Heat

Chapter 3: Casey Kalhoun

Chapter 3: Casey Kalhoun

St. Paul Street Grille & Bar

1:28 P.M.

Four months ago, I met my current boyfriend, Casey Kalhoun, at the St. Paul Street Grille & Bar during a wet T-shirt party. While the show—a line-up of musclehead dudes in white T-shirts that were hosed down in cheap beer—continued, Casey had accidentally bumped into me, knocked my beer against my chest, supplied me with my own wet T-shirt, and caused fireworks to occur between our bodies that exploded throughout Hurricane Bay. He felt horrible for his clumsiness, of course, and bought me a free beer, plus three more that evening.

Happy to pull the beer-soaked T-shirt off my torso, he told me, “Guy, you look good out of the cotton, anyway. Show that hot s**t off.”

I didn’t believe in love at first sight, but sort of leaned that way during our night at St. Paul’s. Not only was Casey eye-catching with his rock solid jawline and twinkling hazel eyes with flecks of amber, but the blond who wouldn’t share his real age with me—even to this day—seemed easy to talk to and a master at flirting. I claimed him Prince Charming; someone I had always wanted to find.

We hit it off quite well with three dates, which then turned into eight dates. On the ninth date, we slept together at his bungalow on Hurricane Road, which overlooked the Gulf and a private beach. I’ve stayed at Bungalow Sixteen ever since, enjoying the professional interior designer, his pad, food, chiseled body, and continued to learn him as the boyfriend he was labeled.

We definitely considered ourselves lovers, but a vow of becoming hitched felt long off. Casey still had to prove to me that he wouldn’t stray and share his handsome five-eleven frame and one hundred and seventy pounds with another man. Being a high-rolling flirter, mastering the task of wooing men with his dripping charm, I kept a close eye on him, surveyed a future with the man, and had yet to declare him as the knight in shining armor of my dreams. Nor had I axed him from the list, always aware of promising opportunities.

Following my meeting with the famous paperback writer, lunch at St. Paul’s with my boyfriend consisted of wedge salads and iced water. To my surprise, covered in sweat from head to toe, Casey shared an unearthly aroma with me, littered in dust.

Seated at a two-person table overlooking the Gulf, I asked, “What hole did you crawl out of this morning, man?”

He laughed, waved a fork at me, and said, “The Cockton job is out of control. Bruno needed some help moving plastic-covered Swiss furniture out of a van. The plastic had a thick layer of dust on it, which is what I’m now wearing.”

Bruno Grigade was a nineteen-year-old intern from Colossal Designing School and under my lover’s care for the next year. The German student from Naples looked as big as a truck with dark skin, almost-purple eyes, and, according to Casey, enjoyed his alcohol, even if he was underage. Sexy as hell, Bruno didn’t mind sharing his beautiful smile with others. Casey often told me that the young buck could put men under a s*x spell by simply smiling before having his s****l way with them.

Did I fear that Casey would end up under Bruno’s s*x hex when the two men were together? Unfortunately, I did. But I had to trust my man, stay calm, and not lose my sanity concerning the two men working together. Thus far, Casey had not strayed from our romance. I only hoped he would stay faithful, devoted to me alone, and keep the labels I had deemed him as man of steel and lover.

“When are Larry and Luke Cockton returning from Quito, Ecuador?” I inquired, grinning at my man with endearing love.

“I have two more weeks to finish the job.”

“Can you get it done?”

“The dining room is complete and looks smashing. Bruno and I are trying to finish the living room. The lighting is being hand-crafted in Baton Rouge, which is holding the project up.”

“I have full faith in you that you’ll complete the job on time. When have you ever let a client down?”

“Kalhoun Design’s reputation is flawless, and I hope to keep it that way.”

Although I didn’t know Casey’s age, I did know that his business was ten years old. His financial state wasn’t bleak. Casey could retire at any second in his career if he wanted to, but his drive to design kept him at work and helped decorate the rooms of the world, particularly southern Florida.

“Cheers to that.” I lifted my glass of water, clanked it against his, and realized that what a great man he made. He enjoyed his job, life, and my company.