Mr. Right Now Page 9

  But things had a way of working out. It had taken double Rick’s usual amount of caffeine to jumpstart himself this morning, so he had a certain sympathy for anyone he’d seen nodding out. Especially after Dr. Bartholomew had gone an entire half hour over the time allotted for his speech. Dr. Bart, as they affectionately called him, wasn’t known for his speaking skills and tended to mumble throughout. Rick always got transcripts of the speech afterward to make sure he hadn’t missed anything.

  “So we’ve shown that secretion of extracellular matrix proteins and the enzymes which break down this matrix are compromised in test cells from asthmatic volunteers for our study, and this leads to an increased deposition of extracellular matrix. We’ve also shown that the release of anti-inflammatory factors is reduced and the automatic release of pro-inflammatory factors is increased in smooth muscle cells from these same volunteers.”

  Rick looked down at the notes for his speech and paused for a second, the hesitation unnoticeable to the crowd (he hoped). But as soon as he’d seen the smudges and stains on the note cards he’d tried to clean off he’d been taken back to last night and the overwhelming rush of sensation that had swept over him. He’d not come that hard in ages, certainly not by his own hand. Rick sternly told himself to finish the presentation.

  “As our study continues, we will examine the intracellular mechanisms which control airway remodeling and inflammation in asthma patients and clarify the role of the smooth muscle cell in these processes. As part of our study, we will look for the presence of factors that control angiogenesis.”

  He looked up in time to see Darrell wave his hand. He should have known, as soon as he brought up airway remodeling. Although, it was funny, as long as he’d known Darrell, Rick couldn’t remember seeing the man in the audience for one of his speeches before. Maybe he just never noticed?

  “Yes, you have a question?” Darrell stood up, his blond hair falling over his forehead, glasses sliding down his nose and looked intently at Rick standing up at the podium. ‘Dr. Page, what about the remodeling characteristics in which there is the formation of new blood vessels or angiogenesis?”

  “Our preliminary studies have identified that one of the extracellular matrix proteins which acts as an anti-angiogenic factor is missing from the lungs of our volunteers with asthma. We hope to study both why this factor is missing and the potential effects that this absence may cause.”

  Rick looked around the hall. “Are there any more questions on anything that I’ve discussed today?” There were a few hands raised, and Rick spent the next 20 minutes carefully answering questions from his peers.

  A solid feeling of satisfaction filled Rick as he finished up the questions and smiled out at the crowd. It had been a good speech. He could always tell. Besides, Rick knew his team was doing good work and making a difference in people’s lives every day. What more did he need out of life?

  He could feel himself flush as he gathered his notes to the applause of his peers and couldn’t help himself from smiling as he took just one more look into the crowd to enjoy their approval. As much as he enjoyed the research, it was still nice to feel the work was appreciated. Rick let his gaze wander to the back of the hall and then flushed even darker as he recognized the darkhaired figure at the rear exit.

  It may have been a different colored shirt covering that broad chest, but that was definitely Rick’s Mr. Flannel Shirt standing there applauding him with the rest of the crowd. Wow, he couldn’t believe the man had made an effort come to hear his speech.

  Well, he probably hadn’t been there the whole time, but still. Rick couldn’t help but remember that Brian had never come to listen to one of his speeches, complaining that the subject matter was always too boring. Rick was distracted by a colleague asking another question, and when he looked up again the man by the exit doors was gone, but the warm feelings his presence had brought remained.

  THE rest of the evening passed in a blur of food, drink, and laughter. Rick couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. With their speeches over and their personal Swords of Damocles no longer hanging over their heads, the researchers were more than ready to kick back and try to raise trouble in a casual, nerdy and totally innocuous sort of way.

  The group had wandered into the casino proper and Rick was amazed at the controlled chaos. It was loud. Really loud. There were over 4,300 slot machines spread out over two floors (the pulmonary specialist within him was grateful one of the floors was totally nonsmoking), and the resulting volume stunned him.

