Follow Him Home (Alternate Worlds Book 1) Page 6

  “Honey, that’s the life of a resident. Some of you manage somehow to juggle relationships, but I’ve seen more than a few of you complain about the same thing.” Chloe stood, walking over to Peter as he glanced in the direction of the waiting room. Her presence beside him brought his attention back to her, in time to see the sympathetic smile she offered. “I respect if that’s how you feel. You’ve got to make the time tolerable somehow, though.”

  “Maybe.” Peter chuckled. “That doesn’t mean I need to put out on the first date. Have to give him something worth coming back for.”

  As his expression lightened, so did hers. “If they don’t return for a second,” she said, “then they weren’t worth keeping anyway.”

  Chloe gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze as she walked toward one of the other doctors. Peter withheld commentary, keeping his response to himself until he turned to face the white board again. His voice low, he pretended to be reading through the list of patients. “Granted, but maybe I don’t want it to end yet,” he said before forcing himself back to work.

  The usual humdrum of life gave its best shot at distracting him. Peter slept when he returned home and, after rousing, he stared at the ceiling and thought of his date with Christian again. The look in the other man’s eyes haunted him, his words confessing he feared his secrets would scare Peter away. There was a dare in that which reached out to Peter’s heart. ‘Give me a chance,’ he thought again, toward whatever higher power existed in the universe.

  A buzzing sound distracted him from the half-formed prayer, directing his attention to his iPhone.

  Peter lifted it and pressed the button to light up a list of notifications. Underneath an email alert lay a message from an unknown number, what few words were visible causing Peter’s heart to race and prompting him to shoot to a seated position. The sheet covering his bare torso fell from his body and a bright smile crested from one side of his mouth to the other. He felt it reaching his eyes by the time he brought the message up on his display.

  ‘It’s bad form to wait an entire day before texting, isn’t it? I’ll admit, the agony aunt hasn’t covered this.’

  Laughing, Peter lowered onto his side, his elbow and upper arm supporting his weight while his thumbs tapped out a response. ‘Yeah, it usually makes you think the other person didn’t enjoy their evening. Especially when he left you his number.’

  Another chime followed only moments later. ‘Never let it be said I obeyed social convention. Must I grovel for another date?’

  ‘Maybe.’ Peter’s smile turned mischievous. ‘Depends on where you were thinking of going.’

  ‘Some place a little less posh. Lest you confuse me for a socialite.’

  ‘Lest. Maybe you are, Christian, and you’re in denial.’

  ‘I’m an Englishman. There’s a difference. Though to an American, I can see how there might be some confusion.’

  ‘Trying to tarnish your reputation, then?’ Peter paused, then decided to add. ‘Or remind me that you called yourself the Devil.’

  ‘Devil with a lowercase ‘d’, love. I’d never want the full responsibility of hell. And maybe. Even more responsibility to let you think I’m refined.’

  ‘Heaven forbid, right? Okay, then. What place did you have in mind?’

  ‘A bar I frequent. Pool tables and something you Americans claim is beer. Interested?’

  Peter groaned. “Christian, you’re a walking contradiction,” he said out loud before typing, ‘Okay. Cheap beer and pool it is. I’m off tonight, if it’s not too short notice.’

  ‘Never. I’ll be over in an hour to pick you up.’

  “Well, shit,” Peter said, breathing the last word in a sigh. As he glanced at the state of his room – of his apartment – he silently thanked the same higher powers he’d petitioned before that Christian had said out. “An hour to prepare. I can be showered and ready by then. I mean, it’s not like we’re seeing an opera or anything like that.” Tapping out his last response – ‘I’ll be ready.’ – he tossed aside his phone and bound out of bed.

  Showering and dressing became a manic sprint, the descent from his loft clumsy and almost necessitating his own excursion to the ER. After shampooing his hair and shaving enough to look kempt, Peter dabbed a small nick on his chin and fought with his towel the entire way back to the loft. It fell onto the stairs en route to his bedroom and became a distant memory while Peter rummaged through his closet for a halfway functional shirt. A clean pair of jeans and his good pair of sneakers later, and Peter was ready to venture out for the night.

