My Dear School Senior - 4. Chapter 4 A Favor

On Wednesday afternoon, Tate received a call from Victor Ashford.

“I'm throwing a little party on the lake Saturday night.”

The man on the other end of the line sounded positively delighted.

“A few investors, some champagne, and a handful of very beautiful friends. You're going to love it.”

Tate stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his office, looking out over the Chicago River.

He had known Victor for years and was well aware of the man's habit of mixing business with personal entertainment.

At their last meeting, Victor had arranged for two young models to sit beside him.

Tate had long since grown accustomed to doing business at gatherings like these. But this time, the last thing he wanted was to spend the evening with models draped around him.

“Don't arrange any models for me this time,” he said.

“Of course, of course.”

Victor agreed far too quickly.

Tate was almost certain the man hadn't taken his request seriously.

After hanging up, Tate didn't put his phone down right away.

He looked at Richard's name on the screen, his thumb hovering over it for a moment.

Then he sent him a text.

“Are you free Saturday night? ”

Richard replied almost immediately.

“Yeah. Why?”

“I need a favor.”

“What kind of favor? ”

Tate hesitated.

He had originally intended to write,

“Come to a party with me.”

But when his fingers finally moved, he typed something else entirely.

“Pretend to be my boyfriend. ”

This time, his phone remained silent for a full minute.

Tate stared at the message, suddenly realizing that he was actually a little nervous.

Then Richard replied.

“Did you send that to the wrong person? ”

Tate couldn't help laughing.

“Nope.”

“”Are you serious?”

“Very.”

Another moment passed before Richard responded.

“So what exactly would I have to do? ”

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Tate's mouth.

“Come to a private party with me. Stand beside me. Hold my hand occasionally. Call me darling if necessary.”

This time, Richard took even longer to answer.

“You're asking for quite a lot.”

“I just want a yes or no.”

The moment Tate sent the message, an unexpected uneasiness settled over him.

He didn't want Richard to say no.

A few seconds later, his phone lit up.

“I didn't say I wouldn't do it.”

Tate lowered his head and smiled.

“See you Saturday.”

“Okay.”

He set his phone down, but didn't immediately return to work.

“Pretend to be my boyfriend.”

The words lingered in his mind for a long time.

He told himself it was simply a convenient arrangement.

But deep down, he knew that what he was really looking forward to might not be having Richard fend off a few tedious advances.

It was having Richard beside him.

Richard arrived at their agreed meeting place right on time Saturday evening.

Tate spotted him from a distance, and his steps involuntarily slowed.

Richard had clearly made an effort.

He was wearing a dark gray suit with a white dress shirt and a burgundy tie.

Unfortunately, the suit looked at least fifteen years out of date.

The shoulders were too broad, the sleeves a little too long, and the trouser legs bunched around his shoes. The dull color of his tie only added to the effect, making him look like a middle-aged office worker dressed for his company's annual awards ceremony.

The moment Richard saw Tate, he broke into a smile.

“Well?”

He spread his arms.

“Formal enough?”

Tate looked at him.

Richard had obviously taken great care with his hair, too. He had even used a little gel.

But his thick bangs had been combed down so neatly that they only made his face appear thinner.

A dull ache stirred in Tate's chest.

He suddenly remembered the night of their high school prom.

Richard had stood before him in much the same way, nervously asking whether his tie was straight.

Back then, Richard had been young and cautious, yet there had always been something about the earnestness with which he approached everything that made him impossible to overlook.

All these years later, he was still the same.

Only now did Tate realize that he had never truly forgotten that earnestness.

“Very formal,” he said.

Richard visibly relaxed.

“Good. It's been years since I've been to anything like this.”

Tate hesitated.

“Actually, I only just found out the party's on a yacht tonight. I think we're both going to be a little overdressed.”

Richard glanced down at his suit.

Tate smiled.

“Come on, get in the car. I've got plenty of spare clothes in there. We can both change into something more comfortable before we get there.”

Richard blinked.

“But... I don't know if anything would fit me.”

“I've got all sorts of sizes. Don't worry.”

Tate could see that Richard was hesitating, apparently struggling with something he didn't quite know how to say.

“Just think of it as another favor. I'll probably be expected to drink quite a bit tonight. You can help me keep an eye on my things. It'd be a real headache if I lost anything.”

He smiled.

“Besides, I don't want my boyfriend passing out from the heat on the boat.”

Richard froze.

For a moment, a complicated expression crossed his face. He looked as though he wanted to laugh, yet the words seemed to have touched something unexpectedly tender.

Then he lowered his head with a smile.

“You'd better not keep calling me that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I might forget we're only pretending.”

Tate's smile faltered slightly.

He should have teased him in return.

But when he saw the faint blush spreading across Richard's ears, he suddenly couldn't think of a thing to say.

Richard had already turned toward the car.

“Come on, Mr. Parker.”

Tate followed him.

He didn't tell Richard that he was starting to forget they were only pretending.

Before starting the car, Tate placed a pile of neatly folded clothes, still in their laundry bags, on the back seat.

