Work of Art (4 page)

“That doesn’t mean shit.
She wasn’t getting his name tattooed on her ass was she?”

“
No, she got a heart the size of a quarter on her hip, and then she sat and watched me work on him, as he smiled at her. I didn’t have a chance in hell.”

“The worst part is,” he scolded, “
you could have had him first. Kelly offered to introduce you.”

“I know
,” I grumbled. My good friend Kelly was Garrett’s sister, and she had offered to introduce me a dozen times over the years, but I’d always declined. She didn’t know he was number two on my to-do list. I’d kept that a secret from her. “He’s only twenty-two. I couldn’t ever get past that.”

“Girl, I never let age get in the way. Donovan is only twenty, and that didn’t hold him back from being
the best guy I’ve spent time with in months.”

Julian didn’t have any filters when it came to age. He was thirty-five, but thanks to the skin care regimen he’d had since he was eighteen, he looked my
age, and younger boys loved him just as much as older ones.

“Whatever.
I can’t get past the age thing.”

“Well how old was the guy you met on the plane?”
he asked, turning the tables back on me.

“I don’t
know, early thirties?” I shrugged.

He shook his head
as if he was disappointed in me. “I still say you should have gotten his number.”

I sighed and thought,
Yeah, I probably should have.

Chapter Three

Ryan

Bro, I’ll be there in fifteen. Beers better be on ice.

I set my phone down and let out a long, tension filled sigh after reading Brandon’s text.

“What time is the car picking you up?” I
called out to Trish, looking down at the Rolex she’d had given me the night before as an early wedding present. It had diamonds, and it wasn’t really my taste, but she liked it, so I’d wear it to please her.

“In ten minutes,” she called from the hall bathroom where she’d paused to look in the mirror. I’d realized she looked in the mirror a lot when we’d started living together six months earlier.

I could only hope she was gone by the time Brandon arrived. She didn’t exactly know he was coming out to visit. She was headed out of town for the weekend for her bachelorette party, and when she made the plans with her friends, she’d encouraged me to have my bachelor party the same weekend. So I’d called Brandon and told him to book a flight. I needed one last weekend of debauchery before I said ‘I do’, and Brandon Cooper was the best person to orchestrate that kind of fun.

Of course Trish
thought my bachelor party would be with the guys from the club – a few cigars, some scotch, a steak dinner. I did not want her to know I’d be out with Brandon and our weekend would no doubt include the raunchiest strip clubs he could find, beer and fast food.

Trish didn’t like Brandon. They’d only met
twice, but she’d told me she thought he was offensive and crass, with an extremely distasteful look on her face when I let her know I’d asked him to be in our wedding. I’d smiled internally thinking ‘yeah, that’s Brandon, and that’s sort of why I like him’. But I’d never tell her that.

I’d met him when I’d
first started at my firm, back when I was twenty-two, fresh out of Yale, living in Boston and pretty much an oversexed frat boy. We’d partied it up that first summer we’d met, and he’d gotten me laid more times than I could count. He was exactly the friend I needed back then. I’d worked my ass off to graduate and get hired by one of the top financial companies in the city, and once I had the job, I didn’t have much free time, but when I did, all I wanted to do was cut loose. So that’s what Brandon and I did.

But that was years ago, before grad school and the realization that if I wanted to get ahead at work, I needed to cut out the bullshit and be serious. I also knew that meant being with the right woman. And that right woman was
Trisha Spencer.

After a minute she cam
e out of the bathroom and stopped in front of me. “How do I look?” she asked, spinning around so her blue dress fanned out around her legs.

“You look beautiful,” I said without hesitation.

I’d learned the hard way not to say anything but that, but she truly did look beautiful, and with the almost ass-shot I’d just gotten, I was started to sprout wood. And I wanted to laugh. I never used to be that hard up, but Trish had asked me two months earlier if we could stop having sex until our wedding night, and I’d stupidly agreed. She said it would make it seem like it was our first time, and she’d been so sweet about it that I’d said yes.

Now I was always semi-turned on, had become reacquainted with my hand
, and jerked off like a thirteen year-old kid on a regular basis. It was ridiculous. We’d been sleeping together for months. Why we had to stop, I didn’t know, but I’d agreed, and I couldn’t go back on it now. The only thing getting me through the torture of celibacy was knowing how tight she’d be on our wedding night after not having sex for several months.

“Thank you,” she said as she leaned over to kiss me.

I grabbed at the cardigan that was tied around her neck, holding her in place to deepen the kiss, but as soon as my tongue touched hers, she started to pull away.

“Ryan, don’t,” she chastised me, and I felt guilty for pushing her.

Trish wasn’t into spontaneous acts of love. She liked sex to be before bed once she was able to hide naked under the covers – or at least she did when we used to actually have sex.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand
and straightened her sweater.

She looked down at me with
what I took as pity. “Just four more weeks, and then it’ll be just like our first time,” she said brightly. “It’ll be so special.”

Yeah, special.
That’s exactly what I was thinking. Quick would be more like it.

I smiled. “It will be. Don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”

As long as I can jerk one out in the shower later.

Of course she didn’t need to know th
at. She’d kill me if she knew I masturbated, so I hadn’t told her. She thought masturbation was disgusting in and of itself and didn’t understand the allure. I found out after we’d started dating that she’d actually never done it, so I’d talked her into it one night, and I could tell she’d hated every minute of it, so I never asked again.

