Husband Hunters Page 17

  The phone rang, and Matt automatically assumed it was Cody, calling to ask if he wanted to head to Golden Gardens Park for a hike with Ryder or to make plans for dinner this evening.

  But his Caller ID only displayed the words “unknown caller.” Matt debated whether to take the call, knowing such IDs were usually what telemarketers hid behind. He didn’t feel like taking a survey or being pitched this or that product or service.

  But hell, what better things did he have to do? And maybe the caller wasn’t a recorded voice or someone desperate to get his thoughts on laundry detergent. He’d roll the dice. “Hello.”

  “Matt?”

  “You got him.” Matt always detested saying “This is he” in such a situation. It sounded so formal.

  “This is Tre.”

  For a moment, the name didn’t register, and then it clicked into place. Tre. The camera guy from Husband Hunters. Matt pictured him in his mind’s eye. He was cute, a compact, muscular little guy with a tattoo on his neck of the Cheshire Cat. Platinum spikes. An eyebrow piercing. Grungy clothes. He was always so quiet and soft-spoken.

  But why on earth would Tre be calling him? The show was going to be a total sham. They’d already been briefed on that by Wally and Martha. They planned on saying that Matt and Cody were busy planning a summer wedding. Their episode was slated for a spring airing.

  Had something changed?

  “Hey, Tre, good to hear from you.” Matt glanced out his sliding glass doors. “What’s up?” He couldn’t imagine why the guy was calling him. His silence right now told Matt Tre was uncomfortable, and Matt wondered briefly if he was calling to deliver bad news. Maybe their episode had been cancelled? That would be filed under “relief” rather than “bad news.” But Tre wouldn’t call to tell him that. A cameraman? Why?

  “I was just thinking about you,” Tre said.

  “Oh, well, it’s always nice to be thought about.” Matt chuckled. “Provided they’re good thoughts.”

  “Oh, they are!” Tre hastened to reassure him. “They all are!” Tre laughed.

  Matt didn’t know what to say. It dawned on him, with the implication about Tre’s thoughts, that Tre might be gay. His gaydar hadn’t picked up on it at all during the shooting, but then Matt had been preoccupied with a lot of other things at the time. Still, he hadn’t a clue. And maybe he was wrong.

  Because the silence had grown stilted, Matt asked, “So how’s the weather in California?”

  “I’m not in California. I’m in Seattle.”

  Matt was taken aback. “What? Visiting?”

  “No. I thought you knew. I live here. In Leschi.”

  Matt placed the neighborhood as just east of downtown, on the shores of Lake Washington.

  “I just assumed you would live in LA. Isn’t the show headquartered in Burbank or someplace?”

  “Oh, I don’t work for the show. I’m a freelancer. They picked me because I’m local. I do all kinds of videos, a lot of corporate stuff. I’ve done work for Microsoft and Amazon, mostly employee training videos.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You’re probably wondering why I’m calling, other than the fact that, as Willie Nelson sings, you’re always on my mind?”

  “Well, yeah. This does seem kind of out of the blue.”

  Tre drew in a big breath and then said in a rush, “I want to ask you out.”

  Bingo. Yes, Tre was gay. But who knew he harbored a thing for Matt? If he were going to pick between the pair of them, wouldn’t he go for Cody? Wouldn’t anyone? He was definitely the better looking of the two. And then Matt chastised himself. He didn’t need to bash himself this way; it wasn’t healthy.

  “You did?” Matt blurted.

  “Yes. Yes, I did. And do. I liked what I saw up on the mountain. You’re a hottie.” He laughed. “Sorry. Don’t mean to embarrass.” There was a pause. “The only thing I didn’t like was the way that other guy treated you. What was his name? Cory?”

  “Cody. And thank you. But we’ve worked things out. We’re friends again.” Were they? Or did they just go through the motions?

  “That’s good. I felt bad for you, man. That guy was totally blind to what a catch you are. You’re like the dream guy.” Tre laughed. “So fuckin’ butch.”

  Matt didn’t want Tre’s pity or flattery, so he said, “What did you want to do?”

