Love Most Inconvenient Page 5

  The people at WYRT were, for the most part, good people. There were a few jerks mixed in, but overall, it was a nice place to work.

  And of course all his gay male friends were jealous because he worked at the same station as Marco Delino. Marco Delino was an entire industry unto himself. He was New York’s foremost DJ, the host of Rock and Talk Radio. With his energy and personality, he had taken the station from twentieth in the ratings to the top ten. Not to mention his looks. Marco was twenty-eight years old, six feet four, with a body a god would envy. He had long black hair, big chocolate brown eyes, and a smile that did a number on anyone he chose to flash it at. There wasn’t anyone immune from that smile of his. All the musicians he interviewed liked him, and he was invited to private parties and given backstage passes that reporters for major rock magazines were sometimes denied. Marco knew rock inside and out. He had an instinct for what the fans wanted to hear and what they wanted to talk about. He’d also been instrumental in launching some popular groups, giving them air time. He was WYRT’s gold mine.

  All this, and the guy was actually a very nice man. He wasn’t full of himself at all. He was even friendly with the janitor, and took time out to host charity events. Paul liked him a lot, but they had a rather odd relationship. They often engaged in a kind of vulgar flirting and teasing banter, but in spite of the blatant sexual attraction between them, Paul was careful to keep Marco at arm’s length. And there was a perfectly good explanation for that, one he found himself having to explain over and over to his friends, who didn’t understand why in the hell he hadn’t slept with Marco Delino.

  He’d met Marco on the very first day he began his job at WYRT radio. He was nervous that day. Jack had been desperate for an assistant because the last one had just quit on him. He’d told Paul rather hastily that he had the job and then headed for the door. Before he left, he pointed to a pile of papers on the desk, saying, “I’ve got no time to hang around, kid. Check those accounts for me and put them in a filing system. We’ll do the paperwork for your contract later.”

  Paul hadn’t realized that Marco had been observing him from the little room in back where he was pouring coffee. When he came out and extended his hand with that smile of his, Paul almost fell on his ass. He’d seen pictures of him, of course, on billboards and in the papers, but here he was in the flesh, and the pictures didn’t do him justice at all. He was big, masculine, and very handsome, and that smile almost knocked him over backwards.

  “Don’t pay any attention to Jack,” Marco told him with a deep laugh, putting down his coffee cup. “He doesn’t mean to be an asshole, he was born that way.”

  Paul’s eyes widened. “No, I never thought he was an … asshole … I…”

  “Relax,” Marco told him. “You look like you’re about to have a major coronary. If you’re going to work here at this nuthouse, you’re going to have to know how to roll with the punches.”

  “I’m not … ah … sure”—Paul glanced at the files—“what he wants and I … well … I came for an interview. I didn’t expect to start working right now. I mean … I’m grateful and…”

  “Don’t worry,” Marco told him, grinning. He came around to the front of the desk and leaned over him. He smelled like wild musk and vanilla and oh, it was hard to concentrate on anything. “Okay, these are old accounts, dead, put them over here in a pile. These are possible renewals, see with the blue stamps, and these here are potential clients. They need to be seduced.”

  Paul laughed. Marco laughed with him. Paul would never forget what he’d done for him that day, how he’d calmed him down, helped him to make sense of it all. He found himself daydreaming about him all afternoon as he listened to his deep sexy voice announcing in the sound booth down the hall.

  A few days later, Paul had gone out for a drink with some of the others from the office, really beginning to feel at home. Marco came into the bar a half hour later. The place, called Sam’s, was a regular hangout for the gang at WYRT after work. It was there at Sam’s that Paul really began to talk to Marco. They had a drink and talked for over two hours about work and life. Paul was more than just a little thrilled to discover Marco was gay too. And, like himself, very open about it.

  So when Marco asked him to come back to his place for another drink, Paul didn’t hesitate. Now, when he thought back on that night two years ago, it was probably the happiest he’d ever been. But his euphoria was about to end abruptly.

