Hot Date. Amy Garvey

better, honestly.

      He was going to kiss Grace when he got back. Kiss her, and write a real old-fashioned thank-you note, and take her out to dinner, and maybe build a shrine to her, too. Because Charlie had been thrilled to hear Toby was coming up to Boston—his return e-mail had said simply, “Dude! When can we see each other?!”—he’d taken the afternoon off to show Toby the city and was just as funny and sexy and charming as his e-mails.

      And cute. So very cute. Abercrombie & Fitch classy, lean and fit, with blue eyes and short gold-brown hair spiked casually in front.

      The freckles were really what got Toby, though. He was already imagining a day when he could sit and count them, one by one, and watch Charlie grin.

      “You still with me, man?” Charlie said, tilting his head to one side in amusement and waiting for Toby to catch up.

      “Right here,” Toby said, and flushed hot when Charlie took his hand. His long, graceful fingers were cool and firm, and when he turned to face Toby, his blue eyes were…grateful. Eager. Hopeful.

      It was an incredible feeling.

      “This is the place,” Charlie said a half block later, their hands still linked loosely as they stopped in front of a tiny café under a red awning. “It’s the best Thai in the city, and they don’t take reservations, so there might be a wait. If that’s okay, I mean.”

      “I’m sure we can find some way to pass the time,” Toby said, and heard the husk of anticipation in his voice. His cheeks burned, but Charlie just smiled and went inside to give his name to the hostess.

      Waiting was okay with him, yes sir. Toby had been waiting forever for, well, for this. This strange tingle, this warm, comfortable weight of knowing that this was it, Mr. Right, or that he could be. Understanding finally that love was more than possible, it was right here, waiting.

      He turned his face into the breeze, letting it cool his cheeks as he bit back a ridiculous smile. He and Charlie had only just met, after all, no matter how many e-mails they’d shared on-line. He couldn’t go overboard, couldn’t get carried away. Even if nothing more came of this than a pleasant meal, he’d have this memory, and the knowledge that he had taken a risk, reached out for what he wanted.

      When he felt a hand on his elbow, he turned to find Charlie smiling at him, eyes full of light in the gold glow of a street lamp.

      “I hope you’re hungry,” he said simply, leaving his hand right there on Toby’s elbow.

      “You better believe it,” Toby answered, and took a breath before he closed the distance between them by another inch. Charlie smelled good, like sandalwood and spice and man, and Toby could feel the heat of his body shimmering under his jacket.

      “Good.” And then Charlie leaned forward, right there in front of everyone milling on the sidewalk and waiting for a table, and kissed him.

      “Thank you, Grace,” Toby whispered when Charlie pulled away, the taste of him still on his lips, his tongue.

      “Who?” Charlie laughed, sliding an arm around his shoulders.

      “I’ll tell you later,” Toby said, and laughed back. “I’ll tell you everything.”