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Eddie’s only a little bit fucked.
No really! He’s only about… twenty-three percent fucked at the moment, but if he couldn’t find his favorite slacks, then he would be approximately thirteen percent more fucked.
But his slacks were nowhere to be found, and Bev was being extremely unhelpful by laughing at his pantless, boxer-clad ass as he scoured the closet for any sign of the charcoal grey pants.
“Eddie, darling. My loving, caring, neurotic friend. It’s a date, not a wedding. Wear some jeans for fuck's sake.” Bev picked at her nails while stifling a giggle.
Eddie sighed, tugging at the dark blue dress shirt he’d put on. Subconsciously, he’d started dressing like he was going to work instead of a restaurant. That’s a bad impression, right? Showing up to a date like he just got off work and couldn’t be bothered to change. Ugh, he hated when Bev was right. Just a little bit, not a lot, because then he’d be living in a state of constant hatred, and he couldn’t do that without exploding.
“You know this guy, right? He’s not going to axe murder me or anything?” Eddie asked for the third time tonight. In all truthfulness, Eddie had met the guy in passing at one of Bill’s premieres months ago, but he’d also been shitfaced to avoid thinking about his ongoing divorce. So, he didn’t really remember the guy. “I mean, I’m not trying to be difficult or anything, but I don’t think I could stand it if he was boring. I had enough of that with Myra.”
Bev got up from her perch on the bed and gave Eddie’s ass a solid slap, not even phased when he yelped. “You’re hot, Eddie. He’s not going to murder you, and he’s been practically begging Ben and Bill to set you guys up since Bill’s party. He’s definitely interested.”
Nodding, Eddie reached for a pair of dark wash jeans. “And you’re sure he won’t think I’m a slob for wearing jeans to a nice restaurant?”
“Aren’t you guys eating at Olive Garden?” Bev joked.
Eddie’s ears heated up, his cheeks following suit. “You’re right, I’ll wear the chinos,” he huffed, trading the hangers out for a pair of dark green chinos and sliding them over his legs. “Fucking dammit, the dress shirt doesn’t match now. Bev?”
Used to Eddie’s indecisive bullshit by now, Bev disappeared into the closet and emerged not ten seconds later with a piece of clothing Eddie didn’t even know he owned. “Ta da!”
She held a cream, linen oxford button-up by the hanger, and Eddie’s brows furrowed.
“Bev. I’ll look like I’m in the Irish Mafia.”
“Oh, Eddie baby, don’t you know the Mafia is sexy now?” Bev laughed at her own joke and tousled his hair into a slightly pouffier coiff, the blonde strands curling nicely. It’s the longest he’s ever worn his hair, and he’s slightly regretting not getting a haircut when Bill approached him about the date.
Eddie fretted over his appearance as much as a thirty-five year old man should, and then some more on top of that. Ever since leaving his wife (quite contentiously), he’d been far too worried about looking gay enough –during one dark moment, he’d considered getting his right ear pierced. Bev talked him out of it, thank God. He didn’t need a hoop in his ear to prove he sucked dick, but Bev said if he ever wanted to get his ears pierced “for real,” then she’d take him.
“Do you think he’ll think looking like a mobster is hot?” Eddie looped a brown belt through his chinos. He fiddled with the top two buttons, fastening them up. “I just don’t want him to think I look… pretentious?” He winced.
Bev turned his shoulders to face her, immediately undoing his work with the buttons by leaving the top three open to expose the top of his chest. “Eddie, you’re not pretentious for wearing clothes. You look hot, he’s gonna pop a boner the second he sees your sweet ass scoot into the booth and beg you to suck him off.” She smirked and pinched his butt. Bev really had too much faith in him.
Pursing his lips, Eddie slipped his wallet into his pocket and grabbed his car keys. “You’re gross. I hope you know that. I don’t know where his dick’s been!”
Bev, before he could protest, stole his car keys right from his hand. “But hopefully, we know where it’ll end up. Now, I called you an Uber, your job tonight is to not come back to this apartment without another notch in your belt. Got it?”
Eddie groaned. Ever since Eddie and Bev both got divorced, Bev had been pushing for Eddie to get laid. Bev, the hypocrite, had already settled down with one of Bill’s friends, Ben, who was literally the sweetest man on the planet –and hung like a horse to boot, if her stories were to be believed. Now, Bev had made it her mission to get Eddie paired off with a new man to wipe away his past with Myra.
