Dinner for One (13 page)

“Stupid,” says Bastien. “Don’t know what I was thinking.” He shuts his door behind him anyway, reaching out to grasp James’s hand. “We’re going to finish that later.”

“Aren’t you a romantic?” teases James. “Fancy dinner on a boat and the promise of sex. You sure know how to woo a guy.”

Bastien rolls his eyes and then realizes he left the bag he wanted to bring on his couch. “I need to get something.” He drops James’s hand. “I’ll be right back.” He grabs the small pack and slings it over his shoulder, ignoring James’s questioning look as he reclaims his hand. “I’m not telling you what’s in there. It’s a surprise.”

James raises his eyebrows. “Were we supposed to exchange gifts? I feel like that’s the kind of thing that should be clarified ahead of time.”

“No. I wouldn’t say that what’s in here is a gift.” The curious look on James’s face is absolutely delightful. He can see him thinking, the way his bright gaze keeps trailing to the bag and back. He can’t wait to see James’s face when he shows him what’s inside it. When they get in the cab, he makes sure to put it as far from James as possible, inserting himself between the two.

“I’m not going to peek,” huffs James. “I can be patient.” He rests his hand on Bastien’s leg and slowly starts to inch it up. His look says two can play the waiting game. Bastien grabs his wrist and stills his hand, squirming away with a laugh. He doesn’t want to get hard in the back of a cab, and he’s got big plans for later that night.

He needs a distraction. “Guess what happened at work today?” he asks, wanting to impart the good news.

“Something wonderful?”

He beams. “Yes!” He bounces in his seat a little. “So I had this bad review a little while ago from a pretty big name in the restaurant world, and it was… upsetting. You know. It was the first negative one we’d gotten from a critic, and the guy, he’s such a big deal. That kind of thing can be damaging. But he printed a retraction! Today! That’s unheard of. We’re going to frame the article for the office, and I’m going to get a copy for the house too. It’s like Christmas. I got a good review from this really respected critic and a retraction and I’m just—I’m so happy. This is so great.”

James looks happy for him, but there’s something slightly off with his smile. Bastien frowns. He had been a bit repetitive, but he was excited, and sometimes he tended to go on when that happened. “Sorry,” he says, not really knowing what exactly he’s saying it for. “I know that was a bit rambling.”

James shakes his head, his expression clearing into a normal pleased smile. He leans forward to kiss Bastien and turns his hand palm up to entwine their fingers. “That’s fantastic news,” he says, sounding earnest. “You don’t need to be sorry. That’s a big deal. Retractions are a rare thing. Editors tend not to like them.”

Bastien hums, pleased, unable to contain his smile. “Tonight’s going to be perfect,” he says. “This is going to totally make up for that baseball game.”

“Oh? I thought you already made up for that.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and Bastien pushes his face away, laughing, his cheeks heating at the memory of just what they’d done. “Have you already forgotten that night? Need I remind you?” His tone is teasing and he keeps ducking around Bastien’s hand to pull stupid, exaggerated faces at him.

“This is a proper date,” he says, trying to sound prim around his laughter. “Official.”

“I see. Well in that case….” He looks out the window, silence settling over them. And then he turns back to Bastien, an eyebrow raised. “Is it really going to top that? I need to know. For my heart. I have to prepare it.” He flutters his eyelashes. “You don’t want to kill an old man.”

Bastien rolls his eyes. He’s falling for the most ridiculous of men. “I don’t know what I see in you,” laughs Bastien, kicking his ankle lightly. “Just wait, and you’ll see.”

James heaves a put-upon sigh. “I suppose I can do that.”

They arrive at the docks soon after, and excitement for the evening’s plan fills Bastien as he passes the bills over, all but dragging James from the car, snatching up his bag on the way. He’s spent over a week putting this together. He figures something awesome needs to come from the idea spawned by Fleur’s relationship lecture.

Fingers entwined, he tugs him down the dock and to the yacht he’s rented. It’s a mahogany beauty, with a large deck pointed out toward the water. They’re not actually taking it out. Bastien doesn’t know how to sail, and he didn’t want someone else on the boat with them. Not for what he has planned.

The view of the deck is blocked by the small cabin, so James can’t yet see what Bastien has arranged for him. He helps him onto the boat, and they both have to take a minute to adjust to the light rocking.