She smiled. “I know you’ll
be fine. Have fun at your bachelor party.” Then she leaned forward and ruffled my hair. “And get a haircut this weekend. It’s getting long.”

I ra
n my hand back through my hair. I was overdue for a cut, but I’d been so busy at work lately that I hadn’t had time, and truth be told, I kind of liked how it had grown out. I’d kept it longer throughout grad school, but as part of my commitment to success I’d cut it and kept it short for the past few years. But maybe it was time to go back. Our San Francisco office was more laid back anyway, so no one would care.

“
Have fun,” I called after her.

“Love you
,” she called over her shoulder and grinned at me.

Then I breathed a sigh of relief once she was gone, thankful
that Brandon hadn’t knocked on the door yet. I went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge. I hadn’t touched the stuff in years, but I’d bought it for Brandon’s visit, and I’d be lying to myself if I said I wasn’t sort of craving one.

I flipped on the Red Sox game and settled back against the leather couch, as I took a big swig and almost groaned. I’d forgotten how much I liked the taste of beer.

A few minutes later, the doorbell rang.

“
Yo, bro,” Brandon said, grinning as he flung his duffel bag into the front hall and pulled me into a hug. “It’s been too long, man.”

The beer in my hand
sloshed down his back, but I don’t think he cared.

“Come in,” I said, stepping back to invite him inside.

He whistled. “Damn, this place is nice. Marble floors, vaulted ceilings, holy shit, how big is your TV?”

He left me to go into the living room, the only room in the
condo that I truly considered mine. Trish had a decorator do the rest of the rooms when we moved in, but I’d asked her to keep my space sacred, and she hadn’t fought me on it.

“
It’s eighty-four inches, 3-D and surround sound. Pretty sweet, right?”

Brandon turned around. “You ever watch porn on it?”

I laughed. “No man. Trish doesn’t allow that shit in the house.”

Brandon looked at me in disbelief.
He never could understand what I liked about my fiancé, and I’d grown tired of trying to explain it to him.

“Well, if there’s no porn here, then we’ll go find some.”

I took a swig of my beer, realizing it was almost gone. “I would assume nothing else from you, man.”

Brandon grinned. “Can I get you laid?”

I felt a definite stirring below my waist at the thought of sex with a really hot girl, and I had to close my eyes to banish the thought. I just needed to be patient. It was only a few more weeks. Then I could have sex with Trish. I did not need to be thinking about having sex with anyone but her, that was for sure.

“Tempting thought, eh,” Brandon said, laughing when he saw
how I was contemplating his suggestion.

“No, dude.
No way. I’m an engaged man.”

He groaned. “You used to be fun!”

“I’m still fun, and hey, I can help
you
get laid. I’ll even flirt with a girl and hand her over to you if you’re so inclined since you used to do it for me.”

Brandon was married when we’d first met, but he’d hooked me up with all the hot women I’d wanted
and
the ones he’d wanted, living vicariously through my single existence. Maybe now I could repay the favor.

Brandon smirked. “I like the way you think,
Ry,” he said, giving me a high-five as he passed me on his way to the kitchen. “Please tell me you have more of those.”

“Top shelf of the fridge.”

“Sweet. Now sit your ass down and listen to me tell you about the girl I almost boned on the plane ride out here.”

I collapsed onto one end of the couch and put my feet on the coffee table. Trish hated when I did that –
It’s a fifteen thousand dollar table, Ryan
, she’d chastise me – but she wasn’t home to see me, so I could do what I wanted. I’d paid for the damn table anyway.

“Where’s your girl, by the way,” Brandon asked, as he kicked off his shoes and settled onto the other end of the couch. “She already
gone?”

I nodded. “Yeah, she left a few minutes before you got here.”

Brandon grinned. “You dog. You just got some goodbye sex didn’t you? That’s why you look so fucking relaxed.”

I looked relaxed? That was a first.
Work had been stressful as hell lately, and I knew I’d been bringing it home with me, mentally and physically. I actually needed a massage.

“
Naw, man. We’re actually holding off until we get married.”

Brandon looked confused. “Holding off on what?”

“Having sex.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

I shrugged. “Trish thinks it’ll be more romantic that way.”

He laughed
a big raucous laugh. “That’s bullshit.”

“Yeah, I know,” I said, taking a long drink of my beer. Damn, it tasted good.
“But I care about her, so I’m willing to go along with what she wants.”

“Famous last words, dude. That’s what happened to me and Heather. Next thing you know, you’ll come home, and she’ll have maxed out your credit cards
and will have stripped away your manhood so much that the pool boy’s the only one she wants balls-deep in her.”

“Hey now,” I warned.

I don’t think he realized he’d hit a sore spot, but it was the one thing we had in common. We’d both been cheated on by women we loved. Unfortunately, he’d been married to his girl when it had happened. I’d only been engaged to Courtney, my ex, when she’d cheated on me. Not that it made the sting any less harsh. It had fucking sucked, and from time to time I still wanted to punch out the guy she’d been with, because it’s just a dick move to steal someone else’s girl. But I’d moved on, found Trish, and life was good. I didn’t think about Courtney much anymore. She was in the past.

“Sorry, man,” Brandon apologized. “I got caught up in the moment.”

“Dude, you’ve got to move on from Heather.”

He shrugged. “I’m over her,” he said, but I wasn’t convinced. His divorced had only been finalized for a year
, and Heather had really burned him.

“So tell me about the girl you met on the plane
who you almost slept with.”