  Ten minutes after that, a knock at the door signaled Christian’s arrival. Peter grabbed his coat from where he’d discarded it and walked into the hallway without letting the other man inside. “I had no idea what to wear for playing pool at a bar,” he said, sparing a glance at the pullover shirt and leather jacket Christian wore. “You said it wasn’t as nice as the sushi restaurant, but I still don’t know what that means to you.”

  Christian smirked, his eyes on Peter throughout the frantic display of self-assembly the other man presented. “Not quite the dive I made it out to being, but much lower brow,” he said. Reaching for Peter’s shoulder, he stopped him before Peter could sprint ahead to the stairs. “Easy there, love. We don’t have reservations.”

  “I know.” Peter turned to face Christian. “I’m sorry, I just dashed through the house to get ready and thought I’d be –” Late. He thought the word, but had no chance to speak it. The shorter man made up the distance between them in one fluid motion, and before Peter knew it, his lips and Christian’s were pressed together, the kiss catching him off-guard. Immediately, he felt himself relax away from his fast-paced hustle, melting into the embrace and blinking off the onslaught of lust once it had ended. His gaze lazily shifted to Christian, his heart racing for different reasons now. “I think I was going to say something, but now I forget what that was.”

  “Exactly the point.” Christian kissed his cheek and took hold of Peter’s hand, leading him down the stairs and interlacing their fingers while they walked. Peter glanced over once, smiling softly, and even though Christian didn’t turn his head to look at him, he saw the slight curl on the other man’s lips, a pleased expression on his face. Warmth rose from Peter’s chest up to his cheeks and carried him all the way to the waiting car.

  “We’re using Uber this time?” Peter asked.

  Christian laughed, opening the back-passenger door closest to the sidewalk. “Decided against the taxis. Much more private this way,” he said, sliding in after Peter had settled and shutting the door. Once the address had been confirmed, the car joined the Philadelphia traffic, heading away from the college campus area and toward the northeastern part of town. On the other side of a series of blocks riddled with urban decay lay a moderate, middle-class section of the sprawling metropolis. The car paused in front of an obvious pub and after Christian paid, he and Peter stepped out of the vehicle.

  Peter admired the establishment’s exterior. Neon signs advertised a host of assorted beers, some craft offerings from the region’s microbreweries. The dimmed glass at least warned this the type of place the local hipsters liked to frequent, but the presence of windows in and of themselves struck Peter as auspicious. Maybe, he thought, it wouldn’t be near as questionable as Christian had alluded toward it being.

  His date caught up with him after tipping the driver, assuming a place beside Peter while he continued to admire the exterior. “Are you attempting to look through the walls?” Christian asked.

  Peter glanced at him, echoing the smile which greeted him. “Not really,” he said. “I just wasn’t sure what to make of it from how your described the place. Considering you, it might’ve only been slightly more run-down than the sushi restaurant –” He indicated ‘slightly’ by holding two fingers only centimeters apart. “– Or, it could have been the sort of place where I’d expect a drug deal in the back alley.”

  Christian snorted. “Please, I don’t consort with
drug dealers. If I can help it.” He nodded toward the front entrance and waggled his eyebrows, letting the statement hang in the air between them, as cryptic as any of the other clues he’d left about the strange life he led. Peter chose not to question it for the time being, following along while shaking his head. Knowing Christian, he could’ve been making it up, too.

  “So then, why this place?” Peter asked as his date held the door open for him. Digging his hands in his pockets he entered enough to grant the interior only a passing glance before turning to face Christian. “At the sushi place, you were a celebrity. Are the people here going to greet you like Norm from Cheers?”

  “Not quite. At the same time, well played. Yes, I’m bringing you to another one of my frequently-visited haunts.” He shot Peter a wink and walked past the taller man. Peter chuckled and strode deeper into the pub, taking the chance this time to allow his gaze to linger on the finer points of the establishment. It looked like it’d been built in the sixties, but renovated sometime in the past decade to update its fixtures and redo the wood floor and furnishings. The pictures which hung from the wall were all cityscapes and nostalgic prints of Philadelphia’s glory days. A set of pool tables made up the back portion of the bar and what few dining tables it had were sparsely populated by people who only glanced at Christian. The bartender cast him a longer, more lingering look, but did not engage him any further.

