at Slate’s workplace, too? Okay, now I was verging on paranoia. Isaac’s beef was with me, no doubt for “stealing” his property.
I scooped up my box of food dyes and set them out on the counter in rainbow order. It helped me order my thoughts and calm down.
If Isaac went after Slate, I had to trust my boy would tell me and let Daddy handle it. Slate knew that was what I was here for. To help him, no matter what.
At last, there was a thought to make me smile. I had a boy—and God, it made me proud to call Slate mine. I wished I could share that news with all my friends. I hated keeping secrets. And since I didn’t want to play with any other boys… well, everyone else would notice my singular focus soon.
Just a little longer, I told myself and plucked the bottle of red dye from the end of the lineup. First, I’d frost the cherry cupcakes my boy had approved yesterday. Once Isaac was gone, I’d tell Slate the good news, and then he’d come around to trusting Brighton, the DMs, and maybe the whole club.
Then we could be another of those happy couples in Dom Nation most weekends. Slate would be safe from Isaac’s prying gaze, and I could show him off like the boy toy he wanted to be.
“Soon,” I murmured to myself and set the other bottles aside, grabbing steel bowls from under the counter.
Good things were coming soon.
13
Rex
I could walk into a room of investors and cold-pitch them, and I’d be sweating less. But here I was, just staring at my boy over a white tablecloth and candles as the Italian restaurant slowly revolved.
This was the sort of place old rich guys took their bored wives, or business partners came to make those all-important connections. We were seated in a quiet part of the restaurant, at a romantic table for two.
Slate was fascinated by the ever-changing skyline. He kept glancing out and staring, craning his neck to see more.
“You only have to wait fifteen minutes and you can see the view behind you without breaking your neck,” I teased.
Slate blushed as he looked at me again with a little laugh. “Sorry,” he murmured.
But I just smiled at him. It was cute, watching him get flustered. “I like that you’re enjoying this.”
“Are you?” Slate asked, wide-eyed and innocent.
Oh, boy. Apart from the constant jiggle of my leg under the table and my deep-abiding anxiety that I was charting a course through regions unknown…
“Yeah,” I said with my usual confident smile.
I’d never taken anyone on such a traditional romantic date, but it had felt important. Daddy Cakes had been so quiet yesterday night that I didn’t care about being closed for another weeknight. Weekends would be busier, and other things mattered more right now. Slate deserved to be wooed properly, and more importantly to know that he deserved every bit of it.
I wanted the world to see the way I looked at him: like he was my future. But I’d spent all evening sweating like crazy because I didn’t want to screw this up.
“Good,” Slate said with a soft smile. “This is all so new to me…”
The waiter who had just cleared away the dishes reappeared with dessert menus and offered them. “Dessert, sirs?”
“No, thank you. We’ve got plans,” I said, winking at Slate. I knew exactly where his mind would go, and even though I didn’t mean that precisely… I didn’t mind embarrassing him a little more.
He turned bright red and cleared his throat. “Thank you,” he added before giving me a wide-eyed stare once the waiter walked away.
“Finish your wine,” I told him. “Or don’t. We’re not going home yet.”
Slate’s pretty, full lips parted, his bright white teeth flashing in a smile. “Really?” He sounded amazed, like he couldn’t imagine what else there was to enjoy tonight. Then he tipped back his head and finished the last sip of his wine, setting down his glass. He pushed back his chair slightly, almost vibrating with excitement like he was ready to spring to his feet.
I love seeing him eager as a puppy. I luxuriated in the thought and imagined myself scratching my fingers along his scalp later, pulling his quivering body against mine as he moaned… Romance first, I reminded myself and cleared my throat.
When I’d planned the evening, I’d pulled every classic idea from my scant knowledge of movies and pop culture. Ergo, three-course Italian meal and now rooftop