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BILL

“I t’s cancelled?” I ask Tate, even though I didn’t mishear him.

He nods yes.

“Is there another flight we can get on?”

He shakes his head no. Those gray, saucer-like eyes of his fill with disappointment. “No flights are getting out tonight.”

“It’s just a little snow.” I gesture out the giant windows of the airport and sigh, my shoulders slumping with the unfortunate truth. It’s more than a little snow. It’s a full-on blizzard. The runway is barely visible from our terminal.

“Shit.” I sink into the last available chair in the first class airport lounge. At least we weren’t in the regular terminal, packed with throngs of angry people desperately trying to rebook. Not even the free drinks and snacks in the lounge can appease my frustration.

Tate sits in the chair next to mine. His eyebrows lift with hope. I don’t know how Tate always manages to remain so sunny, no matter the circumstance. “I rebooked us on a flight leaving first thing tomorrow at eight a.m.”

“There aren’t any flights taking off earlier?”

“The snow isn’t expected to stop until about three of four, so this is the earliest flight that hasn’t been cancelled. I also booked you a room at the Darmody for tonight.” Tate taps on his phone, and mine buzzes a second later with new flight and hotel reservations. “It’s a suite.”

I roll my head back and stare up at the ceiling. “Thank you, Tate. You are a godsend.”

I bite my tongue to avoid what I really want to say: You’re such a good assistant, I could kiss you! And even if you weren’t that good of an assistant, I’d still want to kiss you.

Having Tate as my executive assistant has been a saving grace since I got promoted two years ago. After ten years at the company, this is my first executive role. Our CEO selected me over other more experienced individuals, candidates with Fortune 500 companies and Ivy League schools on their resume. I don’t come from money. Far from it. I had to work twice as hard to be noticed.

It was Tate who made sure I got up to speed and didn’t miss a beat when I landed the position. There are people in the C-suite eager for me to fail so their golf buddies and fraternity brothers can get a crack at my job. To this day, Tate is always one step ahead of what I need; no request or problem is too tough.

The downside to Tate is that he’s devastatingly handsome and achingly sweet, and yet he’s the one guy I can’t take to bed. As I do regularly, I push these thoughts out of my head.

“How’s your drink?”

“Delicious.” Tate takes a sip of his tequila sunrise, the orange and red glow a far cry from the cold white weather surrounding us. It’s against company policy to use the company credit card to purchase alcohol. After three hours in the lounge, I treated us both to cocktails on my own dime.

“I can’t believe this is happening. I truly don’t know what I would’ve done without you,” I say.

“You would’ve rebooked your flight and booked yourself a hotel no problem,” he says. “I’ve worked for some executives who were truly helpless. You are very self-sufficient, Bill. You know how to be in charge and take control.” He stares at me a beat too long, a loaded heat behind his eyes that makes my dick jump.

I look down at my glass, wondering if I misheard.

“I mean, you’re an executive. Of course you know how to be in charge.” He laughs off the charged moment.

“We should get the hell out of this airport,” I say, changing the subject for both of us. No way should I be drinking with a guy I find attractive who is totally off-limits. “Can you get us a ride?”

“Actually, how do you feel about public transportation? With the snow, the roads are a mess. The El runs from the airport straight to downtown, and our hotel is half a block from the stop. I figure it’ll be faster than trying to deal with cabs.”

“Smart guy,” I say, a common refrain when it comes to Tate. “You’ve thought of everything.”

“That’s why I’m here.” Tate blushes. Although he’s in his mid-thirties, he still has a boyish look to him with his clean-shaven face, pouty lips, and those moony eyes that perpetually radiate sweetness. Until a moment ago, when they were sparked with heat. Or so it seemed.

They make these cocktails really strong.

Tate chugs his. “Let’s go.”

What the hell. I chug mine, too.

* * *

I may be stuck in a blizzard, but at least I’m stuck in a blizzard in Chicago. Downtown Chicago comes into view from the elevated train we’re on, its mighty skyscrapers undaunted by the swirls of snow. Tate and I live in the quiet suburbs of New York state, too far from Manhattan to get this view.

Tate stares out the window, his beautiful mouth puckering in awe at the view.

“We’re finally getting to visit Chicago,” he says. “Every time we come here for MCI, it’s always outside the city.”

The Midwestern Convention for Insurers is held at a very nice, but very generic hotel in Schaumburg, a Chicago suburb with every chain store imaginable and not much else.

“Were there no hotels available tonight in Schaumburg or by the airport?” I hadn’t thought to ask why we were going into the heart of the city tonight. I don’t second-guess Tate much.

“The Darmody is El-accessible, and it’ll be easier to take the El back and forth to the airport rather than dealing with roads. Of downtown hotels, the Darmody had availability and is the closest to the train stop, which will minimize the time we’re hauling our luggage outside.”

“Good call.” Of course Tate has it covered.

You’re so good I could kiss you , I think again. But I won’t tell you where on your body I’d kiss you. Maybe chugging that drink was a bad idea.