  Everywhere he looked, there were people laughing, lights flashing, and the sound of the silver arms belonging to the “onearm bandits” being pulled. Of course, this being the electronic age, there were push-buttons on the slot machines that spun the wheels for you, but Rick preferred the old-fashioned thrill of grabbing the gleaming metal arm and pulling it downward as he watched the fruit on the wheels spin.

  It was also heaven for a people watcher like Rick. There were folks of all shapes, sizes, and ages here trying their luck of one sort or another. Rick wasn’t sure what was funnier, watching some of the guys from the conference fumble about, trying to figure out how the machines worked, or watching them fumble about trying to hit on some of the attractive women that seemed to be there in droves

  He’d lost Darrell in the crowd, and Rick wasn’t unhappy about it. There was something troubling about in the way Darrell seemed to hang around him. Rick liked him, but his goal was to keep his options open, not jump at the first warm body that came along. Unless it was wearing a flannel shirt, his treacherous mind reminded him.

  Rick had used all his tokens without winning anything and he debated whether to stop one of the casino employees wheeling their change and token carts through the aisles and getting more. Actually, none of the guys were winning, but that didn’t matter. The fun was just being a part of the group and sharing in the electric thrill of possibility.

  “Unlucky in cards, lucky in love?” Rick didn’t need to turn around to discover who that voice belonged to. The instant salute his cock gave the man behind him told him all he needed to know. “Does this count as cards?”

  “Close enough.” Mr. Flannel Shirt moved into Rick’s line of vision, and Rick let his gaze travel longingly over the man’s large frame. Tonight’s shirt was a dark navy, the T-shirt a soft gray, but the jeans were the same. As was the hard body they covered.

  “I’ve not won a cent. How about you? Are you winning?” Rick asked. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Rick wasn’t as nervous now. He was still glowing from the thought that this man had taken the time to stop by and listen to his speech today. That meant something. Surely it did.

  “I don’t play unless the odds are in my favor.” The dark hair was pulled back again, and Rick wanted to release it from the clasp and see it fall down and soften the stark planes of the face before him.

  “What are the odds of me getting my tie back?” Rick changed the subject abruptly before the desire to reach out and touch overruled his common sense.

  “Odds are definitely in your favor.” There was that smile again, and Rick could only smile back as he felt the glow low down in his belly burn hotter.

  Rick opened his mouth to be bold, to be braver than he’d ever been, when he was suddenly surrounded by a few guys from the conference. He recognized their faces, but didn’t know their names. “Yo, Rick.” They were panting and rushed, and Rick cursed the interruption. “We need you to come over here, man.”

  “No, really… I’m… What’s going on?” Rick looked up at Mr. Flannel Shirt, who just cocked an eyebrow at him and nodded slightly before disappearing back into the crowd. Damn.

  “It’s Darrell.”

  IGNORING his protests, the other guys had dragged him off to one of the sitting areas off the casino floor. Like the rest of the resort, it was tastefully decorated in a warm, welcoming style that urged you to sit down and settle for a bit.

  The fun of the evening swirled away with Rick’s alc
ohol buzz and the fading view of that jeans-clad ass once again, leaving him with a faintly nauseated feeling. He didn’t know what was going on but he had an instinctive sense that it wasn’t good

  Sure enough, there was Darrell, all sprawled out in an overstuffed chair and looking pretty much worse for wear. He must have been hitting the booze hard and fast if the stench coming from the waste bin beside him was any indication, and he hadn’t even given a speech today. Well, Rick thought philosophically, that’s what happened if you were a quiet researcher not used to partying.

  It had been a long time since his college days, and Rick hadn’t been anything but a studious kind of guy. Even so, Rick could look at Darrell and say he’d been there and done that. He didn’t envy how Darrell would feel in the morning but it still wasn’t anything that unusual, hadn’t they all been trashed at one time another?

  “Why me?” Rick looked at the men by Darrell. He recognized Sam and Donny, but still couldn’t put any names to the other guys. This was kind of weird and he really just wanted to head back into the casino and find Mr. Flannel Shirt once again. “I’m not unsympathetic, but he’s just drunk. What do you want me to do?”