  “Oh, maybe dinner. Maybe a show. You like music? Indie bands?”

  Matt didn’t really know much about the scene, but he said cheerfully, “Sure!” And then he hastened to add, “Dinner sounds great. I’m free this weekend. Wait. Does that sound pathetic?”

  “No. It sounds like my lucky day.”

  A tingle of warmth rushed through Matt. Funny how a single phone call could turn a morning around. “Where did you have in mind?” Matt asked.

  “How about Ray’s Boathouse? You’re in Ballard, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I can pick you up on my bike at seven. I’ll hang up now and hop online and make a reservation. If anything changes, I’ll call you back. Thanks so much, Matt!”

  “No, thank you.” They hung up.

  The phone rang again. This time it was Cody, and Matt felt an odd thing—a surge of pleasure at telling the guy, if he asked about tonight, that he was already busy. But he wouldn’t share what he was doing, nor with whom.

  “Hey, what’s up, stranger?” Cody asked cheerfully.

  Whoosh! And away went the desire to try and taunt Cody with the idea that he, finally, was going out with a man, to rub it in that he was not free on a Saturday night to go on a manhunt with Cody.

  “Oh, nothin’. Just finishing up breakfast here.”

  “Ryder’s antsy this morning. I swear, this pooch can tell weekend days from weekdays. I was thinking about wearing him out at Discovery Park. We could hike through the woods, then let him cut loose on the beach while we admire that lighthouse.”

  Matt was tempted to tell Cody that he needed to stay in and clean. He had a gentleman caller coming over tonight, and who knew what would happen? The place needed to be tidied up, perhaps optimistic clean sheets thrown upon the bed.

  Yet the morning with Cody and Ryder sounded just lovely.

  So he just said, “That sounds like fun. You want me to pick you up?”

  * * * *

  Later, Matt bustled around his apartment, fluffing pillows, straightening his stack of Entertainment Weekly’s on the coffee table, and outfitting the bed in the aforementioned optimistic sheets. There was no reason to kid himself. Matt knew that if he invited Tre in for a nightcap after their dinner, there would be sex. God, there had to be. Matt tried to remember the last time and thought it had been at least a couple of months, except for his daily sessions with Mr. Thumb and his four sons. His head just hadn’t been in the right place for even simple physical release with another guy.

  Tonight, he hoped he would get his head in the right place. Both of them.

  Tre was due to arrive any minute now. Matt stole a glance at himself in the round mirror he had positioned over the secretary desk just inside his front door. “Hopeless,” he whispered to his reflection. He had done all he could, which for a simple guy like Matt meant showering and slapping on some Old Spice, a scent he knew was cheap, but it reminded him of his dad, and that memory dovetailed, for him, with what men were supposed to smell like. He was glad he had grown the goatee over the fall. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what Tre had seen in him. Maybe he had just felt sorry for him? He’d been in a pretty pathetic situation last summer, and Tre had recorded it all on camera.

  Maybe this was Tre’s random act of kindness for the week.

  “Stop it!” he barked at his reflection. You don’t need to tear yourself down this way. Tre himself said he thought you were hot, butch, whatever. The guy’s obviously attracted, so why don’t you just take pleasure in that instead of questioning it? Buddy, you need to get yourself on a therapist’s couch someday, find out why you hate on yourself like this. Ma
tt tried out a smile in the mirror. He did have nice teeth, even and white.

  “You’re going out with a sexy man. And he asked you out,” he whispered to his reflection. Then he added, in an echo of one of his favorite Saturday Night Live characters, “I’m good enough. I’m smart enough. And doggone it, people like me.”

  Matt rolled his eyes and turned away from the mirror, snickering, a grin playing about his lips as he heard the bass roar of an engine outside his apartment. He hurried over to his glass sliding doors, and in the waning light, almost dark, he saw Tre pull into the parking lot below. What was that between his legs? A Harley? The thought made Matt’s other head spring to attention just a little bit. There was something about a man astride a motorcycle…

  He opened the doors and stepped out onto the small balcony, already questioning if the plaid flannel shirt, jeans, and Vans he had on were good enough for the restaurant—or for Tre. Matt stared down at him, hoping to catch his attention by psychic force.

