Catch a Tiger by the Tail Read online

  Even beneath his glasses I spotted the eye roll. He said nothing, reassuring me I wasn’t saying anything he hadn’t heard before. Some of us were more obsessed with our looks than others. My body brought me big bucks, so I wasn’t willing to risk it. Some guys let themselves go between shoots, and although I was envious, I didn’t dare. Not only because I didn’t want a pap shot of me with a gut, but because if it took this much work to stay in shape, how much more would it take to get in shape? I didn’t plan to find out. Would I eventually soften around the middle? Undoubtedly. Might I take a role that required a paunch? Others had done it and won awards. Others had also starved themselves to almost skeletal. This industry made huge demands with only the promise of something down the line. No guarantees, that was for sure.

  Thomas turned and pointed to a little store tucked in between two larger ones.

  I would have missed it. I followed, entering when he held the door open. A wave of cool air washed over me. Relief from the still unrelenting sun. There were a few tables along one side of the store—all occupied. The other wall held a huge line of freezers. A quick glance confirmed they were full of ice cream. The freezers ran the entire length of the store with several employees behind them. A line stretched almost the length of the store, and Thomas offered a sheepish grin as he removed his sunglasses, tucking them in the V of his T-shirt. “It’ll be worth the wait.”

  I didn’t doubt him. Although it’d been less than an hour ago, dinner was a distant memory as I looked over the massive selection. And the boards listing every flavor. I had to choose, of course. And how was I supposed to do that? The first board offered at least ten I’d pick in a heartbeat. When was the last time I’d indulged? I couldn’t remember.

  Thomas clapped his hands and rubbed them together with an anticipatory expression. His brown eyes were bright with happiness and something more. Mischievousness?

  “Do you trust me?”

  Well, how was I supposed to answer that? On the one hand, it’d been all of twenty-four hours since we’d met. On the other, he hadn’t led me astray thus far. “I trust you.” See, how hard was that?

  Harder probably than it should’ve been. And it wasn’t the only part of me getting hard. This playful side kicked my libido into gear, giving me dirty images of things we might do with ice cream. Not that I’d ever done those things, mind, but my imagination was working overtime. Thomas naked. Me licking ice cream from every nook and crevice. Ice cream dripping…

  Our turn came quickly as the employees were efficient. They’d have to be to keep up with the crowd. The line behind us was as long, if not longer, than it’d been when we arrived. The noise in the store was cacophonous, between the constant conversations and the 1960’s music blasting from the speakers. Doubt I’d have been able to withstand it all day. A Beatles song started playing, and I tapped out the rhythm on my thigh. My mother had loved the Beatles, John Lennon being her favorite. More than once she’d shared her feelings of despair when she heard of his assassination.

  I hadn’t heard Thomas order, so I was surprised when he pressed a waffle cone in my hand. The ice cream was a light-yellow color with chunks of something in it. The light wasn’t great in the store, but they looked like…raisins? Bumpy, wrinkly, and small. Why that made me think of shrivelled balls, I had no idea. That thought led to the discussion this morning about blue balls, reminding me just how long it’d been since I’d had sex.

  A very long time. Too long. Hell, I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d jacked off. Okay, that was beyond depressing. Talk about blue balls.

  Thomas paid for us before I had an opportunity to object. One quick tap of his card and the treats were ours. There were no seats in the store, so we headed back out to the boulevard. If possible, there were even more people taking advantage of the magnificent weather. Had the temperature dropped a bit? Hard to tell. I could hope, anyway.

  “You going to lick that or let it melt and make a mess?”

  Christ, wasn’t likely he meant that to sound sexy, but it did. All those images of hot sweaty sex with ice cream that somehow wasn’t sticky.

  Grinning, I took my first lick.

  Holy shit. I moaned in ecstasy. The tangy flavor was savory and sweet at the same time. The cream melted against my tongue, and the residual taste was tart. I quickly nipped a raisin and bit into it before swallowing it down.

  “Good, eh?” So Canadian, this one.

  “Yeah, this is amazing. What’s the flavor?” I couldn’t even begin to guess.

