Page 142 of Elite Connections: an LGBTQ Romance Charity Anthology

“I just don’t getrich people and caviar,” I say.

The waiter is clearing said caviar from our table, one of our many courses.

I’m not one to pretend small, expensive food can’t be filling, but this one takes the cake. Literally, because there’s not a carb in sight, so is it any surprise that my stomach grumbles the whole way through dinner.

Thankfully, the ambient piano playing in the background masks the unsavory sound, but Keaton Sinclair not only has noticed but is heavily amused by my talkative stomach.

“If I’m honest, I’m not a big fan of it myself. I just eat it because it’s there,” he says, eyeing my stomach with a grin.

A grin I want to wipe off his face, but savoir vivre and a contract I can’t back out from stop me from doing that.

“It’s not a chip. It’s not just there.”

He laughs and sips his white wine before it’s taken away to serve the next one. Of course each part of the meal comes with a perfectly paired wine. That’s how things work in his world. In my world, we down the crappy house merlot from appetizers to dessert, and we thank the waiter for it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to order you a burger?”

It’s very sweet of him to ask, but I doubt he means it. He’s got an image to uphold. What would people think if everyone’s snacking on wheat and foam, and I’m all greased up with cheeseburger juices—not that I’d complain.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m sure, Mr. Funny Guy,” I say before I can stop myself, slapping my hands over my mouth a little too late. “Sorry.”

To my surprise, Keaton Sinclair laughs.

“You think I’m funny?”

Sure. Sure. Let me stroke your ego, should I?

“Meh,” I say. “It is funny that you think I’d embarrass us both by ordering a burger in a French restaurant, so I’ll give you that.”

“Why not? I’ve done it.”

I raise both eyebrows and glare.

“You do realize you’re you and I’m me, right? What would your precious buddies outside say if I did that?”

He waves me off as if it’s not important.

“If anything, it’ll entertain them. And try not to worry about them too much. I still want you to have a good time. And if you are hungry, you’re not having a good time.”

Now it’s my turn to dismiss him.

I appreciate what he’s saying, but I’m having a hard time believing any of it is real. It’s not like we’re bugged. He doesn’t have to say it for the media. Although the press has been known to employ lip readers, so what the hell do I know?

“Speaking of a good time.” I lean closer and make sure I’m not facing the windows. “How do you want tonight to go? Are you getting lucky?”

His face turns beet red almost immediately, and I can’t lie, it’s a very good color on him. Very freshly-spanked kind of shade and, boy, do I love giving a good rosy spanking.

“Wh-what?”

I place my hand on his knee because I can and because the vultures outside will love it and smile.

“What’s the story? Are you getting lucky tonight, or are you doing the Knight-in-shining-armor thing and just dropping me off at home?”

“Oh.” He fumbles with the serviette, wiping his lips even though they’re clean, and looks down at his empty place setting. “I…um…I think we just end on a good note. Erm…I mean, no getting lucky.”

I shrug.

“I don’t know. Getting lucky is a good note for me, but whatever floats your boat, Mr. Sinclair.”

He snatches my hand on the table, and with pleading eyes, he whispers, “Please, just call me Keaton.”

He’s so serious it stumps me for a second, but the moment passes as the next course is served. A lemon and bean froth served cold.

“So…Keaton, if you don’t mind me asking, am I the first you hired for this…gig?” I whisper the last part just in case of any prying ears, and he winces. Whether it’s from the froth or my question, I don’t know.

“You are. I gave it the good, old try, but as expected…it’s a minefield out there.”

“You didn’t know? You created the app.”

He sighs.

“Yeah, and it’s supposed to be where queer men meet their partner for life.”

“I thought it was just a hookup app.”

He purses his lips, and this time, I know it’s not the froth.

“It wasn’t supposed to be.”

“You had to know the gays would turn it into one.”

“I was optimistic. And it may function as a hookup app, but it’s got potential for so much more. That’s why we’ve introduced all these new filters and features. Because I don’t want it to be just a hookup app.”

He’s not staring at his plate this time, but right into my eyes as if pleading with me, trying to convince me there’s more to it than what’s on the surface. I can’t help but feel like he’s talking about more than just the app.

There’s a battle raging in those gray eyes of his, and my heart skips a beat. I don’t know why, but it does.

Maybe I’m a sucker for strong, confident men who show me their vulnerable side.

I am. I so am.

“Why does it mean so much to you? Whether people use it for sex or to find their perfect match?” I hold his hand again, and this time, it’s not just for the cameras.