“Got it, Bev. But if he hasn’t been STD tested since his last hookup I’m not doing jack shit with him,” Eddie intoned, hand reflexively chopping through the air.
Bev, nodding sagely, patted his cheek. “I’d expect nothing less.” Right on time, her phone chimed. “Uber’s here! Go get sloshed and get dick, babe!”
Eddie’s Uber driver was completely silent during the drive, which he preferred. The car itself –a 2012 Buick Enclave, which, honestly, shouldn’t even be on the road; they were recalled for a fucking reason, dipshit– was as clean as an Uber could be, but Eddie couldn’t help but feel like it was an omen for how the night was going to go.
Fucking Olive Garden appeared faster than it ever should have, and Eddie felt the immense dread creep up his spine as per usual. He tipped his driver cash, assuming that Bev didn’t have the app open. A modest tip, since the fucker was driving an unsafe, recalled car. He was biting his tongue so hard not to say Your car is going to fucking die while you’re turning a corner, and it has known engine failure problems! Instead, like a normal person, he made a mental note to tell Bev to leave a review about it. He fucking hated Ubering.
The host smiled as he entered, and Eddie suddenly felt self-conscious. He tugged at the cuffs of his linen shirt and tried to resist rolling the sleeves up to let more air flow in.
“Table for one?” The host asked, grabbing a silverware roll and a menu.
“No, I’m meeting someone,” he said, and promptly realized he didn’t know who he was even looking for beyond Bill’s Friend.
The host smiled knowingly. “Are you Eddie?” At Eddie’s confirmation, he continued. “I’ve seated you two on the back wall, if you’ll follow me.”
The sickly yellow of the Olive Garden walls seemed to taunt him as the host led him back to a table, sequestered behind three different dining areas, a fireplace, and a couple bins of silverware. It was way too quiet back here.
“Hey!” The man stood to greet Eddie, not-so-subtly wiping his palms on his light wash jeans and looking absurdly nervous to be sitting in an Olive Garden. Fuck, he should’ve just worn jeans. “I’m Richie, we met at Bill’s premiere?”
Truthfully, Eddie didn’t remember why Richie had been at Bill’s premiere in the first place, but if someone told him Richie was the guy behind the sound mixing, or maybe the guy who hauled all the spotlights and speakers around, he’d believe you no questions asked. He had strong hands and unfairly attractive arms that Eddie had to physically force his eyes away from. Not to mention, he had a sort of smart-but-doesn’t-like-to-admit-it energy around him, and the way his eyes didn’t fully focus meant he definitely wore glasses on a normal day, but had put in contacts to try and impress Eddie.
Unfortunately, that was super fucking cute.
The only other truly unfortunate thing was his outfit: a short-sleeved button up patterned with, at a glance, what looked like a geometric pattern, but was actually many, many square-ish penises. Eddie sort of hoped this wasn’t intentional, and ripped his eyes away from the offending pattern.
Richie held out a hand in a small wave, and Eddie was only vaguely aware that he’d reciprocated the action. They slipped into the booth, across from each other.
Eddie winced internally. “Oh yes.” He hoped his face didn’t betray how much he did not fully remember Richie, despite really wishing he did. “I remember! Didn’t you have glasses?”
“You do remember?” Richie’s face flushed, and Eddie had the horrible feeling he’d just admitted to something he shouldn’t have. Fucking dammit. “Yeah, I usually have these huge honking glasses, but they make me pretty recognizable. This makes things a little less weird, thank the Lord Jane Lynch.”
Staunchly ignoring the strange idiom, Eddie asked, “It does?” He wished he had a glass of any kind of wine in front of him right now. “How so?”
Richie hunched his shoulders forward both conspiratorially and in an attempt to make himself smaller. “It just gets embarrassing being recognized in public. The glasses are part of my brand, which sucks because I do genuinely need them.”
Before Eddie could question Richie’s celebrity status, the server greeted them with as genuine of a smile as you can expect from an Olive Garden employee. “Hey there, welcome in! My name is Sam and I’ll be your server tonight. Can I get us started with some appetizers and drinks?”
Since leaving Myra, Eddie hadn’t been nearly as obsessed with his diet, and had even started branching out into food he’d been told he was allergic to as a child. He could count on one hand the amount of restaurants he’d eaten at before the age of 25, and Olive Garden hadn’t been one of them. Despite this, Eddie had looked up the menu beforehand and memorized exactly what he wanted to try. “I’d love a glass of your cabernet. Could I try the spinach artichoke dip as well?”
Meanwhile, Richie fumbled his way through the menu and ordered whatever a Blue Hawaiian is and a boat (???) of alfredo sauce. Is this man a toddler? Is he going to eat a bowl of straight alfredo sauce? Eddie felt his arteries clogging up just thinking about it, before schooling his body back into line.
“So, how do you know Bill?” Eddie asked, tucking his hands under the table so he wouldn’t fiddle with his silverware.
Richie, however, was not hung up on social pleasantries and had started fidgeting with his cocktail and cloth napkin already. “Y’know, Hollywood writing shit, and then we both moved out here for a while because I got a gig writing for SNL, and he struck rich in the movies. Parallel lives and all that shit.”
Nodding, Eddie watched Richie’s hands wave through the air as he talked. There was a lazy confidence there that Eddie found extremely attractive, like Richie was aware of the space around him and how he could move through it. “So, you write for TV?” Eddie said just to say something. Creepy as it was, he just wanted to watch the way Richie moved.
“I’m still on with SNL, and I’ve got a couple projects coming up in the off-season, too. Nothing too crazy, but I’ll be super envious of all of the other writers who have the ability to snort cocaine and not die of blood loss.” Richie ripped his cocktail napkin along the edge, muttered an oopsie, and went back to talking as if he didn’t just say the word cocaine in full voice. “But anyways, how about you? What do you do for work, how do you know Big Bill, and all that jazz.” He gestured to Eddie as if passing the floor to him, and Eddie immediately felt his cheeks flush. Dammit.
Eddie gaped like a fish for all of two seconds, failing to gather his thoughts while Richie flexed his hand or stretched his wrist or something. Whatever he was doing was making a very attractive vein pop from the crease of his elbow down to his wrist, and Eddie could only think of how badly he wanted to be miniaturized so he could slide down it. Or maybe just lick it. Licking it would be more normal, right?
Who was he kidding, nothing was fucking normal about how badly he needed this guy. He was wearing a dick-patterned Hawaiian shirt for fuck’s sake.
Wasn’t he supposed to be talking? Shit.
“Uh, Bill!” Eddie stammered, voice far too forceful for the pause. “We were neighbors as kids, and he could never shake me off, so we’re still best friends to this day. Though, Bev will fight him for that title if she hears me say it.”
Thankfully, Richie seemed unaffected by the weird cadence to Eddie’s voice, because he was too busy looking at Eddie’s chest. Did he have something on his shirt already somehow? “Oh yes, Bev…” He tore his eyes away from Eddie’s shirt with obvious effort. “She’s the one who stole Ben away from me at the premiere. She seems fun!” He said it entirely earnestly, and Eddie was struck with the realization that Bev and Richie should never, ever meet, because Bev would clock his weird infatuation and make it everyone’s problem.
“She’s the best. She actually helped me get ready tonight.” Eddie plucked at the collar of his shirt and suddenly remembered the steep unbuttoned wedge down his chest.
“Tell her she did a great job, then. I think I’m like, struggling not to say awooga right now.” Despite the humor of his words, Richie looked entirely serious. His legs brushed Eddie’s under the table. Fuck.
Eddie blushed down to his neck. “You’re pretty bold, aren’t you?”
“Not as bold as you were,” Richie teased, and before Eddie could ask him to elaborate, the server came back with the drinks and appetizers. They placed their entree orders as well, and Eddie immediately felt exposed by his lack of menu-barrier.
Still feeling insanely embarrassed at his halfway exposed chest, Eddie internally cursed Bev’s fashion choices and took a sip of his wine. The server had brought a basket of breadsticks as well, and Eddie noticed that the boat of sauce Richie ordered was actually a shallow dish meant for dipping bread into. Fucking genius. He took a bite of his spinach artichoke dip instead.
“So, what about work for you?” Richie asked between bites of breadstick. “What does the illustrious Eddie do with his days?”
