For fear he might be missing something important, Greer had done something he’d never done before. He’d farmed out most of his personal client base to the senior analysts in his firm. What a hard pill for him to swallow. Greer liked to be involved in everything, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t get his head in the game. With his eyes opened or closed, vivid images of Dallas were all he could see.
As he scanned each of his memories, he realized there were things he missed. Like the fine lines around Dallas’s smiling lips or the tilt of his head as he ducked away seconds before he laughed. Winning the trainer over then keeping Dallas by his side seemed to be all he wanted to do with his life.
Hence the many candles burning around the living room. The expensive sparkling wine chilling in the ice bucket. The lube and condoms lying within reach of both the sofa where he’d envisioned Dallas bending over and the lounger close to the swimming pool, a place Dallas naturally gravitated to.
With a snap of his fingers, Greer remembered the back retractable doors. He went there, pushing each large pane open, allowing the fresh air to filter through the living room. The twinkle of the quiet night sky added another romantic element to the ambience he tried to create.
Greer looked around the room, satisfied. Pepperoni pizza was the most prominent aroma, stronger than the fragrant candles. That couldn’t be helped. He’d grabbed something fast just in case Dallas hadn’t eaten, but he hadn’t wanted to waste the little time they had eating a full meal before Dallas would have to leave to make his scheduled class on time.
He went to the champagne bucket, pouring himself a single glass. He took a hearty gulp, trying to muster his work motivation. The chrome laptop was the only eyesore in the room. He drained the glass in one big swallow and manned up, taking the stool.
He abandoned the crystal flute on the granite counter before logging into EnviroCapital’s proprietary server. If nothing more, he needed to add an additional note to the preliminary changes he wanted to implement with BikeBro. He planned to allocate additional funds for a team of instructors to help Dallas’s workload balance. Based on the research data gathering now, Dallas needed to remain the face of the company—because, boy, what a face—but Dallas’s time restrictions made fast growth difficult. And with a quick tilt of the head, he admitted he wanted to help free Dallas’s time for everything Greer had planned for them to do. He wanted dates, traveling, and pockets of strategic alone time.
Greer’s cell phone lay on the island next to his laptop, drawing his gaze there. He looked at the screen and had to remind himself, like he had several times today, that Dallas was a busy man. Texting Greer wasn’t yet a priority. He hadn’t heard from Dallas since noon. He’d have to ask Dallas to respond a little more frequently. His needy side, the one Dallas brought out in him, craved more communication.
Greer’s eyes shifted to the corner of his computer screen to check the time. Eight twenty-three. The gym was a three-minute drive from his house. Four, if he caught a light. Dallas would be there soon. Greer forced himself to focus on the laptop.
An hour and fifteen minutes later—he knew the time with all certainty because he’d watched every minute pass in painful misery—Greer closed the lid to his computer and swiveled around on his barstool to face the living room. Half the candles had burned out. The others still flickering began to mock him as he finally let the realization of Dallas standing him up settle into his realm of thinking.
He tucked his hands between his thighs and let the heavy weight of disappointment slump his shoulders. With the constant highs and lows of the last few weeks, his heart was becoming the most annoying organ in his body. This time hurting like it had never hurt before.
“What happened to spook him?” Greer tucked his lips between his teeth, worrying them as he tossed around different scenarios in his head.
Maybe he had come on too strong. That made him bark out a humorless laugh that somehow made his heart hurt worse. Of course, he had added too much pressure to Dallas. That was his standard MO, but his swirling gut told him that wasn’t the problem.
When Dallas hadn’t texted Greer back, that should have been the bright neon arrow pointing to something being amiss. He should have forced their conversation. Of course, he should have.
More on instinct than any real plan, Greer reached for his cell phone, snapping a photo of his living room. He scooted off the stool and first went to the oven. The overbaked pizza smell had him turning off the warmer. He reached for an oven mitt and single-handedly pulled the large, blackened pizza stone out, and dropped the burned pizza in the trash. He carelessly tossed the mitt and the stone toward the stove as he went for the back doors, shutting them tight. Greer blew out each of the candles. It seemed overly dramatic to toss those in the garbage too, so he’d wait until morning.