  “We don’t know, man.” Donny shrugged. “But he’s puking and carrying on and he was saying your name and talking some shit. So Paul and John went and found you, then Sam showed up.”

  “I guess we should take him up to his room?” Rick looked around helplessly. “I mean, unless you think it’s alcohol poisoning?” He still wasn’t sure what any of this had to do with him.

  “Rick… s’that you, Rick?” Darrell’s words though slurred were loud and his glasses were sliding down his nose once again, but this time Darrell didn’t push them back up. Oh yeah, Rick thought, he’s toasted.

  “Yeah, Darrell, what’s up?” Rick moved a bit closer to Darrell despite the smell of puke. God, that was gross. Maybe they should just get him up to his room and let him sleep it off before Darrell did something further to embarrass himself.

  “Sorry, Rick… jus… sorry.” Darrell’s head hung forward down onto his chest and he groaned and burped. “No problem, Darrell. It’s cool.” Rick couldn’t figure out what Darrell was apologizing for. Getting fucked up? Hitting on him? Spilling the water on him last night? Burping in his face like that?

  “Didn’t know… he… didn’t… sorry, Rick.” “Hey, maybe Rick’s right. Let’s just get him up to his room.” Sam looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Donny, you, Paul, and John grab his arms and try to get him up there.”

  “But why did he want us to find Rick?” Donny and the guys pushed past Rick who stepped back out of the way, wondering the same thing. They took hold of Darrell and pulled him swaying to his feet. Rick grabbed at Darrell’s glasses when then fell off his face and handed them to Donny.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Sam said firmly. “Just get him to bed.” “Should I go with them?” Rick asked helplessly. This was one of the moments in life where he always felt so awkward. It was like a game where everyone knew the rules but him. Where was Carol to explain all this when he needed her?

  “Nah, it’s probably nothing but the booze talking. They’ll get Darrell up to his room, and he won’t even remember any of this tomorrow.” Sam’s words were logical.

  Darrell suddenly lunged forward, breaking free of the guys holding him up and falling onto Rick’s chest. “Brian… I didn’t… the first… not ’til after…” None of it made any sense to Rick, who stood there frozen, not even the stench of Darrell’s breath making him flinch this time. “I’m s… sorry…”

  Everything seemed to stop for that moment. Rick saw the look on Sam’s face, the realization in the face of the other guys and suddenly he was the one whose head was spinning and who wanted to puke.

  Sam gestured urgently and Darrell was hauled off, stumbling and muttering protests the whole way. Rick was led to the same chair Darrell had been sprawled out in and Sam just kind of pushed at him until Rick sat down.

  “What… why would Darrell say that?” Rick turned to face Sam. “You know him better than I do. What was he saying?” “He’s just drunk, Rick. Never mind him.” Sam was obviously trying for some damage control and part of Rick appreciated it. But there was another part of Rick, the part that knew better.

  “Brian? Was he talking about my Brian?” Rick felt like he was stumbling in the dark. There was a door in front of him and light behind the door. But he didn’t think he really wanted to open it.

  Sam was looking real uncomfortable now. “Uh… you guys still together?”

  “No, we split up about six months ago. Darrell and I kind of talked about it yesterday.” Darrell’s look of disappointment when he heard Brian wasn’t going to be there was back in Rick’s mind. Darrell not ever being at one of his speeches before this one. Rick let his eyes wander around the small sitting area. There were some nice wooden carvings along the ceiling, details of wildlife and leaves, that kind of thing. Rick concentrated on the owl in the corner.

  “Uhm… yeah. Well, Darrell never could hold his liquor. Hey, you want to go have a drink, play some more slots?” Nice try, Sam . “I’m a big boy, Sam.” Rick looked away from the owl and back up at Sam. “I’m sorry you’re in this position, but whatever it is, just spill it.”

  “You’re better off without him,” Sam blurted out. “I mean…” “Wow.” Rick sat there, stunned. Suddenly it was all so obvious. Rick looked back up at the owl again. Wood, did wooden owls feel anything? Was Rick suddenly a wooden owl?

