He looked gorgeous in a slim, tailored charcoal suit and a pale pink shirt that contrasted against his tan skin beautifully with a narrow silver chain under the collar in lieu of a tie. That same silver glittered in the shells of his ears and on his tapered fingers. His dark hair was pulled back into a bun, as usual, but this time it was neat and flat, like a dancer’s.
He looked nothing like the rough-around-the-edges biker I’d gotten used to seeing around. But that catlike grin was the same.
I wondered which one was the performance. Or if both were, in a way.
“Hi,” Tru said teasingly. “Gonna invite me in?”
“Right,” I said, swallowing as I stepped out of the doorway and waved him in. I noticed the beat-up truck in the driveway. “No bike?”
“Couldn’t risk rumpling the suit,” he said. “Gotta make a good impression, right?”
“Or something like that,” I said.
Tru looked me up and down. “You look good. Dressing up suits you. Not quite as good as your coveralls suit you, but pretty close.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, and to my embarrassment, my cheeks actually felt warm at his words. Thankfully, Tru didn’t seem to notice; he was already busying himself poking around my house.
I lived just ten minutes south of the fire station, a little further outside of the city. It was wooded and private, just the way I wanted it. The house itself was too big for just me, admittedly, but it was so perfect in location and style that I’d bought it with some of my inheritance as soon as the place had gone on the market.
It was a two-story log cabin, with dark hardwood floors and exposed rafters, and I’d hired an interior decorator to fill the living room with warm, homey furniture: a thick, soft rug, leather couch and recliner, and a massive television over the brick hearth.
Tru was picking through the open kitchen, ogling my expensive appliances, and then tilting his head up toward the exposed beams. The motion drew my eye to the pretty line of his neck, and I was suddenly gripped by the urge to grab him by the hips and mark up that skin with my mouth.
Fuck. I shook the urge away. It was way too early for me to start having thoughts like that.
Tru whistled, low and impressed. “Goddamn, Beau, this place is nice.” He glanced over and shot me a grin. “I knew your family was rich, but I didn’t realize you were riding on that wealth as well. No wonder you were hesitant to slum it with a club guy like me.”
“Slumming it?” I asked incredulously. “That’s not how I think about you.”
Suddenly, it was important to me that Tru know that—I’d already acted like an asshole once with my little remark about him not ‘fitting in’ with my family. I didn’t want him to think I actually looked down on him like my mother had. I’d worked too hard to ensure I wasn’t that kind of person.
“Well, the Crew motel doesn’t look like this place, I’ll tell you that much,” Tru muttered.
“Seriously,” I said. “That’s not—it’s not important to me. The money.”
Tru raised his eyebrows.
I stepped into the kitchen as well and opened the fridge, mostly for something to do, and fished out a beer. I cringed a little at my offering—yep, only nice, expensive beer. But that was better than nothing.
I cracked the bottle and offered it to Tru, and then pulled out a sparkling water for myself, since I was driving. “It makes things easier, sometimes.”
“Duh,” Tru said with a laugh.
“But I don’t—it’s not what really matters, you know?”
“That’s why you ended up in the fire department, huh? Going for what really matters?” Tru asked. He took a sip from the bottle, letting his lips linger on the rim a little too long.
“Something like that.” I leaned against the counter, and Tru leaned against the kitchen island. The line of his throat worked as he took a drink.
Tru’s gaze flickered over me again, a little thoughtful, and a lot heated. “Best of both worlds. Lets you clean up nice for events like this.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself,” I said.
Tru smiled, and his eyes sparkled mischievously. “Surprised?”
“Was halfway expecting you to show up in your club leathers.”
“Would you have preferred that?” Tru teased. “It’s all in my truck. We could really horrify your uptight family.”
“Maybe next time,” I said with a shake of my head. “We gotta get going.”
“Oh, so there’s already going to be a next time?” Tru pushed himself off the counter and set his beer aside with a wink.
My stomach flipped. God, despite everything, I kind of did want there to be a next time—but that wasn’t in the cards. Especially not with someone like Tru. There was no way my family wasn’t going to freak out about us. And it was one thing for him to be my wedding date; it would be something else entirely for him to be my… my partner. If I did ever meet a guy and settle down for real, he needed to be someone straight-laced and smart and well-off—someone my parents could actually accept for our family.
They had enough trouble with my being gay. My partner could only break so many of my parents’ unspoken rules.
“Probably not, after this,” I said half-jokingly. “I feel like I should apologize in advance.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Tru said. “I assume we’re taking your car?”
“Absolutely,” I said.
We finished our drinks in a bit of a hurry, and then I led Tru out to my garage, where my SUV was parked. I didn’t drive anything super fancy—function was most important to me—but I’d splurged a little on the car, with its leather interior and touchscreen dash.
“A bit nicer than mine,” Tru admitted. “Automatic transmission?”
I winced. “Well, yeah.”
Tru laughed. “I’ll let it slide. Just this once.”
“How kind of you.” I started the car.
“So,” Tru said, “what’s the story?”
“The what?” I asked as I pulled the car out onto the highway.
I was already a little distracted, my attention halfway in the future as I imagined how my relatives would react to meeting Tru. Surely Mom had told them about him. Maybe they’d be prepared and actually be polite—or maybe that had just given them more time to prepare their uniquely passive-aggressive little barbs.
Or maybe she said nothing, and they’d just be straight-up shocked when I walked in with Tru, lean and gorgeous and sultry on my arm.
“The story,” Tru said, slowly, like I was stupid. “You know, of our relationship? I assume at least one person in your family is going to ask questions. It seems like our narratives should line up.”
“Right,” I said. “Right. Well, uh, I told Mom we’d been together a few months.”
“A few months,” Tru said. “Got it. How’d we meet?”
“Um. I don’t know.”
Tru tapped his forefinger thoughtfully to his lower lip. “How about at Stella’s? I help out at the front counter there sometimes. Let’s say you were a regular customer and eventually I wrote my number on your daily latte.” He nodded, satisfied. “Let’s not bring the fire into it, it’s too depressing.”