Innocent Deception
Previous: ||Chapter 1|| || Chapter 2||
Chapter 3
“It’s late.” Yuya and Massu were startled by YamaPi’s words. If given a test, they would not have been able to give the right answer, being so engrossed with their thoughts of each other. Too busy with each other that they weren’t able to follow the flow of the conversation, wherein YamaPi and Koyama had spent considerable effort debating who was going to paint the bathroom ceiling and which of them is better qualified to polish the mirrored walls.
“How late?” Yuya asked. He felt like they had only been in the restaurant for a short while.
“Late enough that we won’t get a very early start tomorrow and at the rate Koyama works, we will need all hands on deck.”
“Time means nothing to an artist, you know.” Koyama said grinning.
“Yes, I do, but you’re not an artist. You’re an all around assistant, more like a jack-of-all-trade. Yuya IS the artist.” YamaPi pointed out.
“Then why does he hide his work in the laundry room?” Koyama asked.
“I have more taste than to display my work where everyone can see it.” Yuya said, butting in the conversation. “My ego doesn’t need a boost.” he added with a pout.
YamaPi snorted and finished his wine, avoiding Yuya’s threatening gaze. Koyama however didn’t take the hint. “Well, he’s just the right size for the bathroom ceiling,” he said. “As long as we give him only one color to work with, I can’t see where he can go wrong.”
“I can paint circles around the two of you so watch your mouth.” Yuya warned with mock seriousness, it’s time for another word battle.
“Circles you can probably do,” YamaPi drawled with amusement. “Anyone can follow a stencil.”
“Then it’s too bad we don’t have any stencils for the ceiling.” Yuya replied with an impish grin. “I’m obviously not qualified for higher achievements.”
“I think he won that round YamaPi.” Koyama conceded. “I’ll flip you for dinner. Loser gets to paint the ceiling.”
“Dinner’s on me.” Masuda said, intrigued by their references to Yuya’s artistic abilities. Yuya took their comments in stride, but judging from the mischievous glint in his eyes, Masuda guessed he plans to get even.
“Thank you,” Yuya smiled beamingly at him. “I’ll look to forward to coming back here when you get things straightened out.”
Koyama and YamaPi added their thanks and Koyama muttered something like lots of luck.
Masuda got up when they did, and pulled Yuya’s chair and lingered behind him, stalling for a moment alone with him. He didn’t want much -- he just wanted a few words, a chance to see him again -- the opportunity to discover the taste of his lips.
Yuya hesitated beside his chair, letting Koyama and YamaPi walk out of the dining room ahead of him. He could feel Masuda behind him, slowly, he turned, lifted his face up until he could see him. Masuda didn’t speak but his eyes gave him away.
“Shall I send you a notice for the opening?” he asked softly.
“When?” Masuda asked back huskily, knowing he couldn’t wait long.
“After two days.” Yuya replied and he told him where, in case the invitation he would send didn’t arrive in time.
Two days, Masuda thought. That’s too long. He couldn’t wait another two days to see Yuya again. He wouldn’t. It’s an eternity. There had to be something he can do. “Your name?”
“Tegoshi. I’m in the book,” Yuya said as he started out the dining room. Masuda followed him. In the foyer, YamaPi and Koyama were pretending to look at various tourist brochures and matchbook covers.
“One more question.” Masuda said, stopping Yuya in his tracks. He had his name, almost had his address. Tomorrow he would have more. “What are you opening?”
Yuya grinned. “Now, that’s a good question.” But he just continued grinning and didn’t answer Masuda’s question.
“It’s a gallery,” YamaPi said, clearly having eavesdropped on the last part of their conversation, “An art gallery.”
“I thought you couldn’t paint,” Masuda said, wondering if he had misunderstood the banter about his painting ability.
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Yuya said. “But even I know better than to sell my own work. I leave it at home.”
“Where it belongs,” YamaPi said, grinning Yuya’s warning glare.
“Anyway,” Yuya turned to Masuda, “One doesn’t have to produce salable art to know what is good. And just because some people don’t like my paintings, it doesn’t mean that I can’t paint,”
“Nobody likes your paintings.” YamaPi said, leading the way out the door, with Masuda lighting the way outside with the flashlight he got from under the reception desk
“And you will be walking home if you’re not careful,” Yuya drawled and started walking, finding himself in between Koyama and Masuda in their procession to his car. Having two chaperones is becoming cumbersome, and he’s seriously thinking of getting rid of them.
