Page 12 of Sin Deep
“I can understand that feeling. You didn’t do anything wrong, I assure you. I know you’re new, and I will be more sensitive to that in the future.” Winter wasn’t sure there should be a future, but he wanted Harley to feel comfortable coming back to the club at the very least.
“Good deal. We just finished having breakfast for supper here, and now I have coffee.” Harley’s chuckle bounced inside Winter. “We are living large, I tell you.”
It sounded as if Harley was drinking his kind of coffee: one spiked with a little something. “I enjoy breakfast for dinner. Did you have eggs or pancakes?”
“Eggs and toast and these little sausages. They’re like breakfast sausage with hot dog outsides.”
Winter hummed. “Mm. I like those. The nice thing about eggs for dinner is they’re easy to cook. No fuss. I was just debating what to do for dinner myself. You may have made up my mind for me.”
“How do you take your eggs?” Harley actually sounded interested.
“I like them scrambled well. Even browned a little. But beyond that, I’m just happy to eat them. You could scramble in ham or sausage, cheese, vegetables, make it an omelet, whatever you like. If they’re fried, I like them sunny side up over toast. Runny centers if they’re poached. Did I miss anything?”
He rolled his eyes. He knew he was embarrassing himself. The boy was going to think he’d forgotten how to have a conversation.Listen to you.The boy didn’t ask for a dissertation on eggs.
“Mmm… I like hard-boiled ones too, with a little pickle, onion, celery, tuna and mayo.” Harley chuckled softly. “And I just ate, but I could murder a bacon, egg, and potato taco right now.”
“A taco. Oh, I remember tacos. I haven’t had one in years.” They just didn’t feel like something you had alone. Tacos were probably every day where Harley came from, but in his world, tacos were a party food. Something you had with people. And tequila.
“No? Really? I love tacos. I think it’s probably genetic, though. Do you… I mean, do you go out to supper ever?”
No, he didn’t. Taking oneself to dinner alone was the most depressing endeavor imaginable. “No. Not…well…”
Wait. Oh dear. Was that a dinner invitation? Or just a question?Damn it.Was the boy inviting him out to dinner?
“That is, I enjoy eating out. I just don’t often have the occasion to do so.”
“Oh.” There was a pause. “Wanna go get tacos?”
“Yes.” He kept himself from overthinking by answering before his better sense could kick in. He was hungry. He would have tacos with Harley.
Oh. He should probably say something more than just “yes”.
“Do you know of a place? I’m afraid I haven’t the foggiest idea where one can get tacos.”
“I do. I know of tons. I work all over, so I get to eat at lots of places. Give me an area, I’ll find us a restaurant and meet you.”
“Oh. Well, I am in Chelsea, but I can meet you anywhere.” There had to be a place to get tacos in the neighborhood. Perhaps in Chelsea Market. He hadn’t been through there in a long time.
“There’s a good place in Chelsea Market on 9th. Los Tacos. I can totally meet you there.”
“I would like that. Very much. I will meet you there shortly.” Los Tacos. What a perfect name. Right on brand. His stomach gurgled hungrily. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”
“I am too. I’ll see you in a few. Thanks for calling. I was thinking about you.”
He waited for Harley to hang up first.
I was thinking about you.
Was he really going to allow himself to do this again?
Well, not in his house sweater, he wasn’t. He took his tea to the kitchen, then hurried to his bedroom to change, finding casual clothes suitable for evening tacos rather than nighttime club wear, and shoes he could walk comfortably in farther than the trip to the corner for a taxi.
It was a Saturday night, and Chelsea Market was busy. Plenty of people wandering, eating, shopping. He found Los Tacos and looked for a place to wait for Harley that was out of the way but still visible. It wasn’t easy, but he ended up near the sign on the wall with the menu.
He wasn’t inconspicuous, but he was out of the way. He took a breath, allowing himself to relax a little, think a little. It was just tacos. Harley was a nice young man. And for all of that Harley was a grown-up too and had been the one to make the invitation. He hoped it wasn’t a pity dinner.
Harley wasn’t hard to spot either, at least Winter didn’t think so, with his dark jeans and button-down shirt, leather jacket, and that obviously well-loved ballcap. Harley found him and headed straight over with a wave and a smile.
