Chapter 12
Either the press had developed an obsession with Ford Hollingsworth or Trevor was suddenly noticing pictures he’d previously skimmed past. Or maybe it was a combination of both. Either way, he saw more and more headlines and photos about Ford. Usually, that was a good thing. After all, there was nothing and nobody he enjoyed looking at more than the man who had captured his attention seven months earlier and hadn’t let go.
Naked Ford was his favorite view, but dressed in a suit or his always-preppy casual clothing was good too. The only pictures Trevor didn’t like were those of Ford with a “date,” “girlfriend,” or “fiancée.” Several different women had been labeled with those titles, but Kathy Smith, who Ford described as his sister’s friend, was by far the most prevalent.
Trevor had never considered himself the jealous type, but when he found himself grinding his teeth at the latest photo of Ford and his “girlfriend” at a party in Missouri, he wondered if his previous lack of jealousy had been less about his own personality and more about never before having had cause to be jealous. Over the years, he had dated numerous men, some briefly and others for longer stints, but he had never desired commitment or exclusivity. Work had been his top interest and focus and he liked it that way. But his feelings for Ford were unlike any he’d previously experienced.
Although their parents lived on opposite ends of the political spectrum, they had the commonality of an upbringing mired in politics. Ford was also intelligent and well read, which made conversations with him endlessly interesting. His optimistic and kindhearted nature helped temper Trevor’s own lifelong cynicism about people’s motivations. And his sense of humor—subtle, dry, and sweet—left an almost constant smile on Trevor’s face.
With Ford, Trevor saw the possibility of something he had never considered real or attainable—a true, enduring relationship. But that possibility could never become a reality if Ford refused to come out, and Trevor couldn’t help the bitterness and familiar pain in reaction to, once again, having his life diminished by the political aspirations of someone who claimed to care about him.
The knowledge of how quickly and easily he had walked away from his own principles and used his power to intimidate and suppress a stranger guilty of nothing other than being Ford’s political adversary heightened his resentment. Resentment, but not regret. Because as hurt as he was by seeing pictures of Ford publicly smiling and laughing with an endless stream of people, as frustrated as he was by their inability to spend as much time together as he’d like because their relationship had to be hidden and private, and as wounded as he was by being less valued than the voting public, Trevor knew he would do anything in his power to make Ford happy.
So when his phone rang on Friday night and Ford’s name popped up, Trevor told himself to tamp down his negative feelings and enjoy the time he could spend with Ford, even if it was only telephonic.
“Hi. Sorry I couldn’t take your call earlier. I was in a meeting. Busy day.”
“Hey.” Ford let out a long breath, sounding tired. “Don’t worry about it. I figured. My day was…” He paused. “Stressful too.”
All Trevor’s good intensions flew out the window. “Stressful, huh? All those parties and dates wearing you down?”
“What?”
“I saw pictures online. You went to a party with your girlfriend again this afternoon. Or is she your fiancée? I’ve seen her referred to both ways.” Even as he said the words, Trevor regretted them but he couldn’t stop himself.
“If you mean Kathy Smith, I already told you—”
“Yes, I know what you’ve told me. She’s your sister’s friend. And I also know that she stands awfully close to you at a lot of events, Ford. A lot of events. Who keeps inviting her?”
“I can’t believe you.”
“Tell me it isn’t true,” Trevor demanded.
“Tell you what isn’t true?”
“Tell me you’re not dating her,” Trevor bit out angrily.
“I’ve already told you I’m not dating her!” Ford said loudly, exhibiting out-of-character anger. “Obviously, you don’t believe me. I shouldn’t be surprised because you don’t trust anyone, but I’m not a liar!
“Aren’t you?” Trevor shot back. “Have you told your parents about me, Ford? Do they have any idea?”
No response.
“If you’re lying to them about who you’re seeing, how can I know you’re not lying to me about the same thing?”
“That’s not—”
“It’s not what?” Trevor shot out of his chair, too wound up to be still. “It’s not lying? We’ve been seeing each other for seven months. Tell me how hiding me from them isn’t a lie.”
“What about you, huh? I have no idea who else you’re dating.”
“Who else I’m dating?” Trevor said slowly.
“Well, you never said anything about being exclusive. Why is that?”
“Are you seriously going to justify your behavior by saying I’m the one who’s doing something wrong?”