  “Rum raisin.”

  Okay, not what I’d expected or anything I would’ve ordered for myself. “This is amazing.”

  “I know.” That saucy grin was back.

  Eyeing his cone, I frowned. “Okay, what the hell is that?”

  Holding out the cone, he winked. Actually winked. “You’re just going to have to try and find out.”

  Possibly not the most hygienic prospect, but what the hell? I held his hand steady as I licked. Did I need to touch him? No. Did I want to? Oh, most definitely.

  The orange flavor hit my tongue first, the creaminess of it melting in the warmth of my mouth. Then the secondary flavor hit, and I cringed. “What the fuck…?”

  “Black licorice.”

  “Ew.” I mean, seriously disgusting. Who the hell put licorice in ice cream, let alone the aesthetics of this black goo?

  His grin was unrepentant. “Now was it the licorice or the idea of it?”

  “Stupid question. Black licorice is gross.”

  He gave an easy shrug. “I think the combination is brilliant.”

  And I thought his smile was brilliant, but I remained silent on that matter. Curiosity had me snagging his hand again and licking for a second time. Possibly insane, but I wanted him to keep smiling, and this was a guaranteed way to do it. As I tried to reconcile the contrasting tastes, he snagged my hand and took a big bite from my cone.

  “Hey, not fair.”

  “All’s fair in love and ice cream.”

  Our eyes met, and this time his shone, but not just with mirth.

  “Yeah, love and ice cream.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and relinquished my hold on his hand. Several beats passed before he did the same. A drop of icy liquid hit my finger. The ice cream was melting. Several ambitious licks brought the deluge under control.

  Thomas was doing the same thing.

  His tongue. Man, I suspected he could do amazing things with that tongue. And a pang of longing slayed me. Jealousy of some faceless woman who undoubtedly shared his bed. Of course, he might be single. These days, though, since I’d lost Desmond, everyone I met was paired up and off the market.

  Thomas nudged me toward a newly vacated bench. We sat, a decorous distance between us. Back to friends. Amazing how, despite my attraction to him, I could see this young man as a potential friend. Didn’t have many of those these days. Being with Desmond had isolated me more than it should have, and in retrospect, I should’ve fought more to keep in contact with the friends I had. Most were in the industry, to be sure, but they were still friends. Not close confidantes, but nice people.

  “The frown is back, Peter.”

  Damn. “Just concentrating on the ice cream.”

  “If you say so.”

  I turned to him and stuck out my tongue.

  His mouth gaped open. “Did you just stick your tongue out at me?”

  Leaning over, I took another swipe at his ice cream. Little remained, only cone. Much the same as mine.

  “You know, that licorice is growing on me.” The orange cream was becoming a favorite. “What’s it called?”

  “Tiger tail.” The omnipresent grin was back. “Created by a woman named Morgan Carr back in the 1950s, it is very popular in Canada, Southern Ontario in particular. It is almost impossible to find in the United States.”

  He said the words with faux officiousness, and I burst out laughing. “I find the flavor oddly compelling.”

  “Ah, but here’s the re
al test—would you pick it all on your own if you had the choice?”

  “Over the other hundred flavors?” Good question. “I’m not sure. I love cookies and cream, adore chocolate chunk, and have even enjoyed spumoni.”

  Thomas gagged. “That’s disgusting. You obviously have no taste.”

  “Says the man who believes black licorice belongs in ice cream.”

  “You enjoyed it.”

  “Probably more than I should have.” There, the honest truth. I had enjoyed it. I enjoyed the company even more. The sun had almost set, so I pulled out my phone and checked the time. Without me saying a word, Thomas rose and indicated the way back from where we’d come.

  I didn’t want to go. I wanted to hold on to this special time for just a bit longer. This interlude that was so needed and therefore so precious. We strolled together, still surrounded by people, although the numbers had thinned. Fewer strollers and more couples holding hands. Less practicality and more romance. Did Thomas notice? Was he as observant as he seemed? Good PAs were. They watched, noted, and anticipated—all things he’d done well today.

