Chapter Four
Work was over for a few months and though Quentin loved making music, it could be draining. Still, he had a few ideas running rampant around in his head. None of them caught on yet but he was pretty sure most of his time off would be spent writing lyrics. He sat in the Boise Airport nibbling on a really bad ham sandwich while listening to some new instrumental his producer thought would be perfect for the new album.
Quentin signed.
No rest for the wicked, it seems.
A man waving at him caught his attention and Quentin removed one ear bud.
“Sorry to disturb you. But, are these seats taken?”
“No, go for it,” Quentin said with a smile.
While the man settled in the seat next to him, the teen with him sat in the next chair over. Quentin plugged his ear buds in once more but paused the music. He couldn’t help stealing glances at the man. Dressed in a simple pair of black slacks, a plain black tee and a leather jacket, the stranger was all kinds of sexy. Then to make the hardness between Quentin’s legs throb even more, this man had salt and pepper hair, stark green eyes, strong cheekbones and that ass—Quentin swallowed.
Damn. Did they make men like that anymore?
“You’re Tin Man.” The teen’s voice brought Quentin from his mental orgasm.
He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”
“This is too cool!” The teen said in a loud whisper. “I hope you don’t mind. I’m not a fan boy kind of guy but your music is awesome.”
“Thank you. Call me Quentin.”
“Jordan Hu—McLaren,” Jordan said. “It’s nice to meet you. This is my dad, James.”
Quentin shook James’ hand while trying not to pass out from the dazzling smile the older man dropped on him. “James McLaren? Hang on.” Quentin dug into his bag and produced a copy of the current book he’d been reading. He turned it over and stared at the picture then laughed. “This is you.”
James grinned. “Yep.”
“Wow,” Quentin said. “Sorry, I didn’t recognize you. You’re a new to me author.”
“Not a problem. You’re a musician? What kind of music?”
“Hip hop and R n B,” Quentin said. Something told him James wasn’t a hip hop kind of guy. He looked more of a Luciano Pavarotti sort.
“Not really a hip hop guy,” James said. “But Jordan seems to be a fan.”
“Yeah—Broken Symphonies has been on replay on my iPod for the last six months.” Jordan said, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink. “Crap happens.”
“Don’t I know it,” Quentin said. This child seemed about fourteen, fifteen, there was no way his life should have been so complicated that he’d listened to nothing but Broken Symphonies for that long. Then again, he was probably over-exaggerating. “Where you two heading, if you don’t mind me asking.”
“New York,” James said. “I live there.”
“I have a home there as well.” Quentin admitted. “I’m taking some time off music to just center myself before diving back into the fray.”
“I can imagine.”
“Your tour’s over?” Jordan asked.
“Yeah.”
“You didn’t have one in Boise,” Jordan said. “You didn’t come anywhere close. What’s up with that?”
Quentin laughed. “Sorry about that. I don’t plan the cities. Next time?”
“I’m moving to New York.” Jordan beamed. “So, I know you will have shows around those parts.”
“For sure—tell you what.” Quentin dug through his bag for a notepad and a pen. “Why don’t you write your email address on that and I’ll hook you up the next time I have a show in New York?”
“You mean it?”
Quentin nodded. “I won’t be gone forever. And as you said, New York is a must on any tour, right?”
“Right!” Jordan quickly scribbled on the first empty page her found then handed it back.
Quentin wanted to stay and chat with them more—rather, he wanted to stay and stare into James’ beautiful gaze for as long as humanly possible. But, the fates had a different plan for at that moment, an announcement called for all first class passengers to head to the gate for boarding. “It was nice speaking to you,” he said, gathering his things. “Keep in touch, Jordan.”
“I will.” Jordan promised.
After handshakes all around, Quentin took one final look at James before heading off in the direction of the gate. It’d been a while since he’d been that attracted to a man. But James was older—much older than he was. There was no denying that. He was barely thirty and James was already graying. But damn, how could he deny the fact that all he could think as the agent checking his passport yapped at him, was how delicious it would be to bend over and have James drive into him from behind.
