral while hiding his watery eyes behind his dark shades. The tension in the room was palpable. They were both so damn quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

“I didn’t mean to make shit worse, Pres. I just wanted to talk to you, dude. I’ve missed you.”

“I know. It’s cool, Leo.”

“Stop saying it’s fucking cool, Pres, when it’s not!” he yelled.

Pres jumped at the tone. He gritted his teeth. “I don’t know what the hell you want me to say, Leonidis! You want me to say how desperate I am, that I’m so fucking lonely I’d try to fuck my best friend, even though I’m not gay!” Pres threw up air quotes when he said the word “gay.”

“All right, yeah…if that’s the truth. You can still talk to me. I’m still your brother.”

Pres jerked his head back and grimaced at the term. They would always be frats, he knew that, but the term “brother” almost made him sick.
I just tried to fuck my goddamn brother.

Pres needed some air, and he needed it fast. “I appreciate you coming, Leo, but I got to go, or I’m going to be late. Finish your breakfast, and don’t worry about locking up when you leave.”

“Wait, I thought you said your critique was at noon,” Leo argued, his frustration evident.

Pres was eagerly grabbing his keys, wallet, and cell off the breakfast bar. “Yeah, uhh, I know, but I forgot I got some important errands to get done before then.” He knew Leo could tell he was lying. The man was a highly skilled Atlanta detective. It was what he did for a living. “I’ll call you later.”

Pres moved fast through his condo before Leo could say anything else. He almost had the door closed when he heard what had to be Leo’s breakfast and entire damn place setting crashing to the floor. “Pres, goddamn you!”

He closed the door and hightailed it down the hall, bypassing the elevators and taking the stairs. His heart was heavy with the realization that it would probably be the last time he talked to Leo.