Asher walked out of the courtroom with his client, who thanked him profusely. Asher's mouth curved. "Next time, just don't get caught."
His client laughed nervously and left. Asher loosened his tie as he walked, nodding at people who greeted him without breaking stride. He pulled out his phone, opened Tinder, and typed to Oscar: Running a bit late. He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket.
The sky was darkening. Just another routine New York evening. He headed to his car and his phone buzzed—Oscar had replied: No problem.
Asher drove toward the restaurant, responding to emails and messages along the way. This fucking day won't end, he thought. He parked and walked toward the Italian place. Inside, the host asked if he had a reservation.
" Asher Leo Rhodes."
The host led him through the restaurant. Asher spotted Oscar at a corner table and his eyes locked on him, taking him in without looking away. The host left and Oscar glanced up from his phone. Their eyes met.
"Hey," Asher offered.
Oscar stood and they shook hands. His grip was firm, confident. "Sorry I'm late."
Oscar's gaze moved over him, lingering on his face. "Doesn't matter."
The waiter appeared and they ordered. Oscar leaned back in his chair. "How are you?"
Asher's mouth curved slightly. "Good. You?"
"Pretty good." Oscar's lips pulled into a grin.
Asher watched him across the table. There was something controlled about Oscar, the way he held himself.
"Are you a lawyer?" Oscar asked.
Asher blinked, caught off guard for a second. "How'd you—"
"The suit. The way you walk."
Asher let out a short breath. "You're very... direct."
Oscar's grin widened. "Life's too short for games. Especially here."
The waiter brought their food and they talked about sports while they ate. Oscar mentioned playing basketball. Asher talked about tennis and swimming. Between bites, their eyes caught and held for a beat too long, dropping to each other's mouths before one of them looked away.
Asher sipped his wine, his gaze on Oscar's lips. "Your eyes looked hazel in your photos. They're green now."
Oscar met his stare. "They change with the—"
"Light. Yeah."
Oscar's expression turned amused. "You were 28 in your profile, right?"
Asher raised an eyebrow. "Still am. Why?"
"You look older."
Asher's mouth curved slightly. "Do I?"
Oscar took a sip of wine. "A bit."
Asher leaned back, studying him. "You don't look 26."
"People say I look younger."
"Of course they do." Asher's tone was light, teasing.
Oscar grinned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Nothing."
The waiter cleared their plates and brought dessert. Asher studied Oscar across the table—too controlled, too measured. "Do you work?"
Oscar held his gaze, his eyes flicking down to Asher's mouth for a second. "I'm an architect."
"Must be—"
"Interesting?" Oscar finished. "Sometimes."
Oscar tilted his head slightly, watching Asher's lips as he spoke. "Plans after this?"
"No. You?"
Oscar lifted his chin and met Asher's eyes directly. "Want to come to my place?"
Asher's lips twitched. "Sure."
That was easier than I thought.
They split the check and walked to the parking lot together. Oscar gestured toward his car. "Follow me."
"Alright."
Asher got in his car and pulled out behind Oscar's sedan. Complicated guy, he thought, watching the taillights ahead.
They drove to a tall building and pulled into the underground parking. Oscar was already out of his car, waiting. Asher parked next to him and got out.
"Let's go." They walked side by side toward the elevator. Asher glanced at Oscar from the corner of his eye. Too confident. Way too confident.
The elevator ride was silent except for the hum of machinery and the soft ding at each floor. When they got to Oscar's apartment, Oscar gestured inside. "Make yourself comfortable. Going to change."
Asher took off his jacket, draped it over a chair, and sat down on the couch. He loosened his tie completely and let his eyes wander—paintings on the wall, awards on a shelf. Tidy. Predictable.
Oscar reappeared wearing white pants and a casual shirt. Their eyes met. "What do you want?"
"You have whiskey?"
Oscar walked to the bar without answering. He poured whiskey into a glass—no ice—and brought it over, setting it on the side table next to Asher.
Asher raised an eyebrow. "How'd you know I—"
"Guessed."
Asher didn't respond. He reached for the whiskey and took a few sips, the burn familiar and grounding. Oscar sat down beside him, close but not touching, and turned toward him.
"You're different from your photos."
Asher let out a short laugh. "Good different or—"
"Good."
They sat in silence for a moment, stealing glances at each other when the other wasn't looking. Then Oscar ran his hand along Asher's forearm. Asher turned his head to face him, words caught in his throat.
Oscar moved closer until their knees touched, then leaned in until their faces were inches apart. He stopped there. Asher just stared at him, unsure what to say. Oscar closed the distance and pressed a light kiss to Asher's lips.
After a few soft kisses, Asher wrapped his arm around Oscar's waist and pulled him in hard, kissing him rough and hungry. Oscar kissed back just as hard. Their hands were everywhere—hair, chest, shoulders. Asher caught the scent of wine and mint on Oscar's breath, mixed with his cologne—something soft and clean, almost powdery.
