Chapter 8

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Chapter 8: Risk

Kinkaid was easy to talk to. He listened carefully, asking pertinent questions and making thoughtful comments. It made sense. After all, few people can achieve the kind of success he had at his age without knowing how to obtain information from others. I wasn't a business prospect, but he made me feel every bit as important and interesting. In the space of a couple of hours, he learned a great deal about my family, my education, and my interests. I knew the alcohol was making me more talkative than I would have been otherwise, but I couldn't be arsed to care. It was flattering to be the center of this man's attention, even if it was just for one evening. Besides, while the details of my life may not have been easily found in the papers like his, I wasn't exactly revealing state secrets, so there was little harm in sharing.

Throughout the evening, the only subject I scrupulously avoided was my love life. He didn't come across as someone who wanted to discuss something so personal, and I figured it was better to stay quiet, as thinking and talking about everything that had happened only released the bitterness I had been desperate to keep bottled up. If Kinkaid had asked I might not have answered, but he didn't, so I didn't volunteer.

"And that's pretty much the end of the story," I said when I finally ran out of things to talk about. "Now you know as much about me as I know about you. Far more, actually. I know it wasn't particularly enlightening, but..."

"On the contrary," Kinkaid disagreed. "I enjoyed learning every detail. If only the hour was earlier, so we could continue talking. As it is, I have a morning meeting tomorrow, and I really should head home to get some rest," he gave me an apologetic smile when he finished speaking. The smile warmed his elongated, brooding features, and I felt a stab of attraction mixed with regret.

"Do you come here often?" he asked, taking me by surprise. It was much too late in the evening to use a tired pick up line. I shrugged, wondering how to answer.

"From time to time," I finally said.

"So not every night, or even regularly?" he pressed.

"It depends," I replied. "When I go out with my mates, we tend to meet up at Molly's. When I'm out alone I go where the mood strikes. Why do you ask?" I couldn't completely contain my curiosity.

"I really enjoyed our talk tonight. It's not very often that I can have a conversation with someone who has no ulterior motive, someone who is so open and unreserved and isn't looking for anything from me. I'd like to do it again, but I'm afraid if I ask for your number or give you mine, it would give you the wrong impression. At the same time, I'm concerned that if we walk out of here tonight without exchanging contact information, we may never run into each other again."

I looked at him in surprise. "You know my name and where I work. I'm not exactly hard to find."

"True," he nodded. "But if I phoned you out of the blue, you might believe I wanted more than just to continue our discussion."

I blinked in disbelief. He was telling me, as plainly as he could, that while he enjoyed talking to me, he wasn't looking for anything beyond that. I bristled a little at this, because I'd given him absolutely no indication that I was interested in him. Even if most other gay men he met swooned in his presence, there was no call to lump me into their numbers. I was opening my mouth to respond, when he placed his hand on my shoulder.

"I just didn't want you to think I was stalking you, or anything like that. Calling up a man you'd had a single conversation with, well, it can give rise to certain inferences."

I calmed. That made sense. He wasn't making assumptions about me. He just didn't want me to make wrong assumptions about him.

"I enjoyed this, Cedric. If you ever want to get together again, just to have a few pints and talk, give me a call," as he spoke he dug though his wallet until he found a business card and handed it to me.

"Oh, um, all right," I stumbled over my words a little, suddenly somewhat intimidated. "Here," I continued, reaching into my pocket for my wallet and my business card. "You do the same."

"I will," he said as he pocketed my card. "It was nice meeting you, Cedric," he offered, reaching out to shake my hand.

"You too, Kinkaid," I replied, the warmth of his skin lingering as I watched him walk out of the pub. He took one look back to give me a quick smile and then was gone. I turned back and signaled the barman.

"Your drinks have been taken care of, mate," he said with a wink. "Nice catch."

"It's nothing like that," I protested. "We only just met and we were talking, that's all."

"It's a start and he's interested," the barman, who couldn't be bothered to even notice me earlier, suddenly turned into my best friend. "Trust me, I can tell. I see it every night. He's just more careful and reserved than most blokes."

I snorted dismissively as I stood up and headed for the exit as well. On the way home, however, I couldn't help thinking about what the barman said. Barmen knew people, so their impressions were usually right. But then Kinkaid seemed to go out of his way to make sure I didn't think he had anything but talking in mind. By the time I reached my flat I decided it didn't matter. If Kinkaid and I merely got together to talk every once in a while, that would be fine. And if it turned into more, well, I really couldn't see a downside.