“That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry. I was being defensive.”
Too upset to listen, Trevor paced across his office and ranted. “How could we talk about being exclusive when we’ve never talked about dating at all?”
“Trevor, please, I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Which actually makes sense when I think about it because we can’t be out in public together and the only times we’re with each other we have to be within ten feet of a bed. So I guess you’re right after all. You’re not lying to your family about who you’re dating because we’re not dating. We’re just fucking!”
“I can’t believe you said that.” Ford’s voice was small.
“Why not?” Trevor yelled, his emotions high. “It’s true! The sex is great, no denying it, but that’s all it is. Hot sex is all we’ll ever have.”
“I’m hanging up now.”
“Fine!”
“Good night, Trevor,” Ford whispered before the line went dead.
“Fuck!” Trevor shouted at his office ceiling and threw his phone onto his chair. “Goddammit!” He raked his fingers through his hair and paced.
Though he wanted to call Ford back and take away the sadness in his voice, Trevor wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay calm. The fact of the matter was, he was hurt. Too hurt to trust himself not to take another below the belt shot, which would only make things worse. So instead of calling and making up, he paced and thought.
He had lost his temper with Ford, no doubt about it. The question was why.
Trevor was no stranger to high-pressure situations. A person didn’t get as far as he did in the business world without having to overcome impediments and deal with difficulties along the way. And reaching the top meant facing more challenges and unique personalities, not fewer. Yet in over twenty years, Trevor could count the number of times he had yelled at work on one hand. His personal life was much the same—high pressure since birth, no shortage of bothersome situations, but no loud blow-ups or angry barbs.
So why did one innocuous comment from Ford about having a stressful day infuriate Trevor? The easy answer was that he had been upset before the comment. Over half a year of sneaking around like a dirty secret was justification enough to be upset. Add to that Trevor’s personal history of politics coming before people, and he didn’t need a therapist to tell him childhood demons had played a part in his emotions. But those reasons, though logical and true, weren’t enough to have made him react like he did if he didn’t care about the person responsible. And that was the crux of the matter.
Trevor did care about Ford. He cared a lot. But what did that mean? He had gotten angry at Ford for not telling his family about their relationship, but the truth was, Trevor had his own reservations.
From the moment he had been old enough to make his own decisions, Trevor had actively and aggressively avoided the type of life and relationship his parents had, one focused on political ambitions rather than family. Ford Hollingsworth was politics. That wouldn’t change. And Trevor knew exactly what it meant to live a life with that as its core. He understood the time commitment, the lifestyle, and the sacrifices. Being with Ford meant opening his life, his home, and his bed to the very thing he detested.
A year earlier, had anyone asked Trevor his odds of willingly jumping into the snake pit that was a life in politics, he would have said zero percent. Hell, he’d have given a negative number if that had been statistically possible. But then, a year earlier he hadn’t thought he’d fall in love.
The sudden realization of what he was feeling stopped Trevor in his tracks, midway between his desk and the seating area at the other end of his office. This wasn’t just a fling with a man he found interesting. This wasn’t just something new to pass the time. He didn’t just care about Ford. Trevor was in love with him.
Money, power, and prestige were part and parcel of Trevor’s everyday life. He sat at the top of the success food chain so he could usually buy anything and anyone. But love, real love, wasn’t for sale. He was forty-two, almost forty-three, years old and he had never come close to feeling that emotion, had never thought he would. Now that he’d met someone he could love, did love, Trevor had to ask himself if he could walk away.
The answer hit him quickly and strongly. No. He wouldn’t turn his back on something so rare he doubted he’d feel it again in his lifetime. Trevor wouldn’t give up his chance to be with Ford even if it meant living in the shadow of his career. After all, wasn’t walking away from a relationship in order to avoid politics in effect putting politics ahead of the relationship?
Decision made, Trevor marched back to his phone, intent on calling Ford, helping him through whatever stresses he’d had that day, and then having a serious conversation about their future. But right before he started dialing, he changed his mind and texted his assistant instead.
“Last minute trip to St. Louis. Need to leave ASAP.”
He sat in his chair, closed out of his files, and shut down his computer. His phone dinged, signaling an incoming text.