  He must have, because as soon as Tre took off his helmet, he looked up. He called, “Rapunzel. Rapunzel. Let down your hair.” Then he snorted, “Oh, that’s right, you don’t have any.”

  “Bitch,” Matt called over the railing, then clasped his hand over his mouth to try to stuff the epithet back in. But Tre was laughing.

  “You want to come up?” Matt called down.

  “Nah. I think we need to be on our way if we’re going to make our reservation. Do I look okay?”

  Tre looked glorious in a black biker jacket, faded jeans, and motorcycle boots. Hotter than hell. Matt was tempted to tell him to forget the boathouse, just come upstairs and they could start with dessert. “You look good enough to eat,” Matt called and then hoped none of his neighbors had heard. What was wrong with him?

  Maybe you’re just happy. Maybe that feeling hasn’t really come along in such a long while you don’t recognize it for what it is. “Let me grab a jacket and I’ll be right down.”

  * * * *

  Ray’s Boathouse encompassed two restaurants. The lower level was the more formal of the two, and its fine-dining atmosphere and stiffer dress code would have never suited either of them. Matt was relieved when Tre told him they’d be eating in the upper portion, the more casual café. It still had terrific seafood and, during the day at least, offered the same amazing views of Puget Sound and beyond, the Olympic mountain range. Tonight, all of that would be shrouded in darkness, but still, just knowing it was there was romantic.

  After they had settled in and placed their orders, Dungeness crab cakes for Tre (“Getting crabs tonight?” Matt couldn’t resist asking, snickering) and blackened Pacific rockfish for Matt, they started to talk.

  “So how did you get involved with Husband Hunters?” Matt asked, hoping that by getting conversation about the show out of the way, the thing that had brought them together in the first place, they could quickly move on to less depressing conversational fare.

  “They were casting around for someone local to be on the team. I was available, and ta-da, there I was. And there you were. It was fun, except for watching how that guy treated you. What was up with that?”

  Matt shook his head and stared out at the darkness pressing in against the glass. He thought he’d been asking an innocent question, you know, one that would lead into first-date chatter about what they did for a living. He had no idea he’d bring to the fore, immediately, his most pressing bad memory. “I don’t know. Cody and I have been best friends forever, and the producers thought it would be a good idea to see if they could get us together.”

  “Like a best-friends-to-lovers story?”

  “Exactly.” Matt wondered if he still wanted that story to come true. It was too early to tell, but maybe the guy sitting across from him could add just the twist the story needed. He sure was cute. All the rest remained to be discovered, and Matt realized he was looking forward to it. He didn’t want to tell Tre that he would have been okay with the story line they’d proposed. It was what he had wanted. But he thought if he admitted that, it would cast him in kind of a pathetic light. “I’m not sure, but I think they’re going to run the show and leave it open, but give the idea we’re moving toward heading down the aisle together.”

  “And that’s not gonna happen?”

  Matt felt a wave of sadness. “Nah. I don’t think so. We’re too good of friends, if that makes any sense.”

  “It does.” Tre covered Matt’s hand with his own, and the simple touch felt good and affirming. “And I’m glad.”

  Matt wanted to change the subject, shift the focus away from himself. “So what about you? Looking as fine as you do, you must have or have had a lot of men in your life.”

  “You’d think. Right?” Tre laughed. “But seriously, I will admit, to paraphrase Mae West, to having a lot of life in my men but not so much the other way around.” It was Tre’s turn to peer out the window, lost in thought. “The truth is, and I might as well be up front about this, that I just got out of a relationship about a month ago. You’re my first date since I dumped his sorry ass.”

  He smiled, but Matt could detect a trace of melancholy Tre was trying bravely to hide. He turned his palm up so that both their palms touched and squeezed Tre’s hand. “Sorry to hear that.”

  “Oh, I’m not.” Tre laughed. “Robert cheated on me from day one. After about the fifth time of him begging me for forgiveness after I’d found some clue to his tomcatting, I decided I didn’t have any forgiveness left. I dug deep for it too.” He smiled. “There was just none left. Sometimes you realize you’re out of choices. It became clear to me it was time to move on. So it’s not so sad. I’m just sorry I was such a fool for so long.” He leaned in close to Matt’s face. “And lest you worry, you are not rebound material.”