I thought about Kinkaid often over the next several days. In my spare time I scoured the Internet for articles about him and his company, confirming the things I remembered and learning a lot more. I was somewhat surprised that only two of the articles I found had any references to his personal life, and even those didn't amount to much. I would have guessed that a very successful and openly gay businessman would garner a lot more scrutiny from the press on the subject of his romantic or sexual exploits, but he was clearly very careful and discreet, because I only found a couple references to men he dated and even those were not from recent articles, so likely no longer accurate. It was almost enough to make me wonder if he decided that in order to be successful in business he had to give up a personal life. That wouldn't be so unusual. There had certainly been other men who'd made a similar choice. At least Kinkaid had enough integrity not to pretend to be straight.

Although his business card burned a hole in my wallet, I was determined not to be the one to call first. He'd said what he enjoyed most about our conversation was that I didn't have an ulterior motive. Now that I knew more about him, however, I wasn't sure that assessment was entirely accurate, and engaging in active pursuit would only make things worse. I was, therefore, determined to wait for his call, however long it took, hoping that the delay would quell my fascination.

He finally rang me Friday morning. "I wanted to get in touch sooner, but I've had an unexpectedly busy week," he said by way of an apology.

"No worries," I assured him. "We hadn't set a deadline. You didn't have to call at all," I added, though my gut clenched unpleasantly at the thought.

"I wanted to. Monday night was...It was the most relaxed I've been in a long while. Talking to you was good for me, I think."

"Glad to be of service," I chuckled. "I'll send over my therapy price list," I joked, then wondered if I made a mistake. "I didn't mean that," I added quickly. I was relieved to hear his laughter.

"I know you didn't mean it, Cedric. I'm not so old and stuffy that I can't recognize a joke, even if that's how I appear."

"Stop fishing for compliments," I teased back, feeling more comfortable. "Forty-three isn't that old."

"Someone's been reading about me," I could hear the smile in his voice while I grimaced at giving myself away so easily.

"I didn't want you to have the upper hand," I explained, probably unnecessarily. "I told you so much about myself Monday."

"You could have just saved your questions for the next time we spoke," he retorted.

"If I'd been sure there would be a next time, I might have," I quipped lightly. He didn't reply right away, however, and when he did, he was more serious.

"Meaning if I hadn't phoned, you wouldn't have either," his tone was almost accusatory, but I heard the underlying vulnerability.

"I probably wouldn't have," I admitted, wanting to be honest with him, "but not for lack of interest. It's just you're a busy man. I wouldn't have wanted to bother you."

"I am busy," he conceded. "Often much too damn busy. But I am also a man who says what he means. I gave you my number so that you could call me. It's my private number. Only a few select people have it. I might not always be able to answer, but if you leave a message I will ring you back. Assuming, that is, you were interested in getting together to talk again." Once more his confident overtone obscured uncertainty.

"It'll be my turn to ring you next, then, and I will do that," I said firmly. "In the meantime, we're talking now," I reminded him.

"Yes, and there was a reason for my call. I wondered if you were perhaps free tomorrow night. We could have another chat over a few pints."

I considered the request. It was tempting to pretend to be busy, to play hard to get, until I remembered that he wasn't interested in me that way, and didn't seem like a man who enjoyed playing these types of games.

"Sure," I replied. "Should we go back to..."

"No," he responded before I could name the pub where we met Monday. "It's bound to be too noisy on a Saturday night, not really conducive to conversation."

He named a fairly new cocktail bar instead, one that I'd never been to but heard was rather swanky. Its location lent itself more to weekday traffic, so it was bound to be quieter on the weekends than a pub in Soho. We set a time and hung up, leaving me with plenty of time to anticipate our next meeting.

The following night we met at the appointed time and ordered our drinks, making small talk about our week as the barman poured. I'd feared our interaction might be strained or awkward, but the exact opposite was true. Kinkaid made it so easy to behave like lifelong friends. Getting together with him was no different than getting together with Greg and the rest of the crew, save the butterflies in my stomach that were never there when I drank with them, but which I, for the most part, managed to ignore. Kinkaid and I spent hours drinking and talking about everything from politics and the economy to sports and vacation spots. This time we both participated in the discussion, and the evening passed quickly and pleasantly.

"You really should send me a bill," he joked towards the end of the evening. "Talking to you is so easy, it really takes my mind off things."

"I would," I joked, "but you do the same for me, and I have a feeling that your fees would be quite a bit higher."

