“Masato rose to his feet, bowing slightly as Ichiro brushed beside him. The man barely glanced at him as they headed to the table at which Masato had pointed. As they walked, Masato fell behind, eyeing his ex-lover’s confident stride. The dark trench swirled dramatically around Ichiro’s long, jean-clad legs. Waves of his polished obsidian hair spilled over the collar of the designer coat like liquid silk. He looks good, really good.
Thunderous heartbeats filled Masato’s ears. He forcibly slowed the traitorous patters and tried to determine his old friend’s mood. The respectful bow he received as they reached their destination let him know that they were at least on speaking terms. Nodding his head in acknowledgment, he slid out a chair for his ex and sat across from it.
“Ichiro,” he murmured, “glad you could make it.”
Ichiro looked at the chair and then at Masato before asking, “Did I really have a choice? The way you sounded on the phone—am I in trouble? Or is this just another ploy to get me back into your bed?”