YamaPi and Koyama slid inside the car and sat quietly, as though pretending they weren’t there, which just made it worse, Yuya thought, as it just underscores the fact that he wasn’t alone with Masuda. He looked up into his shadowed face, shrugged uncomfortably and got into the car. He said goodbye just before he closed the door. He thought he heard him say something but he didn’t catch the words. He slipped on his glasses, threw Masuda one last glance goodbye and drove the Jaguar away.
Masuda watched until the taillights of his car disappeared down the street and walked towards his own car, glad of two things. One, he had his name. Two, he had his pants, or jeans.
+++++++++++++++++++
Yuya stood in the bathroom doorway and watched as Koyama slapped a final coat of paint on the ceiling. “I still think dark blue would have been a unique touch there. White seems so ordinary.” He eyed the ceiling quizzically.
“Dark blue is claustrophobic, particularly on the ceiling of a small room,” Koyama countered. “You should know better, being an artist and all.” Finishing the job, he climbed down the ladder.
“I guess I don’t know much about decorating,” he shrugged, handing him a cup of coffee.
“But your house is bright and airy - there’s single blue ceiling in the place.” Koyama said.
“That’s YamaPi’s idea. He says I couldn’t paint a cave even if all I had to work with are dinosaur bones.”
“Between that and your painting -------------“
“Enough with the artist jokes,” he begged with a pout.
“No one who considered stripping in a restaurant should be ruffled by that.” Koyama said flatly.
Yuya granted him that point. Slouching down on a tarp covered sofa, he toyed with his nearly empty cup of coffee. “When did you see my work anyway? I never brought them to the shop.”
“Of course you won’t. You have more business sense than that.” Koyama replied, sitting down on the sofa beside Yuya. “YamaPi showed me a couple of your pictures when I had dinner at the boat.”
Yuya pouted even more. “Paintings, Koyama. They’re called paintings, not pictures. Speaking of which, I need to start opening those crates and get something up in the walls.” He got up from his position and headed towards the crates around the corner.
“I thought you were going to clean the mirrors before I got back.” YamaPi said as he entered the gallery.
“Did you deliver it?” Yuya asked as he turned around to face him.
“Delivered what?” YamaPi asked, amusement underlying his tone
“The invitation!” Yuya snapped, well aware that YamaPi knew what he was talking about. “Did you see him?”
“Him” being Masuda Takahisa. Yuya hardly slept at all the previous night, remembering with embarrassment the clarity of his outrageous behavior at the restaurant. He wondered what Masuda must have thought of him and his impulses the previous night -- and whether he’d see him again.
“He wasn’t there.” YamaPi said, walking over to the desk and made a note in the book that lay there. “I left it with the chef.”
“Now that’s a misnomer if I ever heard one.” Koyama said in exasperation. “I sure hate to see a nice guy lose his business because of an incompetent employee.”
“And you could do better, I suppose?” YamaPi said, pulling a chair and sat facing them.
“Yes, I could.” Koyama said. “It’s what I used to do. I used to be a chef sometime ago.” He explained at their questioning expressions.
“How long ago?” Yuya asked, fascinated by this revelation. Koyama’s a very good cook, but in the 2 years that they had known each other, he had never heard him mention about being a chef once.
“Three years ago.” Koyama replied softly.
“So, why did you quit?” Yuya asked, digging in.
Koyama looked at him for a brief moment, debating with himself and shrugged. Deciding its time to tell his story, he started “I used to work as a chef at a local hotel in my hometown, but my ex-husband didn’t want me working as a cook, as he termed it. He said there’s no money in that direction. We used to argue a lot about it. So, one day I finally gave in and quit my job. He was working at my father’s company and my father took me in as his assistant. At first I was happy working with him but I missed my old job so I took a leave of absence and went back to the hotel to see if I could get my job back. But then I found out that going back there wasn’t a good idea after all.” He took a deep breath and frowned over what probably were unpleasant memories.
“”Why? How can wanting to do what you love suddenly become a bad idea?” Yuya prompted.
“Well, when I came to see the manager, who happened to be an old friend, I found her and my husband making out. So I just took one look at them and went straight home and waited for him to come home. He did, after a week, and by that time I had already given up on our marriage so I threw him out and filed for a divorce.” Koyama explained.
“You’re divorced?” YamaPi asked.