As before, we went our separate ways after leaving the lounge. This time, however, we exchanged mobile numbers. We began texting each other from time to time, as we came across things we thought the other might find interesting or amusing. We made plans for another mid-week meeting, then another on the weekend, and then a couple more the following week. He was so easy to be around, I became used to our routine, even though deep down inside I yearned for more. When he had to travel to America on business the following week, I keenly felt his absence. His texts from overseas were comforting, but they didn't quite make up for our missed time together.

Thankfully, Kinkaid's trip came right on the heels of Jasper's departure, which meant that I could once again occasionally meet up with Greg after work. When we got together at Molly's that week, he immediately noticed I was down, and tried to guess the reason. I hadn't told him or anyone about Kinkaid and wanted to keep that information secret, so Greg assumed my mood was due to the generally miserable state of my love life. In some respects, of course, he was right, because as much as I enjoyed my conversations with Kinkaid, and as hard as I tried not to think of our get-togethers as more than that, the truth was the better I knew him, the more attractive he became on just about every level. I knew I should have been using the time I wasn't with him to look for a new boyfriend, but with Kinkaid in the picture I just couldn't be arsed. No one else would measure up anyway, and I didn't need the extra drama.

"Take it from me, mate, it takes time," Greg tried to console me, assuming I was still smarting over Asani. "The right bloke will come along when you least expect him. Just look what happened with me and Viktor. He'll find you when you stop looking."

I nearly choked on my beer at his words, because that was exactly how Kinkaid found me. Or, more accurately, how we found each other.

Texting between Kinkaid and me intensified when his trip got extended, forcing him to cancel the plans we made for that Saturday. When I suggested we could talk on the phone instead, his call came almost immediately.

"I'd ring you, but with the time difference I'll be out wining and dining clients during the time we were supposed to get together. Besides, you should go out and have fun, instead of wasting a Saturday on the phone."

I wanted to tell him that I had no interest in going out with anyone else, but that would come across wrong, so I kept the observation to myself.

"You could call me when you get in after you're done entertaining your clients," I suggested hopefully.

"It'll be the middle of the night or, perhaps worse, crack of dawn Sunday."

"I don't mind. If I can rouse myself from the drunken stupor, that is," I joked.

"Ah, so you plan to live it up while I'm gone?" his tone was light, but I sensed there was more to the question. "Have I been cramping your style by hogging your prime weekend socializing opportunities?"

"I'll probably go out with my mates," I admitted, because I was sure Greg would ask me to hang out with the group this first weekend we could all be together again. "But you need not worry. If you had been cramping my style I would have said something earlier." I tried to be matter of fact, telling him I had preferred to be with him without making my attraction too overt. I was pleased to hear relief in his reply.

"Good. Well, have a good time and turn off the phone if you're too wrecked. We can always catch up when I return."

"Will do, but call anyway, all right?"

"I will," he promised.

True to his word, his call came in at seven o'clock Sunday morning. We were both obviously tired, but we spoke for over an hour, mostly about what he had been doing in New York. I tried really hard to forget that Jasper was now there too, even when a completely unreasonable phobia about the two of them meeting and falling for each other gripped my insides. It was stupid, of course. New York was a metropolis teeming with people and Jasper and Kinkaid had little in common besides their sexual orientation. The odds of them even being in the same place at the same time were minuscule, never mind meeting. Still, irrational or not, I knew I'd feel better when Kinkaid was back in England. And until that time, I was glad he was on the phone with me instead of out on the town or, worse, entertaining someone in his bed.

"Thanks for this, Cedric," he said as we were wrapping up the conversation. "I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I've come to depend on our talks. I've missed you. I really look forward to getting together in person next week."

I felt a warmth of pleasure spreading through me at his words, even though I suspected he didn't meant them the way I wanted him to.

He flew back Wednesday, but a backlog at the office kept him busy and unable to see me until Saturday. Friday night he texted and explained that he needed to multi-task and wouldn't have time to eat before we went out, wondering if I wouldn't mind having a late dinner with him instead of just drinks. Of course I instantly agreed, and felt an extra jolt of anticipation when he suggested we eat at a restaurant within walking distance of my flat. A plan began to form in my head. Given the timing and location of our meeting, it would be all too easy to ask him back to mine for a nightcap. Perhaps I still wouldn't be able to work up the courage to tell him how I felt, but at least I would be able to evaluate how he behaved around me when we were not out in public.