“And the room I booked has a view of Michigan Avenue. Much better than staring at a strip mall. No offense to Schaumburg.” Tate puts his hand on my knee and gives me a wink that’s meant to be totally professional but causes a jolt of heat to hit my balls. And like his look in the airport, this one lasts for a second too long.

Unless I’m overthinking thanks to the strong cocktail.

I learned Tate was gay our first month working together when I spotted a pride flag bumper sticker on his car. And he knows I’m bisexual because I’ve had to alert him to blind dates I was set up on against my will. (Tate is in charge of my calendar.) And there was one time when he was fixing my personal computer, and I’d forgotten to ex out of a browser tab with a porn clip. A porn clip featuring an actor who looked a lot like Tate. He never said anything when he returned my computer, and the browser tab was still open.

Over two years working together, neither of us have crossed that line. Admittedly, it’s been tough at times for me. Tate is a fucking cutie. Tall and lean. He’s a fan of wearing button-down shirts and pants that seem a little too tight, but give a nice outline of his ass and chest. I’ve imagined picking him up and laying him out on my desk. That’s a bridge I would never cross, though. I couldn’t imagine doing this job without Tate at my side, no matter how in charge he thinks I am.

But is Tate trying to cross this bridge tonight?

The train inches closer to Chicago, glowing in the snow. I take out my phone and FaceTime my daughter Rowan. I was so distracted by the cancellation and change of plans–and maybe Tate’s potential flirting–that I forgot to let her know what was going on.

“Hey, Ro!” I say when her bright smile pops on screen. She’s sitting on a kitchen chair and the noise of a party bustles around her.

“Hey Dad.” Each year she gets older, she says that with slightly less enthusiasm and more deadpan affect. Will she even acknowledge me when she turns twelve next year? “Where are you?”

“I’m on a train.” I give her a thumbs up. I’ve fully embraced my dorky dad side. Tate snickers at the sight.

“Shouldn’t you be on a plane?” Rowan asks, tucking a lock of her thick brown hair behind her ears. She takes after me in the looks department. Same thick hair, same skeptical look permanently on her face. I’m just grateful she doesn’t look too much like her mother so I don’t have to constantly be reminded of her.

“All flights are cancelled because of the snow,” I tell her. “I’m staying in Chicago tonight, but we’re flying out in the morning. So one more night with Uncle Tanner.”

My friend Tanner pops into the frame and waves hello. His gaggle of kids (he’s up to four!) peek out from the corners. Despite being a widower with a bevy of small children, he’s always upbeat and in a good mood. I don’t know how he does it.

“All right! One more sleepover with Rowan!” Tanner says in that hyped up way all parents need to use with kids.

A big head of shaggy blond hair pops into frame, belonging to our friend Hank. He kisses the screen, which is closer than I want to get to my friend.

“What are you doing there, Hank?”

“Tanner invited us over for a pizza party.” Hank leans back from the camera and points at his teenage son Brody who pushes up his thick glasses and waves hello. “Des is also here.”

Hank points the camera to the back of the kitchen where Des stands against the doorway in his very expensive-looking suit munching on some crust.

“Des is staying away from us because he doesn’t want kid germs,” Tanner says.

“Half the people around this table are coughing. I’m in the middle of closing a massive deal. I don’t want to get waylaid by the bubonic plague or whatever these kids are carrying,” he says.

Tanner, Hank, and I share an amused look. As three dads, we know getting sick from our kids is an inevitability of parenthood. That was why DayQuil was invented. I didn’t know how well I could function while under the weather until I had Rowan.

“Looks like a fun time,” I say, a twinge of jealousy that I’m not there. The four of us have been friends since we played together on our high school hockey team. I’m grateful to still have them in my life.

“Uncle Hank shoved a whole slice of pizza in his mouth,” Rowan says. Tate snorts a laugh.

“I’m proud of you, bud,” I say to Hank.

“Don’t encourage him,” Des yells from the back. “Just get your ass back here, Crandell.”

“Don’t say the A-word,” Tanner says.

“It’s not a bad word. It’s in the bible.” Des shrugs and finishes the last of his crust. He squirts hand sanitizer into his palm.

Tanner rolls his eyes and turns back to me. “Don’t worry, Bill. We’re doing great here. Get home safe.”

“Yeah, get home safe, Dad,” Rowan says.

“Have you been doing your homework?”

She rolls her eyes. “Of course.”

“How’d you do on the math quiz? We practiced all week for that one.” I make sure to leave the office by four-thirty every day so I’m home with Rowan for dinner and we hang out before her bedtime. Then I hop back online for a few hours. My childhood was a fucked-up mess, and I swore she wouldn’t have that experience. It’s also why I’ve avoided letting any of those forced blind dates progress to anything more serious. I refuse to take a chance and get into a bad relationship.

“Ninety-one. Is Tate with you?” she asks.

“Way to go!” I kick his foot to get his attention. “Rowan says hi.”

I turn the phone around, and a swell rises in my chest when I watch Tate’s face light up when he sees Rowan. His affection for my daughter only adds to his attractiveness.

“Hey girl! Have you watched the new season of Ocean City yet? I heard the episodes dropped yesterday,” he says.