  “Darrell? And my Brian?” “It’s not really Darrell’s fault, I mean… you know what? Let’s just not do this, okay?” Sam stood up, his agitation evident as he took a few steps away and then back.

  “C’mon, Sam.” Rick held out his hand. “Who all knows about this?” “Shit, Rick.” Sam sighed and looked away, his struggle obvious. “Look, Darrell wasn’t the only one. It was obvious you guys were together, but he said it didn’t matter. That you were okay with it. That it was the only perk to coming to these conferences.”

  The words took awhile to sink in. Rick sat there. Then the only thought to float to the surface of his mind was how grateful he was for Carol. After the breakup, she’d insisted he get tested. She never really said why in so many words. But she had pushed until he’d given in and made the appointment. Hell, she’d even gone with him.

  She’d known, or she’d guessed. How could she have known Brian better than he had? How had he not had a clue? How many other men had his ex-partner fucked during their time together?

  “Rick, you okay?” Sam was staring at him, obviously worried. “Yeah.” Rick felt a strange sense of calmness. Maybe it wasn’t such a surprise, maybe deep down he knew all along. He thought he should be upset, but he was just calm. Wooden. Like the owl. “I’m fine. I’m just really tired all of a sudden.”

  “You sure you’re okay?” Sam was looking relieved, but kind of nervous as well. “Yeah,” Rick repeated, amazed at how normal his voice sounded. “I’m probably going to just head to my room. Do me a favor, will you? Be sure to check on Darrell tomorrow? Make sure he’s okay? I may get an early start home.”

  “Sure, man,” Sam nodded. “I can do that.”

  THE elevator was empty, a fact that Rick was pathetically grateful for. He was holding himself together. He was cool. He was… Rick looked at his reflection in the mirrored walls and didn’t even recognize the man that looked back at him.

  He was a fucking mess right now. Rick watched the digital numbers change as the elevator rose higher and higher. He just wanted to get to his room and hide. He didn’t want to see anyone else from the conference, he didn’t want to wonder just who else was here that Brian had fucked or sucked or spent any time with over the last several years or the last several conferences.

  At the eighteenth floor the elevator chimed and the doors opened. Rick looked down at his feet to avoid seeing who entered the elevator. The doors shut and there was silence. Rick took a deep, trembling breath, composing himself before he lo
oked up. His face was set, frozen into a polite mask. Only nine more floors he told himself.

  Only eight and then he could let himself shatter into pieces.

  Only…

  “Everything alright, Doc?” There was concern in the deep voice. “You’re not looking so good.” Oh God, Rick thought. Not now. There really was no end to his humiliation. For some strange reason Rick just wanted to fall into those muscular arms and burst into tears. Now that would totally kill any chance he’d ever had with this man!

  “Just tired.” Rick tried for a smile, but he could feel his face was still frozen, the muscles unable to move. He would be okay as long as he didn’t look into those eyes. “Having an early night.”

  “I see that.” Mr. Flannel Shirt shifted his stance, relaxing back against the wall as if trying to show Rick he wasn’t a threat. “You know…”

  Rick didn’t ever get to find out what it was he was supposed to know. All Rick heard was a thud, then a clunk, then a bang.

  And the elevator stopped.

  Dead.

  The lights on the panel flickered and went dark, hell; even the crappy music stopped playing. “Goddamn it!” Rick didn’t even realize he’d punched the wall until the pain spread through his hand and it was suddenly captured in a much larger, callused hand.

  “Hey, now.” The voice was lower, softer as it instinctively tried to soothe him. “That’s not like you, Doc.” Frustrated, Rick used his other hand to push at the buttons, trying to buzz the alarm and get any of the lights to light up until it was captured as well and he was drawn close against a warm torso.

  “Shhhh. C’mon, Doc. Just settle down.” Realizing that Rick wasn’t really with him, Jonah settled for the simple comfort of touch.

  Rick struggled against the arms that held him. He was suddenly filled with anger and frustration and needed to lash out, to release everything that was boiling up inside him. He was cursing as he tried to slam his fists into anything he could reach, twisting and jerking against the other man.