Even at dinner, I noticed a change in our behavior. It was as if someone had charged the atmosphere around us, making me hyper aware of everything, from the extra-long hand shake at the start of the evening, to the unusually intense looks he kept giving me throughout dinner, to the probably accidental way his knees brushed against mine under the table. We conversed as usual, but being so close to him after not seeing him for two weeks made it much harder for me to concentrate. I was too busy focusing on the details, such as the small lines that appeared at the corners of his mouth and eyes when he smiled, or the slight dip of his left eyebrow and the corresponding rise of the right that accompanied his scepticism, or the way he drummed nervously on the table with the fingers of his left hand until he noticed the movement, which prompted him to place his hand atop his thigh, from whence it would reappear a few minutes later to beat out an irregular rhythm again, as if of its own accord. He was glad to see me, that was plain enough, but I could see he too felt that electricity between us and it was making him uncharacteristically fidgety.

I waited until we were nearly done with desert to ask if he wanted to walk over to my flat after we were done. He hesitated, and worried that I'd overstepped my bounds, I hastily tried to withdraw the invitation. He stopped me with his "I'd love to," response. He took care of the bill and we left the restaurant, still talking as we walked slowly towards our destination. Excitement and trepidation prickled at my nerve endings as I wondered what would happen when we were finally inside. Would we merely have a nightcap and continue the conversation, or would I work up enough nerve to tell him how I felt, potentially destroying our friendship in the process. The responsibility weighed heavily on my shoulders.

When we walked in, I opted to give him a brief tour, having cleaned the place up in anticipation of this very thing.

"This is nice, Cedric," he said when we were done. "I like it. It's cozy."

I laughed and headed for the kitchen, where I took two beers out of the fridge. "Your place isn't exactly cozy, assuming you still live in the flat they photographed you in for the Entrepreneur article a few years back."

He took the beer and grimaced as he sat down on the sofa. "Yes, that's still where I live. Sometimes I forget how much people can learn about me just by reading the articles."

We both took a long swallow of beer. Sitting next to him on my undersized sofa, our thighs nearly touching, I was keenly aware that we'd never been in quite such intimate surroundings. I could feel his body heat radiating through our clothes and the space between us. For the first time since we met, we seemed to have nothing to say, and lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. Whatever courage I had before drained right out of me. I never understood why Greg had passed up all those opportunities to get together with me every time H. and I broke up before Viktor came along. Now it was crystal clear. It was horrible sitting next to someone who was so seemingly perfect, all the while knowing that acknowledging those feelings could destroy everything else forever. I found I was too much of a coward to go through with it.

"So, thanks for coming over. I'm sure with the trip and everything you've had to do since you came back, you must be really tired," I said lamely, feeling the only reason he was still sitting beside me was he couldn't come up with a good enough excuse to leave.

"I'm sorry, Cedric," his voice was quiet but strong. I dipped my head to look at the floor, anticipating what he was going to say next. "I'm afraid I may have made a mistake coming here. I know you must be wondering what I'm doing. What I have been doing these last few weeks. Whether I really am just looking for cheap therapy."

I snorted. "If that's what you're looking for, I'd say you've gotten your money's worth. We both know you can afford the best therapists, Kinkaid."

"The thing is," he said slowly," I'd always been very careful about who I get involved with. All my life, my adult life, anyway, I'd tried so hard not to make any mistakes when it came to that. I knew choosing the wrong person could spell disaster for me, not just personally, but professionally as well."

I frowned, unsure of why he was telling me all that. It almost sounded like he was explaining why we couldn't be in a relationship together. I decided to test my theory.

"So all of these discussions we've been having, were they a test, some sort of a try-out to see if I'm good enough, or did you already decide that I'm lacking and that's why all we do is talk?" I asked, figuring if I was going to lose anyway, I may as well go down swinging.

"No, Cedric," he turned towards me so quickly our knees knocked together, causing me to wince and hiss with pain. "Shit, I'm sorry," he placed his hand on my knee and tried rubbing away the pain. I fought the impulse to knock his hand away, remembering I actually wanted him to touch me, though ideally not out of guilt. His hand stilled, but remained, hot and solid on my knee. Then I felt his other hand touch my cheek before it slid under my chin, forcing me to look up into his eyes. "You don't lack anything. Choosing you would be a good decision."

The words were right, but the way he said them didn't inspire confidence or excitement. Apparently, though, I had some fight left, so I decided to press what little advantage I had.