  Strangely, Peter thought, it felt like the polar opposite of the restaurant.

  Christian waved at the men gathered around the one occupied pool table while leading Peter to another. A collection of men who all bore varying airs to them, they greeted Christian amiably and yet, without much enthusiasm. Peter nodded at the few who acknowledged him, from a shorter, stockier man to a dark-haired, darker-skinned counterpart. Whatever Christian’s normal practice, it didn’t seem to surprise them he’d brought a man in and if they held any objections, they kept them to themselves. Instead, they resumed their game.

  “This is an interesting place,” Peter said, stripping his coat and hanging it on an adjacent coat hook. Pushing up the sleeves of his shirt, he turned to face Christian when the other man approached, his coat slackening from his arms until he stripped it altogether. Christian hung his on the hook adjacent to Peter’s coat. “Should we be a little more… reserved here?”

  Shooting Peter a look which read, ‘Oh, please,’ Christian approached a shelf containing pool cues and plucked one without bothering to peruse the others. Taking hold of another, he held it out toward Peter, waiting for the other man to reach ear shot and lowering his voice. “Love, the people here know better than to challenge whomever I bring with me. If anybody looks at you cross, please let me know.”

  Lacking a better response, Peter nodded. He took the cue, approaching the table while Christian racked the balls. The momentary lull gave him more time than he might have liked to consider Christian’s last statement, and though his gaze settled on the methodical actions of the other man, his mind wandered back to the person who’d walked into the hospital with a balled-up t-shirt. If not for the fact that Christian’s motorcycle was probably totaled, Peter would’ve arrived on the back like a trophy on display.

  Brushing up against Peter, Christian whispered, “You first,” in the other man’s ear.

  The feel of his breath caused Peter’s skin to tingle. “If you insist,” he murmured, approaching the table and focusing his attention on the game.

  A heady mixture of danger and intrigue settled over them as they began to play. Several times, Peter caught himself swept up in the mystique, cunning smirks exchanged with Christian as each man took turns lining up shots. As Peter lined one up, bent partly over the table, Christian approached him from behind under the guise of helping Peter adjust the angle of his stick. The way his crotch pressed against Peter’s ass, however, became as deliberate as most other things with Christian. Peter felt the other man’s cock and focused more on that than the shot itself.

  Christian leaned into him. “Like this,” he said, making one final adjustment to the cue. “Don’t overthink it. We’re here to have a good time.”

  Nodding, Peter swallowed back a surge of lust and concentrated on the game again. As Peter hit the ball, he paid only vague attention to where it hit, his lips quirking when he sank the shot into the corner pocket. A sound crack of Christian’s palm on Peter’s ass made him jump, whooping in surprise while the other man laughed. In the glance and smile they exchanged, Peter realized this was all part of the test. Part of that surrender Christian had been afraid to grant when they stood in Rittenhouse Square. ‘If you know me, then I’m afraid this might be over,’ Christian’s eyes seemed to say. ‘Prove me wrong.’

  If there was a such thing as being in over one’s head, Peter had managed to find the door to it.

  “Buy me a drink,” Peter said. “And I promise not to overthink my shots.”

  “As the gentleman wishes,” Christian said. He bowed with a flourish before he turned for the bar, his approach prompting the bartender to look at him, as if he’d been expecting at some point Christian would have a request – demand? – for him. Peter chuckled at himself, shaking his head and focusing on where the cue ball had settled. He crouched to locate his next conquest on the pool table, giving himself over to that thought at first.

  When the door opened, however, his focus quickly shifted to the front of the bar.

  A man entered with an air which made the rest of the bar’s patrons seem like boy scouts. While the vaguely threatening way he strode inside seemed affected, aspects of his appearance lent credence to it. A scar cut a trench across his cheek, his hair long and tied back with a dressy-casual shirt-and-pants combo adorning a tall and stocky build. That he commanded Christian’s attention spoke volumes to Peter, who became fixated on the events that ensued.

