Chad laughed. "At least you have a sense of humor."
Treston shrugged. "Why would you think I didn't? I'm always making jokes. Everyone who knows me loves my sense of humor. Just the other day … " He stopped talking and sat back.
"What's wrong?" Chad asked.
"I have this tendency to talk too much sometimes," Treston said. "My ex-boyfriend, Harlan Rocks, the one who left me stranded at Lake Mead, once said the only way to shut me up is to stick a dick in my mouth." When he realized what he'd just said, he stopped talking again and frowned. "See what I mean? It's something I'm working on. I not only talk too much, but sometimes I say inappropriate things without realizing it."
Chad smiled. "I've been told I don't talk enough. It's something I've been meaning to work on when I get around to it. And for the record, feel free to talk all you want and say anything you want. It's impossible to shock me, and I learned how to tune out years ago when I worked for a director who wouldn't shut up. Half the time I don't listen to anyone anymore."
Another waiter walked up to the table and set two extra-large martini glasses in front of them. Without even asking for a menu, Chad ordered for them both, in French, and told the waiter to bring their best bottle of Pouilly-Fuisse. Before the waiter left, he glanced at Treston and asked, "Would you like anything else?"
Treston had just taken a sip of his martini and he'd been caught off guard. The martini went up his nose, he started choking, and managed to say, "I'm good, thanks." He had no idea what Pouilly-Fusse was and didn't dare try to pronounce it.
Although Treston had no idea what Chad had ordered, he smiled a lot and ate everything the waiter put in front of him. The first appetizer reminded him of chopped chicken liver from a Jewish deli near his apartment and he wished he had a few saltines and some chopped onion to help it go down. The second dish tasted a little like mussels, but chewier and with not as much flavor. A little ketchup would have done wonders for that mess. When Chad asked how the escargot was, he faked a smile, forced himself to swallow, and said, "Tasty," and washed the chewy mess down with a glass of Pouilly-Fuisse. He would have preferred pizza and fried mozzarella sticks, but he didn't want to seem ungrateful. Besides, the atmosphere and the Pouilly-Fuisee made up for what the chewy snails lacked in taste.
During dinner, he listened to Chad complain again about the blond guy who had left in the taxi earlier that evening. "I just don't get him. He could have had the world. All he had to do was ask and I would have given it to him. And how does he repay me? By dumping me in the street in front of a low-class strip club." When he realized what he'd said about Chickey's place, he corrected himself, "You know what I mean."
"You don't have to apologize," Treston said. "I know where I work, I know what I do to make a living, and I know it's not the most respectable place in Vegas. But frankly, Chad, if you don't mind my saying so, I think you have a lot to learn about good manners."
Chad blinked. "What do you mean?"
Treston reached for his wine glass, finished off what was left to wash down the last forkful of chewy escargot, and said, "All I'm saying is you haven't stopped harping about the blond with the funny name, and I have to tell you it's getting a little tired now. Seriously, man. It's a little insulting, too. And for someone who doesn't talk much, you seem to be talking a lot tonight." He leaned forward, looked into Chad's eyes, and held his hand. "Look, I know how hard it is for selfish men like you to understand empathy. Lord knows I've been with enough of them. I could write a fucking book about it. But just try for a moment to understand how I feel right now. I'm sitting across from you and we're on what most people would call a date, and you've completely ignored me and done nothing but talk about the asshole that left you earlier this evening. Now, I know I don't have the best social skills in the world. I just ate a dinner and I don't know what the fuck I swallowed. But I do know it's not polite to spend the night talking about another man when you're out with someone else. Not to mention how fucking boring it is."
"Well, I guess that's a first," Chad said, lifting his chin. "I've never been accused of talking too much."
Treston leaned closer. "I was ready to shove a dick in your mouth." Then he smiled to show he was only joking around.
Chad hesitated for a moment; he didn't seem amused. He sat back, smoothed out his napkin, and said, "I'm very sorry you find me boring."
