Gabriel slept like the dead and didn’t awaken until his “just in case” phone alarm went off at 7:15 pm. He was a little groggy, so he went into the bathroom, washed his face with cool water, and popped a pod into the coffee maker on the counter. He had less time to get ready than he’d been planning on, so he needed to get a move on.
He pulled a dressy, vintage, navy blue Donna Karan suit out of his suitcase. There were metallic black threads woven into the dark blue of the fabric so that in the right light, it had a faint hit of shimmer. He’d scored it at his favorite thrift store in San Francisco and had been saving it for a special occasion. Tonight was the night. He loved the pseudo-Alphan lines of the suit and the fitted double-breasted jacket that had just a bit of stretch so that you could move. The jacket came in tightly at his waist and was cut with a deep but narrow vee so that wearing a shirt under it was optional. For work functions, he’d wear it with a shell. For a cocktail party? Gabriel was going without. He found an iron in the closet and gave it a quick steam to touch it up and then headed for the bathroom..
The hair was cooperating today. All he needed to do was give his curls a quick spritz with refresher and a shake to fluff them. His make-up bag, though. Where was it? He left to find his suitcase, and unearthed it. He returned and pulled the wall-mounted makeup mirror away from the bathroom wall, closer to his face and took a look. There was a flush that ran from one cheek across the bridge of his nose to the other. Was he seriously getting sick? He really didn’t feel that bad. Maybe he got a little sun biking to work that morning. It was fine. Maybe it was kind of cute, idk?
He used a tinted moisturizer to tone down the blush and deftly applied a little highlighter to make him look like he had a distant approximation of the kind of cheekbones Alex had probably had from birth. Ugh, jealous. He applied a little shimmery skin-toned liquid shadow to his lids and blended it with his fingertips and then, using a charcoal-colored eyeliner, he lined his eyes lightly and smoked them out with his trusty blender brush. Finally, a little mascara and his go-to tinted balm. Eyes or lips. Never both, baby. He checked his progress. Done. A touch of color and sparkle, but definitely not a full beat. He hit it with setting spray. Perfect.
Gabriel pulled on a pair of sexy red mesh boyshorts that no one would ever see but which made him feel like a sultry temptress and then slipped into the suit for the first time since he fell in love with it at the store. He still loved it. 7:50 pm. Shit, hurry. He grabbed a pair of diamond studs that did not need to be conflict-free because they were definitely not real diamonds and poked them into his ears. He flipped his suitcase and unzipped the shoe side, pulling out a pair of magical, sparkly open-toed silver heels, also vintage, also thrifted, that made everything you wore them with (including nothing) twice as sexy. He slid them on and walked to the full length mirror to check himself. Mmmm, Omega. He’d done good. 7:57. He stepped out into the hall.
Alex was just closing his door, and he turned to see Gabriel. He did a stutter-step. “Wow.” He cleared his throat. “You look unbelievable, Gabriel. I’m glad you’re the one everyone’s going to want to talk to, because nobody’s going to hear a word I’m saying with you around.”
Gabriel preened playfully. “This old thing? Why, thank you!” he drawled. Then he shrugged. “Honestly, I just needed a good power-suit tonight to keep me from being intimidated while trying to win over your parents’ fancy funds-having friends.” He took his first good look at Alex, then, and, damn it, he blushed.
Alex cleared his throat again and tugged at his suit jacket a little in the front. That suit had to be custom made, Gabriel thought. It was a dark charcoal grey single-button that hugged every inch of him without being strained anywhere. A white pocket square and a crisp, open-necked white shirt finished it off, the shirt making his rich amber skin tone pop. A perfect three-eighths inches of French shirt cuff peeked out from beneath the jacket at his wrists, of course. Gabriel touched the corner of his mouth self-consciously. Had he drooled? This was definitely a setback in his “learning not to react to Alexander Anderson’s looks” journey. He had given up the goal of not noticing– that would’ve required eye patches. Or surgery. Instead, he had set his sights, no pun intended, on just not getting caught enjoying the show. "You look pretty good, too, Alex," said Gabriel, manifesting a talent for understatement. "If any of your parents' friends are shallow, we should do okay tonight!" He shot Alex an ironic finger gun, and hoped Alex knew it was ironic.
Alex offered his arm. “Shall we abase ourselves for cash, esteemed colleague?”
Gabriel took it. “We shall. Let us drink and make merry and get that paper.”
