Page 26 of Mutual Desire

His first two calls went unanswered, and by the third attempt, a voice finally came through, “We have no openings this week. It’ll have to be next week.”

Damien couldn’t believe he’d been so careless to think he could just call in and expect immediate service. He needed to bring his car in today.

“It’s making a weird noise. I think it’s the transmission.”

“Sorry, man. I can’t fit you in today,” the mechanic said flatly.

Damien sighed and decided not to press further. He had no luck with the other three garages he called either. Defeated, he abandoned the quest. This was his fault for not planning ahead.

Damien arranged the breakfast tray, its aroma wafting through the air, coaxing Craig from sleep. The delightful morning felt like a sweet echo of the day before. As they settled into the cozy comfort of breakfast in bed, their conversation drifted toward Craig's ambitious clinic project.

After finishing their meal, Damien let Craig drift back into slumber, cherishing the peaceful moment. When Craig awoke again, they lounged together, watching TV, sharing laughter and gentle caresses before they ended up making love in the shower.

By the time the clock struck one, Craig was on his way to a meeting, leaving Damien alone in the stylish apartment that felt both inviting and suffocating. His plans for the garage lay in ruins, a dream dashed by circumstance. Though he yearned to spend time with Nick, a lingering sense of dread crept in. Instead, he resolved to check on his website, where a few time slots had already been snatched up.

Just thirty minutes after Craig's departure, his phone buzzed. Nick's name lit up the screen. For a fleeting moment, Damien wondered if his best friend had installed hidden cameras, but then the paranoia slipped away as he remembered he was at Craig's place. As the phone rang, Damien hesitated, guilt pricking at him. Realizing he was being ridiculous, he picked up on the fourth ring.

“What?” he answered, trying to mask his annoyance.

“I’m starting to think you’re sexually frustrated. Should I have a chat with Craigson about it?” Nick teased.

A small smile crept onto Damien's face. “As if you’d have the guts to actually talk to him.”

Nick’s laughter was light, but it carried an edge of truth. “Fair point, asshole!”

Craig visibly intimidated Nick. Despite sharing the same blue eyes, Craig’s held an intensity that Nick’s completely lacked. Where Nick’s were warm and full of mischief, Craig’s were sharp, assessing—like a doctor about to deliver a grim diagnosis. ‘Like a robot programmed for disapproval,’ Nick had once joked. And yet, whenever Craig turned that gaze on him, Nick suddenly forgot how to act like a functioning adult.

“Are you getting your car fixed right now?” Nick asked, his voice dripping with curiosity.

Damien fell silent, weighing his response. “Yes.”

“You’re the worst liar ever. I can hear the TV, you know?”

Damien grabbed the remote and turned off the screen. “My appointment is later.”

“Oh! Yeah? At what time?” Nick pressed, feigning innocence.

“At three.”

“Get your ass over here right now, Clarke!”

Damien sighed, feeling cornered. “Why can’t we meet at the restaurant instead?” he suggested, hoping to downplay his reluctance to head to Nick’s office.

“Actually, I want you to take a quick look at Anto-X. Bettmanhad some notes I need to go over,” Nick said.

“You’re unbelievable, Nicolas!” Damien replied, half amused, half exasperated.

“I know! I often hear that in bed,” Nick shot back, laughter in his voice.

Damien rolled his eyes. His best friend could be a real pain in the ass.

“How long until you’re here?” Nick asked, urgency creeping in.

Damien ran a hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the moment. “Give me an hour.”

“Make it quick!” Nick said before hanging up, leaving Damien shaking his head.

As Damien reluctantly prepared to leave, a gnawing anxiety coiled in his stomach. What were the odds of running into Nabokov? Surely slim. He focused on his outfit, ensuring he looked sharp. It wasn’t for the chance of meeting Nabokov; it was simply professional decorum.

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