“I’m on episode four. It’s so good!” Rowan squeals. I tried watching a few episodes of the teen soap, but I always fell asleep. Tate sends me recaps from a pop culture website so I know what Rowan is talking about.

“Don’t spoil anything for me,” Tate says.

I spin the phone back around. “Okay, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow. Get to sleep.”

She blows me a kiss, which I pretend to catch through the screen. It’s something we’ve done since she was little. I’m glad some things aren’t too lame for her.

“Bye everyone!” I yell, and I get an avalanche of goodbyes from high-pitched kids to a salute from Des.

“You have a great daughter,” Tate says.

“I agree. Thanks.” I tuck my phone into the front pocket of my coat. “Are you going to binge Ocean City tonight? I don’t have anything on the agenda, so the night is yours. But don’t stay up too late since we have a flight to catch.”

“I’ll wait on Ocean City until I get home. There’s something else I wanted to do tonight.” A hint of hesitation stifles his voice.

I want to ask him what the hell he has to do during a snowstorm, but he’s already back to looking out the window.

* * *

The Darmody used to be a men’s club half a century ago. Developers converted it into an upscale, boutique hotel, but kept lots of the old touches. The lobby has the feel of a cozy study with multiple fireplaces, leather couches, and overstuffed bookshelves.

I relax in an upholstered armchair and stare out onto Michigan Avenue. The Bean is barely visible amid the snow, and further out, I see the blackness of Lake Michigan. Watching snow fall from the warmth of the inside is incredibly peaceful, especially after the arctic hell that blasted us when we finally got off the El.

Tate comes to my chair with a pained, worried expression, not unlike the one that broke the news about the cancelled flight.

“What is it now?” I ask.

“There was a glitch when I was booking online. I was in such a frenzy to get us rooms for tonight…” Tate rubs his forehead. I rarely see him panic. “My reservation didn’t go through. Only yours.”

“Oh. Does the hotel have another room for you?”

“They’re all booked. I’m going to check if there’s another hotel around here with a room.”

He sits on the couch opposite from me and hunches over his phone. “Shit. I can’t believe this,” he mutters to himself.

I put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Tate, you can stay in my room. It’s okay.”

“What? Bill, you need your sleep. I can keep searching.”

I take a deep breath, keeping my dick in line. “It’s fine. It’s one night. You’re already here.”

“Bill, I am so sorry about this. I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s a screwy night.” I wave it off, as I do the teasing thought of sharing a bed with Tate. We will put a wall of pillows between us. A thick wall of pillows. “It’s late. Let’s just get back to our room and get some sleep.”

“Right. We can sleep in shifts.”

I laugh and clap his back as he stands up. “We’ll be fine.”

It’s one night. I can withstand Tate for one night.

Unless he sleeps naked. Then I’m a goner.

* * *

Typically, executives are supposed to stay in regular-sized hotel rooms while away on business. Only the CEO and CFO are allowed to book suites for business travel.

But because of the last minute booking tonight, our only option was a suite. And what a suite it is. A huge bed, full living room and kitchen. The furniture is nicer than what I have at home. In the corner of the room is a mini office complete with a standing desk. In the bathroom is both a shower and a separate large bathtub. A panel of floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the length of the room, giving us a view of a snowy Michigan Avenue and Millennium Park.

The digs are so swanky it’s motivation enough to get promoted to CEO in the future.

“Wow,” I say. Tate walks around the room speechless as shocked as I am. “This is nice.”

“Whatever you can’t get reimbursed, I will pay,” Tate says. “I mean it. This is my error.”

I stroll into the living room section of the room. I peek under the couch cushion and see a mattress. “This is a pull out. Perfect.”

I’m relieved we won’t have to share a bed, though the tingling in my balls feel otherwise.

“Great.” Tate checks it out, but holds off on opening it. “Thanks for rolling with everything tonight.”

“It’s fine, Tate.” I wish all errors were this sumptuous. I walk up to the windows and take in the view. Being up here looking down on the few people stuck trudging through the snow makes me feel like some king.

“I’ve never stayed in a room this nice. There’s something special about a really nice hotel room.” His eyes dart my way before looking back out on the snow.

I go to my luggage and grab my laptop. I sit on the bed and open it up. I’m craving the stability of work to avoid whatever I imagine is happening between us.

“I have a Zoom call with leadership in a little bit, but then after that, I’ll be done. If you’re hungry, we can order room service.”

“I’m not,” he says. He strips off his jacket and hangs it up, giving me a nice view of his tight-fitting wardrobe. I gulp back a heavy lump in my throat.

Tate taps on his phone. “I moved all of your morning meetings tomorrow. I assume we’ll go to the office straight from the airport when we land.”

“Good thinking. I’m going to turn in shortly after my call. I suggest you do, too. We have an early flight and then a full day at the office. I’m going to prep for this call in a little bit. Is there anything else you need from me?”

“Actually, there is something.” Tate speeds over to the bed, a nervous bounce in his step. He fixes those moony eyes on me. “I want you to have sex with me tonight.”