Koyama nodded, toying with his coffee cup.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t go back to, well, cooking?” Yuya asked lamely. He didn’t know how else to put it.
“Chef,” Koyama corrected absently and continued. It took me months to straighten my life again, and by the time I’ve moved on, I was already working as your assistant.
An idea popped in the obscure corner Yuya’s mind - the part of his mind where he occasionally hatches schemes and sometimes, mischief, showing no signs of it to Koyama and YamaPi. Silently, he started planning . . . plans to corner Koyama. And Masuda.
“I thought you’d like to have this back,” drawled a husky voice from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. “You did say it’s your favorite.”
Yuya jerked up from his position as he took in Masuda’s abrupt presence. Automatically - and desperately - he glanced at the nearby mirror and quickly checked his reflection and wished that he hadn’t. His hair looked in total disarray, and he had forgotten about the ribbon that he had put on earlier that morning to prevent his curls from getting in his eyes while he was working. He gulped. Whatever would Masuda think of him? He had again caught him off guard, and again at an embarrassing moment. He grimaced. Masuda seeing him acting high and mighty with mud on his jeans was bad enough.
What on earth is he doing here? Nerves still jittery from his sudden appearance, Yuya turned slowly to face him, avoiding eye contact and silently wishing he had not gotten out of bed that morning. His gaze caught the pair of jeans Masuda was handing out to him. It’s his, the one he left with him at the restaurant the previous night.
He smiled shakily and took the jeans off Masuda’s hands. “Thank you. I’m surprised. I had thought it was beyond repair,” he said, his voice unsure, reflecting the turmoil he’s feeling within. Seeing Masuda again hit him hard. One look at him sent his heart racing along a course he had not taken in years, and certainly not that fast. His world started spinning backward like it did the first time.
Masuda smiled. “I bribed the laundry shop down the street.” He said, greeting Koyama and YamaPi and shook their hands.
When Masuda turned back to him, Yuya told himself he was ready. He took a deep breath, failed, and tried again, this time with more control. “You didn’t have to come all this way to return it. YamaPi could have just come over and pick it up,’ he said and smiled beamingly.
“I thought you might need it for the opening.” Masuda explained, his eyes sparkling with humor.
To give them privacy, Koyama started dragging YamaPi to the back of the gallery.
“I hope you won’t be disappointed if I turn up in something a little more refined and decent.” Yuya said softly.
“It wouldn’t matter what you wear. You’ll look good in it, I’m sure,” Masuda said huskily, his gaze drifted over Yuya’s coverall and overlarge work shirt. “But somehow, refined isn’t the first thing that occurs to me when I look at you,” he murmured.
Yuya blushed, recognizing his reference to the striptease. Yes, refined was probably something expecting a lot from Masuda’s imagination. “I suppose demure and discreet would be stretching the credibility a bit far too,” he said, a little breathless at the intensity of his gaze. Masuda has always had the ability to make his heart falter with a look.
“Other words actually comes to my mind whenever I look at you,” Masuda said, inching closer, touching Yuya with his eyes. “Words like, reckless - impetuous - and sexy,” he drawled softly, staring at the frantically beating pulse at the base of Yuya’s throat.
“You’re not going to let me forget last night, are you?” Yuya asked, running the tip of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips.
“Hmmm, probably not,” Masuda’s sudden grin broke the highly charged atmosphere. “And I doubt if I’ll ever forget a single thing about you, Yuya.”
Yuya swallowed and hurriedly changed the subject before he said anything impulsive. The temptation to say - You’re the most wonderfully fascinating man I’ve ever met and I really need to get to know you burned on his tongue, but caution won over, so instead, he said, “How much do I owe for the laundry?”
“The man at the laundry shop took a lot of bribing. How about having dinner with me tonight as payback?” Masuda replied.
“At your restaurant?” he asked before he could stop the words, he waited for what seemed like hours, though it was just a few seconds. He didn’t mean to make it sound bad. Thinking too much of his sudden reply, he did not notice Masuda’s sigh of relief.
Masuda was glad Yuya didn’t say no to his invitation. He dismissed the remark about his restaurant and shook his head. With a smile he said, “No, not the restaurant. How about we check out the new seafood place on the wharf?”
“That’s right down the street from our boat,” Yuya said, delighted at his suggestion. He never thought his plan would come together so soon. All it would take now was a single phone call to cancel the reservation and a bit of convincing that Koyama really wanted to go back to cooking. He hoped Koyama would not be too difficult to persuade, after all, it was for his own good.