“Lou can’t make it right now but I’ll have one of the contract pilots at the hangar in 30, plane ready for takeoff in an hour.”
“Thanks, Carol.”
He slipped his laptop into its case, put his wallet in his pocket, and headed toward his office door.
“Do you need me to book accommodations?”
“Have a car waiting for me but I won’t need a hotel.”
He’d be staying with Ford. And he had about three hours to figure out how to make that happen in spite of the proximity to Ford’s family, their ugly fight, and the late hour.
“Hello.” Ford’s voice was hoarse.
“Hi.” Trevor looked out the windshield at the dark windows in the simple townhouse. There was nothing unique about it, nothing interesting. It looked like a million houses on a million streets in a million cities. And yet it held something Trevor couldn’t find anywhere else.
“What time is it?” asked Ford.
“Late.” Trevor glanced at the dashboard clock. “Or early, depending on how you look at it.”
Sheets rustled and a mattress squeaked in the background. “You woke me up.”
“You left your phone on, hoping I’d call.” Trevor had half expected to have to knock on the door to wake Ford, but he’d tried the phone call approach first, mostly to see if it’d work.
“You’re still being a jerk, Trevor. That’s not a good start to an apology.”
“I’m stating a fact and who said I called to apologize?” He wasn’t there to grovel and he wasn’t going to take back what he’d said earlier. Clarify maybe, but not rescind.
“So you called to berate me into apologizing to you?”
“No, I called to tell you to open your door.”
After a brief pause, Ford asked, “Why should I open my door?”
“Because I’d rather have this conversation in person.”
“You’re at my house.” Footsteps sounded in the background.
Trevor nodded reflexively. “In the driveway.”
“What if I don’t want to be with you?”
Trevor had expected some version of that question. He had come up with a few different responses aimed at convincing Ford to let him in, but eliminated them in favor of the simplest answer.
“You want to be with me,” Trevor said quietly.
Only hesitating briefly, Ford said, “I’ll open the garage. Pull in so nobody sees you.”
Taking a deep breath, Trevor willed himself not to get too upset by the reminder of what had instigated their earlier fight. “It’s dark and I’m in a rented car. Nobody is going to recognize me.”
But when the garage door rolled up, he ended the call and drove inside. The door began closing as soon as he cleared the threshold, so by the time he had the car in park, engine off, and car door open, he was in a dark garage.
“Hi.” A short set of stairs led to the entrance to the house and Ford stood in the doorway, the light from inside shining behind him and obscuring his features.
“Hello.” Trevor flung his messenger bag over his shoulder and walked toward Ford’s silhouette.
“I’m mad at you,” Ford said quietly.
“I know.” Trevor made up the distance between them. “I’m mad at you too.” He leaned forward and brushed his lips over Ford’s.
Ford clutched his shirt and met his gaze. “You hurt my feelings earlier.”
“Same here.”
“I don’t want to fight with you, Trevor.” Winding his arms around Trevor’s chest, Ford stepped closer.
“We’re three for three in agreements.” Trevor rubbed his cheek against Ford’s. “How about we go inside and see what else we can not argue about?”
Sighing, Ford squeezed him tightly and then released his hold and stepped aside. “Come on in.”
Trevor walked through a tiny laundry room into a small, clean kitchen. The wood cabinets were a few decades old, but well maintained, same with the off-white laminate countertops and the bisque appliances.
“It isn’t fancy like yours,” Ford said apologetically. “My jobs have never paid much, and even though I’m making a good living now, I have more expenses because of the place in DC, the travel, and—”
“I don’t care about the house,” Trevor said as he flipped around. “I care about…” Trevor lost his train of thought the second he got a look at Ford in the light.
“What are you wearing?”
“My robe.” Ford glanced down at his clothing, furrowed his brow, and looked at Trevor. “It’s the middle of the night.”
“I know.” Trevor walked over to Ford and ran his hands across the blue and white striped flannel. “I’ve just never seen anyone wear a robe like this.”
“Really? You don’t have a sleep robe?”
Trevor shook his head and tugged on the belt holding the robe closed.
“What are you doing?”
“You’re also wearing pajamas. Honest to goodness pajamas.” They were the same blue as the robe with white piping along the collar and shirtsleeves.
“I was in bed when you called. What else would I be wearing?” Ford grasped the sides of his robe and tugged them together.