Treston rolled his eyes. "Oh, here we go again. Don't start pouting. I didn't say you were boring. I think you're probably the most interesting man in Vegas. I said talking about what happened tonight with the blond is boring. Don't take it so personally, Chad. I know that's not easy for men like you. But maybe it's time to make a few changes in your life. I've been thinking a lot about this recently and I know it's not easy. I saw a guy the other day with ripped jeans, tons of tattoos on his arms, and the sexiest scruffy beard I'd ever seen. He was wearing a black leather jacket and big dark glasses. I wanted to run up to him, yank down his pants, and swing from his dick. He knew what I was thinking, too. He saw me cruising him. Guys like him see guys like me and they know they can get whatever they want. But I stopped myself just in time. Instead of going over to him like I would have done in the past, I continued walking and didn't look back once. It's not easy to change, but I'm determined to do it. I'm sorry if I'm talking too much again. Feel free to tell me to shut up at any time."
Chad seemed more than interested now. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the white linen tablecloth. "And how are you going to change? Have you suddenly lost interest in men with scruffy beards and tattoos?"
Treston laughed. "Not exactly. I wish it were so simple. I'll always have a weakness for men who are assholes. It's my biggest flaw and I know that's not going to change. But I think I can change how I react to them. I don't plan on being a stripper forever."
"Is that all you do at the club is strip?" Chad asked.
"Don't get coy with me, Chad," Treston said. "You know that's not all I do, so let's not play games. I told you I wouldn't judge you for sleeping with your boyfriend's brother, so please don't judge me for what I do to make a living. It's honest work, I know how to be a professional, and I'm very good at what I do."
"I'm not judging you," Chad said. "I had to do a few things myself when I was younger. In Hollywood no one becomes a star by being Mr. Nice Guy, and that's not a cliché. It's a fact."
"Let's not get off track," Treston said. "We're talking about change."
"It doesn't sound like you're planning to change much," Chad said.
"I'm looking for a job in an office," Treston said. "I'm not qualified for anything, but I know the right thing will come along soon. If you think about something you want long enough, I find it always comes to you. The secret is to think about things that matter and really believe in them. In the past I always thought about scruffy guys with tattoos and they always came to me. I figure if I stop thinking about them and start thinking about a job in an office, the same thing will happen."
As one of the young male waiters passed the table, Chad turned and watched his ass jiggle in the tight white pants. Treston made a face and said, "You see? That's what I mean about rude. In case no one ever mentioned this before, you don't stare at other men when you're with someone. It's cute for bad boys, but it's bad manners. You don't see me doing that to you. I would never insult you in such a way. As far as I'm concerned, you're the only man in the room right now."
Chad laughed and threw his head back. "That's because there aren't any guys in here with ripped jeans, scruffy beards, and tattoos. They're all too clean for your taste."
Treston looked up at the ceiling and said, "I hate to admit it, but I guess you have a point."
"You think you know me so well," Chad said. His voice sounded playful now. "Well, just so you know. I know you just as well. You look for trouble, and if there's not enough drama in your life you create it. It's a sport-or even an addiction. You need thoughtless, inconsiderate, rude men like me in order to survive. And when you get one, you spend all your time complaining about it and trying to change us."
Treston felt a sting in his gut, and it wasn't from the escargot. "You may be right about most of that," he said. "But you're wrong about the last thing. At least, with me you're wrong. I know no matter what, there's no way I'd ever try to turn someone like you into a sensitive, caring man. It took a while to figure this out, but I finally learned the hard way. From now on, I think of guys like you as nothing more than studs. Walking penises. And when it comes to men I want to marry and spend the rest of my life with, I want one who rides horses, reads books at night, and knows how to chop his own wood. A real gentleman." He'd taken all this from the private messages he'd been sharing with Cooper Boon on Facebook. Cooper was the man he'd just described to Chad and he hadn't even realized he done it until he'd finished speaking.
"I think you're wrong this time," Chad said. "There's no way a guy like that could ever make a guy like you happy. After one week of him chopping wood and riding horses and all that gentleman shit, you'd be out looking for the first bad boy walking down the street. You need the drama. Without it you'd never survive."