  It had been a clear, starlit night. They had taken a leisurely walk back to Marco’s apartment building, talking and laughing. The walk had been filled with delicious sexual tension and anticipation. And then in the entrance to the building, Marco had unexpectedly bent his head down and kissed him. It wasn’t long or especially passionate, but that kiss had sent shivers of pleasure up his spine. In the elevator, Marco smiled at him. He was so damn beautiful. Paul thought maybe he’d died and gone to heaven.

  Then they stepped off the elevator.

  “Damn it,” Marco swore.

  Paul hadn’t realized what was happening until Marco ran down the hall towards his open apartment door, demanding angrily, “What in hell are you doing here in my apartment? You were supposed to have left your key with security.”

  Paul followed him hesitantly. All he wanted to know or didn’t want to know about Marco Delino as the potential love of his life was spelled out in the course of five minutes.

  The young man he met that night at Marco’s apartment turned out to be the one he’d just replaced at WYRT Radio. He was blond, blue-eyed, very handsome, and extremely distraught. His eyes were red from crying. After calling Marco every name in the book, he told him he hated him. Then carrying several photographs in his hand which he stated were “rightfully his” and “all he had left of his broken heart,” he pushed past Marco and paused for a second in front of Paul. “Ah, so I see,” he said, eyeing Paul with contempt. “You’re the little bastard who took my job. And as I can see, you’ve taken my place in bed too! Well, let me tell you, it’s heaven while it lasts, but eventually, he’ll rip out your heart and eat it for breakfast. But don’t worry, when it’s over, there are plenty others that you can go crying to. We’ve formed a club.”

  Paul stood there speechless, watching the young man race off down the hall. Marco gave him a tense smile. “Sorry about that.”

  “That was Shawn Freeman, wasn’t it? He’s the guy I replaced?” Paul croaked.

  “That’s him.” Marco frowned.

  “You were … he was living here?”

  “No. He wasn’t. He had a key.” Marco walked into the apartment.

  Paul stood hesitantly at the door. “You were the reason he quit his job?”

  Marco sighed. “Paul, forget it. It’s over with. It didn’t work out between us. He was just being overdramatic.”

  “It looks like he’s in love with you,” Paul murmured. “The guy was destroyed. He was crying.”

  “Like I said, he always had a flair for the dramatic.” Marco paused, then met his eyes. “Are we going to talk about Shawn all night or are we going to have that drink?”

  He wanted to stay. There was no question of that. But he couldn’t shake the image of Shawn standing there, his eyes red from crying, and suddenly he had an image of himself doing the same thing.

  He walked into Marco’s apartment that night, and had the drink because he really needed it, but he couldn’t get the image of Shawn sobbing out of his mind. When Marco moved closer to him and bent over to kiss him again, he jumped up off the sofa as if his butt were suddenly on fire. To this very day, there was a part of him that deeply regretted doing that, but he was sure he’d done the right thing. Marco Delino was the type of guy that should have had a neon sign tattooed on his forehead reading, “Warning: lethal to the heart.” He was a great guy, but he would have made a lousy boyfriend. It was obvious that he liked to play the field too much and fidelity was a foreign word to him. Relationships were not a serious thing to Marco. So Paul had told him that ni
ght, “I’m sorry, Marco. Let’s just be friends, okay? I don’t think I’d survive you.”

  Amazingly enough, Marco had leaned back against the sofa and laughed softly. He didn’t appear to be upset. He stood up. “Okay,” he said, “if that’s what you want. Come on, I’ll walk you home.”

  After that night, their relationship evolved into a comfortable teasing banter that was fun, but designed to go nowhere.

  It was this story he told his friends, who usually replied that he’d been an idiot. “There was nothing to prevent you from making it with him,” Tony, his best friend, chastised him often. “I would have jumped him, who in hell cared about that Shawn guy. Maybe he was a loser.”