The cocktail party was, on balance, a success. Gabriel had dialed up both the charm and the enthusiasm, and he had remembered the names of everyone he was supposed to meet, which was a relief. Alex’s parents’ fancy friends were actually very easy to talk to. Not quite as “Richard and Emily Gilmore” as he had feared.
A half-hour into the party, Gabriel met Oscar, one of the grooms-to-be, a childhood friend of Alex’s, and Oscar turned out to be warm and funny and charming and extremely proud of his co-groom-to-be, Tomi, who was gorgeous and sweet and shy. Gabriel hadn’t expected to get caught up in the romance of this particular wedding, but they were so cute and welcoming that Gabriel found that it was very easy to forget that he was there on business.
On top of everything, all the little hors d’oeuvres were fantastic, which was good, because Gabriel was starving. He took frequent fuel breaks throughout the evening, careful to eat enough to counteract the picturesque and potent drinks created for the party that he’d been snagging off of passing waiters’ trays. He could not afford to be noticeably tipsy while on duty.
By the time Gabriel had worked the entire room, he was on his fourth signature cocktail and it was starting to go to his head, but not to his feet, which were smarting in their sparkling heels. He pouted at his shoes, but they were beautiful and indifferent. Il faut souffrir pour être beau, they whispered back. Gabriel checked his phone. The party was set to end in 30 minutes, so it was the perfect time to slip out. He should let Alex know before he left, though.
He’d lost track of Alex a little while ago and looked around to find him. Ah, there he was. He walked towards him, a touch unsteadily. Maybe the booze was going to go to his feet after all. God, he hoped it would hurry. Alex met him halfway. “Had enough?”
Gabriel nodded emphatically. “I have schmoozed until I cannot schmooze anymore. And I think the luxe bespoke elderflower liqueur-based cocktails are getting the better of me. Do you mind if I head upstairs before I undo all my good work?”
“Not at all,” Alex responded, “I’ll go with you.” He waved a goodbye to Oscar across the room and walked with Gabriel to the elevator. “I think you were a smashing success tonight, by the way. I followed in your wake and everyone I talked to was extremely impressed with you. I think we’re setting up a whole lot of pins for mom to knock down when she gets back from her trip.”
“Well, I hope so, because these shoes are killing me,” Gabriel replied with a wince.
Alex furrowed his brows at the offending shoes. “Take them off!” he urged. “We’re in the elevator. Who’s going to see? No need to suffer on my account.”
Gabriel bent to take off a shoe and realized his delicate blown-glass inner ears had conspired with the bespoke booze. His balance was shot. He listed sharply to port. He threw out a hand out to catch himself, but Alex caught him under the arm before he could fall. “Whoa there,” Alex laughed.
Alex righted him deftly. “Let me help,” Alex said, sinking down on one knee and reaching for Gabriel’s foot. “Put your hands on my shoulders, you little lush.” Gabriel really didn’t have a choice, it was that or a concussion. He put his hands on Alex’s broad shoulders, feeling the heat of Alex’s body against his palms. Alex slid off the first shoe and the relief was immediate and intense. Gabriel sighed heartily.
“Okay, other foot,” Alex directed. Gabriel obediently shifted his weight and Alex removed his other shoe, sucking his teeth and running a thumb lightly over the angry red line that the shoe had left over the top of Gabriel’s foot. He looked up at Gabriel who was, of course, looking down and enjoying the show. Busted. Another damn round of blushes. They were stuck like that for a moment, staring at each other. Then the elevator doors opened, and Gabriel straightened and Alex stood up, holding the fabulous, unrepentant shoes. They walked down to their rooms in silence and Alex handed him his shoes.
Alex spoke, a little hoarsely, breaking the tension. “So, there’s a brunch at 10:00, then we’re on our own until the wedding at 5:00 tomorrow, reception afterwards. Would you like to go downstairs together in the morning?”
Gabriel’s face still felt hot and he avoided Alex’s eyes as he spoke. “Sure, that would be great. That would be good. Let’s do that. Meet you out here at five ‘til. Sleep tight!” Gabriel turned to his door, sliding his key card out of his pocket.
“See you then,” said Alex, sounding much calmer than Gabriel felt.
Alex waited for Gabriel to enter his room, and then turned to his own door.
Gabriel stripped, folded his clothes, took a quick, steamy shower, put some stuff in his hair, slapped on some moisturizer, set an alarm, plugged in his phone and passed out.
Alex took a much, much longer and much, much colder shower and did not sleep well at all.
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