Thorne winced. “Too messy.”
“You’re fine with cum on the sheets but not food?”
“Don’t argue with me.”
Riley decided not to taunt him further. “The couch, then?”
“Can we crawl there?”
Riley shook his head. “Bathroom first to clean up, then the couch. You can handle it, old man.”
That did it, as Riley had known it would. Thorne dragged himself from the bed, and Riley followed, slapping his ass as they reached the bathroom door.
“What was that for?” Thorne asked, trying to look affronted.
“Because it was there.”
Thorne huffed.
“And because you love it.”
Thorne grinned. “Yeah, I do. Maybe you can remind me more fully after dinner.”
“Maybe I can.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Riley pushed open the door to the gourmet ice-cream shop. He loved how all the tables and chairs were mismatched and the floor was a stained concrete done in a swirl of colors. It was a bit like being inside an ice-cream creation.
Marc was already seated with a coffee.
“Tell me that’s not all you’re getting,” Riley said.
Marc gasped. “Never. I was waiting for you.”
They approached the counter, and Riley studied all the options: Salted Caramel and Bacon Swirl, Hot Sauce Peach, Coconut Mint Chocolate Chip, and so many others. He finally settled on Bourbon Barrel Dark Chocolate in an espresso float.
Marc got a two-scoop cone with White Pepper and Raspberry over chocolate—yes, they actually did have plain chocolate, which rather surprised Riley.
Riley breathed deeply of the steam coming off his float. “Smells like heaven. I’ve got to bring Thorne here sometime; he would love this.”
“You haven’t already?”
“Don’t look so shocked. There’s still a lot we haven’t done.”
“Seriously? As horny as that man is I’d have thought you’d done it all.”
“Hmpf!” Riley sniffed, pretending offense. “Don’t insult my creativity.”
Marc laughed loudly, and people turned to look at them.
Riley’s phone started playing Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes.”
Marc grinned. “I don’t have to guess who that is.”
Months ago, before they were fully together, Thorne convinced Riley to give him a second chance by showing up at his house and recreating the boom-box scene from Say Anything. So he was sentimental with his ringtone. So fucking what? Riley ignored Marc’s teasing and answered.
“How did the trial run go?”
The gala was in two days, and Riley and Susan had made small batches of the items they were least familiar with—mini beef Wellingtons and fruit tarts—at the commercial kitchen. “Fantastic. I’m feeling as good as I can about everything.”
“Great. Do you have samples for me?”
Riley rolled his eyes, and Marc grinned. “Of course I do.”
“Perfect. I’ll sample them when I get home tonight. Are you still at the kitchen?”
“No, I’m having ice cream with Marc.”
“Could you do me a favor?”
“Maybe; what’s in it for me?”
“You expect payment?” Thorne asked.
“I do.” Riley scooped a spoonful of ice cream from his float and barely held back a moan of pleasure.
“Give me a suggestion, and we’ll negotiate.”
“Hang up, and I’ll text you.”
“That’s much less fun.”
Riley could easily imagine Thorne pouting. “Goodbye.”
Riley ended the call and typed out his message: I want to wrap you in red rope and torment you.
Done.
Tough negotiator! Is that how you got to be so rich?
Knowing when to accept your losses is an important skill.
So I win? Riley wanted Thorne to admit it.
You win me.
Riley smiled at his phone, and Marc pretended to gag.
What’s the favor?
Riley’s phone rang again.
Thorne started talking immediately when he answered. “My tailor, Darius, called and the suit I ordered is ready. Would you pick it up?”
“Don’t you need to try it on?”
“You know he’s a genius.”
Riley did. Last fall the man had altered a tux for Riley based on nothing but Thorne’s description of him. “Okay, give me the address.”
“I’ll text it to you.”
“Why did you call back if you’re just going to text now?”
“To hear your voice,” Thorne purred.
“Sap.”
“You love it.”
“Yeah, I do.” Riley ended the call.
Marc grinned. “Thorne’s still out of town on business, right?”
Riley nodded. “He gets back tonight.”
“So that can’t have been a booty call. Was he hoping for phone sex?”
“No, he wants me to do him a favor.”
Marc raised a brow. “What kind of favor?”
“He wants me to pick up a suit for him.”
“Doesn’t he have servants to do that?” Marc’s last words were muffled as he tried to stop his ice cream from dripping.
“You know he only has a weekly maid service, a concierge, and—”
“You for his personal chef.”
“Right.” They both dissolved into laughter, once again drawing attention to themselves.
“Apparently he also has a tailor,” Marc said when he could speak again.
“Remember, he altered my tux without ever seeing me?”
“Oh my God, yes. So we get to meet the magical man himself?”
“You want to come with me?” Riley knew the answer. No way would Marc turn down the chance to meet a man whose fashion sense was legendary.
“Hell, yes. Quit teasing me. I’ve got to meet this man.”
“So if one of his minions tries to do the handoff, I’ll have to insist on seeing the man himself?”