That's (Gym) Hot(tie)
A little more...
For the rest of the day, Niall didn’t have much time to think about his latest meeting with Liam.
His Saturdays were always busy with running errands and taking care of everyday life stuff he’d managed to put off the rest of the week. That evening he’d been invited to a dinner party by Colleen, a fellow teacher at the Folk School, and her husband, so by the time he’d gotten home, it was too late to make any phone calls.
On Sunday mornings Niall did yoga and practiced meditation with Sylvia, or at least he tried to. What he’d learned so far on his “journey” was that he wasn’t particularly flexible, and “meditation” was just another word for nap in his case. The real reason he kept at it was the breakfast tea and fresh muffins or scones or biscuits Sylvia rewarded him with afterward.
Sunday afternoons he gave private lessons, and in the evenings, when he wasn’t too exhausted, he concentrated on his own music; jotting down lyrics, practicing riffs, experimenting with various chords, until he was about ready to fall asleep holding his guitar.
So it was Monday morning before Niall could even start the internal debate over whether or not he should take Liam up on his offer for drinks.
Niall wanted to see Liam again, but he wasn’t sure what Liam’s expectations were, nor what his own should be.
As far as Niall knew, Liam was rebounding from a bad breakup with his client/”friend” and not interested in anything beyond a casual acquaintanceship. Or, if he was angling for some kind of three-way hookup, then Liam could go on Grindr like everyone else. Niall didn’t consider himself a prude, but he had to admit he was most definitely a one-on-one kind of guy.
Niall was in line at a cafeteria he frequented near the Folk School, puzzling over his predicament while he counted out exact change for his breakfast.
The next available cashier waved him over.
“Breakfast burrito; bottled frappuccino - $13.63.” She said flatly, not bothering to look up.
“It was twelve sixty-three last week.” Niall noted.
The cashier shrugged.
As Niall reached for his wallet, a second cashier chirped;
“Plain Greek yogurt with flaxseed and blueberries; small black coffee - $9.57.”
Niall glanced over, because he was curious who was buying such a disgusting-sounding meal, and nearly dropped his tray.
It was none other than Mr. Model himself.
“How are you everywhere?!” Niall hissed, too loudly, because Mr. Model turned his head.
“Excuse me?”
Niall tried to look innocent as he collected his receipt.
“Do I know you?” Mr. Model wasn’t going to just let it drop.
Niall shook his head.
Mr. Model studied him for a second.
“You’re Niall.”
Niall nodded, doubting he could deny it as this point.
Mr. Model stared at him until Niall met his eyes.
Then he said;
“Hm.”
And walked away.
Niall followed him.
Mr. Model sat down at a table, and Niall came and stood behind the chair opposite, tray in front of him, like a student waiting to see if the cool kids would allow him to sit with them in the lunchroom.
“So, Liam’s mentioned me?” Niall asked.
Mr. Model looked up, appropriate, “what the hell” expression on his face.
Niall stood firm.
Mr. Model didn’t invite him to sit down, but after a few seconds he did say;
“I recognize you from the café.”
Niall really wanted to ask Mr. Model why the hell he was habitually hanging out in this neighborhood when he undoubtedly lived in some glamorous, cavernous penthouse somewhere in Manhattan, but he tried to keep the focus on what was pertinent.
“So, Liam hasn’t mentioned me.”
Mr. Model ate about half a spoonful of yogurt and sipped his coffee.
“Listen, I know being aloof and disdainful is part of your whole aesthetic,” Niall made a circular motion to indicate Mr. Model’s vibe, “but you don’t have to be so rude.”
Mr. Model raised an eyebrow.
“I’m being rude? