Page 37 of I'm Your Guy
Carter’s blue eyes widen. Then he relaxes against the sofa and lets out a sigh.
My entire body tightens.
“This is embarrassing to admit, but I’m a better designer than I am a businessman. Recently, I let a client get the better of me. And when stuff went wrong, my business partner bailed. He was also my boyfriend.”
“Oh shit.”
His smile is fleeting. “Like I said, it’s been a rough patch. Your job came along at exactly the right moment, and it’s probably going to save me. But when I close my eyes at night, I’m still prone to disaster scenarios.” He gives his head a quick shake. “You know what? Let’s not discuss this.”
“I’m sorry. That was a personal question, and it was out of line.” Seriously, pull it together DiCosta.
“But I didn’t have to answer it.” He shrugs, and all the muscles in his upper body jump appealingly. “I don’t even know why I did. I never tell my clients anything negative about my life. It’s unprofessional, for starters. And most of them expect me to project a certain joie de vivre.”
“What did I say about jargon?”
He laughs suddenly. “Sorry. That literally means the joy of life. That’s the kind of performance some clients expect from me. They’ve cast me in the role of their fabulous gay designer.” His blue eyes twinkle. “They have a certain vision—gossip and brunch and me pouring the perfect Cosmo. That’s a pink cocktail…”
“That one I know,” I tell him. “My sister likes a nice Cosmo now and then, on girls’ night.”
“Exactly.” His expression grows thoughtful. “Tell me this—have you ever ordered a Cosmo?”
“Fuck no. I’m more of a beer guy.”
“You don’t say.” He smiles softly. “But have you tasted one? Because maybe we’re both typecast. You’re starring in the role of the broody, potentially violent hockey player, and I have to maintain my fabulous visage.” He waves a hand in front of his smiling face. “I shouldn’t complain, I guess. I like my job, and Cosmos are tasty. But nobody expects me to be grumpy or anxious.”
“I’m not allowed to be anxious, either,” I point out. “Whatever goes wrong, I’m just supposed to bulldoze my way through it.”
“Yeah, I bet you are.” He nods wisely. “The fierce warrior king, mowing problems down with his sharp skates and his big stick.”
I snort. But he isn’t wrong. And I don’t think I’ve ever had a more truthful conversation in my life. “That’s exactly right.”
His smile slowly returns. “You are a very refreshing client, Tommaso DiCosta. You don’t want me to entertain you. You just want me to do what I do best, so you can concentrate on what you do best.”
“That’s true. But…” I take a deep breath, and inch closer to the truth. “I also grew up with the message that I’m not supposed to care about rugs and towels. Like it wasn’t even an option. And until I met you, that didn’t even seem weird.”
His eyes widen. “Oh wow. Yeah. That’s why almost all my clients are women. Gender expectations are pretty limiting.”
Tell me about it.
“So now that your eyes have opened, does this mean you’ve suddenly developed deep opinions about the color scheme for the downstairs bathroom?”
“No sir.” I shake my head.
“And you still might burst into flames if you’re asked to think about it?”
“Quite possibly.”
He smiles. “All right. I’ll handle it and send you a couple of choices. The shower curtain has to match the bathmat and the towels. Just so you’re prepared.”
“I’ll brace myself.”
His smile widens. “Good. I noticed you’re on a trip next week. Rigo showed me how to see your game schedule. You’re going to Buffalo and Boston and Winnipeg.”
“Am I? Shit. That’s a lot.”
He laughs. “I don’t make the rules. But we’ll have to change strategies. I’ll email you some pics, and then maybe we’ll catch up on a call? You’ll need to weigh in on a few things.”
“Okay, yeah.” Another call with Carter. “Let’s do that.”