“Our boat?” Masuda repeated.
Yuya smiled at him. He was too engrossed with his plan that he barely noticed the narrowing of the eyes and the sudden withdrawal in Masuda’s voice. “YamaPi and I have a houseboat a few blocks from the wharf.”
“You live with YamaPi?” Masuda’s brows drew together as he tried to absorb this piece of information. It didn’t make sense. Yuya stated last night that he and YamaPi are not lovers. So why are they living together?
“That bothers you?” Yuya wished he could take back the part about living with YamaPi. He just couldn’t explain it now. Besides, it’s not as though he would tell Masuda the truth.
“It bothers me a little,” Masuda said roughly. It bothered him a lot. He wondered why he didn’t just walk away from it all. The last thing he needs is complication in his life. Getting involved with a man living with another man was simply not on the list of things he wanted to do. So why didn’t he just leave?
Frowning at him, Yuya tried to explain. “Let’s just say, that YamaPi doesn’t interfere with my private life,” Yuya said. At least, not in the way you’re thinking, he added silently.
“And that explains things?” Masuda asked. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. His nerves were on edge. And he didn’t’ want Yuya to know how close his emotions had been into getting out of control.
Tell him a fib, Yuya decided, not because he wanted to but it would put a stop to all the questions he can’t answer. “He’s my brother.”
“Brother?”
“Half brother, technically,” he hoped he sounded more positive than he felt. “Same father, different mothers.”
For several seconds, Masuda stared hard at him, dragging his gaze over the contours of his face, searching for any sign of deceit. There weren’t any, he realized and he wondered how he knew he was lying. He could tell the part about being brothers was sheer fiction. He could feel it and yet he believed him about YamaPi not being his lover. Instinct, he told himself, and a lot of wishful thinking on his part. He hoped he was right.
“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked quietly, clasping his fingers around Yuya’s arms gently, so that he understood he wasn’t angry, just curious.
“Give up.” Yuya smiled weakly, trying to steady his breath.
Masuda smiled just a little, uncurling his fingers to stroke his palms up and down Yuya’s arms, wishing his shirt were short sleeved instead of long, imagining how his smooth skin would feel. Okay, for now, I’ll leave it alone,” he murmured. “But keep in mind, I don’t share what’s mine.”
Yuya frowned as he realizes the cover up story he and YamaPi had used for a long time wasn’t worth a damn anymore. It mattered because he hated lying to Masuda even if there was a good reason for it. For the moment though, it was enough that he believed there’s nothing between him and YamaPi, intimate or otherwise.
“In any case, I don’t think the question of sharing is appropriate. We’re only going out to dinner,” he said, trying to back up a few steps so he could catch his breath.
“Are we?” Masuda asked and gazed at his eyes, not allowing the retreat Yuya was seeking. There is much more between them than a simple dinner date, and he needed Yuya to admit it.
“I mean, I hardly know you,” Yuya managed to whisper, spellbound by Masuda’s gaze.
“We’re going to change that,” Masuda said, then abruptly released his hold on Yuya’s arm. They have company.
YamaPi had finally eluded Koyama’s grasp and is sauntering back to action into the room. “Koyama found a mess under the sink,” he said, grinning broadly as he inserted himself between Yuya and Masuda. “He’s found the leak but needs you to stick your finger in a pipe so we can fix it.”
“Why don’t you put your finger on it?” Yuya asked. Trust YamaPi to interrupt. It seemed like he’s always in the way lately, he thought, and he wondered how to divert his attention.
“Too big,” he fanned all ten fingers in front of Yuya’s nose. “It’s a little pipe, Yuya, and Koyama’s waiting.”
“I don’t think I want to watch this.” Masuda drawled, they’re back at they’re game again, he thought. “I’ll pick you up at seven thirty?”
“Seven-thirty,” Yuya said automatically. Managing not to meet Masuda’s eyes, because he didn’t want him to see the frustration he’s feeling at the moment. Never mind, he thought, he would have tonight with him. And there are lots to be done before then, the least of which would be the pipe and his finger.
“Give him the address YamaPi,” he said and walked away, mentally calculating how to make YamaPi pay back. It would be sweet to see him sweat a little.
-------------------------------------------------------------
YamaPi’s love interest that I mentioned in the previous chap would be Yuya’s way to divert his attention a little - he will be introduced next chap.
