The restaurant was one of those places that tried a little too hard to be elegant, but the view of the sea saved it. Large glass windows looked out over the dark, churning water, and the candlelight flickering on the tables made the entire world feel small—just the two of them in a bubble of amber light.
Adrik pulled out a chair for Hans, his mind still spinning from the Munich invitation. Meeting parents was for normal people with normal lives. It was for guys who didn’t have tocheck over their shoulders or wonder if their past was about to catch up with them in a seaside resort town.
“You’re very quiet,” Hans noted, unfolding his linen napkin. “Is it the mafia thug book or the parents that scared you off?”
Adrik picked up the wine list, using it as a shield. “I don’t scare easily, Hans. I’m just wondering what kind of story you’ll tell them about the guy you’re seeing.”
“I’ll tell them you’re a businessman from New York who’s a bit too fond of expensive shoes and far too mysterious for his own good.”
Adrik let out a short, dry laugh. “Accurate enough.” He set the menu down and leaned forward, his gaze intensifying. “But seriously. What is the interest in New York? Research for the book? Or do you just like men that could be from somewhere dangerous?”
Hans didn’t blink. “I like men with layers. Everyone here is… transparent. You’re like one of the books in my living room that’s been mislabeled. I’m just trying to read the chapters you’ve skipped.”
The server arrived, and Adrik ordered a bottle of the most expensive red on the list without glancing at the price—a habit from his old life he hadn’t quite kicked. As the server retreated, Adrik felt the familiar itch from the “family business” talk. It was a tightrope walk. He wanted to be real with Hans, but the truth was a lead weight. Sergei had cautioned him to be careful with his money, as extravagant spending could reveal his hidden history. His duty was to mimic the behavior of those in his vicinity. All part of the RUN plan. Sergei hadn’t met Hans. He tried to imagine where Sergei was. Adrik would never forgive himself if anything happened to him.
“If you come to Munich,” Hans said, his voice dropping to a softer, more persuasive tone, “no questions about New York.No talking of business. Just the city, the beer halls, and me. No pressure.”
Adrik looked at Hans—really looked at him. The man was a mess at home, obsessed with writing about criminals, and apparently determined to drag Adrik into a family dinner. He was a disaster, and yet, for the first time in years, Adrik felt like he could actually breathe.
“No questions?” Adrik clarified, raising an eyebrow.
“None. Unless you want to ask me something.”
Adrik reached across the table, his hand hovering near Hans’. “I might have one or two. But let’s see if we make it through dinner first.” Adrik moved his foot under the table and rubbed his shoe against Hans’ ankle. “I have a proposition for this evening,” Adrik said.
“Listening.” Hans nodded, a subtle movement holding a certain allure.
“I want to challenge you to a match. The winner tops tonight,” Adrik announced.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“What’s the challenge?”
“Can’t talk about it here. When we get home.”
“Did you move me into your cottage?” Hans’ words held a playful quality, but his eyes betrayed a deep undertone.
During the pause in conversation while the server took their dinner orders, Adrik ordered another bottle of wine.
“You eat too much beef,” Hans said.
“And you don’t eat enough.”
“How do you know what I eat when you’re not around?”
Adrik ignored Hans’ question and continued his defense. “Beef and…” Adrik stopped short of finishing his sentence. “Is the makings of a warrior.”
Hans leaned in. “And what?”
“Daily masturbation.”
“What?” Hans nearly dropped his glass of wine. “What research source backs up your statement?”
“My father. I had to masturbate every day since I was twelve.”
“In front of him?” Hans’ face was etched with horror, his expression paling as if he were watching a horror movie.