“Do you always dress like this?” Trevor asked, unable to stop himself from touching the man in front of him.
“At night I do. You’re acting strange.”
“I didn’t know that about you.” Trevor raised his gaze and looked Ford in the eyes. “All those nights and weekends we’ve spent together and I didn’t know what you wear to bed.”
“We’re not usually wearing clothes when we’re together. I don’t understand why this is a big deal. Everybody wears pajamas.”
“No.” Trevor shook his head. “Most people sleep in their underwear or maybe sleep pants but you have the whole works.” Ford’s ensemble—robe, pajamas, and brown slippers—looked like something out of a nineteen fifties television show. It was sweet, charming, and utterly endearing. “I love you,” Trevor said, the feeling too powerful to keep inside.
His eyes opening widely, Ford reared back. “You love me?”
“Very much.” Trevor cupped both sides of Ford’s face and slid his thumbs back and forth across his cheeks.
“But you said this was just about sex.”
“I didn’t say that’s what I want. I was just being realistic about what we have.”
“That’s not how I think of this,” Ford said softly.
“Tell me how you think of it.” Trevor kept his voice as low as Ford’s. “Because I keep seeing pictures of you with women described as dates or girlfriends or future wives. And it feels like that’s your endgame—a missus. I’m never going to be a photo perfect wife for you, Ford, so where does that leave me?”
“I keep telling you, I’m not dating those women.” Ford shook him off and stepped away. “We happen to be at the same places at the same time.”
“Do they know that?”
“Of course they know!” Ford threw his arms in the air. “I’m not calling them up, asking them out, picking them up, and paying for dinner.”
Had they still been on the phone, Trevor might have been as angry as he’d been earlier, but in person, he couldn’t manage it. Not with Ford standing in front of him, sandy brown hair disheveled, cheeks red, and nose crinkling.
So rather than getting mad, Trevor circled his arm around Ford’s waist, tugged him forward, and calmly said, “If that’s how you define a date, we’re not dating either.”
Ford opened his mouth, furrowed his brow, and then snapped his mouth shut. Nostrils flaring and lips pressed together stubbornly, he reached into the front pocket of his robe, pulled out his phone, and pressed a button.
Two seconds later, Trevor’s phone rang. He pulled it out of the side pocket on his bag and said, “Hello.”
“Hi, Trevor. It’s Ford Hollingsworth.”
Grinning, Trevor said, “Hi, Ford. This is a surprise. How have you been?”
“Good.” Ford paused. “Well, not so good actually, but I’m working on being better.” He paused and looked Trevor in the eyes. “I promise.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” Trevor answered, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat. “What can I do for you?”
“Well, I’m wondering if you’re busy Friday night, er, Saturday morning at about”—Ford glanced at the clock on his microwave—“one twenty-three a.m.”
“No, not busy.”
“Great. Do you want to go on a date with me?”
“A date?”
Ford nodded.
“Ford?” Trevor said. “You still there? I didn’t hear that.”
With a snort, Ford said, “Sorry, I’m here. What do you say? Will you go out with me?”
“Well, I guess that depends.” Trevor started slowly moving his hand across Ford’s hip. “Do you put out?”
“No. I’m a church-going boy, you know?”
Trevor kept his steady approach until his palm covered Ford’s groin and then he lightly squeezed his package.
Ford gasped, his phone slipping. He caught it and breathlessly said, “But I’m willing to make an exception for you.”
“In that case, I’d love to go out with you.” Trevor continued fondling Ford through his thin pajama pants. “Where are we going?”
“Uh.” Ford gulped. “I, uh…”
“How about your bedroom?” Trevor cupped Ford’s balls and gently manipulated them. “I’ve never been there and I’d love to see it.”
“It’s very exclusive.”
Trevor stopped moving. “How exclusive?”
His gaze locked with Trevor’s, Ford said, “It’s never been open for visitors.”
“Never?”
Ford shook his head.
“But you’re willing to make an exception for me?”
“Yeah.”
Trevor grasped Ford’s dick through his pants and stroked up. “Pick me up in the kitchen. I’m ready to go.”
“Kitchen,” Ford agreed.
“Bye, Ford.” Trevor leaned forward and traced the perimeter of Ford’s ear with the tip of his tongue. “I’m really looking forward to our date.”