Chapter 3
“It’s late.” Yuya and Massu were startled by YamaPi’s words. If given a test, they would not have been able to give the right answer, being so engrossed with their thoughts of each other. Too busy with each other that they weren’t able to follow the flow of the conversation, wherein YamaPi and Koyama had spent considerable effort debating who was going to paint the bathroom ceiling and which of them is better qualified to polish the mirrored walls.
“How late?” Yuya asked. He felt like they had only been in the restaurant for a short while.
“Late enough that we won’t get a very early start tomorrow and at the rate Koyama works, we will need all hands on deck.”
“Time means nothing to an artist, you know.” Koyama said grinning.
“Yes, I do, but you’re not an artist. You’re an all around assistant, more like a jack-of-all-trade. Yuya IS the artist.” YamaPi pointed out.
“Then why does he hide his work in the laundry room?” Koyama asked.
“I have more taste than to display my work where everyone can see it.” Yuya said, butting in the conversation. “My ego doesn’t need a boost.” he added with a pout.
YamaPi snorted and finished his wine, avoiding Yuya’s threatening gaze. Koyama however didn’t take the hint. “Well, he’s just the right size for the bathroom ceiling,” he said. “As long as we give him only one color to work with, I can’t see where he can go wrong.”
“I can paint circles around the two of you so watch your mouth.” Yuya warned with mock seriousness, it’s time for another word battle.
“Circles you can probably do,” YamaPi drawled with amusement. “Anyone can follow a stencil.”
“Then it’s too bad we don’t have any stencils for the ceiling.” Yuya replied with an impish grin. “I’m obviously not qualified for higher achievements.”
“I think he won that round YamaPi.” Koyama conceded. “I’ll flip you for dinner. Loser gets to paint the ceiling.”
“Dinner’s on me.” Masuda said, intrigued by their references to Yuya’s artistic abilities. Yuya took their comments in stride, but judging from the mischievous glint in his eyes, Masuda guessed he plans to get even.
“Thank you,” Yuya smiled beamingly at him. “I’ll look to forward to coming back here when you get things straightened out.”
Koyama and YamaPi added their thanks and Koyama muttered something like lots of luck.
Masuda got up when they did, and pulled Yuya’s chair and lingered behind him, stalling for a moment alone with him. He didn’t want much -- he just wanted a few words, a chance to see him again -- the opportunity to discover the taste of his lips.
Yuya hesitated beside his chair, letting Koyama and YamaPi walk out of the dining room ahead of him. He could feel Masuda behind him, slowly, he turned, lifted his face up until he could see him. Masuda didn’t speak but his eyes gave him away.
“Shall I send you a notice for the opening?” he asked softly.
“When?” Masuda asked back huskily, knowing he couldn’t wait long.
“After two days.” Yuya replied and he told him where, in case the invitation he would send didn’t arrive in time.
Two days, Masuda thought. That’s too long. He couldn’t wait another two days to see Yuya again. He wouldn’t. It’s an eternity. There had to be something he can do. “Your name?”
“Tegoshi. I’m in the book,” Yuya said as he started out the dining room. Masuda followed him. In the foyer, YamaPi and Koyama were pretending to look at various tourist brochures and matchbook covers.
“One more question.” Masuda said, stopping Yuya in his tracks. He had his name, almost had his address. Tomorrow he would have more. “What are you opening?”
Yuya grinned. “Now, that’s a good question.” But he just continued grinning and didn’t answer Masuda’s question.
“It’s a gallery,” YamaPi said, clearly having eavesdropped on the last part of their conversation, “An art gallery.”
“I thought you couldn’t paint,” Masuda said, wondering if he had misunderstood the banter about his painting ability.
“That’s a matter of opinion.” Yuya said. “But even I know better than to sell my own work. I leave it at home.”
“Where it belongs,” YamaPi said, grinning Yuya’s warning glare.
“Anyway,” Yuya turned to Masuda, “One doesn’t have to produce salable art to know what is good. And just because some people don’t like my paintings, it doesn’t mean that I can’t paint,”
“Nobody likes your paintings.” YamaPi said, leading the way out the door, with Masuda lighting the way outside with the flashlight he got from under the reception desk
“And you will be walking home if you’re not careful,” Yuya drawled and started walking, finding himself in between Koyama and Masuda in their procession to his car. Having two chaperones is becoming cumbersome, and he’s seriously thinking of getting rid of them.
