Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71912 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Amazing. Thank you.”
Her wide eyes showed how smitten she was with Marc. He could charm anyone, and he barely had to work at it. “It’s one of our most popular vintages.”
“I can see why,” Marc said as she poured for both of them.
“Have you made a decision on your entrees?”
“I’ll have the Capellini con Pancetta,” Marc said.
“Oh, that’s one of my favorites, sir. I’m sure you’ll love it.” She turned to Darius. “And for you?”
“I’ll have the chicken piccata.”
“Excellent. I’ll have those out for you soon.”
They sipped their wine and watched each other. Finally, Marc said, “I suppose we’re not used to talking.”
“Especially if there’s no movie running in the background.”
“You could tell me more things I do wrong at the shop. A nice argument should get us going.”
Darius laughed. “Do you really think our server deserves that kind of a row in her section?”
“You’re right. She’s been excellent. I’ll behave.”
Darius sniffed. “I doubt you’re capable.”
“Do you actually want me to be?” he asked, petting the arm of that damn sweater.
Silence descended for several moments.
“Are we really making a go of this?” Marc asked.
“Having a costume division? Yes, we are.” Darius was very aware that wasn’t what Marc meant.
“No. This.” He gestured between the two of them.
“I…” What should he say? He had, in fact, asked Marc out. Was he intending to do it again? “I think so, yes.”
Marc chewed his lip while he considered Darius’s statement. Darius wanted to use his tongue to soothe the teeth marks.
“Then we need to figure out how to talk to each other.” Instead of just fucking. The last words hung in the air, unsaid.
Darius frowned. “I don’t want to talk about pointless shit.”
“Neither do I, so tell me about working with your grandfather. That was hardly pointless.”
“You know more about me than I know about you,” Darius countered.
“There’s nothing to tell that you don’t already know. My parents were shit. They kicked me out. I found a job.”
“And the costume design?”
“I like clothes, and costumes give a designer a chance to really play.”
Darius looked him up and down. “Every time I see you outside of the shop, you’re playing with your outfit.”
“True, but most people don’t. They only let go when they dress up as someone else.”
Darius could see that.
“Why did you choose men’s clothes?”
Darius had never even thought about making anything else. “It’s what I knew, and I like being right.”
“Ah yes. That I did know.”
Darius ignored his sass. “I like that I can look at a man and know exactly what he would look good in. I can’t do that with any other type of clothing.” He thought about the suit he’d made for Marc. He’d finished it the second week Marc worked for him, but it had been hanging in the shop ever since. When was he going to give it to him?
“Most people would say there aren’t that many choices for men’s suits, that they’re all alike, but you find a way to make things unique. They’re completely personal.”
Darius was thrilled that Marc understood his passion. “Men can look professional, even classic, without having to be boring or uncomfortable.”
“I agree.”
The server arrived with their entrees. “Enjoy,” she said, and Marc smiled.
“I always do.”
Her flushed cheeks said she appreciated him as much as Darius did, and he had an unfamiliar urge to tell her to back off, which was ridiculous. As far as he knew, Marc had no sexual interest in women, and, more importantly, Darius had no claim over him.
I want to claim him.
That line of thinking was not going to make the evening easier. Food. Focus on the food.
That wasn’t too difficult. It smelled divine. He cut a bite of chicken and brought it to his mouth. Mmm. It had a perfect citrusy tang, the bite of capers, and yet it was so smooth, like velvet.
“Amazing,” he said when he’d swallowed.
“Mine too. Do you want to taste?”
“I’d love too.” Marc’s capellini looked just as amazing.
Marc twined pasta around his fork and lifted it to Darius’s mouth. Their gazes locked. Suddenly Darius didn’t care so much about eating or theater-going, though he felt certain this wasn’t the sort of establishment where you dragged your man out back and fucked him against the wall. More’s the pity.
Darius wrapped his hand around Marc’s wrist and pulled the fork to his mouth. Then he slid his lips along the tines slowly, never looking away. Marc’s eyes widened, and when Darius let go, he was sure Marc was as hard as he was.
“Would you like a bite of mine?” he asked, picking up his own fork and spearing a piece of chicken.
Marc licked his lips. “Oh, I would. Very much.”
“If we keep this up, we’ll never make it to the theater.”
Marc grinned. “Think how much more fun it will be when we get home.”