“If you don’t want me to come with your friend—”
“No,” he cried out, immediately regretting it. “It would be nice if you could come. If you want. You can say no—”
“I do want to come.”
Winston’s easy smile settled his racing heart, and he smiled in return. “Okay. Let’s go, then, before Spencer starts spinning more crazy stories in his head.”
Winston walked several steps behind him, and Elliot yearned for what he’d never had with another man. A closeness that needed no words. A hand on his back or around his shoulders. Someone to reciprocate all the love waiting inside him to be given away freely. All his life he’d wanted someone to be there solely for him, so he wouldn’t feel guilty that he was taking up their time or wondering if they might be thinking of someone else.
When they passed through the hallway to the front, where Spencer waited, Elliot averted his eyes from the pictures of Claire and hoped Winston wouldn’t ask about her again.
For the first time, he was grateful for Spencer’s big mouth and annoying ways, as the moment his friend spotted them, he sprang into action.
“Oh, good. I made a reservation at Añejo on Church Street. It’s not too bougie, and the food’s delish. The car should be here any minute.”
“I get the feeling you never sit still,” Winston said with a laugh.
“You have no idea,” Elliot muttered, and Winston took his hand and squeezed it, sending tingles of happiness through him.
“Come on, kids. The car is here.” Spencer opened the front door.
***
With several margaritas under his belt and almost their weight consumed in guacamole, Elliot happily munched on a tortilla chip while gazing around the crowded, noisy space. It’d been ages since he’d been out to a fun Saturday brunch, and he’d forgotten the world spun along with or without him participating. Across the table from him, Winston met his eyes and smiled. Right now, he’d never been happier to be with people.
“You’re looking more relaxed. I think time away from the house will do you good.”
“Yeah, definitely.” A little tipsy but still in control, he slurped down some more of his drink. “I haven’t really gotten out much lately.”
“At all.” Spencer’s words cut through him. “And let me tell you, we all tried, but you replaced Mr. My-Chakras-Are-Blocked with The-Disappearing-Salesman. Before that, it was Mr. I-Need-To-Express-Myself-Through-My-Music-Instead-Of-Getting-A-Job.”
Flushed with the shame of having his dirty laundry aired in public, Elliot toyed with his chickenchilaquiles. “Will you stop bringing that up, please? He’s gone for good, and I learned my lesson. No more jumping into relationships, okay?”
Spencer stared at him hard, then nodded. “I hope so. You deserve someone who realizes how special you are. Do you see it, finally?”
“Enough.” He curled his hand into a fist on the table. “I’m not a kid, and you’re not my father.”
“Not like he gave a damn,” Spencer mumbled, and Elliot cringed. Thank God Winston had gone to the restroom and didn’t hear their back-and-forth, but seeing him making his way through the crowd, Elliot kicked Spencer under the table, hoping he’d get the hint.
Shut up, he mouthed, and for once Spencer listened.
Winston ordered another beer, and to Elliot’s relief, Spencer changed the subject. “So, Win, tell us about yourself.”
Lazing in his chair, Winston regarded them with a half smile on his lips. “What would you like to know? Height, weight, shoe size?”
“Hell to the no. I can see the package. I need the juicy details. Let’s start with where you’re from.”
“New York City.”
Spencer frowned. “That’s not an answer. Where? The city, the outer boroughs…?”
“Jesus, Spencer, this is brunch, not an interrogation.”
“I don’t blame him,” Winston said. “Good friends watch out for each other.”
“See?” Spencer crowed in triumph. “So? Where?”
“I’m originally from Brooklyn. Sheepshead Bay. Homecrest Avenue, to be exact. How’s that?”
