A Unique Request

Mickie B. Ashling © 2024

All Rights Reserved

Paul stood outside the door, debating his decision to show up. He had a bottle of red wine in one hand and a bunch of colorful wildflowers in the other. He’d given in to a moment of sentimental weakness, and now he wondered what the hell he was doing. He turned to leave when the door was yanked open by a fractious brunet with a scowl on his face. “¿Sí?”

“Hi. I’m Paul Alcott.”

The stranger scowled and scrutinized him from the top of his shining head down his designer-clad body.

Paul was unfazed. He was just as curious about the man who’d replaced him in Mick’s life. He inspected him like he would any rival, noting the chestnut-colored hair curling around his neckline. His upper body was hidden behind a loose T-shirt, but the corded muscles of his forearms were a clear indication of what was underneath. He was striking, no doubt about it. The heated gaze was bad enough, but it was his luscious mouth that sent Paul’s mind straight to the gutter. He was shocked by his body’s quick response to this stranger, despite the obvious antagonism. He brought his hand down, covering the evidence of his growing interest with the flowers.

The Spaniard blinked and rewarded Paul with a tentative smile. “I’m Tono Garat,” he announced in a heavily accented voice.

“Nice to meet you.” Paul nodded. “Is Mick around?”

“Yes, of course. Come in, please.”

Tono spun around, and Paul zeroed in on the rounded ass covered in tight white shorts. No garter lines meant he was naked underneath, and Paul couldn’t help but notice.

“Paul!” Mick called out, rushing forward and hugging Paul tightly. “God, it’s been too long.”

“I know,” Paul said, falling under Mick’s spell within seconds. It had always been so good between them, and despite the years and the distance, the sentiment remained the same. “You’re still as gorgeous as ever.”

“Oh, stop. You always were good for my ego.”

“The years have been kind to you, my friend,” Paul continued, taking in every part of Mick. He did look great, trim and fit, clean-shaven. His hair was a little longer than Paul remembered, but the dark curls framed Mick’s tanned face, making the violet-tinged eyes pop.

“You don’t look half-bad either.” Mick’s voice shifted, and the words came out like a soft caress. He toyed with a lock of Paul’s silky hair, curling it around his finger. “When did you let your hair grow?”

“After my father died; no more memos about looking professional.” Paul smirked as he recalled Paul Senior’s edicts.

“Shall I take the bottle?” Tono interrupted, looking uncomfortable. Perhaps he was aware of their long history, but seeing the chemistry was a different matter altogether.

“Sure,” Paul replied, handing over the wine.

“I made a pitcher of sangria. Would you like a glass?” Tono asked, never taking his eyes off Paul.

“Sounds good. I’m assuming it’s authentic.”

“I made it from scratch,” Tono huffed.

“Come on,” Mick stepped in, trying to diffuse the situation. He took Paul by the arm and led him out to the tiny patio that had a wrought iron table for four and several wooden planters filled with assorted vegetables. The tomatoes were almost ripe and hanging from branches held up with green sticks. The Weber grill was off to one side―a tribute to summer and warm evenings.

“This is nice, Mick. I had no idea this was out here.”

“Not too many people do. I guess the owners were into gardening, so I benefit. It’s what attracted me to this unit in the first place.”

Paul sat down and stretched out, loving the sight of Mick after so long. “So, what have you been up to?”

“Living La Vida Loca.” Mick smiled. “I’ve been writing, of course, but mostly enjoying my life.”

“Sounds great. Are you still working on your sequel?”

“Yes, as well as something new.”

“Oh?”

“I’m helping Tono with his book.”

Paul gave Tono a frosty look. “You’re a writer?”

“I’m not,” Tono replied, placing a large wineglass with chunks of fruit in front of Paul. “I’m a professional jai alai player, but I’ve written a romance, based on my relationship with Mick.”

“A romance?” Paul turned to Mick for the answer. “Why?”

“Because I’m dying.”

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