Accidentally in Love (7 page)

“People, though more when I get to make the decisions about the shots. That might be one of my favorite parts, actually, and I don’t always get to, because sometimes whoever’s paying for the shoot has really specific ideas about what they’re looking for. And it doesn’t make sense to argue or go off in my own direction. They’re paying me for my time, you know?”

Cal’s eyes lit up when he talked about his work, Tom realized.

“Places can be good too, depending. I’ve done some interior space stuff that was interesting. When you don’t have a person’s spirit to capture, it’s like a totally different art. It becomes about composition and light and shadow in ways that really come to the forefront.”

“I never thought of it like that,” Tom said. “Like the room itself is a personality and the spaces between the walls and the furniture are important, not just emptiness that doesn’t matter.”

“Exactly! Exactly.” Cal seemed delighted that Tom understood and went happily on explaining the use of shadow and assuring Tom he’d show him some images on his computer when they got back to the house. It was interesting, listening to him, and Tom was almost sorry when the waitress came back with their appetizers.

“Careful, now, these are pretty hot,” she said as she set Cal’s crab cakes down in front of him. “Is there anything else I can get you right now? Another bottle of wine?” She put Tom’s house salad on the table as well, the raspberry dressing in a small glass jar beside it.

Cal lifted an eyebrow at Tom, and Tom shrugged. “I’m okay.”

“Then no, I think we’re good.” Cal and the waitress exchanged a smile, and she turned to the table next to theirs to take an order.

“Do you have copies of any of the magazines with your photographs in them?” Tom asked, spearing a slender stalk of asparagus nestled in a bed of lettuce leaves. The varicolored leaves had fancy names on the menu, but it all looked like lettuce to him. “I’d like to see some where they were meant to be seen, if that makes sense.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Uh, somewhere. The more recent ones, anyway. The older stuff is at my dad’s house. He wanted to see what I’d done, and I figured I’d get them back, and then I just never did. You’re right. There
is
something about seeing them on glossy paper.”

Tom nodded in agreement, and the conversation stayed light and easy for the rest of the meal, something that was as much a novelty to Tom as going out itself.

By the time Cal was paying the bill and waving away Tom’s attempts to contribute with genuine determination, Tom’s thoughts were going ahead to the club. He’d eaten enough to make the idea of dancing not as pleasant as sitting down and watching other people do it, but he hadn’t overeaten, so he knew it wouldn’t be long before he felt less full. He wasn’t sure that would change his mind about the relative merits of dancing and observing, though.

“This club you want to go to… I don’t dance,” he informed Cal when they’d been ushered out of the restaurant door by a smiling server. The entrance was flanked by huge urns filled with purple and white flowers growing in well-tended profusion, and Tom could smell their scent faintly on the air. It was a beautiful summer night, the air warm without being humid, the cloudless sky above studded with stars, some of which were shining brightly enough to be visible even against the competition from the streetlights. If he hadn’t been caught up in apprehension about what was coming next, he might have let himself appreciate his surroundings more. “You really, really don’t want to see me try.”

“Let me guess,” Cal said teasingly, the understanding in his eyes robbing the words of any sting. “People laugh.”

“They do.” Tom gave a reminiscent shudder as they began to walk along the street. The club was only four or five blocks away from the restaurant. Tom could have jogged over in a very short time, but they were moving at a much more leisurely pace than that. “I went to a school dance once, and I liked whatever they were playing, so I danced, just by myself. I was enjoying it until I went to get a drink and these girls came up to me and told me that everyone had been laughing.”

“How old were you?” Cal asked.

“Eleven, twelve? Middle school, anyway.”

“Then it’s time you let it go,” Cal said without an ounce of sympathy. “You’re dancing. With me. And no one is going to laugh.”

Tom wasn’t so sure about that. When they arrived at the club with nowhere to go but through the door, he did his best to tell himself that Cal was probably right.

“First, let’s sit down so you can scope out the place.” Cal pointed him toward an empty table with a good view of the dance floor. “I’ll be right back.” He was too, a few minutes later with a couple of beers and a hopeful smile. It seemed crass not to return that smile, so Tom did, even though he wasn’t sure he was really feeling it.

