In Flight(60)

James had been right, of course. The sushi was great. And the selection Clark had collected was vast. It was literally enough to feed ten people.

I gamely insisted on using chopsticks, picking out a Philadelphia roll and some shrimp tempura to start, dipping it generously into soy sauce mixed with chili sauce.

“You joining us at that bar in New York again on Friday night? Same time, same place,” Stephan was saying to James.

James reached over, placing that familiar hand at my nape. “I was actually hoping Bianca would come see my apartment on Friday. Could I steal you away for a night, Love?”

I swallowed my mouthful of shrimp tempura. I was more than a little curious to see the playground he had mentioned. Equal parts thrill and trepidation coursed through me just thinking about it.

“Yes, you could,” I said simply. James sent me a scorching look, then went back to chatting with Stephan.

After lunch, James got a tour of Stephan’s house and again studied every piece of my art like his life depended on it. He took several pictures with his phone.

We stayed at Stephans until late afternoon. The two men found a surprisingly great deal to talk about, from politics to sports, to movies, to cars. I was silent for a good deal of it, simply taking in the novelty of the two men in my life interacting like it was the most natural thing in the world. When they finished talking, we watched TV.

I didn’t have a television, so the only TV I did watch was at Stephan’s house. We watched a few episodes of New Girl, a show Stephan had recently made me watch until I’d realized that I loved it. I was behind by at least a dozen episodes, but I was always behind on TV.

I laughed out loud at the show. James seemed to be enjoying himself, though he watched me more than he watched the screen. He smiled and touched me constantly, keeping me close to his side. I loved his touch, so I didn’t protest, although the whole thing was a little surreal for me.

When the third episode ended, I stood.

“I need to cook dinner,” I told them. It was already nearly 4:30. “I was going to grill some chicken, and cook some asparagus and couscous. That sound okay to everyone?” I asked. I was cooking one of my healthier meals, trying to cater to James’s preferences.

“Sounds great! I love that blackened marinade thing you do on grilled chicken, Bee,” Stephan said.

“I can’t wait,” James said.

Stephan was still watching TV. “You need any help?” he asked me.

“Nah. It’s an easy meal. I’ll text you when it’s ready.”

“I need to make some calls,” James told me as I let us into my house. He was carrying the bag with his laptop. “Where would it be most convenient for me to set up shop?”

I shrugged. “Anywhere that’s not directly in my way while I’m cooking.”

He set up in the dinning room, watching me cook while he worked, talking on the phone nearly constantly, taking call after call.

He cursed suddenly, and I looked back, startled.

“I forgot that was friday,” he was saying. His tone turned dry. “It slipped my mind. Fuck.” He listened for a few moments, looking agitated. “Yes, yes, set it up. I know. Drop it. I said set it up.”

He looked at me, trouble in his eyes. He ended the call, then closed his eyes and cursed fluently.

I went back to cooking. It had been deeply ingrained in me at a young age not to pry, so I didn’t. If he wanted to tell me something, he would. But the curiosity was killing me.

“I forgot about a charity event that I can’t miss on friday evening,” he told me, his tone careful. “I don’t have to be there until maybe ten, so we’ll have until then to spend together. You can, of course, stay at my place while I attend. I’ll duck out at the earliest possible opportunity.”

My spine stiffened at the realization that this was what the ‘no dating’ part meant. He would leave me at home like a dirty little secret while he met with his peers.

“That’s alright,” I said in a carefully neutral tone. “I’d rather stay at my hotel room. It’s an early morning for me. I’ll just leave your place when you do on Friday night.”

“I would prefer that you not leave,” he said in his most polite, cajoling voice. “I promise you won’t be late in the morning.”

I shot him a level stare, but quickly went back to prepping the chicken. “If you’re leaving that night, then so am I.”

He sucked in a breath.

“Are you upset?” he asked, sounding alarmed.

“I’m not,” I told him.

“Why won’t you stay with me on Friday, then?”

“I don’t want to stay there if you’re going out. I’ll leave when you do,” I repeated.