Page 22 of Flowers To Give

Clark is typing, those animated ellipsis dots taunting Jeremy with how long they stay up on the screen. They go away, then come back. Jeremy flops face down on the bed as he waits, thinking that he’ll reject the invitation no matter the reason. Finally, his phone buzzes with a notification and Jeremy jumps to unlock his phone and read the message.

“have dinner with me,”is all the text reads.

Scowling, Jeremy types back quickly, “I don’t feel like drinking.”

The reply is fast too, “real food. i ordered 2 much. eyes bigger than stomach”

Jeremy chews on that, wondering as he types out, “What kind of food?”

“the best,”is one text, and another, “caviar n shit.”

“Shit?”

“shut up. cmon already”

Typing out “why,” Jeremy deletes it and stares at the string of messages. He’s really entertained this conversation for someone who’s supposed to be mad at the recipient. But that’s Clark’s super power, his undeniable charm even in the virtual realm. Sighing, Jeremy succumbs to his growling stomach and asks, “What’s your room number?”

“penthouse,”is the only response. Being petty, Jeremy just gives the message a thumbs up before taking his time gettingready. He showers and plays with his butt under the shower head’s spray, although not able to achieve the orgasm he’d woken up hungry for. Out of the shower, he gets on some casual clothes - a t-shirt and jeans - but sprays on some of his mild cologne.

Still feeling groggy to the point of being a little loopy, he stumbles out of his room and heads to the elevator. He’s not sure how to get to the penthouse, but he’d rather figure it out than ask Clark. In the elevator, there’s his answer: a sole button just for the penthouse. He presses it but nothing happens. There’s a black pad above the buttons, Jeremy pressing his key card against the pad and pressing the button again. It lights up green and the elevator doors close, sending Jeremy to the tippy top of the resort.

The elevator doors slide open and there’s a short hallway to opulent double doors. Hallway ultra chilled, Jeremy shivers as he steps through it and up to the door before gently knocking. He waits a while, considering texting Clark to let him know he’s here, when the door opens and Clark looks at him confused, “What are you doing?”

“What?” Jeremy has an urge to run away.

“You’re just standing there,” Clark opens the door wide, “Come on.”

Jeremy follows Clark inside, closing the door behind him before turning back to the extravagant space. The penthouse is like its own villa, multi-roomed and decorated with the finest of furniture. Clark gestures him forward, “Food’s out here.”

Wandering from room to room, Jeremy is able to keep face up until stepping outside. The sun hangs low in the clear sky as the ocean is lain out before them, unobstructed from the large wrap around patio with red peonies edging the entire perimeter. A massive white pergola stands above the whole area,an extended cushioned bench wrapping around the railing and a long table laden with rich foods in the center.

Clark sits at the head of the table with his back to the ocean where a half smoked cigar is sizzling in a crystal ash tray beside a tumbler full of whiskey. He looks back over to Jeremy and finally locks eyes with him. Taking the cigar between his teeth, his gaze makes Jeremy squirm. He looks down at the spread before him, saying, “Looks good.”

“Yeah?” Clark sounds amused, “Help yourself.”

Jeremy looks over the food stuffing the tabletop, eyes landing on glistening black beads surrounded by saltines. He points at them, saying, “You really have caviar?”

“Mhm,” a twist of smokey tobacco tumbles out of Clark’s mouth, “Ever had it?”

He feels somewhat embarrassed as he shakes his head, no.

“You gotta try,” Clark presses, pointing at the elevated silver bowl of fish eggs.

Jeremy licks his lips, leaning forward over the array of cured meats and stinky cheeses to scoop a portion of the caviar onto a cracker. He takes a bite and the salty yet fishy taste with the squishy texture has him swallowing as quickly as he can. Clark laughs at the reaction and Jeremy puts the tiny spoon back, saying, “Must be an acquired taste.”

“It only tastes good when you’re the one paying for it,” Clark chuckles.

“Well,” Jeremy wipes his hands together and picks up a finger sandwich instead, sitting down at the table to the right of Clark and munching, “Thanks.”

“You sure you don’t want a drink?” Clark asks, sipping at his few fingers of whiskey, “It is the weekend after all.”

“When has that ever stopped you?” Jeremy stabs.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jeremy shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable as he doubles down, “That you drink whiskey like it’s water?”

“That’s it,” Clark grumbles as he leans forward for another glass, “Just for saying that, I’m forcing you to have a drink with me.”