“Have a good flight!” She said cheerfully.
Quentin managed a smile but he couldn’t get words to come out.
What are words?
Somehow he managed to have his feet move him down the ramp and into the airplane. He set his bag in the overhead bin then fell into his seat with a grunt. The flight would be a relatively short one but it would be torture with the hardness between his legs. All he had to do was get over it. Sure, he would probably be seeing Jordan again but he mostly likely would never see James.
Quentin exhaled, rested his head back and closed his eyes.
Just as his body started behaving, someone fell into the seat beside him and he shifted to see who.
“James.” Quentin groaned.
“I would let Jordan sit here but he said he didn’t want to be tempted to ask you a million questions.” James laughed while tapping away at his phone. Soon the screen went dark and James shifted those soul piercing orbs he called eyes to Quentin. “Hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Quentin swallowed. “I wouldn’t have minded Jordan. Is he in first class too?”
“Yeah, two rows ahead.”
“Oh…”
How was Quentin supposed to survive the flight? He barely was able to walk after meeting James the first time. What was he going to do for four hours?
Well, he was an adult. He could control himself.
James was now busy speaking with one of the stewardesses. Though he wanted to behave, Quentin couldn’t help the jealousy that surged through him at the way they spoke. Then again, Quentin didn’t even know if James was gay. It wasn’t like his bio said anything about his—wait, Quentin hadn’t read his biography.
As nonchalant as he could, Quentin rose and made use of the vast leg space to pass James and removed his bag from the overhead. Once he had James’ book in his hand, he shoved the bag back then took his seat. He flipped to the back and read the biography.
International Bestselling, blah, blah, blah—fifth book in the works for blah, blah, blah. Donates to the Rainbow Defender—an organization that supports gay youths in and around New York…
That doesn’t mean anything. He had to be straight—he had a son who looked just like him. Then again one could never tell these days with—damn!
Quentin cleared his throat when the stewardess got his attention. While she confirmed his meal choice with him, Quentin somehow managed to focus. When she hurried off, he turned his attention back to the book before him and frowned.
Well—fuck.
Schools, city hall, lawyers—the list went on and on and James didn’t think he would survive it all. There were so many questions, so many strange faces, so many accusatory eyes. He could tell they were all asking the same questions Jordan had asked—
Why didn’t you come for me?
Why didn’t you want me?
The pain in Jordan’s eyes was still in his head, though his son understood what had happened. After a couple of days, Jordan seemed happier and would tell James a little more about his life from time to time. James still felt as if he should have been able to find Jordan sooner. There had to have been something he could have done.
But he’d tried everything. He’d called all the right people, filled out all the right papers—still, he wasn’t technically Jordan’s father. It wasn’t like he could file a missing person’s report on Jordan. He found out he could put on out on Marie—so he did.
Desperate times and all.
The moment the cops caught up with her, she merely told them to let him know she was fine. By the time James made it to where she was in Vegas, Felix and Marie were long gone.
He frowned at the memory, the pain of it all.
With everything that had been happening with getting Jordan to be able to legally go with him, James hadn’t gotten around to calling Bethany yet. She’d called twice since he’d been in Boise but from emergency court proceedings to filling out enough paperwork to kill a small forest, he just didn’t have the time.
James rested into the seat as best he could. He’d spent two nights in Boise with a teenager who was a virtual stranger to him. But he didn’t have the luxury of taking some time to do things slowly. Jordan would wind up in the system and he’d never heard one good thing about Foster care. Whatever hostility he felt toward Felix and Marie, whatever hesitations he had to be jumping into the father role, he had to let them go. Jordan still hadn’t addressed him as dad to his face. It was always James. But to introduce James to teachers and even to Quentin, it had been my dad. James supposed that was a small victory.
He’d take it.
Take off was the same as usually—the safety demonstration in English and Spanish that no one truly paid attention to. When the plane was finally in the air, he exhaled and reached for the bottle of water they left in the holder to his right. After wringing the cap off, he downed half the contents before recapping it and setting it back in the holder.