YamaPi and Koyama slid inside the car and sat quietly, as though pretending they weren’t there, which just made it worse, Yuya thought, as it just underscores the fact that he wasn’t alone with Masuda. He looked up into his shadowed face, shrugged uncomfortably and got into the car. He said goodbye just before he closed the door. He thought he heard him say something but he didn’t catch the words. He slipped on his glasses, threw Masuda one last glance goodbye and drove the Jaguar away.
Masuda watched until the taillights of his car disappeared down the street and walked towards his own car, glad of two things. One, he had his name. Two, he had his pants, or jeans.
+++++++++++++++++++
Yuya stood in the bathroom doorway and watched as Koyama slapped a final coat of paint on the ceiling. “I still think dark blue would have been a unique touch there. White seems so ordinary.” He eyed the ceiling quizzically.
“Dark blue is claustrophobic, particularly on the ceiling of a small room,” Koyama countered. “You should know better, being an artist and all.” Finishing the job, he climbed down the ladder.
“I guess I don’t know much about decorating,” he shrugged, handing him a cup of coffee.
“But your house is bright and airy - there’s single blue ceiling in the place.” Koyama said.
“That’s YamaPi’s idea. He says I couldn’t paint a cave even if all I had to work with are dinosaur bones.”
“Between that and your painting -------------“
“Enough with the artist jokes,” he begged with a pout.
“No one who considered stripping in a restaurant should be ruffled by that.” Koyama said flatly.
Yuya granted him that point. Slouching down on a tarp covered sofa, he toyed with his nearly empty cup of coffee. “When did you see my work anyway? I never brought them to the shop.”
“Of course you won’t. You have more business sense than that.” Koyama replied, sitting down on the sofa beside Yuya. “YamaPi showed me a couple of your pictures when I had dinner at the boat.”
Yuya pouted even more. “Paintings, Koyama. They’re called paintings, not pictures. Speaking of which, I need to start opening those crates and get something up in the walls.” He got up from his position and headed towards the crates around the corner.
“I thought you were going to clean the mirrors before I got back.” YamaPi said as he entered the gallery.
“Did you deliver it?” Yuya asked as he turned around to face him.
“Delivered what?” YamaPi asked, amusement underlying his tone
“The invitation!” Yuya snapped, well aware that YamaPi knew what he was talking about. “Did you see him?”
“Him” being Masuda Takahisa. Yuya hardly slept at all the previous night, remembering with embarrassment the clarity of his outrageous behavior at the restaurant. He wondered what Masuda must have thought of him and his impulses the previous night -- and whether he’d see him again.
“He wasn’t there.” YamaPi said, walking over to the desk and made a note in the book that lay there. “I left it with the chef.”
“Now that’s a misnomer if I ever heard one.” Koyama said in exasperation. “I sure hate to see a nice guy lose his business because of an incompetent employee.”
“And you could do better, I suppose?” YamaPi said, pulling a chair and sat facing them.
“Yes, I could.” Koyama said. “It’s what I used to do. I used to be a chef sometime ago.” He explained at their questioning expressions.
“How long ago?” Yuya asked, fascinated by this revelation. Koyama’s a very good cook, but in the 2 years that they had known each other, he had never heard him mention about being a chef once.
“Three years ago.” Koyama replied softly.
“So, why did you quit?” Yuya asked, digging in.
Koyama looked at him for a brief moment, debating with himself and shrugged. Deciding its time to tell his story, he started “I used to work as a chef at a local hotel in my hometown, but my ex-husband didn’t want me working as a cook, as he termed it. He said there’s no money in that direction. We used to argue a lot about it. So, one day I finally gave in and quit my job. He was working at my father’s company and my father took me in as his assistant. At first I was happy working with him but I missed my old job so I took a leave of absence and went back to the hotel to see if I could get my job back. But then I found out that going back there wasn’t a good idea after all.” He took a deep breath and frowned over what probably were unpleasant memories.
“”Why? How can wanting to do what you love suddenly become a bad idea?” Yuya prompted.
“Well, when I came to see the manager, who happened to be an old friend, I found her and my husband making out. So I just took one look at them and went straight home and waited for him to come home. He did, after a week, and by that time I had already given up on our marriage so I threw him out and filed for a divorce.” Koyama explained.
“You’re divorced?” YamaPi asked.
Koyama nodded, toying with his coffee cup.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t go back to, well, cooking?” Yuya asked lamely. He didn’t know how else to put it.
“Chef,” Koyama corrected absently and continued. It took me months to straighten my life again, and by the time I’ve moved on, I was already working as your assistant.
An idea popped in the obscure corner Yuya’s mind - the part of his mind where he occasionally hatches schemes and sometimes, mischief, showing no signs of it to Koyama and YamaPi. Silently, he started planning . . . plans to corner Koyama. And Masuda.
“I thought you’d like to have this back,” drawled a husky voice from the doorway, interrupting his thoughts. “You did say it’s your favorite.”
Yuya jerked up from his position as he took in Masuda’s abrupt presence. Automatically - and desperately - he glanced at the nearby mirror and quickly checked his reflection and wished that he hadn’t. His hair looked in total disarray, and he had forgotten about the ribbon that he had put on earlier that morning to prevent his curls from getting in his eyes while he was working. He gulped. Whatever would Masuda think of him? He had again caught him off guard, and again at an embarrassing moment. He grimaced. Masuda seeing him acting high and mighty with mud on his jeans was bad enough.
What on earth is he doing here? Nerves still jittery from his sudden appearance, Yuya turned slowly to face him, avoiding eye contact and silently wishing he had not gotten out of bed that morning. His gaze caught the pair of jeans Masuda was handing out to him. It’s his, the one he left with him at the restaurant the previous night.
He smiled shakily and took the jeans off Masuda’s hands. “Thank you. I’m surprised. I had thought it was beyond repair,” he said, his voice unsure, reflecting the turmoil he’s feeling within. Seeing Masuda again hit him hard. One look at him sent his heart racing along a course he had not taken in years, and certainly not that fast. His world started spinning backward like it did the first time.
Masuda smiled. “I bribed the laundry shop down the street.” He said, greeting Koyama and YamaPi and shook their hands.
When Masuda turned back to him, Yuya told himself he was ready. He took a deep breath, failed, and tried again, this time with more control. “You didn’t have to come all this way to return it. YamaPi could have just come over and pick it up,’ he said and smiled beamingly.
“I thought you might need it for the opening.” Masuda explained, his eyes sparkling with humor.
To give them privacy, Koyama started dragging YamaPi to the back of the gallery.
“I hope you won’t be disappointed if I turn up in something a little more refined and decent.” Yuya said softly.
“It wouldn’t matter what you wear. You’ll look good in it, I’m sure,” Masuda said huskily, his gaze drifted over Yuya’s coverall and overlarge work shirt. “But somehow, refined isn’t the first thing that occurs to me when I look at you,” he murmured.
Yuya blushed, recognizing his reference to the striptease. Yes, refined was probably something expecting a lot from Masuda’s imagination. “I suppose demure and discreet would be stretching the credibility a bit far too,” he said, a little breathless at the intensity of his gaze. Masuda has always had the ability to make his heart falter with a look.
“Other words actually comes to my mind whenever I look at you,” Masuda said, inching closer, touching Yuya with his eyes. “Words like, reckless - impetuous - and sexy,” he drawled softly, staring at the frantically beating pulse at the base of Yuya’s throat.
“You’re not going to let me forget last night, are you?” Yuya asked, running the tip of his tongue over his suddenly dry lips.
“Hmmm, probably not,” Masuda’s sudden grin broke the highly charged atmosphere. “And I doubt if I’ll ever forget a single thing about you, Yuya.”
Yuya swallowed and hurriedly changed the subject before he said anything impulsive. The temptation to say - You’re the most wonderfully fascinating man I’ve ever met and I really need to get to know you burned on his tongue, but caution won over, so instead, he said, “How much do I owe for the laundry?”
“The man at the laundry shop took a lot of bribing. How about having dinner with me tonight as payback?” Masuda replied.
“At your restaurant?” he asked before he could stop the words, he waited for what seemed like hours, though it was just a few seconds. He didn’t mean to make it sound bad. Thinking too much of his sudden reply, he did not notice Masuda’s sigh of relief.
Masuda was glad Yuya didn’t say no to his invitation. He dismissed the remark about his restaurant and shook his head. With a smile he said, “No, not the restaurant. How about we check out the new seafood place on the wharf?”
“That’s right down the street from our boat,” Yuya said, delighted at his suggestion. He never thought his plan would come together so soon. All it would take now was a single phone call to cancel the reservation and a bit of convincing that Koyama really wanted to go back to cooking. He hoped Koyama would not be too difficult to persuade, after all, it was for his own good.
