“I was saying that Trevor Crenshaw and I haven’t even met. At least you and Rachel have.”
“I don’t know.” She was shaking her head.
“Then I guess the deal’s off.”
“Wait. No. You’re telling me that if I agree to ask Rachel out, you’ll set up something with this Trevor guy?”
“Yeah. That’s the deal. Though I’m not sold on his name.”
“She did look a little like Emma Thompson.”
“That’s the May I know.”
“What exactly is the May you know, George? If you were writingmyprofile for—what is this—GayDate.com? How would you describeme?”
“I would say May Fischer is intuitive, kind, quirky, and abnormally strong... a cross between Stevie Nicks and Dwayne ‘The Rock’Johnson.”
“Why are we friends?”
“Because you couldn’t live without me. And I wouldn’t have lived without you.”
She stared at him, a slow smile curling. “OK, then. Let’s do it.”
“Sure. Why not? Don’t mind me... I’m only trying to open a restaurant.”
“It’s just one night, George. I’m not asking you to marry the guy.”
“Sure. What the fuck? Set it up. And the next time Rachel comes in, you’rerequiredto ask her out.”
“What makes you so sure she’s coming back?”
“Oh, she’s coming back.”
Chapter 6
When the car pulled up in front of the postal station, Mikey grinned, anticipating the perfect evening. It was a yellow Camaro with black racing stripes, low to the ground, tinted windows, and a souped-up engine purring—such a sexy sound. He imagined the man that would drive this beautiful machine. He would be rugged—not pretty, tight jeans bulging at the crotch, perhaps a tattooed sleeve peeking out from a rolled-up cuff, thick wrist and strong hand on the wheel, dark hair and beard, and maybe a small scar on his cheek beneath a blue eye.
Chaz was his name. He was local to DC, in a nearby neighborhood, so Mikey had agreed to be picked up at the station after work. Normally, with blind dates he would get a picture, meet the man wherever, and go Dutch—rules he’d established from prior experience in case things didn’t go well. But something about the yellow Camaro featured as Chaz’s profile pic had ignited his libido.So hot.
Mikey no longer dated in Baltimore. It was a small gay world out there and he didn’t want any of his private life reaching the central gossip network of Little Italy. He wasn’t closeted. In fact, he was out and proud. But he kept his dating activity private regarding his mother, busybody supreme. If he dated anyone remotely Italian in the city proper, she would find out via friends, neighbors, or church. She was fine with him being gay, constantly alluding to single guys in the neighborhood and making no bones about her desire for a son-in-law and grandchildren. She meant well. But thisenthusiasmhad startled the few men he had attempted to date close to home. So, he had put an end to it. His parameters for Bear911 were set to the nation’s capitol only. DC had long been his stomping grounds for work and play.
Tuesday nights were usually designated for play, often at B.J.’s for Tuesday Tunes. But he sometimes scheduled dates on that night as well, being off on Wednesdays. If he got lucky, he wouldn’t have to worry about work the following morning. If he didn’t get lucky, there was always B.J.’s later... where heoccasionallygot lucky.
So, he had come back from his route, tip-toed over the tiled floors in the oh-so- disgusting employee bathroom to do a quick sponge bath, redo his hair, change clothes, and splash on some Brut cologne from a plastic bottle. He put on a nice dress shirt, some tight faded jeans, and loafers. Lastly, he threw his dirties in a grocery bag which he left in his locker, heading outside at 7 p.m. on the dot.
And as Mikey opened the door on the yellow purring sex machine, visualizing the devilishly handsome man he expected to find within, what he encountered took him completely by surprise.
Chaz was a little old man—petite and cute in a Leslie Jordan kind of way—but in no way did he resemble his profile description or meet the specifications of Mikey’s search criteria.
He reached over and patted the seat, and in a melodic southern accent said. “Well, hi there, Mikey. Hop in.”
Mikey froze for what seemed an eternity—a barrage of thoughts bombarding him.
He’s so cute. I just want to put him in my pocket.
I think I may need a glass of sweet tea.
I can’t just leave—that would be rude.