  “I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, and it’s probably too soon to be saying this, but it’s all about our future together, provided we have one. I mean, it’s a good thing if I can rest assured as we move forward, if we wind up really liking each other, that I’m not a rebound guy. But it’s a bad thing if you mean that you’ve already decided there’s no chance and are saying to yourself, ‘Honey, you ain’t even rebound material.’”

  Tre laughed. “I suspect you are way more than rebound material.”

  Just then, their food arrived, and they were distracted by the amazing smells rising up to surround them. The rest of the dinner passed with them making the kind of conversation most people do on a first date: where they went to school, their current jobs, what their hopes for the future were, what they liked to do in their spare time. They even talked about sexual likes and dislikes, and both, unless they were lying, confessed to being “versatile.”

  After dinner, Tre proposed a ride over to Golden Gardens Park on his Harley.

  “Oh God, that would be wonderful.”

  They hopped aboard, and although the night air was chilly, it was both comforting and arousing to have Tre’s warm back to press himself against to block the wind, Matt’s arms wrapped firmly around his waist. Tre’s stomach was a hard, flat plane, a fact that caused something else on Matt to grow hard for the entire ride.

  They roared along Puget Sound, and the moon and stars were bright enough this night to see the Olympic Mountains across the water, their range a hulking navy blue mass.

  Tre stopped the bike in a beachfront parking lot, and they dismounted. After securing their helmets, they walked onto the sand. Matt loved this. It was quiet, and they were lucky enough to be the only ones on the beach. It felt like they were completely alone in the world, the pound and release of the rushing surf before them their only accompaniment.

  He reached out and took Tre’s hand. Tre squeezed Matt’s back and didn’t let go as they walked the damp sand along the shore.

  Tre said, “Enjoys long walks in the moonlight.”

  “Check.”

  They walked for a long time in silence. They came
across a bunch of kids who had built a small campfire back from the shoreline. The smell of cannabis hung heavy in the air. Tre asked if Matt partook.

  “I used to.” He laughed. “Daily, in fact. Back in college, I grew the stuff hydroponically, had my own little setup with lights and everything.”

  When Tre didn’t say anything, Matt hastened to add, “I hope that’s okay. It’s not like I was a big druggie or anything. I don’t do it anymore. It doesn’t feel right, even though it’s legal here, what with being a teacher and all.”

  When Tre said nothing to that, Matt hastened to add, “But it’s A-okay with me if you do.”

  “Dude. Relax. I take the occasional toke. I’ve got a one-hitter back in my bag on the bike, if you want. But no pressure. I was just making conversation.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re really eager to please.”

  Matt didn’t know if he should take that simple statement as a compliment. It was true, though. He liked making people happy. It made him happy. But he supposed there was a fine line between being eager to please and being overeager. “And that’s a good thing, right?” Matt cautiously asked.

  Tre laughed. “There you go again. Don’t worry about it. Let’s just enjoy each other.”

  And surprisingly, Matt let go of his worries and did just that. They ended up heading toward the hillside encased in pines. Normally, Matt would have found the dark woods a bit spooky. Who knew what evil lurked in its shadows? But with Tre by his side, their hands firmly clasped, the forest seemed almost comforting, a little sanctuary in which they could secrete themselves.

  They stepped onto a path and were surrounded by darkness. Tre’s hair stood out in the moonlight, but his facial features were lost in the shadows. “Does this scare you?” Tre asked softly.

  “No. It’s kind of cool that we’re alone. Although I don’t think we should venture too far in. With this dark, we may not find our way out until morning.”

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  Before Matt could respond, Tre pulled him close and kissed him, forcing Matt’s lips open with his tongue. Matt surrendered immediately, pressing his body hard and close and pulling Tre’s face even closer by gripping the back of his neck. The kiss had gone on for what seemed like forever (which was exactly how long Matt wanted it to), when they pulled apart at the sound of rustling behind them.