Treston looked up at the ceiling and said, “I hate to admit it, but I guess you have a point.”
“You think you know me so well,” Chad said. His voice sounded playful now. “Well, just so you know. I know you just as well. You look for trouble, and if there’s not enough drama in your life you create it. It’s a sport—or even an addiction. You need thoughtless, inconsiderate, rude men like me in order to survive. And when you get one, you spend all your time complaining about it and trying to change us.”
Treston felt a sting in his gut, and it wasn’t from the escargot. “You may be right about most of that,” he said. “But you’re wrong about the last thing. At least, with me you’re wrong. I know no matter what, there’s no way I’d ever try to turn someone like you into a sensitive, caring man. It took a while to figure this out, but I finally learned the hard way. From now on, I think of guys like you as nothing more than studs. Walking penises. And when it comes to men I want to marry and spend the rest of my life with, I want one who rides horses, reads books at night, and knows how to chop his own wood. A real gentleman.” He’d taken all this from the private messages he’d been sharing with Cooper Boon on Facebook. Cooper was the man he’d just described to Chad and he hadn’t even realized he done it until he’d finished speaking.
“I think you’re wrong this time,” Chad said. “There’s no way a guy like that could ever make a guy like you happy. After one week of him chopping wood and riding horses and all that gentleman shit, you’d be out looking for the first bad boy walking down the street. You need the drama. Without it you’d never survive.”
Treston didn’t agree with Chad, but he knew deep down it would be impossible to argue with him. Men like Chad Pratt didn’t back down, and they always had to have the last word. Of course, spoiled, self-consumed men like Chad Pratt didn’t realize that sometimes the unspoken last word could be more intense than anything said aloud. So Treston smiled and said, “I’d like to thank you for dinner. I actually had a good time tonight. I have never been this honest with anyone. I don’t know what’s gotten into me.”
Chad stood up and said, “I’m not sure what’s gotten into you either. But let’s go back to my place and I’ll show you what’s going to get into you tonight.” He lifted his hands and smiled. “That is, if you’re willing to agree to it. I know you said sleeping with me has to be your choice. Heaven forbid I should be accused of sneaking into your pants or forcing you into anything. I wouldn’t want to be blamed for taking advantage of your sensitive, emotional nature.”
Treston stood up and smiled. He looked him in the eye and said, “Don’t be an asshole, Chad.”
Chad reached out and set his palm on the small of Treston’s back so he could lead him out of the restaurant. “I have to be an arrogant asshole. If I’m not, you won’t be interested in an old man like me.”
As Chad guided him out of the restaurant, the people at the other tables glanced sideways to watch them leave without being too obvious about it. Treston knew they were looking, and he knew what they were thinking. They all must have been wondering who was this young trick in tight black pants with billionaire Chad Pratt, the Vegas Shark, and probably figured Treston was another one of Chad’s recent conquests. Treston didn’t care. He figured he’d never see any of them again and he’d never be in that restaurant again. The one thing he did wish was that his friends at Chickey’s could see him with Chad Pratt. He hoped Mickey J. would tell someone he’d seen Treston leave with Chad. At least Mickey J. had seen him actually get into the car with Chad. When he told all his friends about it the next night he would have to get Mickey J. to back up his story, to prove he wasn’t lying.
When they were in the limo, Chad climbed on top of him in the backseat and started to kiss him without warning. Treston tried to push him away at first, but the harder he pushed, the more aggressive Chad became. There was nothing violent or abusive about Chad. Though he pushed with force, he kissed gently and his lips were soft and smooth. He knew how to move his tongue without being vulgar or intrusive. When he caressed the back of Treston’s head with his strong hand, he set off an explosion deep in Treston’s body that caused and instant erection in his tight black pants. Treston knew Chad had the same reaction when he felt something hard poke his right hip.
When Treston asked, “What about your driver?” He was flat on his back with his legs in the air and his arms around Chad’s shoulders.
Chad said, “He’s been with me for years and he’s very discreet. I trust him completely.”
They were still making out in the backseat when the car pulled up to a large Spanish mansion in a part of town where Treston had never spent much time. He’d lost track of where they’d been going. When he sat up he smoothed out his shirt, pulled up his pants, looked out the window, and gaped at the front entrance. He’d read about Chad Pratt’s estate; he’d heard there was nothing else like it in Las Vegas. The dark stained double front doors alone had to be at least ten times larger than most normal front doors. The two massive lion statues on either side, with their heads thrown back and their mouths wide open, looked more like they belonged in front of a public library in a big city than a private home in the desert.
Chad got out first and reached inside to help Treston. He put his arm around him and led him to the front door. Chad opened the front door and gave him a gentle push. When Treston stepped into the entrance hall he didn’t know where to look first. The bronze and crystal chandelier suspended from the three-story ceiling sparkled, the beige and black marble floors shined so they looked slippery. The artwork in gilded frames that hung on the walls had a modern abstract quality that seemed to contrast with the rest of the formal look. The painting of red cubes and circles that hung over the walk-in hall fireplace was so huge Treston doubted it would get through the front door of his own small apartment.
Chad closed the front door and put his arm around him again. “Home, sweet home, be it ever so humble.”
Treston’s mouth hung open; he had one hand on his stomach and the other on his chest. “It’s amazing. I’ve never seen such a mix of so many beautiful things before.” Although the Spanish influence continued inside, there were French tables, Jacobean chairs, and stark modern sculptures on pedestals. He’d read somewhere Chad was into architecture and design.