Cal swung a chair around so he was sitting next to Tom and handed Tom one of the beer bottles.

“Okay,” he said. “The first thing I want you to do is remember that everyone looks kind of stupid when they dance, so you have to see past the physical movement to the emotion behind it.”

Tom sat back in his chair and looked around, feeling absurdly selfconscious. “That guy in the bright green shirt’s emotions seem to be a little psychotic.”

Cal laughed and nudged Tom’s knee with his own. “Don’t judge. Just look. Um… There, that guy in the jeans with the dark gray T-shirt? With the boots?”

“Uh-huh.” Tom looked, and once he was looking, it was hard to stop. The man might not have been the best dancer on the floor, but he moved like he was having a good time. Somehow that seemed to make a huge difference. The guy wasn’t thinking about how he looked or what anyone else thought of him. He was just lost to the music, letting it channel through him, maybe, and it made him beautiful.

“Do you think he’s attractive?” Cal asked.

Tom blinked. “Uh…”

“Scale of one to ten.”

“Seven? Seven and a half.”

With a decisive shake of his head, Cal dismissed the man. “Not good enough for you. Find someone who’s at least a nine.”

“You’re not that particular,” Tom said before he realized how it sounded. He shook his head. “Sorry, that came out all wrong. I just meant that either you’re walking around in a different universe than me, filled with hot men, or you’re generous with your nines, because you seem to have no trouble choosing people to, uh, dance with. I’m seeing a sea of sixes and sevens.”

“Yeah? How about me?” Cal asked with a grin.

“You?” Tom gave Cal a puzzled look. “Why would I rate you?”

Cal frowned as if that wasn’t the answer he’d expected, and Tom sighed inwardly. Right. He was supposed to say nine or go over the top and pick a number higher than ten to make Cal feel good or ridiculously low to show that he was joking. He
knew
that.

“Okay, I guess that makes sense, but—” Cal bit his lip, holding back a grin. “No, I need to know. I can take it. Rate me.”

Tom took a drink of beer and took his time swallowing. “No.” He felt a flicker of satisfaction at thwarting Cal, who got his own way entirely too much by being charming and persuasive. “Not until I’ve seen you dancing. It wouldn’t be a fair comparison. You might be like the green-shirt guy or even worse. I’d have to knock off a point or two for that.”

“You’re not going to care how someone dances when you’re in bed with him,” Cal pointed out, reasonably enough.

“You’re not going to bully me into it, so give up now.” Tom knocked his own knee into Cal’s.

“Okay, fine.” Cal sighed and looked out at the dance floor again. “Don’t rate anyone if you don’t want to, just don’t tell me there’s nobody here you’d like to get to know better, because that would be too depressing for words.”

“I’m allowed to have high standards,” Tom said. He thought it would be only fair to make an attempt, though, since Cal was going to a lot of trouble with this. He decided he should set his sights on someone who might actually agree to go out with him. “Okay, how about that guy sitting on the other side? No, over there, near the blonde in the red dress. With the white shirt.”

Cal looked doubtful. “Him? With the sneakers?”

“He looks nice.” Tom wondered why he was defending a choice he was being cajoled into making. “Like he smiles a lot.”

“I don’t know what happened to your high standards,” Cal grumbled. “Okay, I’ll be right back.”

“What? No!” Panic, bright and sharp, flashed through Tom. He could see it all: the man’s face lighting up when Cal approached, the way it would fall when Cal explained his mission. After that, the guy would look over at Tom, wrinkle his nose, shake his head, and Cal would try to persuade him to change his mind and maybe even manage to get the guy to come over for a pity dance…

It would be humiliating. Unbearable.

“Please don’t.” It emerged as a strangled croak, inaudible over the heavy beat of the music. Cal was already walking away, all fluid, sexy grace, drawing appreciative sidelong looks from the people he passed.