Oscar pushed Asher back against the couch and leaned his body into him. When they broke apart, both were breathing hard, faces flushed. They stared at each other and grinned.
Oscar downed the rest of his wine in one gulp, stood, and grabbed Asher's hand, pulling him up. Asher stood, surprised by the move. Oscar looked up at him. "Bedroom."
Asher's lips curved slightly. Oscar pressed against him and kissed him again, deep and insistent. Asher kissed back, his hand gripping Oscar's ass. They broke apart, breathing hard, and Oscar led him by the hand down the hall.
Interesting guy, Asher thought, watching him walk ahead.
When they got to the bedroom, Oscar pulled Asher toward him, then pushed him back against the wall and kissed him while working on the buttons of his shirt. Asher unbuttoned Oscar's shirt and when it fell to the floor, he took in the sight—tan skin, defined muscle. Oscar caught his expression. "Did you wear this on purpose?"
Asher's mouth curved. "I'll take it off."
Oscar stepped back and watched Asher remove his shirt, his face neutral but his eyes giving everything away. Then he moved in again and started kissing Asher's neck, slow and deliberate, using his tongue and teeth. Asher let out a low groan and pulled Oscar closer, his hand squeezing Oscar's ass hard as he kissed him and tried to push him toward the bed.
Oscar resisted, staying planted. "Not yet." He dropped to his knees.
Asher's breath caught. Fuck. Oscar undid his belt, then his pants, and pulled them down along with his boxers. Asher was already half-hard and Oscar wrapped his hand around him, stroking slowly until he was fully there. Then Oscar leaned in and took him into his mouth.
"Shit—" Asher's hand went to Oscar's hair, not pushing, just holding on. Oscar worked him over with his mouth and tongue, taking him deep, and Asher had to brace himself against the wall. The wet heat, the pressure, the way Oscar knew exactly what he was doing—it was almost too much.
Oscar pulled off with a wet sound and looked up at him, his lips swollen. "Good?"
Asher couldn't form words. He just nodded.
Oscar stood and kissed him hard, and Asher could taste himself. Then Oscar pushed his own pants down and kicked them off. They were both naked now, both hard. Oscar walked backward to the bed and sat on the edge. "Come here."
Asher crossed the room and Oscar pulled him down into a kiss, then shifted them so Asher was sitting and Oscar was straddling his lap. They ground against each other, the friction making them both groan. Oscar's hands were in Asher's hair, on his shoulders, everywhere.
"Condom?" Asher's voice was rough.
Oscar reached over to the nightstand and grabbed a condom and lube. He handed them to Asher, then turned around so his back was to Asher's chest. Asher opened the lube and slicked his fingers, then reached around to work Oscar open. He started with one finger, slow and careful, and Oscar's breath hitched.
"More," Oscar said after a minute, and Asher added another finger. Oscar pushed back against his hand, impatient, and Asher worked him until he was ready. He rolled on the condom, slicked himself up, and positioned Oscar over him.
Oscar sank down slowly, taking him in inch by inch. "Fuck," Oscar breathed, his head falling back against Asher's shoulder. Asher held his hips, giving him time to adjust. When Oscar was fully seated, they both stayed still for a moment, breathing hard.
Then Oscar started to move, lifting himself up and sinking back down, setting a slow, deliberate rhythm. Asher's hands gripped his hips, helping guide him, and the angle was different from anything he'd done before—deeper, tighter. Oscar reached down and started stroking himself in time with the movement.
"God—" Asher muttered, his face buried in Oscar's neck. The scent of his cologne mixed with sweat, and the sounds Oscar was making—small gasps and groans—were driving him crazy.
Oscar picked up the pace, riding him harder now, and Asher thrust up to meet him. "There," Oscar said, his voice strained. "Right there—don't stop."
Asher didn't. He kept the same angle, the same rhythm, and Oscar's hand moved faster on himself. "Fuck, I'm close," Oscar warned, and Asher reached around to help, his hand covering Oscar's.
Oscar came with a choked sound, his whole body tensing, and the feeling of him clenching around Asher sent him over too. "Shit," Asher groaned, thrusting up one more time and staying there as he came.
Oscar slumped back against him for a second, both of them breathing hard, then carefully lifted off and collapsed onto the bed. Asher dealt with the condom and lay down on the opposite side of the bed, not touching. The room smelled like sex and Oscar's cologne and sweat. Neither of them spoke. They just stared at the ceiling, waiting for their breathing to even out.
After a few minutes, Asher sat up and reached for his boxers, pulling them on. Oscar stayed where he was, watching him. "You can stay. If you want."
Asher glanced back at him as he grabbed his pants. "I've got a busy day. Tomorrow."
Oscar sat up but didn't get dressed. He just watched Asher finish getting ready. When Asher was fully dressed, Oscar walked him to the door.
"Good night," Oscar said.
Asher nodded and walked out. The door clicked shut behind him. He headed for the elevator, pulling out his phone. Two new messages. He checked them as the elevator descended—another match, another possibility.
Tomorrow's wide open.