Chapter 43
Quin gave her a sexy grin that turned Jerry on even though it wasn’t turned his way. “No problem,” Quin said, digging out his wallet for his driver’s license. “I know I look young.”
The server floundered for a convincing explanation. “Oh no, sir. It’s not that. State law requires us to card anyone under the age of forty-five. You understand.”
“Funny, you didn’t card me,” Jerry quipped.
Her face flushed a deeper shade of red. “Sir, I-I didn’t mean—”
“It’s fine,” he said, waving her away.
“I’m very sorry,” she mumbled before leaving them alone.
When he looked across the table, Jerry saw Quin’s enigmatic gaze turned his way. Jerry smirked. “What?”
“She probably thinks we’re father and son,” Quin said.
Jerry shrugged. “If you’re really thirty—”
“I am,” Quin assured him, reaching for his wallet again. “Do you want to see my ID, too?”
Jerry shook his head. “I believe you. If you do the math, I would’ve had to have fathered you when I was thirteen. I’m not saying that’s impossible, but highly unlikely. At that age, I hadn’t yet found my dick.”
Quin leaned forward, and beneath the small table, Jerry felt a hand stroke up the inside of his thigh. “I can help you with that,” Quin murmured.
With a grin, Jerry leaned back in his seat and spread his knees, angling them open to allow Quin’s hand a little farther up his leg. “Almost there,” he purred.
Before Quin’s fingers made it as far as the inseam of his pants, though, a waiter arrived with their appetizers and both men sat up. Quin’s hand fell away, but only after giving Jerry’s knee a quick squeeze that said simply, soon
* * * *
Back in the BMW after their meal, Jerry turned on the ignition and idled a moment. He wanted to ask Quin back to his place, but this date hadn’t been his idea in the first place. Quin had to call the shots. If he wanted more, he had to say so.
Jerry waited. Quin sat quietly beside him in the passenger seat staring out into the night.
After a long moment, Jerry put the car into gear. Maybe his company hadn’t been as scintillating as he’d like to think. Maybe he’d bored the young guy, and Quin just wanted to call it quits. Or maybe he was too full to fuck. Another minute passed, and Jerry saw headlights in his side-view mirror, a blinker indicating that someone was waiting for his coveted parking spot. Reluctantly he pulled away from the curb.
Finally, hoping to break the silence between them, he asked, “So, back to your bike?”
“It’s safe where it is,” Quin said. “I’ll tell you where to go.”
Now thatsounded promising. Following Quin’s curt instructions—“Turn here. Right up ahead. Straight through the light. Left now, now”—he found himself cruising through Richmond’s Museum District, a collection of cobbled streets fronted by old Colonial and Victorian style homes that had long ago been sectioned into condos for those who could afford them. Parking here was at a premium—at this hour of the evening, the streets were lined with cars, and more filled the alleys behind the homes. Quin guided Jerry to a darkened side street, then had him turn onto a tight strip of gravel hemmed in with trashcans. “Right here,” he said, tapping his window.
Jerry slowed and stared at the narrow opening between a garden shed with aluminum siding and an overgrown mulberry bush. “Will I fit in there?”
“You should be able to,” Quin said. “When I had a car, it fit just fine.”
“What was it, a bug?” Jerry asked. He eyed the mulberry bush with distrust. “If that thing scrapes my paint…”
Quin laughed. “Then I’ll have to make it up to you. I’m sure we can come to some sort of agreement.”
He reached over as if to rest his hand on the gear shaft, but he kept reaching, and instead, wound up in Jerry’s lap. His fingers curled around Jerry’s zipper, kneading the stiffening member beneath the thin fabric. His touch was electric, and dispelled any insecurity or uncertainty Jerry might have had earlier about where things were heading between them. The hand in his lap, on his dick, said it all.
A little recklessly, Jerry reversed the car and barreled through the narrow gap into a back yard barely eight feet square. His car just fit—he wasn’t even sure Quin’s bike would be able to squeeze in beside it. He pulled up the hand brake, put the car into neutral, and turned off the ignition. The engine ticked softly in the darkness around them. Then he turned to Quin. “So…”
He could faintly see Quin’s face in the light on the back porch a few feet away. Quin’s hair was a tousled mess across his forehead, threatening to spill over across his glasses. The lenses reflected the light, hiding his eyes. By now, Jerry had come to realize the quirky grin on his lips wasn’t so much amusement as just the way he normally looked. If the glasses were off, maybe Jerry could get a better grip on what Quin might’ve been thinking. All he had to go on was the hand between his legs.