  When we arrived at Granville Street, he crossed with me. “You’re going to take the bus to Smithe Street, walk half a block up, then turn right. Your hotel is two blocks farther on the left.”

  I debated for about three seconds before holding up my hand and flagging down a cab. Seemed easier.

  He rolled his eyes in that adorable way he did and watched the cab pull up on the curb.

  “Tomorrow?”

  Another cheeky grin. “At the ass crack of dawn.”

  I got into the car, and he closed the door as I gave the name of the hotel to the driver.

  The man nodded, hit the meter, and headed back into traffic.

  I glanced through the rear window. Crap, I hadn’t even asked Thomas if he had a way home or how long it’d take him to get there. Usually I was more considerate, but I’d been focused on the fact our night was ending and how I’d have done just about anything to coax him into the cab and back to the hotel with me.

  Like that was ever going to happen.

  Chapter Six

  Peter amazed me. As I rolled out of bed, I flashed back to the night before. Fearless came to mind. And oddly endearing. He wasn’t the first person I’d introduced tiger tail ice cream to, but his had been the most interesting reaction. He hadn’t enjoyed it yet had persevered and tried it again, letting the flavors settle. I bestowed the title of bravery for that.

  I scooped the tissues off the floor. Yeah, I’d jerked off last night again. One flash of those amazing eyes and I’d been a goner. Would that make things a little awkward this morning when I faced him? Nah. It’d happened before and probably would again.

  I worked with gorgeous, attractive, and hunky men. Some were great people while others were dickheads. Some were attentive while others were indifferent. What they all had in common was they were untouchable. No matter if the guy was gay and single, he was still beyond my reach. Mostly because of the don’t-mess-with-the-talent rule, but also because of the in-the-closet thing.

  Swearing on a stack of bibles, though, I’d have said Peter was gay. Or at least bi. Or just amazingly attentive, but there’d been a few moments where our eyes had met and something passed between us. If it wasn’t real, why had it been there at all? Or maybe it hadn’t been, and this was all in my mind.

  My shower was extra fast, and I entered the kitchen to find Calvin the orange tabby sitting on the counter. Technically he wasn’t allowed up there, but we both knew argument was pointless. Since he’d deigned to grace me with his presence, I opened a tin of wet cat food and put it out for him. On the floor. He glared at me for about thirty seconds before finally jumping to the floor and chowing down. His purrs grew louder, and my heart warmed. The way to a cat’s heart was also through his stomach.

  Breakfast was a breeze, and I grabbed the tuna sandwich I’d prepared the night before along with a little ice pack to keep it cool. Another barn burner, the weather forecasters predicted. I scratched Calvin behind his ears, receiving a scowl in response. He did not enjoy being interrupted as he ate. I grabbed my bag and headed out.

  Sunday morning was even quieter, and I grinned sheepishly at the driver when I noted I was the only one on the bus. “Thank you.”

  “Enjoy.” Her blonde hair was pulled into a ponytail, and behind her thick glasses were hazel eyes. I’d seen her before but didn’t know her name. I headed to the back, then flopped into a seat, dropped my bag on the one next to it, and pulled out my phone.

  Holy shit. There were more than three dozen notifications. I had several standard ones that I always did—the cast and crew I knew. I’d added Peter to the list when I found out he was in the film. Lindy as well. Assuming this had something to do with Cole Hamilton, I opened the first one.

  Holy fucking shit.

  The headline read No Longer in the Closet? And the photo beneath was of Peter and me. We each held the other’s hand, and he was licking my ice cream. Flashing back, I remembered wanting him to lick other things of mine, but this wasn’t the time for wicked thoughts. This photo was not something off a cell phone, although some of the newer ones offered good res. No, this looked professional.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid.

  I’d assumed no one had noticed us in the crowd last night. And with Peter wearing his hat, we shouldn’t have been. But this angle left no question who he was. More of my back was to the camera. Scanning the article, I discovered I was the yet unnamed man. Wasn’t likely to hold, though. I might not have many friends, but I’d worked with hundreds of people over the last ten years. No one on this production would dare breathe a word, but surely someone from my past would. I could pray I remained anonymous, but I didn’t believe in God, and if he existed, he’d never been there for me before, so why now?