Eddie nearly choked on a spinach-dip-covered flatbread chip in his haste to swallow. “I uh, I own a driving service in the city. Limousines for red carpets and such.” Eddie waved a hand dismissively. He loved his work, and it was insanely ludicrous, but it was almost embarrassing to talk about his job since it always ended up sounding like he was just a celebrity fanboy. “I’ve been driving Bill to his premieres since he started in movies, and now we’re big enough that I don’t have to drive anymore. I still do, don’t get me wrong, it’s why I started the service in the first place.”
“So did you drive Bill to this last premiere?” Richie asked, and he had a shit-eating grin on for whatever reason.
Eddie scoffed. “No. He insisted I come as his special guest. It would’ve been extremely unprofessional if I’d driven, considering how much I drank that night.”
“Oh I certainly remember that part. Dude, you were double fisting champagne glasses like, all night.” Richie chuckled, low and attractive. “I’m surprised you remember anything at all. You hold your alcohol pretty well.”
If Eddie kept blushing like a schoolgirl, he’d have to put himself down. But, as it is, Eddie felt his cheeks go red as he sipped his wine, painfully aware of the irony. “Trust that the hangover the next morning was extremely unpleasant.” He dodged the question of remembering insanely well, if he said so himself. “Bill and Mike had me over that night after the premiere, and I swear I passed out the second my head hit the pillow.”
“I’ve definitely been there.” Richie nodded with the wisdom of a man twice their age. “I’m glad you weren’t alone after that. You seemed pretty out of it.”
Eddie winced, realizing he needed to change the subject now before he learned something too embarrassing. “Bill and Mike are great friends, for sure. But enough about that, I want to know your embarrassing Hollywood stories. Whether they’re about you or someone else.”
Unperturbed by the unsubtle topic change, Richie gave his widest grin yet. “Oh fuck yeah, I have so many of these. How do you feel about Jennifer Lawrence?” he asked.
“Uh, I liked her in The Hunger Games?” Eddie replied.
“Well,” Richie leaned in for emphasis, “you’re about to love her more than you already do.” And with that, Richie launched into a story of meeting J Law (as he called her) at one of Zach Galifianakis’ parties, and how they accidentally got second-hand high together in Zach’s penthouse bathroom. Apparently, she’s funnier than any comedian Richie’s ever met.
However, Eddie was too focused trying not to stare at Richie’s lips to get the full scope of the story. He’s so painfully attracted to this man it's actually embarrassing for him to be in public right now. His only saving grace is that he’s yet to pop an awkward boner over something stupid Richie’s said. He is a grown, middle-aged adult though, so maybe that’s the only reason the boner situation hasn’t happened.
At some point, Eddie became aware of the fact that he was two and a half glasses of wine deep, and that somehow the entrees arrived and he’d been slowly picking his way through his pasta. Richie’s ravioli carbonara was almost gone, and Eddie couldn’t remember the last time he’d said anything. He’d been too busy looking at Richie’s lips.
“Eds, y’know what we should do?” Richie leaned in conspiratorially. His legs were entwined with Eddie’s under the table.
“Hm?” Eddie knew his eyes were half-lidded in his almost-tipsy state –plus, his attraction to Richie certainly wasn’t helping– and he giggled despite himself.
Richie whispered, playfully cupping Eddie’s ear with his hand. “We should tell the server it’s our anniversary so we can get a free dessert.” The wide grin on his face told Eddie that he’d also finished off more than one Blue Hawaiian.
“We’re both pretty loaded, Rich,” he laughed. “We don’t need a free dessert when we could just pay for one.”
“Okay, how ‘bout this.” Richie folded his hands in a businesslike manner. “We get the free dessert for our anniversary, and we also get a tiramisu to go, that way we’re still paying for one.”
Eddie pretended to think it over, knowing he was already going to say yes (he’d been fine with the original plan too. Something about being seen as a couple with Richie didn’t freak him out like it usually would). “Those terms are agreeable.”
“Perfect!” Richie’s lips cracked into a grin as he flagged down the server. “Excuse me, thank you. Could we get an order of tiramisu and… some cheesecake, please and thank you?”
The server, who Eddie vaguely remembered being named Sam, nodded. “Of course! Are we celebrating tonight?” they asked with a smile, more genuine this time.
Across the table, Eddie grabbed Richie’s hand to play up the act. “It’s our anniversary.” Short, sweet, simple. Hopefully convincing. At least the sappy grin on his face was for sure convincing.
