IRL: In Real Life (After Oscar, #1)(36)

I stared at him. “Brioni.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not Armani. It’s Brioni Bespoke.”

Conor’s face morphed from confusion to amusement. He was so expressive, so engaging. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to sink my nose into the crook of his neck and inhale him.

“You’re a piece of work,” he said through his laughter. “What the hell is Brioni?”

I shrugged, allowing myself to laugh too. “Italian suit maker. It’s only a couple of blocks from here on Madison Avenue. Want one?”

Conor’s eyes sparkled in the cold air. “That depends. Do you have a coupon?”

I was reminded of his money situation, the fact he’d attempted to mortgage his own businesses to cover his mother’s medical expenses. I couldn’t begin to imagine the stress he was under, yet here he was smiling in Central Park. With me.

I wanted to reassure him about his mother, make promises that she’d be okay, that I would make sure she was okay. But of course I couldn’t. First of all, he didn’t know that I knew about her illness. And secondly, I could no more stop the effects of her autoimmune disorder than stop the tides from turning.

But there was something I could do. I could distract him for a bit, and since he was clearly drawn to the expanse of nature in the park, I could escape into it with him for a while longer.

I pointed off to our left. “Have you ever seen the movie Elf? The snowball fight happened over there by that footbridge.”

Conor began walking in that direction, turning around to face me while stepping backward down the path. “Now you sound like Scotty. And no offense, but I can’t picture you sitting still for the movie Elf.”

“It came out while I was in college. Those were the days I was still trying my hardest to be straight, and my girlfriend wanted me to take her to see it.”

Conor stopped walking, and I nearly ran into him. I reached out to steady myself using his shoulder and he brought his hand up to clasp my forearm. Our eyes met and my chest tightened.

“I thought you said you didn’t like to talk about your private life,” he said softly.

Only with you.

I released my hold on his shoulder and stepped back. He reluctantly let go of my arm. “Well, I’m not revealing state secrets exactly. Don’t most gay men go through a denial phase like that?”

“I didn’t,” he admitted. “But I know plenty of people who have. I guess I never would have figured you for someone who gave a shit what other people thought about you.”

The subject was getting a little too close for comfort, so I changed it quickly.

“Tell me how you got into gaming.”





13





Conor





I told Wells about how I’d started the game store, which led into a conversation about what I did for fun, which had us trading stories of hikes, rafting trips, and other outdoor adventures we’d been on. We had more in common than I ever would have guessed, and I’d begun to feel like the man by my side in the park wasn’t at all the man my mother had been griping about for years.

He spoke of his own family, his European mother and his American father who’d met in college in Massachusetts before starting their family in Greenwich, Connecticut.

“Your dad’s an investment banker, right?” I asked.

Wells nodded. “He’s worked on Wall Street since before I was born. Not sure he’ll ever retire. The man’s a workaholic.”

I stared at him. “Pot, meet kettle…”

Wells snorted softly and looked away.

I was about to ask him more about his father when he abruptly changed the subject, asking, “Do you like Indian food?”

I blinked at him. Hadn’t we just eaten lunch at the office? I looked around us and only then realized the sun had set. How long had we been wandering around the park? I took stock of my body and realized the front of my thighs were frozen and I couldn’t feel my toes in my dress shoes.

“Yeah. I like Indian, especially if it’ll warm me up quickly. You know a place?”

He pulled out his phone to send a text, and within moments his town car coasted to a stop a few paces ahead of us. Wells opened the door for me before speaking to the driver.

“Bengal Tiger, Hank.”

Hank snorted quietly but didn’t say a word. It sounded like the noise one made in place of saying “duh.”

Wells turned to me, and suddenly I was overwhelmed with guilt at second-guessing his motivations earlier in the day. “Thank you for this. I think… I think I built you up in my head to be all about business success at whatever the cost, and I didn’t allow you to actually be… normal.”

He tilted his head in question. “I’m not sure what to say to that.”

I cursed under my breath before looking back up at him. He really was a beautiful man, but this was not the time to take notice of it. “I didn’t mean it as an insult. At least, it was meant to insult myself, not you. What I’m trying to say is… I prejudged you. I assumed you were the corporate asshole the media and my mother have always made you out to be. That’s on me. I should have given you a chance without coming to the table thinking I already knew who you were. That was my mistake.”