When he shifted to look at Quentin, the rapper was busy reading James’ first novel, Whispers. Honestly, James wasn’t sure where the idea for that came from. He’d spent months after being granted his Ph.d trying desperately to get a job. It wasn’t that he needed to work. His parents had enough money for the next five generations but he wanted his own. It weighed heavily on him that he had to dig into his inheritance but he had no choice.
Then one night, in the shower, the idea hit so hard, he was still partially covered in suds when he flopped down in front of his laptop. The next time he looked up, it was well after breakfast and he was eight chapters in.
Quentin reached for his water without looking away from the book. He lifted his feet to his tip toes, rested the novel into his lap while he used both hands to maneuver the cover. After he’d taking a long drink, he covered the bottle and tried putting the bottle back. James found himself smiling as he watched Quentin moving the bottle around the small table, trying to find the hole for the bottle.
James took the bottle from Quentin’s hand and without looking up, the rapper continued reading. It took, perhaps two lines before Quentin looked up and arched a brow. James laughed.
“You seemed to be having some trouble,” James said.
“Sorry. I’m at the part where Sam was walking down the hall toward the serial killer,” Quentin said. “I couldn’t look away.”
“Aww, sweet talker.”
“I’m serious!” Quentin said, setting his bookmark and closing the book. “You’re really good at this. Every word in here has meaning, you know? My brother told me about your books.”
“You have a brother?”
“Yes—younger. He goes to Cornell—final year.”
“Oh, congratulations.”
Quentin smiled. “I’ll pass it on. He’ll freak.”
“I taught at Cornell for a year a few years ago.” James admitted. “Literature.”
“You’re a teacher?” Quentin sounded surprised.
“I don’t look like a teacher?” James asked.
“Hey, if my professors looked anything like you, I’d have gone to more classes.” Quentin paused, looking thoughtful. “Then again, that’s probably a good thing they didn’t because I wouldn’t have paid attention and would have probably failed everything.”
“Are you saying you think I’m sexy, Quentin?”
“Damn it!” Quentin muttered. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“Look, it’s not every day someone tells me I’m good looking.” James set Quentin’s bottle back in the holder. “Especially at my age, so I’ll take it.”
“What’re you working on now?” Quentin asked.
James knew what Quentin was doing—changing the subject. Well, James supposed Quentin is one of those rappers who just the thought of a man hitting on them is worse than death itself. Taking the out, he shrugged. “Serial killers and the like. Tossed a few story ideas to the wall and one stuck.” James replied. “So, more bad-guys getting their comeuppances. I seem to be good at that.”
“Well, they always say, write what you know, right?”
“Right. Are you calling me a serial killer?”
Quentin laughed. “Not at all.”
“What are your plans for when you’re home?”
“Spend as much of the time as I can with my mother.” Quentin grinned. “She is the best cook ever which means before I hit the road again I’m going to have to go to the gym like a crazy person.”
James laughed. “That’s right. Mothers have this knack of making everything they cook so good and no matter how hard you try to reproduce it…”
“You never can.”
James nodded. “Precisely. So I stopped trying.”
“Well, no one likes a quitter.”
James laughed. “You’re an ass.”
“I’ve been told.” Quentin chuckled. “I get the sense that things just changed between us.”
“Changed between us?” James tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“I’m not sure.”
James looked away from him as the stewardess arrived with their food. “Has my son been served?”
“Jordan?” She asked with a smile. “Yes—Mac and Cheese with ham.”
“Thank you,” James said. “That’s the most teenager thing he could order.”
She laughed. “I said the same thing.”
After ensuring Quentin didn’t need anything else, she went on her way and James turned his gaze back on Quentin who’d gone back to reading while eating a sandwich.
“I didn’t mean to seem weird,” James said. “Earlier, I might have hit on you and the outcome wasn’t a positive one. I didn’t mean to do it—it merely happened.”
Quentin glanced up at James. “Well, it’s been a while since anyone above 18 hit on me, especially at my age. So, I’ll take it.”
Without another word, Quentin went back to the book.
James on the other hand, almost choked on air.