Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 65370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65370 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 327(@200wpm)___ 261(@250wpm)___ 218(@300wpm)
Thorne was right, but if Riley and Susan were going to build up a business, they had to be available. He held back a sigh, not wanting to mess up the moment for Thorne. He would never give up Thorne, but being a rent boy had been a hell of a lot easier than being a boyfriend.
Riley found the park easily and pulled into the small lot. Thorne grabbed the food, and Riley got the picnic blanket and found them a spot that was partially sunny and far enough back from the water not to be too windy.
Thorne pulled out the bottle of wine he’d brought along with real wineglasses. While he poured the wine, Riley arranged the meats, cheese, olives, and crostini and served bowls of salad, tossing them with dressing from the carafe.
“You do realize the lowly masses just have sandwiches and plastic cups, right?”
Thorne scowled. “I like real food, and so do you.”
“I do. This is awesome. I’m just not used to drinking from wineglasses on a picnic, or I wasn’t until I met you.”
“How many picnics did you have before you met me?” Thorne asked. “I don’t think I’d had one since I was a kid.”
“I used to take my lunch outside all the time, to a bench in the apartment complex or to a spot on Tech campus, but I was usually eating a sandwich or a salad, not anything this fancy.”
“I can’t imagine you eating anything too mundane for lunch.”
Riley laughed. “I make good sandwiches or odd nostalgic ones.”
Thorne took a sip of wine. “Tell me some of your favorites.”
“Grilled cheese with bacon and hot sauce.”
Thorne nodded. “I approve.”
“Peanut butter with really good jam on homemade white bread.”
Thorne smiled wistfully. “I love the smell of fresh-baked bread.”
“Are you wondering why I haven’t made you any?”
“No…yes.”
Riley couldn’t help smiling. Thorne was shameless. “I used to make bread every week, but it will probably be a while before I make it regularly again.”
Thorne stuck his lip out in an exaggerated pout.
“Quit that.” Riley slapped at his thigh. “I’ll make you some one weekend. Oh, raisins and fluff, that’s a good sandwich.”
“What?”
“Raisins and marshmallow fluff.”
Thorne grimaced. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am, and don’t tell me you don’t have some strange combinations of your own.”
“I put potato chips on peanut butter, but that’s not all that weird.”
Riley raised a brow. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Thorne glared until he backed down.
“Fine, it’s not. I’ve done that too.”
The conversation slowed as they both ate for a while. Then Thorne poured himself a second glass of wine and stretched out, propping himself on his elbow.
Thorne had insisted that dressing up for boat shopping would make the sales people take him more seriously. He was a damn distracting sight, lying on a blanket in his disheveled power suit: shirt unbuttoned, tie and jacket discarded, pants tight around his thighs.
“Like what you see?” Thorne asked.
“I do.”
“Good. Now tell me how school’s been this week.”
Riley sighed and drained the rest of his wine.
“That good, huh?”
“I keep thinking the classes will get more exciting or at least seem more useful. I wanted to learn things that would help once I was ready to have a business of my own, but…”
“You aren’t.”
Riley shook his head. “It’s like I’ve told you before. Most of the people there are so interested in technique that they’ve lost the joy in baking. They don’t have any passion. I want to talk about food, and all they want to discuss is the chemical development of flavor or the perfect composite pan to use for braising a peach. I want taste and flavor and comfort and—”
“Mmm, I want that too. You’re making me horny.”
Riley rolled his eyes.
“Seriously,” Thorne said. “When you talk about food it’s hot because you care, because you love the food no matter how you make it. Whether it’s—God help me—a raisins and fluff sandwich or chocolate pistachio torte with currant sauce, your food has love in it.”
Riley nodded. “That’s what Susan and I are aiming for, but it’s looked down on where I am. They believe in following precision rather than passion and instinct.”
Riley lay back on the blanket. The ground was chilly, but he looked up at the blue sky as he thought. He wanted to quit school and focus on what mattered to him, but he couldn’t shake the idea of feeling like a failure. “Do you think leaving school after such a short time is okay? Or does it mean I’m giving up?”
Thorne laid a hand on Riley’s thigh. “You assessed the situation and decided it wasn’t helping you meet your business goals. That’s a smart decision. It’s not giving up.”
“Thanks.” Riley squeezed his hand.
“You’re welcome. You ready to head home?”
“More than ready.”
Thorne gave Riley a lascivious once-over. “Good because I have plans for you.”
CHAPTER TEN
Thorne thought they’d never get home. The drive seemed three times longer than it had on the way to the boat dealer. Thorne took his key out while they rode the elevator. As soon as he got the apartment unlocked, he yanked Riley inside, kicked the door shut, and ground against him, pushing him against the door and pinning him there. Riley struggled at first, but he quickly gave in to the slide of Thorne’s tongue against his own.