  Christian stood up straighter, turning to face the other man. While he ignored the remainder of the entourage who followed – a woman and two men who wandered over to one of the tables – he rested an elbow on the bar counter and nodded at whatever opening salvo the newcomer offered. While the other man spoke, Christian remained silent and whatever questions were asked, Christian answered with a small degree of sobriety. The occasional quirk of his lips indicated that whoever the man was, he couldn’t completely erase Christian’s irreverence. At the same time, Peter got the impression that Christian answered to him.

  The man reached to pat Christian on the shoulder. When his hand lingered for a moment, Peter saw the absence of two fingers, giving the already battered, middle-aged man an even more gristly feature than the scar across his face. Peter hadn’t meant to stare, but the length of time he spent studying the hand must have registered to Christian’s boss. He shot Peter a look, examining him with indifference, and cocked his head in Peter’s direction when he looked toward Christian again.

  As Christian shifted his attention to Peter, he managed a more disarming smile, lifting one of the beer bottles he’d acquired so Peter could see it. Peter saluted, not knowing why, feeling a sudden flight of nerves and apt to direct his attention back to the pool table. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Christian say one additional thing to his friend before walking in the direction of the pool tables again. In each hand, he clutched a drink, and when he reached Peter, he offered one to him.

  “Thanks,” Peter said, taking a sip from the bottle immediately to calm his nerves. His heart continued to race, and even though a quick glance at the grizzled man revealed he had moved on to other business, Peter had the distinct impression he’d managed to register as something on his radar. His gaze shifted back to Christian. “Someone you know?”

  “Yes,” Christian said simply at first. He rounded the table, examining the placement of the balls. “Peter, you didn’t have to wait, though if you wanted to prove you’re not a cheater, you managed that much.”

  “Actually, I forgot about the game at a point.”

  “I know.” Christian glanced at him, his smile mo
re solemn. When he resumed his perusal of the table, he sighed, lifting his beer to drink down a sizeable amount of its contents before talking again. “His name is Roland. Please don’t repeat it. The wrong sort of people know him.”

  Peter raised an eyebrow. “Should I ask?”

  “No, I’d recommend not.”

  The frank response sent the butterflies in his stomach into a whirlwind. Finishing off another healthy swallow of the beer, Peter set the bottle down and approached the table again. While crouching to line his next shot, he couldn’t help but to get lost in thought. Was Christian in the Mafia? Maybe. For all Peter knew, Christian might have been an undercover officer, or a loan shark, and the mystery had taken a turn for the maddening. He missed the cue ball altogether and laughed with Christian about the failed attempt, but as Christian took his turn, he considered the riddle further.

  Christian didn’t give any audience to Peter’s suspicions. His focus remained on playing the game and when one finished, they took out the rack and started another. Peter, for his part, allowed him to take the lead again, settling in his mind to ask Christian more when they were somewhere else. It wasn’t until Christian’s turn, midway through their second game, that he found himself reconsidering his reluctance to belabor the point.

  Crouched over the pool table, Christian lined his shot and glanced up from his position, looking up when the sound of another group entering the bar echoed toward the back. While he hit the ball with smooth composure, as it bounced off the side of the table, he straightened to a full stand and strode to the other side of Peter, placing the taller man between him and the front door. “What do you say we get out of here, love?” he asked, picking up his beer bottle and finishing his drink. “I’m getting bored and think I want you all to myself now.”

  “Shouldn’t we finish –?” Peter began, but Christian set both his pool cue and the now-emptied bottle aside and made up the distance between them. His hands smoothed the front of Peter’s shirt before settling on the back of the other man’s neck, pulling Peter down just as he lifted to meet him in a kiss. A tingle shot the length of Peter’s spine and while the saner part of his mind knew the request had crossed into the realm of suspicion, the demanding nature of the kiss made him apt to give in. When Christian pulled away, Peter remained mute.