“You don’t get seasick?” he thinks to ask, cursing for not doing so ahead of time.

“No,” says James. “I would have told you that when you first mentioned this to me. It’s fine.”

The moon is nice and bright, not covered by clouds, and the dock is well lit so that everything is cast in a soft glow. He pulls James close. “I’m going to be cheesy and ask you to close your eyes.”

James’s grin broadens. “You really are a romantic.”

“I am French,” laughs Bastien. “It’s what we do. Now close them.”

James obligingly closes his eyes, and Bastien carefully leads him to the table sitting near the tip of the yacht. His insides feel like they’re fluttering with excitement. “All right,” he says. “Open them.”

THE SCENE
looks like something out of a movie, and James laughs, a delighted gust of air rushing from him. Soft white lights are strung up around the boat, a table in the center of the deck with an iPad of all things resting in the center. There’s another long table set off to the side, a selection of drinks arranged at one end. Bastien squeezes his hand. “The food’s inside so it won’t get cold. Why don’t you sit down and pull up the Rangers game, and I’ll start bringing it out?”

He doesn’t know what to say, and Bastien heads to get the food before he can think of anything. He’s absolutely slammed with guilt and amazement and the feeling that he’s so, so lucky. It had taken everything in him in the cab to keep a straight face and not say anything when Bastien talked about the review, talked about how much his opinion meant to him. How he’d been upset by the first one. He’d wanted to tell him then, but he didn’t think a cab was really the place. And looking at this setup, all of this done for him, he doesn’t think tonight is the night either. But he needs to stop putting it off. Sometime in the next week. He needs to find the right moment and rip it off like a Band-Aid. He shakes his head. Bastien has gone through a lot of trouble to do this, and he’s not going to ruin it.

Sitting down, he pulls the iPad closer and brings up the stream of the Ranger’s game. It’s just commentary at the moment, the game due to start in a few minutes. He’s got his television at home recording it. It’s incredibly sweet that Bastien has done this.

The man in question comes back with two heavy plates in his hand and sets them down on the long side table. “I can help,” James offers, but Bastien waves him off. He comes back three more times with a variety of covered plates, and one last time with two empty plates and silverware.

“We’re eating buffet style,” he says, holding a plate out to James, his hair gleaming copper in the soft white lights.

“Did you make the food?”

Bastien smiles, looking a little nervous. “I did. So. I tried. And hopefully it tastes good? It’s not my normal area.”

James is intrigued now. He removes one of the covers and reveals a plateful of
golubtsy
. It’s ground beef and boiled rice, wrapped up in cabbage leaves. He uncovers the plate beside it to find
pirozhki
—stuffed bread, though with what he can’t yet tell. “You made me Russian,” he says wonderingly. The dish beside the pirozhki is
pelmeni
, a meat dumpling. There’s a steaming pitcher of
sbiten’
beside that, a mulled honey drink that smells absolutely delicious. And finally there’s black bread and
syrniki
—cheese-filled pancakes. Bastien has gone all out.

He turns to him. “This is….” He’s at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

Bastien is blushing, dull red staining his cheeks. He shrugs. “You mentioned that you loved Russian food, but you didn’t get to have it often. I looked up some recipes, but I mean, you really shouldn’t thank me till you try it and see if it’s edible.”

He surges forward to press a clumsy kiss to Bastien’s lips. “I’m sure it’ll be fantastic.” He stacks his plate high with a little of everything, aware of Bastien’s pleased look as he does so. “Are you going to get anything?” he asks when Bastien doesn’t move.

Bastien startles a little, like he’d forgotten he was supposed to eat as well, and moves forward. “Any recommendations?”

“Pirozhki and syrniki are fairly safe. You should like the pelmeni.” He looks at him from the corner of his eye while he spoons pelmeni onto his plate. “You didn’t try any of it?”

“No. I’ve never actually had Russian before. I figured I’d wait till the dinner.” His blush darkens. “I’ve got a pizza inside in case this was botched.”

“You’re adorable,” says James, the words bursting from his mouth, and he can feel his own cheeks flushing. He holds up one of the syrniki he’d put on his plate. “Here, try this.” Bastien doesn’t say he could simply grab his own; he leans in, teeth closing on the syrniki and lips brushing James’s fingers. His blue gaze meets James’s the entire time. He pulls away, tongue swiping over his lips to get any crumbs. He chews slowly.

