"You sound like a daddy about to marry off his son," Bianca said, joining their hug.
"Fuck, I feel like one," Gray grumbled, and they all laughed before going back to work.
"Hey," Moor said, snapping his fingers in front of his eyes, getting Des's attention. "Why the hell did you just space the fuck out?"
“I was thinking about what you said, and you have a point. Let’s go somewhere else.” Des went to walk away, but his arm was grabbed, stopping him.
“Wait,” Moor said, causing Des to look up. “Maybe it’s not a bad idea.” That brought a smile to Des’s face. “I haven’t been here in a while myself. But next time we hang out, I’m picking the place.”
“Are you saying we’ll go out again?” Des smiled, doing a little mental jig.
“Maybe,” he shrugged a shoulder. “Let’s see how the night goes,” Othello said. “Come on, let’s do what you came here to do.”
Des grinned and grabbed Othello’s hand, pulling him toward the large rollercoaster. The amusement park was a staple in Verona Heights. It shared residence with the Velora River and was separated by a long walking bridge leading to a botanical garden and a few shops and high-class restaurants built in the past couple of years. The city had spent a lot of money on the park’supkeep and improvement over the years, and it was looking to expand, which Des knew his parents had a hand in.
“Admit it, you’re having fun,” Des said one hour into their outing as they walked through the botanical gardens.
They had gone on a few rides and played a few games that Othello won, but declined to take the prizes. He especially won the shooting games, proving the man knew his way around a gun. During those times, Des studied Othello’s expression. Try as he might to hide it, Des had caught the man smiling a few times but masked his expression when he realized Des was looking at him. Des wasn’t the only one watching Othello. He’d also spotted a couple of men and women admiring the taller man’s good looks. Des wanted to snap at them or excessively flirt with Othello to ward them off, but he knew the man wasn’t his. Hell, he wasn’t even sure if this was considered a date. It was more like they were two people hanging out.
“I’m still waiting for you to feed me,” Othello said, cutting into his thoughts.
“What are you in the mood for?”
“How about Italian?” Othello said.
“Okay, do you know a place?”
“I do,” he said, grabbing Des’s hand and pulling him toward the other side of the botanical garden.
Des smiled, allowing Moor to lead him. He wasn’t even watching where they were heading. His only focus was on Moor. He wasn’t sure how long they walked but groaned when his face hit the larger man’s hard-muscled back, realizing they had stopped.
“Ouch,” he groaned softly, stepping back from Moor, rubbing his nose, and noticing they were standing in front of a classic Mediterranean-style building just as beautiful as the surrounding garden. From the elegantly decorated indoor and outdoor tables with white tablecloths, they were at the Italian restaurant Othello mentioned. The place looked very inviting, and the food smelled divine. However, there was a problem: all the tables were taken.
“It looks packed. I doubt we’ll be able to get a table,” Des commented.
“We will. Come on,” he said, gently squeezing Des’s hand. They walked into the restaurant and up to the hostess's desk.
“Good evening,” Moor said to the handsome host. “Could you tell Signore Conti that Othello Moor is here to see him?”
It might’ve been Des’s imagination, but he swore the young man's eyes widened, and then he nodded and ran off without saying a word. Not five minutes later, a portly olive-skinned man, Des, suspected to be Conti, came out to greet Moor.
“Signore Moor, I wasn’t expecting to see you tonight. We don’t have...”
“I need a table,” Moor said, cutting off whatever Conti was trying to say.
“A table." To Des, Mister Conti seemed surprised at what Othello said.
"Will that be a problem?"
"Yes...I mean, no, right away,” Conti said, snapping his fingers quickly at the young host.
“I prefer a private room,” Moor told Conti, who nodded and rattled off orders in Italian.
Again, Des felt he was seeing things because Conti seemed to have beads of sweat on his forehead the second he saw Moor. Des stole a glance at the taller man, wondering what the relationship between Conti and Moor was. He put it aside to ask later because Conti returned in less than five minutes and guided them to a private room where a bottle of red wine was uncorked, breathing and waiting for them.
“With how quickly he got everything set up, it makes me think this guy owes you money because you're a part of the mafia,” Des joked as he took his seat. When Moor didn’t speak, Des looked up to see the man watching him. “Did I say something wrong?”
“No.” He smiled, draping the napkin over his lap. Des got the feeling he’d missed something important.