“Because…” He looks around him as he huffs and composes himself. “There has to be more to life, right? There’s got to be more than just sex and one-night stands. We deserve happy-ever-afters and white picket fences just like straight people. Don’t we?”

Don’t I?That’s what he’s asking.

I don’t know how I know that or why he even feels that way, but for some reason, this man who has everything he could ever want thinks he can’t ever have a happy ever after. Who knew people this rich cared about that?

“We do!” I rub his hand with my thumb and watch him watching me.

Out of nowhere, the waiter approaches to take our plates, waking me from whatever spell has wrapped around me.

“For dessert, you gentlemen have a choice between a chocolate foie gras with noisette or an elderflower gelée with berries on a tapioca pudding.”

“Chocolate foie gras?” I gag at the idea, and Keaton recomposes himself with a chuckle.

“It’s not that bad, honestly. No livers, just chocolate.”

“Not that I don’t trust you, but I’ll pass.”

My stomach decides to agree with me at that moment and both Keaton and the waiter notice.

“What? Are you telling me you’re full?” If he’s judging my sustenance levels, I’m judging his restaurant choice.

Keaton eyes the waiter and shakes his head.

“Admittedly, no. Not that the chef hasn’t prepared a lovely meal.”

“If you gentlemen would like more food, I can ask Chef Jean-Paul to prepare something extra special for you…”

Keaton glances at me.

“How hungry are you?”

“I could eat you right now,” I say before I hear how it sounds.

The waiter’s eyes almost pop out of his head.

“Great. I know a perfect place. We’ll take the check.”

“A great place? Got any more restaurants serving air and foam to impress me with?” I ask as the waiter leaves the table to prepare our check.

It’s not long before he’s settled the bill and we’re good to go. Naturally, he doesn’t let me look at the check, but if he thinks I didn’t Google this place before our date, he’s mistaken. I bet it’s high three figures.

I start heading for the door when he pulls me back by the hand and into his arms.

Is he going to do something very public right now, like kiss me?

“Come on. Let’s use the back door,” he whispers with his lips hovering over mine. I’m so confused that I don’t process what he’s said until we’re on the move.

We take the back alley and come out on Park Avenue, where Keaton doesn’t waste a moment before he hails a cab and jumps inside it just as the paparazzi rounds up.

He gives the driver the address, and I can’t help but feel a little relieved I don’t have people watching my every move.

“Where are you taking me?” I ask.

“I think I gave you the impression that I eat this kind of food daily, so…”

“So…you’re taking me somewhere nice and quiet to murder me?”

The driver glares at us, but Keaton laughs.

“No. I’m taking you to my guilty pleasure.”

I can’t imagine a guy like Keaton Sinclair having many guilty pleasures, but I’ve already been surprised more than once tonight. I welcome more unexpected revelations.

Twenty minutes later, my stomach is giving a concert, but we finally stop in front of an Italian restaurant in Little Italy.

“This is your guilty pleasure?”

Keaton steps behind me and grabs my shoulders as he exits the cab.

The action feels very possessive. Very authoritative, and I’m not gonna lie, my dick does twitch in response.

Keaton turns me from the Italian restaurant to a white-and-blue food van with a line outside.

King Zeusreads the painted van with an underline of The Real Greek Street Food.

“Gyros? Really? That’s your guilty pleasure?”

“You don’t like Greek?” he asks me with a grimace.

“I love Greek. I just didn’t take you for a guy who would eat with his hands.”

“Hey!” He punches my arm affectionately as we join the line. “I can eat with my hands. In fact, I prefer it.”

“Okay.” I put my hands up in surrender and laugh.

When we finally have some real food in our hands, we walk around the block, passing by drunks and couples in equal measure. It is Friday night, after all.

“How do you feel?” he asks.

“Wonderfully sated.” I rub my belly and dispose of the paper wrapper.

“Aww, does that mean the concert is over?” He points to my stomach, and I’m too heavy to even nod.

“Definitely for tonight.”

“Damn. I was hoping for an encore.”

“I’d say you can starve me any night, but I would probably murder you if you did that to me again, so…”

He apologizes and his shoulder brushes mine as we turn the corner. He grins, and it feels so innocent. So natural. Like he’s flirting with me. But that’s not possible. Because no matter what it looks like—or feels like—this is not a real date.

“So…what’s your deal?” I ask him.

It’s time we stop pretending and talk business.

It’s only fair, right?