  Paul shook his head. “You don’t understand. My heart, Tony, is what prevented me from jumping into bed with him. One night in bed with Marco Delino, and you’d be hooked like an addict. And it would make for an uncomfortable situation at work when he dumped me. Look what happened with Shawn. He quit his job without notice. I like my job. I want to hold on to it. Marco is a heartbreaker. It’s best to steer clear sexually. You’d be on cloud nine with him for awhile and then he’d throw you over for someone else and you’d be in despair.”

  “Except that when you were on that cloud, you’d be having triple orgasms,” Tony would tease, which Paul would reply by drawling, “Well, you got me there.”

  “And how do you know,” Tony had mused, “that you wouldn’t have lasted? Maybe you would have been the love of his life.”

  That often gave Paul pause. What if he had taken the risk and it had worked out between them? Damn, sometimes when he looked at Marco, he wondered if it wouldn’t have been worth the risk.

  He decided it was better not to speculate on what could have been. So for the last two years, that was how it stood between them. They were friends who flirted harmlessly on occasion and that was cool. Meanwhile, he dated different guys and kept his eye peeled for someone who wanted something more than just a night of passion, a good-looking man who liked to walk on the beach, take moonlight drives, and hold hands in bed. He was beginning to consider one of those dating services when boom, there he was, the man of his dreams.

  His name was Phillip Carter. He was thirty years old, had sandy blond hair, green eyes, and a nice smile. He came walking into WYRT Radio one day, asking to see Paul’s boss.

  “The boss is out but I’m Paul, his assistant. Is this concerning an account?” Paul asked, standing up.

  He smiled at him. “No. I’ve just been transferred here from your sister radio station in Chicago. Since your department has been doing so well with collecting new accounts, they thought it would be good to expand outside New York. I’m the new guy for external accounts. Didn’t someone tell you?”

  Paul laughed. “Probably, but it’s a busy time right now what with Christmas around the corner. I probably wrote it down somewhere. Sorry. Anyway, welcome. I’m pleased to meet you. I’m Paul Conners.”

  They shook hands. Paul liked him immediately. When the boss came back, Phillip was introduced around and given a desk. Paul was glad to have him on board. Not only was he pleasant to look at, he would take a lot of the pressure off him in terms of paperwork.

  When Marco came in on his way to the sound booth, Paul waved at him. Marco walked over, brushing snowflakes off his dark head. He wore a long black leather coat over jeans and a white cable-knit sweater. Paul still held his breath sometimes when he saw him walk towards him. He was stunning.

  He was smiling too. “Hey there, brat! Whatcha want?”

  “Meet Phil. Phil, this is—”

  “Now here’s a guy that needs no introduction.” Phil stood, holding out his hand. “Hi, Marco.”

  Marco narrowed his eyes. “Do I know you?” He shook his hand briefly.

  “Well, not personally, I was working at WHRT in Chicago and now I’m the new external accounts man here. You’ve done phenomenal things for this station, Marco.”

  He smiled faintly. “Thanks … well … welcome to the zoo.”

  With that, he turned around and disappeared down the hall.

  “God, he’s really … ah…” Phil paused, waving his hand in front of his face.

  Paul grinned at him. “Tall?” he suggested.

  They both laughed, knowing that wasn’t what Phil meant at all.

  That night they went to dinner and Paul talked about Marco a bit. Paul warned him not to get involved with Marco and recounted his experience two years back.

  “No worries,” he said, meeting his eyes. “Marco Delino is drop-dead gorgeous but it’s not him I’m interested in.”

  Paul swallowed. When Phil reached over and squeezed his hand across the table, his heart did a little flip-flop. From there, the romance took off. They tried to keep a low profile in the office, but it was difficult. Marco began teasing him about Phil very discreetly, to which Paul would just grin and say, “I don’t kiss and tell.”

  “From my recollections,” Marco mused one evening, emerging from the sound booth, sipping the last of his cold coffee, “you don’t kiss at all.”

  Paul made a face, cleaning up the last minute paperwork as Marco went to get his coat. “That’s not true.” Paul held up his finger, “I do kiss, I just don’t kiss you.”

