Page 4 of Working Out West

So, I would sit there in silence.

I could.

I had to, because he certainly wasn’t saying anything.

Silence was good.

Oh, look over there to the row of floor-to-ceiling windows that I can jump out. I just have to move the transparent curtains. Why do people get see-through curtains? Wait, it looks like there’s a balcony. At least I won’t have to climb out a window.

Yep, silence was so much fun.

Well, what do we have here? There’s a dead plant sitting in a pot at the end of the row of windows.Maybe the silence killed it.

On my last forkful, the silence got to me, and when I placed the fork down in the bowl, I rambled, “My mom cooked beef stroganoff once, but it was nothing like this. She also couldn’t say the words as well as you do.” Heat hit my cheeks, and I quickly went on. “But when Dad complained about the meat being too tough, she never tried again and stuck to her normal meals she was used to cooking. They mainly contained sausage and vegetables. Meatloaf and vegetables. Lamb stews and chicken and rice. There were other plain dishes, but nothing to rave about. It wasn’t until I reached high school and was allowed to attend my first and only sleepover that I discovered pizza.” I groaned. “I never knew love until I had my first taste.”

Laughing, I shook my head. I hadn’t once looked at him while I spoke; instead, I gazed out the windows or down at the table. “When I started college and moved out, I kind of went crazy with all types of takeout, but I soon realized it wasn’t good for my bank account. Still, I spoil myself once a week with it.” Where the hell was I going with this conversation? “Anyway,” I drew out, sliding my fork back and forth in the bowl. “Do you eat takeout?” Did that sound rude? Did it sound like I didn’t enjoy the meal? Shit, I was getting paid to be here, and now it sounded like I was judging his food or the fact he cooked by mentioning takeout. With wide eyes, I dragged them up and spewed the words, “Wait, I didn’t mean I didn’t like dinner. I did, and I appreciate you cooking. I wish I could cook. Seriously, that was the best meal I’ve had in a long time because I’m not a good cook.”

“I know you liked it,” Mr. Hail replied, and that was it.

I slumped as the tension rolled off me. “Well, that’s good then.” I smiled. What did we do now? Did he want to watch a movie? Read a book together? Did I suggest something? If I didn’t look away from his lips, he would get an idea I liked them. I didn’t. His full, pink lips weren’t spank-worthy material. I pulled my gaze up to his dark blue eyes that matched well with his dark blond hair. The sides were shaved close to the scalp, but on top was party time with a messy length that sat over to the left side of his face.

If I weren’t gay, I was sure the sight of Mr. Hail could turn me.

Clearing my throat, I glanced away. “Um, this is a nice place you have. Do you work from here?”

“Nyet.”

I knew that word meant no. I’d heard it on some movie. He wasn’t very forthcoming, but then again, I wasn’t here for him to open up to. I felt myself burning up, knowing he was looking at me, yet I didn’t want to meet his intense gaze. Instead, I stood slowly, moving my chair back. “I’ll take these to the sink.” I smiled. “You cooked. The least I can do is clean.” Before he could protest, I quickly took his bowl and walked around the counter. I started rinsing the bowls and pan when I noticed Mr. Hail standing opposite me, watching.

“At least you have a dishwasher,” I said, opening said machine to pile the things in. “I don’t have one in the unit I live in. I wash everything by hand. Not that I mind, it gives me time to think and go over things I’d learned in college that day.”

“What you study?”

Gosh, I loved his accent. “What” sounded like it started with avinstead of aw. But shit, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to talk about myself—my real life—or make something up. If I did make one up, would I remember what I told him if I came back?

Stuff it. I had to go with the truth. He knew me as Ben anyway, so it wasn’t like he could look me up. “I’m studying medicine. I’m training to be a doctor.” His reply was to hum under his breath. Of course I went on. “It’s hard, but I know it’ll be worth it in the end.”

I picked up a sponge and wiped down the counter. I placed the sponge on the edge of the sink and grinned over at Mr. Hail. “All clean.” What did we do now? I wanted to ask, but I planned to keep my lips sealed this time to see if Mr. Hail said anything.

And he did. “You play chess?”

“I do, Mr. Hail. I’m a master at it, so be ready for me to kick your butt.”

His lips twitched. “We will see.” He turned and ordered over his shoulder. “Come.”

I followed him into the living room, where a chess set sat on the coffee table in the middle of the room. Mr. Hail sat on the couch, and I moved around to the other side. I took off my jacket, placed it on the sofa behind me, and rolled up my sleeves before sitting on the floor instead of the couch. There was just enough room for me. Mr. Hail watched me, something he seemed to like to do. I glanced away and took in the massive television mounted on the wall to my left. Then the bookcases on either side of the screen. There were many books, and I had an urge to see what the man read but didn’t.

“Ready?” I asked, looking up at him.

He grunted with a nod.

“You can make the first move, Mr. Hail.” I turned the board around so the white side faced him.

“Adrik,” he commanded as he reached out and took the first move.

My heart skipped a beat. “Adrik,” I whispered with a nod. “And I’m Ben,” I told him, which he probably already knew. Yet, I found myself wishing I could have used my real name with him. Oh, fuck me. This man had me twisted inside. I had to keep reminding myself he was a client, because I had a feeling it would be easy for me to like him, even when he was standoffish.

Chapter Two

---