“Our boat?” Masuda repeated.
Yuya smiled at him. He was too engrossed with his plan that he barely noticed the narrowing of the eyes and the sudden withdrawal in Masuda’s voice. “YamaPi and I have a houseboat a few blocks from the wharf.”
“You live with YamaPi?” Masuda’s brows drew together as he tried to absorb this piece of information. It didn’t make sense. Yuya stated last night that he and YamaPi are not lovers. So why are they living together?
“That bothers you?” Yuya wished he could take back the part about living with YamaPi. He just couldn’t explain it now. Besides, it’s not as though he would tell Masuda the truth.
“It bothers me a little,” Masuda said roughly. It bothered him a lot. He wondered why he didn’t just walk away from it all. The last thing he needs is complication in his life. Getting involved with a man living with another man was simply not on the list of things he wanted to do. So why didn’t he just leave?
Frowning at him, Yuya tried to explain. “Let’s just say, that YamaPi doesn’t interfere with my private life,” Yuya said. At least, not in the way you’re thinking, he added silently.
“And that explains things?” Masuda asked. He couldn’t trust himself to speak. His nerves were on edge. And he didn’t’ want Yuya to know how close his emotions had been into getting out of control.
Tell him a fib, Yuya decided, not because he wanted to but it would put a stop to all the questions he can’t answer. “He’s my brother.”
“Brother?”
“Half brother, technically,” he hoped he sounded more positive than he felt. “Same father, different mothers.”
For several seconds, Masuda stared hard at him, dragging his gaze over the contours of his face, searching for any sign of deceit. There weren’t any, he realized and he wondered how he knew he was lying. He could tell the part about being brothers was sheer fiction. He could feel it and yet he believed him about YamaPi not being his lover. Instinct, he told himself, and a lot of wishful thinking on his part. He hoped he was right.
“Why don’t I believe you?” he asked quietly, clasping his fingers around Yuya’s arms gently, so that he understood he wasn’t angry, just curious.
“Give up.” Yuya smiled weakly, trying to steady his breath.
Masuda smiled just a little, uncurling his fingers to stroke his palms up and down Yuya’s arms, wishing his shirt were short sleeved instead of long, imagining how his smooth skin would feel. Okay, for now, I’ll leave it alone,” he murmured. “But keep in mind, I don’t share what’s mine.”
Yuya frowned as he realizes the cover up story he and YamaPi had used for a long time wasn’t worth a damn anymore. It mattered because he hated lying to Masuda even if there was a good reason for it. For the moment though, it was enough that he believed there’s nothing between him and YamaPi, intimate or otherwise.
“In any case, I don’t think the question of sharing is appropriate. We’re only going out to dinner,” he said, trying to back up a few steps so he could catch his breath.
“Are we?” Masuda asked and gazed at his eyes, not allowing the retreat Yuya was seeking. There is much more between them than a simple dinner date, and he needed Yuya to admit it.
“I mean, I hardly know you,” Yuya managed to whisper, spellbound by Masuda’s gaze.
“We’re going to change that,” Masuda said, then abruptly released his hold on Yuya’s arm. They have company.
YamaPi had finally eluded Koyama’s grasp and is sauntering back to action into the room. “Koyama found a mess under the sink,” he said, grinning broadly as he inserted himself between Yuya and Masuda. “He’s found the leak but needs you to stick your finger in a pipe so we can fix it.”
“Why don’t you put your finger on it?” Yuya asked. Trust YamaPi to interrupt. It seemed like he’s always in the way lately, he thought, and he wondered how to divert his attention.
“Too big,” he fanned all ten fingers in front of Yuya’s nose. “It’s a little pipe, Yuya, and Koyama’s waiting.”
“I don’t think I want to watch this.” Masuda drawled, they’re back at they’re game again, he thought. “I’ll pick you up at seven thirty?”
“Seven-thirty,” Yuya said automatically. Managing not to meet Masuda’s eyes, because he didn’t want him to see the frustration he’s feeling at the moment. Never mind, he thought, he would have tonight with him. And there are lots to be done before then, the least of which would be the pipe and his finger.
“Give him the address YamaPi,” he said and walked away, mentally calculating how to make YamaPi pay back. It would be sweet to see him sweat a little.
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YamaPi’s love interest that I mentioned in the previous chap would be Yuya’s way to divert his attention a little - he will be introduced next chap.