Page 6 of Summer Lessons

“Gordon?” he said happily, hoping this meant Gordon was close by—maybe just caught in traffic, since his office was a scant two miles away from the restaurant.

“Mason? Uh, so, you’re at the restaurant?”

“Yeah! Are you on your way? I can order.”

“No… uh, Mason, I hate to do this on the phone.”

Oh God. “Really? I’ve had reservations for a month, and you’re going to do this on the phone?”

“How do you know what I’m going to do?” Gordon whined. “Dammit, Mason, that’s pretty presumptuous of you!”

“Well,tellme what you’re going to do!”

“I’m going to….” He couldhearGordon cringe. “Break up with you.”

“Iknewthat’s what you were going to do.” Sex-Toy Saturday died a quiet death. “Why?” He didn’t care why. He felt like asking was a courtesy, really—a sense of closure for Gordon that Mason didn’t need.

“Mason… I care about you—I do. But… you know. We just have different needs. You… you like sex. I… I’m not so crazy about it.”

And Mason heard the unspoken two words in that sentence. “With me. You’re not crazy about sexwith me.”

“I didn’t say that….”

“You didn’t have to. Talk to you later, Gordon. If you want any of your stuff, you’ll have to come get it yourself.”

“Mace, don’t—”

Mason hung up. Goddammit. Here he was at a place where they served some of the best steak and lobster in the city, the kind of place where the amuse-bouche alone went down the throat like butter, and the guy he’d hoped to share it with didn’t want to share anything with him—not even spit.

Fuck.

He signaled the waiter, who looked at him apprehensively. “Is the other member of your party—”

“Not coming?” Mason said shortly. “Perfidious? Really boring in bed? Yes. Yes, he is.”

The waiter, a young man a little younger than Mason, looked Mason up and down and then smiled prettily. “I’m not boring in bed,” he said bluntly. “And I’ll be happy to come.”

Mason blinked, pleased. The waiter had dark brown hair, brown eyes with green flecks in them, and a square jaw with dimples in his chin. He had a smile that could get cooked spaghetti hard.

“Are you getting off soon?” Mason said hopefully.

“Well, my shift’s over in fifteen minutes,” the kid said. “Maybe I can get off later.”

“What’s your name?”

“Logan. Yours?”

“Mason. Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“How would you like to be part of a new tradition?”

“What would we call that?” Logan asked, standing so close to the table Mason could see the sizable package outlined in his slacks.

“Find-Someone-to-Fuck Friday.”

Logan’s throaty chuckle warmed Mason to his toes. “I am so there.”