“I change clothes in the car all the time,” he remarked casually. “Sometimes I'm just in too much of a hurry.”

Richard looked at the pile beside him, caught somewhere between amusement and helpless bewilderment.

“Why do you have so many different sizes?”

“Some of my friends keep their clothes in here, too. Apparently, we've all found it pretty convenient.”

“Friends?”

Tate rummaged through the clothes and pulled out a shirt.

“This one looks your size. Why don't you try it?”

He casually laid it across Richard's lap.

Richard remained sitting stiffly in his seat.

He knew he had no reason to care, yet something seemed to press lightly against his chest.

“You've got plenty of other friends who'd be better suited for this kind of occasion. Why me?”

He regretted the question the moment it left his mouth.

It sounded as though he was prying into Tate's private life.

Worse, it sounded as though he cared.

Tate turned and looked at Richard seriously.

“Because I wanted you to come.”

Richard sat still.

Even Tate seemed a little surprised by how directly he'd said it.

For a moment, they simply looked at each other.

Then Tate was the first to look away.

“You may try this one, too.”

Tate found a light blue linen shirt and a pair of dark casual trousers.

“This must be expensive, right?”

Richard ran his fingers over the fabric.

“It's just a shirt.”

Richard gave a small smile.

Tate said nothing.

He went around to the driver's side and settled behind the wheel, preparing to leave.

“Wait until I've changed before you start driving,” Richard said. “Otherwise, it could be pretty dangerous.”

While Richard changed in the back seat, Tate remained in the front seat.

He couldn't resist stealing a few glances in the rearview mirror.

He's right, Tate thought. Driving right now would definitely be dangerous.

The shirt was slightly loose, but the shoulders fit surprisingly well. The soft fabric made Richard look far more relaxed than he had in his old suit, and the pale blue brought out the brightness of his eyes.

Looking at him, Tate was struck by how much younger he suddenly seemed.

For a moment, he found himself staring, unable to tear his eyes away.

Richard glanced down at himself.

“Well? How do I look?”

Tate didn't answer immediately.

“Good,” he said at last.

Richard smiled.

“You sure?”

“Positive.”

Tate got out of the car, walked around to the back seat, and leaned toward Richard to straighten his collar.

Suddenly, they were very close.

Richard caught the faint scent of woodsy cologne on Tate, and his fingers curled involuntarily.

Tate's hand lingered at his collar.

From this distance, he could see the fine lines at the corners of Richard's eyes, as well as the brief flicker of nervousness in them.

This wasn't something the act required.

At least, not entirely.

Tate suddenly wondered whether Richard would pull away if he moved just a little closer.

The thought had barely formed before he withdrew his hand.

“There.”

Richard lowered his head with a small smile.

“Looks like I'll have to work pretty hard tonight to play a boyfriend who's worthy of you.”

Tate looked at him.

“You don't have to try.”

Richard raised his eyes.

This time, he understood.

The air between them grew still.

Tate realized he'd said too much and was about to turn away when Richard suddenly spoke.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Do you have to try?”

Tate looked at him.

Richard's voice was quiet, but he didn't back down.

“To pretend you're in love with me.”

Tate's breath caught for a moment.

He could easily have brushed the question aside with a joke.

But Richard was sitting there in his clothes, looking at him with such earnestness that it was impossible to mistake the question for anything other than a request for a genuine answer.

“I don't have to pretend,” Tate said.

Something shifted in Richard's eyes.

Then Tate added, almost immediately,

“Not when it comes to liking you, anyway.”

Richard said nothing.

His ears slowly turned red.

Tate finally realized that what he'd just said had gone far beyond the boundaries of their little arrangement.

But he didn't take it back.

The yacht was moored at a private marina on Lake Michigan.

Night was just beginning to fall, and the white hull gleamed beneath the lights. Music and laughter drifted from the deck, where elegantly dressed guests stood in small groups, champagne glasses in hand.

As Richard stepped out of the car, he couldn't help adjusting his shirt.

The pale blue linen shirt belonged to Tate.

The soft fabric rested against his skin, carrying a faint, unfamiliar scent.

Suddenly, he found himself regretting his decision to accept the invitation.

“Nervous?”

Tate stood beside him.

“A little.”

Richard looked toward the yacht.

“The fanciest party I've ever been to be my company's annual dinner. They even raffled off a coffee machine that year.”

Tate laughed.

“Did you win it?”

“Nope. I won a set of dishes.”

“That's not bad.”

“Yeah. I'm still using them, actually.”

They both laughed.

Then Tate held out his hand.

Richard glanced at it.

“Starting already?”

“Starting here.”

Richard hesitated for a moment before finally placing his hand in Tate's.

Tate closed his fingers around it.

The hand was rougher than he remembered.

There were fine lines across the knuckles, and the palm was no longer as soft as it had been when they were young.

But Tate held it as naturally as though he'd done so a thousand times before.

Richard lowered his gaze to their joined hands.

And suddenly, he felt that perhaps tonight wouldn't be nearly as difficult as he'd imagined.