Richie rubbed his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles, and he was sure his bones were melting inside of his skin.
Sam smiled and tapped their order into the small tablet on the table. “That’s sweet! How long have you been together?”
Eddie looked to Richie in a slight panic, but Richie took the curveball with ease. “Three years, but this guy will say three years and however many months it's been since we first saw each other. It was love at first sight on my end, and he loves to tease me about it.” The look on Richie’s face almost convinced Eddie that the story was true.
His heart ached for it to be true, but he stamped down on that pretty quickly.
The server returned without Eddie noticing they left, and Richie must’ve asked for a to-go box, because suddenly the check was paid and Eddie didn’t even have a chance to offer to pay for his portion. Somehow, Eddie was losing time just staring at Richie’s, well, everything. And maybe he should’ve felt worse about wanting him so openly, but two full glasses of wine had him feeling loose enough to want freely.
Luckily, along with the standard Olive Garden mints, Sam gave them a bag to carry the boxes out in.
It was at this point that Eddie realized he didn’t have his car, and that he’d rather die than ride in another Uber tonight.
“Can I walk you to your car?” Eddie asked, hoping he wasn’t coming off too obvious.
At the very least, Richie looked like he’d handled his alcohol much better than Eddie had, and was walking a straight line. Eddie became desperately aware that Richie’s hand which was not holding the to-go food was, in fact, around his waist.
“Sure.” Richie smiled warmly as they exited the restaurant, beginning the walk down to wherever the fuck Richie had parked. “Do you need me to call you a cab, Mister Limo Driver?”
Eddie shook his head as they rounded the block. The sidewalks weren’t unbearably busy, but it was still New York level foot traffic. “I can get Bev to give me a ride. She took my keys so I don’t even have my car.”
“No need, Eddie Spaghetti–” Eddie opened his mouth to complain, but Richie barrelled onwards “–I’ll get you wherever you need to go. No worries!”
Now, Eddie knew exactly what type of man he was. Since coming out, he has never put out on the first date, he doesn’t do random hookups, and he hasn’t even touched Grindr. However. Richie might be the exception to one of these absolutes. He knew inherently if he accepted a ride from Richie, he would not want to simply leave the car and wait for a text the next day about how nice the date went. He would want more. Especially if Richie was willing to give it.
This was all confirmed for him the second he saw Richie’s car.
Which, fuck Eddie and his incessant love of cars. Why does that have to be the one stereotypical man thing about him that nobody ever guesses? But either way, the sight of Richie’s 1967 Jaguar XKE had Eddie vibrating out of his skin, instantly sober at the marvel of this rare beauty. Internally, Eddie knew he looked absolutely stupid staring at Richie’s car, but the cherry red exterior called him to open the hood and just take a look at that iconic Jaguar Straight 6. He felt like he was drooling.
“Eds-?” Richie’s voice cut through the brain fog. “You good?”
“Holy shit, Richie. Please tell me you have a garage,” Eddie asked rhetorically, knowing that anyone with the sense to buy such a good condition vintage car wouldn’t be stupid enough to park it out in the elements. A wriggling part of his brain was wondering just how well writing for TV paid, but he shoved it aside.
Richie rubbed the back of his neck bashfully and walked to the passenger door, opening it for Eddie to slide inside. “I do. I wouldn’t trust a cloth drop top in New York winters.”
“Oh thank fucking God,” Eddie sighed, relieved. He got into the passenger’s seat and took a moment to drag his hands over the leather upholstery. “Is this the original interior?” He trailed delicate fingers over the dashboard, noticing the original Blaupunkt radio and gingerly turned a dial.
“Reupholstered, unfortunately. Not really sure what all got done to it, if I’m honest, and I really only bought it because Bill also bought a Jag.” Richie slid into the driver’s seat, keying the ignition and completely oblivious to Eddie’s star eyes. “Instead of measuring dicks, we measure cars, apparently.”
Eddie snorted beside himself, still trailing a finger along the dashboard seams. “Take me to your garage.” His eyes snapped to Richie, who was carefully maneuvering the car out of the parking space. He was surprised at his own boldness, but Richie just wore a wry smirk.
“Good to know your flirtations aren’t just a Drunk Eddie thing,” Richie joked, and Eddie cocked an eyebrow.