"If it's a good decision, why don't you, then? Choose me!" I urged. "Kinkaid, over these past few weeks I've gotten to know you better than many people I've known my entire life. You're smart, funny, charismatic. We're so comfortable together. I feel like we could talk forever and never run out of things to say. I like you, not because of your business, or money, or influence, but because you're you. I have feelings for you that I've been trying to hold back, but if you feel the same then I think it's worth exploring if we could be more than what we are now."

"Cedric," he started to say, letting go of my chin, but I kept going, speaking right over him.

"I understand why you need to be cautious, but believe me, I can be the very soul of discretion. I would never do anything to hurt you."

"Cedric, there are things in play you don't really understand. The press, they have been good to me, because they know they need to be in order to have the access they want. But if there's a story that they can exploit without having that access, they will. They are sharks, completely relentless and without mercy. As soon as they smell blood in the water they'll descend. I may not be able to protect us, you."

"I don't need protection," I protested. "I can handle myself. Besides, in the entire time we've known each other we haven't had a problem."

"That's because we've stayed out of the public eye," he pointed out. "I've deliberately chosen places for us to meet where there was little risk of being spotted. How long will you be satisfied with that? How long will you be able to handle watching me attend all the different events and parties I have to attend without you?"

"Forever. I'll be able to handle those things forever. The parties and events you're talking about are of no interest to me. I would attend them for you if you wanted me to, but you'd be doing me a favor by going alone. You're who's important to me, not the parties you get invited to. As long as you come to family events with me and agree from time to time to hang out with my friends, even out of the public eye, I would be fine."

I didn't bother telling him that this would be so much more than H. had ever been willing to give. At least Kinkaid was openly gay. He wouldn't be attending these events with a wife or girlfriend on his arm. He wanted to keep his private life private, so as not to distract from his business, and that was fine. I understood that. I could easily be the man behind the man, the supportive partner standing in the shadows, the one everyone ignores. I didn't need his spotlight - I just needed him.

"Are you sure, Cedric?" I could tell he was dubious.

"I'm as sure as I can be, which is pretty sure. In order to find out for certain, we'd both have to take a chance. Then again, you take calculated risks in your business every day. Isn't your personal life worth some risk too? I can promise you this: if it turns out to be too difficult, if I can't handle it, I will walk away and keep quiet. And I'll do the same if you decide it's not working out. I won't go to the press and try to sell my story, or do anything to hurt you in any way. All I'm asking is that we give it a chance."

I saw in his face that he was weighing his options. It occurred to me that I could be pushing for too much, too fast. "You don't have to give me your answer tonight," I added. "I realize you weren't expecting this, and need time to think. And," I swallowed before continuing, "if you decide that you don't want this, I'll accept that. We can still be friends and keep talking as we had before."

He took his hand off my knee and turned to face forward again. I knew he was going to leave even before he uttered the words, "I think it would be best if I went home." I watched him stand and look around for a place to set down the beer. I reached and took it out of his hand, but avoided looking at him. I rose too, moving quickly towards the kitchen where I put the beers on the counter before leaning on it heavily, shoulders slumped in defeat. I felt him come in to stand behind me, his large frame filling the tiny room, making me feel claustrophobic. "Cedric," he said quietly, apologetically, placing a hand on my shoulder. I winced and moved away from him back out into the hall, towards the door, feeling the intense need to be alone.

"Thanks for dinner," I mumbled, unable to look at him as I unlocked and opened the door for him to pass through. "We'll text each other soon, yeah?"

"I'll be in touch," he said, almost as if he meant it. I had a feeling though, despite my earlier optimistic offer, the chances of us being able to get past this weren't very good.

He stepped out into the stairwell and I closed and locked the door behind him, leaning back against it for support. It was yet another loss, yet another disappointment, and this one cut especially deep. The lump in the pit of my stomach grew as I tried to keep my composure. My worst fears had come true, and I berated myself for my stupidity. I should have taken a page from Greg's book and kept my feelings to myself. It wasn't like I had so many good friends I could afford to just toss them aside if they didn't want more than that.

I was just about to head for the living room, when I heard the knock on the other side of the door. I tried not to get excited. I reminded myself that it could have been ditzy Emma from across the hall looking for milk or sugar. Still, there was a possibility... Maybe he hadn't left? Or maybe I was imagining things? I held my breath and waited, listening intently.

The knock sounded again, louder this time, and the air left my lungs in a single whoosh. I pushed myself away from the door and, without bothering to look through the peephole, flipped the lock and turned the knob. It wasn't Emma. Without a word, Kinkaid stepped back into my flat and pushed the door closed behind him. Then he grabbed my face between his hands and pulled me into a kiss.