  “Ah, I see,” Marco said with a laugh. “Nasty, and heartless, may I add.” Then he sobered. “You still interested in moving out of that apartment of yours, Paul?”

  “Yeah, it’s way too small.” Paul met his eyes and reached in the drawer of his desk for his car keys.

  “Well, I need a roommate. My place is huge. The rent is reasonable but I’m finding it too big for just one person. If you’re interested, why not consider sharing it with me? I’m never home anyway.”

  Paul’s eyes widened. “Marco! Are you kidding? You’d be the last man on earth I’d ever share an apartment with.”

  Marco raised an eyebrow. “Why? Scared?”

  Paul flushed. “Why would I be?”

  “I have no idea. I wasn’t suggesting anything other than a purely financial arrangement. It’s just that you’re always complaining about your apartment and I…”

  Paul blushed. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. That was really a nice offer, but”—he lowered his voice—“Phil and I are looking for a house.” He laughed a little. “I feel giddy. I gave my notice already on my apartment, and well … it’s all moving so fast.”

  “I see. I didn’t know you and Phil had gotten so serious.”

  “Don’t say anything around the office because…”

  Marco shook his head. “No worries. Well, I’ll put up an announcement on the bulletin board. Hope you and Phil find something you like.” He shrugged into his coat, raised a hand, and said, “See you later then.”

  “Night. Have a nice weekend,” Paul called after him. He couldn’t wait to meet Phil so that they could go house hunting.

  They found the perfect house. Paul was just waiting for Phil to call the broker to give them the go-ahead. But lately Phil had been making himself scarce. He was always out on “business” and he never gave Paul a straight answer about the house. The broker had called him three times expecting an answer. They were going to lose the house if they didn’t move on it.

  Finally, over dinner one night, Phil told him something that just about knocked him over. “About the house, Paul, I think we should each keep our own places for now because—”

  “What?” Paul gasped. “Phil, I gave my notice. I have to be out of my apartment, like yesterday.”

  “I didn’t tell you before, Paul, but I’m married. Now, before you freak out on me, we’re getting a divorce. I haven’t told her yet, but—”

  “Married?” Paul was stunned.

  Needless to say, the evening was a bust. Paul left Phil at the restaurant and walked the streets, crying. Somehow he ended up at Marco’s apartment building. It was past midnight. He rang the bell several times. Finally he heard a deep, sleepy voice say, “Yeah?”

  “It’s Paul.” He sniffed
. “I know it’s late, but can I come up?”

  “Paul? Ah … sure. I’ll ring you in.”

  He knew his face was streaked with tears when Marco answered the door. He stood there, shivering. Marco’s eyes widened. He pulled Paul inside and shut the door.

  “What…?” Marco began, inspecting him. “I thought you and Phil would be…”

  Paul broke down and threw his arms around Marco, who patted his back indulgently. “Hey … hey…” Marco said, pulling his robe around him and leading Paul over to the sofa. He handed him some tissues. “What’s all this?”

  “Everything’s a mess, Marco,” Paul said, blowing his nose. “Phil is married, I have no home, and…” He started crying again.

  “Married?” Marco echoed. “That son of a bitch; I knew there was something.”

  “He’s getting a divorce, but we’ve lost the house and I don’t know what to do … where to go and…”

  “You’ll move in here, at least temporarily until you can find something, all right?” Marco said sternly, meeting his gaze.

  Paul nodded. What else could he do?

  And that’s how he came to be Marco Delino’s roommate.

  Chapter Two

  It was uncomfortable at work. He was still in love with Phil. Phil was trying to get him alone to talk to him, but Paul did his best to avoid him. He’d been living with Marco now for over a month, and except for the occasional strange man he would sometimes bump into in the bathroom in the middle of the night, the arrangement was perfect. Marco often went somewhere on his weekends off so Paul had the entire place to himself. The apartment was huge and he had a great big bedroom. There was a big-screen television in the living room with a DVD player, VCR, and stereo speakers. It was great. And of course, his best friend Tony hadn’t stopped bothering him to come over so that he could meet Marco.