“What do you mean?” Eddie was sure he’d been flirting before the two and a half glasses of wine, and was even more sure he’d been flirting since Richie’s sweet car had sobered him up.
Now, it was Richie’s turn to cock an eyebrow. “At Bill’s premiere?” Richie’s hands flexed around the steering wheel, turning left. “I thought maybe it was just the champagne that had you acting like you were.”
Eddie’s blood ran cold. Well, maybe not cold, but definitely lukewarm. Bill’s premiere for Attic Room had happened during a dark time for him, when Myra had finally decided she would sign the divorce papers, but had also decided she would attempt to take him for all he was worth. The premiere had an open bar stocked with all kinds of bubbly wines. One thing led to another, and Eddie came back to his senses at approximately 4 AM that night with Mike’s broad hand firmly against his back while he hunched over a toilet bowl. Basically, he had gotten pissdrunk and apparently flirted with Richie.
“And… what was I acting like?” Eddie asked gingerly, trying his best to sound both flirtatious and curious while badly hiding the terror in his voice.
At this, Richie smirked. “Eds, you said my suit made me look like my chest was built out of a double-door refrigerator. At first, I thought you were insulting me, but then I’m pretty sure you drooled a little and I realized you were into that.” He chuckled to himself, eyes stuck to the road no matter how much Eddie could tell he wanted to look at him.
Eddie buried his face in his hands. “That’s so embarrassing, I’m so sorry I came onto you like that. I was so drunk and-”
“You’re not allowed to apologize for that. Nothing happened, and obviously, I could tell you were drunk so didn’t let anything happen either.” Richie’s voice was low, purposefully so. His fingers flexed down towards the turn indicator, and Eddie had never been so jealous of a car before. “Besides, if you hadn’t done that, we wouldn’t be here now.”
Blinking his shame away, Eddie’s cheeks flushed for the millionth time tonight. “You… were into me? Sloppy drunk me?” He overshot disbelieving straight into wonderment, but couldn’t find it in himself to care.
“You’re cute,” Richie said, shrugging as if it was a proper explanation. “And Bill explained what you were going through, so I didn’t think it would be fair to let that affect me.”
“Woah, wait.” Eddie chopped a hand through the air, punctuating his command. “Bill told you about my divorce?”
“Billy tells me everything.” Richie grinned, waggling his eyebrows salaciously. “Jokes. But yeah, he told me what I assume were the bare bones of it all, so I understand the heavy drinking. I mean, I assume it was heavy. You were walking around with a serving spoon –completely clean, fresh from the kitchen somehow– and you came up to me, glared, and cupped it around my dick! I couldn’t hear what you said to me because I was too horny to function.”
Eddie squawked and batted Richie’s shoulder. He needed out of this car. “Dear fucking Jesus, man, please stop telling me this shit.”
“Not a chance, Spaghetti-o’s! That moment was what made me realize you were funnier than me, and I had to make you mine –pardon the old-prospector-jargon. But, seriously, it took everything in me not to pop a boner at that party.” Richie pulled up to a secluded brownstone and into the attached garage.
It took everything in Eddie not to pop a boner when Richie opened the garage, and he forwent his embarrassment to goggle at Richie’s car collection. “Holy shit, Richie.” Eddie couldn’t get out of the car fast enough. He’d spotted his prey.
“It’s just a car, Eds.”
As soon as Richie parked the car, Eddie scrambled gracelessly towards a Corvette. “Just a car? I should castrate you right the fuck now! This is a 1953 Corvette, you bitch!”
“Is that why Bill got super pissed at me when I pulled up to his birthday party driving it?” Richie slapped a hand onto the hood and Eddie yelped.
“You drove her?!” Eddie’s jaw dropped, and he noticed that Richie’s hand left a print on the cherry red paint. He had let the car get a layer of dust. “You stupid bastard, do you even know how much you paid for this beautiful, wonderful, vintage car?”
“Uhhh…” Richie scratched his stubble aimlessly, and Eddie had the senseless thought that he’d like to run his palms against it as well. “Not really? Steve found it for me, and I just told him to buy whatever would make Bill the most jealous.”
Eddie ignored the terrifying fact that Richie’s agent had access to his personal bank account apparently, and instead ran a hand down his face. “Richie, please let me service these cars for you. I am so serious, they’re probably rotting away from sitting here –what since you apparently only drive them when you want to piss Bill off.”