  “Isn’t this your stop?”

  The driver’s voice jarred me from my reverie. She was right, and I leapt up, heading for the door. I yelled, “I love you,” as I stepped onto the sidewalk. In retrospect, that might not have been the brightest idea, but with only a smattering of drowsy patrons on the bus, I was likely just a blur to them. The driver waved and drove off as I turned onto Robson Street, heading east. My phone burned a hole in my pocket as I approached Larry. He waved me through the perimeter with the same disinterest he showed almost everyone. If I hadn’t known him, I might’ve thought he didn’t care. He did. He was as sharp as a tack, and no one got through his line unless they belonged on the shoot.

  I checked the call sheet, confirming there were no changes. Heading to craft services, I pulled my water bottle from my bag. I glanced around to see if Peter was there, but the only person whose presence registered was Janine. When our gazes met, she said something to Lorraine and made a beeline for me. She grabbed my shoulder and yanked me behind the tent, near the generator where we weren’t likely to be disturbed.

  “What the actual fuck, Thomas?”

  Okay, so those hopes of being left in anonymity had been truly in vain. I had to try. “It’s not what you think.”

  “You have no idea what I think.”

  No, but I could guess. “He was licking my ice cream.”

  “Well, I hope to Christ that was the only thing of yours that he licked last night.”

  “Jesus, Janine.” In all the years I’d known her, I couldn’t think of a single time when she’d been that crass. Although she enjoyed bawdy jokes—or at least I thought she did—she never partook. “I’m not into guys.”

  Her eyebrows shooting up were more telling than anything she might ever say. Well, then.

  “Look, Thomas, I don’t care which way you swing, so to speak. You’ve always kept your personal life private, and I appreciate that. Oversharing is a big peeve of mine.”

  This I knew.

  “But I’m looking at this photograph, and it wouldn’t surprise me if you’d jumped each other’s bones in the next frame.”

  “We didn’t.”

&nbs
p; Her gaze held mine, and I worked to keep my expression as open as possible. Didn’t want to give her a single reason to question the truth of my statement. We hadn’t jumped each other’s bones in the next moment. Had I wanted to? Hell. Fucking. Yes. Had he wanted to? Looking at the photograph, I wasn’t sure the answer was no.

  “You know the rules.” Her voice was a touch less frigid, but her eyes still shot daggers.

  Of course I knew the rules. They were clear, but people being people, things happened. We were all consenting adults. Consenting being the key. Some of these rules were as the result of recent events. Power imbalances and all that. “Look, he’s straight. I’m straight. It was just a photograph.”

  Janine sniggered. “Peter was in a long-term relationship with Desmond Lau. Worst-kept secret in the industry. No one says anything because they don’t want to hurt his feelings, and the man’s got clout.”

  “How do you know? About Peter and…” I couldn’t say the guy’s name. I knew who he was, of course. Big-shot director in the business—I’d have had to live under a rock not to know his name. What did this mean? If Peter was gay, might he be interested in me?

  “And if you want to maintain that you’re straight, it’s your business.” Her expression morphed into something softer. “Although I’m sort of your boss, I’d like to think you’d trust me enough to confide in me. Who you sleep with is your business. But you don’t need to stay in the closet for our sakes.”

  What she said was the absolute truth, and I believed her. But what if I had to stay there for my sake? Admitting I was gay—acting on it—meant facing the reason my brother was dead. Meant dealing with my parents. If they didn’t love me anymore, how would I cope? They already blamed me for Luke’s death. Any more disapproval, and I feared the relationship would collapse under the weight.

  “Hey.”

  We turned to find Cole poking his head around the corner of the tent. “I saw you guys duck back here.” He held up his hands. “And I wouldn’t interrupt, but Lisette is on the warpath, and I thought you might want to know.” With a quick grin, he went back the way he’d come, leaving me alone with one of the people I was closest to in Vancouver. And since we weren’t that close, didn’t that say how pathetic I really was?