Tom sank back in his chair, turned away to stare blindly at the dancers, and gripped his beer in a shaking hand. He couldn’t watch, but in his head he was counting down the moments to when Cal would return with some plausible reason why the guy—a guy Tom didn’t even care about—couldn’t dance with him, like an ingrown toenail or something.

A hand tapped his shoulder, and he looked up automatically.

“Tom, meet a good friend of mine, Joe,” Cal drawled, his arm flung carelessly around Joe’s shoulders. “He’s in desperate need of someone to dance with.”

“What the man said,” Joe agreed with a smile.

He was even cuter close up, with blue eyes, short dark hair, and a dazzling smile. Tom was still panicking. He stood out of politeness and shook Joe’s hand. Joe’s eyes widened as he tilted his head back. “Ooh, you’re so tall. I like that. Come and show me what you’ve got.”

“I can’t dance,” Tom said helplessly.

Cal groaned and rolled his eyes. Joe just laughed and grabbed Tom’s hand. “Then stand there and be the pole, honey, and let me do all the work.”

It would have been stupid to just stand there even though Joe had told him he could, but Tom felt like he was barely managing the slightest swaying movement. Joe knew how to dance, rocking his hips to the beat of the music and giving Tom sexy smiles of encouragement. When the song ended, Joe leaned toward him and said, “You hate this, don’t you?”

“Kind of,” Tom admitted, and Joe touched his elbow.

“Let’s go sit,” he said. “Talk. Okay?”

He felt guilty for spoiling Joe’s fun, but the other man didn’t seem disappointed as he led him back to the table they’d been sitting at. Cal was gone, and Tom glanced around surreptitiously until he spotted him over near the bar, talking to two men who seemed to be a couple.

“Your friend bailed,” Joe said as they sat. “Is he an ex?”

“Cal? No, he’s just my roommate. Why would you think he was my ex?”

Joe shrugged. “Sometimes an ex feels, you know, guilty for leaving you on your own. I had one who tried to set me up with tons of guys just so he wouldn’t feel bad.”

“Oh.” Tom was fairly sure that pity as much as gratitude had prompted Cal’s actions. He didn’t plan on sharing that with Joe. “No, it’s not like that. We’ve only known each other a couple of months, and I guess he just wanted company tonight.”

“He’s good-looking,” Joe said. “I’ve seen him around. Never spoken to him before, though. He looks like the kind of guy who knows everyone, just…not for long.”

It was a fair description of Cal, but Tom was starting to see glimpses of more beyond the surface Cal showed the world, so he just gave a noncommittal shrug.

“So if you don’t want to dance…” Joe leaned in to kiss Tom, who was too startled to move away or react. The press of Joe’s mouth on his was warm and brief enough not to be threatening. Tom still froze, gazing back at Joe with what he knew had to be a really stunned look on his face.

“I…um…” Fuck, he sounded stupid, he even
felt
stupid. Joe reached out and took his hand, playing with his fingers.

“Do you not want to kiss either?” Joe asked gently. “It’s okay, if you don’t. You just have to say.”

“It’s not that.” In that moment, their conversation felt intimate, private, which was ridiculous since they were in the middle of a crowded dance club with people all around them, and the beat of the song that was playing was loud enough that it couldn’t rightly be referred to as background music.

“Then what? Tell me.” Joe’s thumb trailed slowly down along the edge of Tom’s palm.

Tom wished he knew. “I don’t know how to do this.”

“That’s okay,” Joe said. “As long as you
want
to do it. Do you?”

Joe was being so kind and patient and understanding; Tom knew it had to be luck that they’d ended up sitting here together, and he knew he wasn’t likely to be so lucky again. “Yes.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, though he knew by the way Joe smiled that it had been heard loud and clear.

“Cool. Come on outside with me—you know, just so we can hear ourselves think—and I’ll put my number in your phone.”

Hesitantly, and with a glance in Cal’s direction, Tom followed. They stood outside under the streetlights and exchanged phone numbers and e-mail addresses; it felt strangely like what Tom had always observed high school mating rituals to be, and here he was finally experiencing it in his twenties.