The conversation moved onto someone Mark knew and Allen exhaled a breath he’d been holding. He knew it could be a red flag. He knew it might be too fast. He knew the age gap and the fame, and the intensity should make him cautious. None of that stopped him. He wanted to see Rick again.
Chapter Seven
Rick didn’t sleep much. He tried to convince himself it was the same thing it always had been. Restlessness or too many thoughts bouncing around his head, but he knew that wasn’t the whole truth.
Allen’s number was in his phone, and that had changed something. It made the quiet in Rick’s apartment feel different somehow. It made him check his screen more than he should, waiting for words that shouldn’t matter.
On Saturday, he cleaned his place. Just normal things like folding his clothes, wiping the counters, and taking out the trash. He even changed the sheets, which was ridiculous because Allen wasn’t coming over.
Rick went to the gym, worked out harder than usual, and still didn’t feel calm after he’d finished. He came home, showered, stared at his closet, and then chose something simple. Dark jeans and a black shirt, plus a coat that fit well.
He checked himself in the mirror and nodded. He looked normal and not like the murderer he was.
Before he left, Rick opened the news on his phone. He didn’t want to, but he did it anyway. He had to search for the story because more important news had taken its place. When Rick did find it, he read it and found it had been updated with nothing. Police continue investigating the death of a music manager. No suspects identified.
Rick stared at the line until his mouth tightened. No suspects. No arrests. Nothing about Rick. Nothing about a former client. Nothing about a dinner the night he died.
Rick put his phone down and exhaled slowly. It was still working, and that thought gave him a small thrill, a sensation he hated and craved at the same time.
Rick picked up his phone and messaged Allen the address of the restaurant. He chose one that wasn’t too crowded. A quiet place where they could talk and Rick could get to know Allen better.
He also didn’t want to be recognized. He wanted Allen to look at him the way he had in the café. Allen replied with a simple “Okay” and a thumbs up. Rick stared at it for far too long, then locked his phone and left.
He arrived early by only a few minutes and picked a table. It gave him enough time to settle and make it look as if he wasn’t waiting, which he actually was. He sat near the back and ordered water and kept his phone on the table. At 6:59, Rick’s pulse started to pick up. At 7:02, Allen walked in.
Allen looked different outside the café and out of his work clothes. Jeans and a light blue shirt that looked good on him. A dark jacket over the top, Allen looked tense, like he’d had to talk himself into showing up, and then he looked up and saw Rick. His expression shifted. Relief first, then into something softer.
Rick stood up and waited as Allen walked over. Rick saw it again: that quick, cautious smile.
“Hey,” Allen said.
Rick’s chest loosened. “Hey.”
Allen glanced at the table, then back at Rick. “This place is nice.”
“It’s quiet.”
Allen’s mouth twitched. “You really don’t like crowds.”
He didn’t deny it. “Not anymore.”
They sat, and Rick watched Allen settle into the chair, watched his hands move, watched the way he looked around the restaurant.
“Are you okay?” Rick asked, keeping his voice casual.
Allen blinked. “Yeah. Just… nerves.”
“It’s okay to be nervous. I’m a little nervous too.”
Allen’s eyes widened. “You?”
“This is my first date with you. I don’t want to mess things up.”
The waiter came by before Allen could respond. Allen quickly checked the menu and ordered something simple, and Rick did the same. Allen reached for his water glass, then stopped before murmuring something and reached for the glass again.
Rick watched him and felt a strange tug in his chest. Allen was nervous, but he showed up anyway, and that mattered to Rick.
They talked about work first because it was easy. Allen described a customer who’d yelled at him for five solid minutes, and Rick listened, actually listened, because Allen’s voice mattered more than the story.