“I have a car you can service.” Richie waggled his eyebrows and grinned. It was visibly taking everything in him not to laugh at his own joke.
Giving him the flattest, most unimpressed look he could, Eddie batted Richie’s hand off the hood of the Corvette. “I’m being serious, dickwad.” Eddie circled the car, inspecting the side mirrors (misaligned and dirty), the drop top (Richie had left the top down, the clueless bastard), and the interior. Luckily, the top being left down hadn’t done any damage to the interior, despite the layer of dust that had settled in the back seat. Eddie reached under the steering wheel and popped the hood, making sure to reset the handle. Richie was pratling away about something or other, but Eddie had opened the hood and couldn’t hear him over the blood rushing in his ears. It was the most beautiful car he’d ever seen. The engine didn’t appear to be damaged in any way, but the fluids needed topped off. Without warning, Eddie got onto his stomach and inspected the undercarriage for anything amiss –he explained this aloud to Richie, who made a joke along the lines of You can inspect my undercarriage any day, Eds.
As much as Eddie wanted to give every car in the garage an inspection and diagnosis, he knew he’d get so sidetracked that Richie would think he’s a gearhead, greasemonkey freak. “You’ve taken good enough care of her engine, but the interior needs detailing to keep the dust from settling into the seats, and the cloth top could use a wash.”
Richie, drumming his fingers on his thigh, wore a bright, wry grin. “This is the most attractive thing a man has ever done for me, and I’ve gotten a lapdance from Hugh Jackman.”
“Why the fuck would he do that?” Eddie closed the hood of the Corvette and wiped his hands off onto his chinos.
Walking backwards to keep his eyes on Eddie, Richie led him inside and to a sink so he could wash his hands. “He and Daniel Radcliffe were going to tag team it for a sketch, but then it got scrapped. Hugh still did it during the afterparty, Kristen broke down laughing so hard she almost peed herself.” He pointed Eddie to the kitchen sink, which was bedecked with surprisingly good dish soaps and scrub brushes. Somehow, it surprised Eddie that there were no dishes in Richie’s sink. The place screamed of bachelor pad, but Eddie supposed Richie had enough cash to spare on a good cleaning service.
“Kristen? Like Kristen Wiig?” Eddie turned on the faucet and lathered his hands with soap. Luckily, they weren’t covered in grease or oil, just dust. “How many famous people do you know, jeez.”
“I could say the same thing to you, Sir Private Limo Driver!” Richie joked and hopped onto the counter by the sink. “How many A-listers are on your company’s roster, huh? Anyone I might know?”
“Client confidentiality, Mister Tozier. You should know, since you’re so chummy with celebrities yourself,” Eddie taunted, flicking water at Richie’s face.
Instead of joking back, Richie caught Eddie’s wrist and turned the water off, turning just enough to pull Eddie between his knees whilst he sat on the kitchen counter. “How did it take us so long to meet?” Richie whispered, and Eddie could tell the question was rhetorical.
Nonetheless, he answered. “Probably because Bill knew we’d be insufferable together. At least after I got divorced.” Eddie twined his fingers with Richie’s, wincing when he realized they were still wet.
Even still, Richie didn’t seem to mind. “So you don’t mind that?” He asked, a softness in his eyes that melted Eddie right down to his core. “Us together?”
“I don’t mind at all,” Eddie replied, tracing his thumb over Richie’s knuckles. “I actually really like that.”
Richie’s smile became downright sappy, and he leaned forward ever so slightly. “So if I were to ask you out on another date, you’d say yes?”
“Hmm,” Eddie pondered, matching Richie’s angle. “I’d say no, because it's my turn to take you out.”
Closer still. “I think I can agree to those terms.”
“Good, they’re non-negotiable,” Eddie joked, finally closing the gap between them and pressing a tender kiss to Richie’s lips –somehow both soft and chapped at the same time, but perfect nonetheless. The first one was short, sweet, and left Eddie wanting more, more, more.
“I think we could upgrade restaurants next time, though. Maybe an Outback for the next one?” Richie said between kisses, and Eddie bit his lip in retaliation.
“Wherever we go, I’m not drinking anything stronger than a seltzer.” Eddie tugged Richie down from the counter and let himself be led to a secondary location. “I want to remember everything about you.”