“It’s good,” he says, looking pleased with himself, and he leans back in to take the other bit of it from James. His tongue licks over the pad of James’s index finger as he does, and he sucks the remaining flavor from his skin.

James’s boner isn’t an instant thing, but it’s damn near close. “Killing me,” he says, gaze firmly on Bastien’s mouth, the way his jaw works as he chews. Bastien smirks, and James has to turn away before the food gets forgotten in favor of other things.

They sit side by side at the table so they can both watch the game on the propped-up iPad. James has to force himself to not inhale the food—it’s so delicious, and he doesn’t know how someone who’s never had Russian food before could make it so well. The game has just gotten underway, and he explains the basics of it to Bastien while they watch. He keeps a close eye on his face, making sure the interest there isn’t faked. He isn’t going to force him to watch it if he finds it boring.

But Bastien appears to be finding it interesting, and his questions show a desire to learn more about it. He asks about certain players, has James explain a power play to him, and can’t contain his laugh when one of the guys falls, legs spread wide, and bounces right back up. Unfortunately for James, Bastien seems more taken by the other team. “Who’s that?” he asks, finger following the blur that is Crosby.

“That,” says James, “is the enemy.”

Bastien snorts. “He’s really good.” He squints, like that’ll make his features clearer. “I can’t tell if he’s good-looking or not.”

“He’s not,” says James, trying to head off a Penguins obsession before he creates a monster.

And then of course Crosby scores, making it so the Penguins lead 2-1. They flash his profile on the screen and Bastien whistles. “You’re a liar. He’s handsome. Look at his mouth.”

James covers his eyes. “No,” he says. “I can’t date a Penguins fan.”

Bastien bumps his shoulder. “Even a Penguins fan who cooks you Russian?” He holds up a chunk of black bread, a bribe if ever there was one.

He is a weak person. The weakest. “I suppose I can make an exception.” He takes the bread with his teeth, making sure to lightly graze them over the pad of Bastien’s finger as well. He smirks as Bastien shivers. “Cold?” Bastien’s wearing a black-and-white flannel, the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and black jeans. It’s a very slimming look, and James’s eyes are constantly drawn to his arms, the triangle of his chest that peaks through his collar.

“You know I’m not,” Bastien says, gaze skittering away and back to the screen, where Malkin is trying to pummel Klein.

He can’t help but run his finger over the warm, dusky skin of Bastien’s cheek. He
loves
when he blushes. The red gets darker, and he realizes he said that aloud. He runs with it. “Did you know your face isn’t the only place that goes red when I’m paying you attention?” Predictably the color spreads to the tips of his ears and down his neck. Sitting back, pleased with that reaction, he pops a chunk of pirozhki in his mouth. It’s stuffed with mushrooms and ricotta cheese. It’s delicious.

They’re done eating before the game ends, so they take the iPad inside and watch it cuddled together on the large bed in one of the cabins while their stomachs settle from the decadent meal. James feels full and content, even with his team losing and Bastien showing a growing fondness for the Pens. At least he likes hockey. He’s going to say that’s better than nothing.

The mysterious bag is sitting on the nightstand by the bed, and his gaze keeps falling on it, torn there by curiosity. If it weren’t for the focused look on Bastien’s face as he watches the game, he’d turn it off and move the night right along. But Bastien’s into it, his eyes moving as he tracks the plays. He’s a long line of warmth against James’s left side, his head pillowed on James’s shoulder. They’re comfortable, and he’s willing to wait. He might also be a little tired from all the food. But only a tiny bit.

When the game finally ends, with the Rangers losing by one, it’s Bastien who turns the iPad off and sets it aside. He rolls on top of James, who huffs under his sudden weight, and stares at him with his bright blue eyes. “How am I doing so far?”

James laughs, tangling his fingers in Bastien’s ginger curls to pull his face close and kiss him insistently. When he pulls back, they’re both breathing a little heavily. “Does that answer your question?”

“Mhmm.” Bastien leans in, nose brushing his. He licks the seam of James’s lips, parts them to flick at his teeth, and then retreats. James follows, sinking his teeth into Bastien’s lower lip and tugging till Bastien makes a high, needy noise. He watches the plump flesh snap back when he releases.