“Fucking white party,” Adam grouched as they lazily roamed the racks of high-end menswear. “Normally I’m down with whatever nineties throwback shit Wallace wants to do, but seriously? No one has worn all white since ninety-seven.”
“You could always go with stonewashed denim,” Jared said, tongue firmly tucked in cheek.
“Fuck that,” Adam said emphatically. He lifted a Tom Ford knitted sweater from a rack and held it up. “This might work.”
It was a chunky knit in an off-white color, classy and stylish. Jared lifted the tag with one finger and blinked at the price. Jesus.
In the next half hour, Adam found a pair of tailored shorts, cut slim so they hugged his thighs. He tried the whole outfit on, modeling it for Jared, who nodded his approval.
“Nice.”
“Thanks. Do you want to look for anything?”
“In here? No. Where’s H&M?”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah. I don’t know about you, but I’m not spending twelve hundred bucks on an outfit for one party. Especially not when some drunk chick is likely gonna spill beer all down the front of it.”
Adam rolled his eyes and ducked behind the heavy velvet curtain to change back into his uniform.
“Don’t blame me when you’re not well dressed,” he called back.
They’d been getting snooty looks from the sales clerk since they walked in, either for their uniforms or their outrageous flirting or the fact that they were young. So Jared felt more than a little smug when Adam handed over his purchases, totally nonchalant, then swiped his Amex to pay for it.
“Dick,” Adam muttered as they strode out of the store. “H&M. Are you serious?”
“Deadly,” Jared said. “Come on, pretty boy. Slum it with me.”
He threw his arm around Adam’s shoulders and matched his pace as they walked the few blocks, clearly heading into a more down-market territory, before Adam stopped and stood in the doorway to the familiar store.
“Are you sure about this?” he said, his face perfectly serious. “Once you go in there, you know there’s no going back. It’s poly-cotton blend from here on out.”
Jared pushed Adam and frog-marched him into the store.
Inside, it was blissfully generic. It only took Jared a few minutes to find a simple white button-down that rolled to the elbows. It had a white-on-white stripe that was actually quite nice. He didn’t mind spending forty bucks on something he’d wear again. The chinos he found were off-white, rather than pure white, but so was Adam’s sweater, so he didn’t think it would count as a violation of Chris’s rules.
“See, less than a buck fifty,” he said, throwing in some gangsta slang Biggie would be proud of. “No need to spend a month’s fucking allowance on threads.”
He paid in cash, to prove a point, and stuck his hand in Adam’s back pocket as he grumbled under his breath all the way back to the car. Before he slid into the passenger seat, Jared planted a wet kiss on Adam’s cheek.
“Thanks for bringing me out here.”
Under the frown, the edges of Adam’s lips quirked up. It was a brief smile, but a telling one.
“Come on. I’m taking you to dinner,” Adam said as he pulled out into the flow of traffic. “And we’re not going to fucking McDonalds, before you try and drag me to another one of your white-trash haunts.”
Jared laughed off the insult, knowing Adam didn’t mean it, making it all the more funny. They ended up in some fancy seafood place.
At the door, Adam was greeted by a hostess who hugged him like an old friend while Jared stood back awkwardly and felt a rush of possessiveness. Who was this bitch, and why was she hugging his… his friend like that?
“Jared, this is Sophie,” Adam said. “This is my mom’s favorite place to go when she’s in town, so I know Sophie and Anton well.”
Feeling like a dick, Jared broke into a smile and extended his hand to shake Sophie’s. She led them to a table near the kitchen, a small space for two in an intimate little alcove.
“Let me know if you need anything,” she said with a nod, then ducked back to her station.
Jared let Adam order, not trusting himself around the French titles on the menu.
“Can’t I just get some fucking fries,” he muttered when Adam was done.
“I ordered you dauphinoise potatoes. Trust me, they’re amazing.”
“What else?”
Adam huffed. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Not at all,” Jared said easily, leaning back in his chair. Adam had ordered white wine with their meal, and Sophie had brought over two glasses without questioning him or asking for ID. It was crisp and bright, the flavor bursting on Jared’s tongue as he took a sip. Wine wasn’t usually his thing, but this was nice. He could get used to the expensive stuff, it seemed.
With the glass of wine cradled against his chest, Jared looked around the restaurant, appreciating the warm, European feel of the place. The chef obviously took pride in sourcing local décor, along with local ingredients. Seattle was a good place to go for fresh seafood, after all.
When the food arrived, it was all on one serving platter: a bowl of fish stew in a light sauce, piles of thinly sliced potatoes and leeks, and a mountain of sharp green beans, peas, and broccoli.
“Wow,” Jared murmured. “Looks good.”
“It is. Help yourself.”
Large silver serving spoons were balanced on either side of the platter and Jared dug in with enthusiasm.
“You see why I love this place?” Adam asked rhetorically as he speared a piece of flaky white fish, examined it, then licked the fork clean. In different circumstances—maybe when Jared wasn’t so focused on eating—he would have been hyperaware of the soft pink tongue and how it wrapped around the tines of the fork.
The room was warm, and the wine complemented the food perfectly, and Jared
