Maurice glanced down at the Pride Express ticket again. The colors were obnoxiously bright, as if they were daring him to look away. A whole week surrounded by gay men laughing, flirting, and existing out loud. It was just too overwhelming. Too exposed. And yet something in him tugged toward it.
“Guess I’m going to Pride.” He aimed for a joke. It landed crooked, but David grinned anyway.
David clinked his glass against Maurice’s. “Damn right you are.”
Maurice squeezed a lime wedge into his margarita and took a sip while David flagged down the server. The place smelled like sizzling peppers and onions, and the air was warm from the fajita skillets being carried past their booth every few minutes. When the server came back, they both ordered chicken fajitas—extra tortillas for David, extra guacamole for Maurice.
David wiped salsa off his thumb and tossed out there like it was nothing, “Oh—by the way. There’s a Meet-a-Daddy Party on the train.”
Maurice paused mid-bite. “A what now?”
David’s grin went sly; the same one he’d used in college whenever he was about to stir trouble. “You heard me. Theme night. Lots of boys looking for… guidance.”
Maurice snorted. “Guidance. Right. That’s what we’re calling it these days?”
“Call it whatever you want,” David said, shrugging. “Point is, you might meet someone who actually likes your bossy streak.”
“I don’t have a bossy streak.”
David gave him a look that saidplease. “Right. And I don’t alphabetize my spice rack.”
Maurice rolled his eyes, but didn’t show the comment hit a nerve. Liam had liked that vibe. Liam had called him Daddy Dubois with a grin that made Maurice feel ten feet tall. Rules, consequences, structure—Liam had wanted all of it, and Maurice had given it freely. That relationship had been the closest thing to real he’d ever had. And he missed it more than he admitted.
Maurice cleared his throat. “Even if I did meet someone, he’d probably live three states away.”
“Long distance isn’t fatal,” David said lightly. “People move. People adjust.” He took a sip of his drink, too casual to be casual. “You’ve got the space.”
Maurice raised a brow. “You trying to set me up or get me to adopt someone?”
“Just saying,” David murmured, tapping his glass. “You’ve always had that caretaker thing. Some guys like that.”
Maurice leaned his elbows on the table, trying to steer himself back to safer ground. “Uh-huh. Well, before I go collecting strays, what am I supposed to pack? I don’t own anything rainbow except that tie someone gave me as a joke.”
David grinned. “Perfect. You’ll fit right in.”
Maurice wasn’t sure if he meant the tie or the Meet-a-Daddy Party. And David didn’t clarify—he never did when he wanted Maurice thinking about something later.
David laughed, shaking his head. “You don’t need rainbow everything. Just bring stuff that makes you feel good. Shorts, tanks, maybe something fun for the parties.”
Maurice raised a brow. “Parties? You didn’t mention parties.”
“It’s Pride, Maurice. There are always parties.”
Maurice groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I’m going to look like a lawyer who got lost on the wrong train.”
“You are a lawyer who got lost on the wrong train,” David said, grinning. “But you’ll be fine.”
Maurice nudged him under the table with his foot. “You know, you could use a boyfriend yourself.”
David’s smile faded into something smaller, more careful. He shifted in his seat, tapping a slow pattern into the condensation on his glass—the same nervous tic he’d had since college finals week. “I know. And… there’s something else I need to tell you.”
Maurice set his margarita down, the ice clinking. “What’s going on?”
“I got fired.”
For a second, Maurice thought he’d misheard. “From the firm or a case?”
“The firm.”
