Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
When Armando Cortez and I meet after his son’s wedding, both of our lives are at a crossroads. There are things he doesn’t want to talk about, like whatever’s causing the sadness in his eyes. There’s plenty I don’t want to tell him either, like the fact that I’m on the run from a criminal past, and that I’m close to his son’s age.
So, we agree to lie to each other and leave real life at the door—all our complications, our baggage, our past. We’ll let this be a fantasy, an escape. This is just supposed to be a casual fling anyway, so what could go wrong?
This low-angst, age gap, opposites attract gay romance is part of Alexa Land’s Firsts and Forever Stories collection, and it can be read as a stand-alone
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Salvatore
The gorgeous guy in the tuxedo caught me by surprise. I’d just climbed into a taxi in front of my hotel, and not two seconds later, he stumbled into the back seat with a champagne bottle in his hand. “Just drive,” he told the cabbie. “I don’t care where we go.”
The driver met my gaze in the rearview mirror with a questioning look in her eyes. When I nodded, she pulled away from the curb. In the next instant, the man startled me again by bursting into tears. Sobs shook his slender body as he doubled over.
That completely threw me off. I wasn’t good with emotional outbursts, or people in general. After several awkward seconds, I asked, “Do you need help?”
I’d never seen anyone do a literal double take, until that moment. He glanced over, then whirled around and stared at me, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes as he blurted, “Where did you come from?”
“Rome, originally.”
That had been a feeble attempt at humor, but all it did was confuse him. “What?”
I tried again. “I was already in the cab when you climbed in.”
“I didn’t see you.” He raised the bottle and tried to take a sip. When he discovered it was empty, he mumbled, “Someone drank all my champagne.”
This guy was hammered, so where it had gone was no mystery. I leaned forward and told the cab driver, “Please take us somewhere with coffee, preferably a European-style café.”
A few minutes later, we pulled up in front of a tiny café and bakery, and my companion climbed out of the cab. I handed the driver some cash and asked, “Where are we? It’s my first time in San Francisco.”
“This is North Beach.”
“How is this a beach?”
“That’s just the name of our Italian neighborhood. The main drag is right around the corner, but it’s bound to be jam-packed on a Saturday night. I figured someplace quieter would be better for your new, drunk friend. Heads up though, because he’s wandering away.”
I cursed under my breath and hurried after him as he meandered down the sidewalk. Once I caught up to him, I gently grasped his shoulders and steered him in a wide arc, reversing his direction. He didn’t have his bottle anymore, and it was nowhere to be seen. I wondered where it had gone.
He muttered, “Where are we going?”
“To get you some coffee, so you can sober up.”
He stopped walking and turned to look up at me. “You’re really tall.” He was probably five-eleven or so, which meant I had about five inches on him. “Handsome, too. I like men in glasses. I don’t usually like beards though, but yours is nice because it’s really short. Long ones are icky. I’ve had to watch way too many bushy beards turn into soup strainers at my diner in San Diego.” He shuddered dramatically while I tried my best not to picture that.
“Let’s keep going. The café is right over there.”
He stayed where he was and asked, “What’s your name?”
“Salvatore di Pietro.” My stomach knotted as soon as the words left my mouth. Maybe I shouldn’t have given him my full name, not when people were looking for me. But it probably didn’t matter. It wasn’t like he’d remember any of this.
“That’s kind of a mouthful.”
“I know.”
“Does anyone ever call you Tory?”
“No, never.”
“Well, I’m going to.”
“Fine. Now, let’s get you that coffee.”
He began smoothing the lapels of my gray suit jacket with his palms. When he did that a few times, it started to seem like he was petting me. “I’m Armando Cortez. Most people call me Manny. I don’t know why. It just started happening at some point.”
“What would you like me to call you?”
“Anything you want.”
“Okay. Now about that coffee—”
“My son Kit got married today.” He looked around, as if he was trying to get his bearings.
“You have a child who’s old enough to get married?”
“He’s twenty-nine.” Armando looked like he was in his mid-thirties. How could he possibly have a son who was only three years younger than me?
“The reception ended a little while ago,” he continued. “I’m proud of myself, because I held it together in front of everyone. But once it was over, I had to get out of there. I found a taxi and started crying and ended up wherever this is.” He gestured vaguely at our surroundings. “But you know that last part, because here you are.”
This was none of my business, but curiosity compelled me to ask, “Why were you crying? Don’t you like your son’s new wife?”
“New husband, and I think he’s great. He’s sweet and kind and exactly right for Kit.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“Me, I’m the problem. I’m such a loser.”
“I’m sure that’s not true.”
“No, it is, especially when you compare me to my son’s new in-laws. They’re loaded, so not only did they pay for that big, fancy schmancy wedding, they also gave the boys a European vacation for their honeymoon. You know what I gave them for a wedding present? A coffee maker.”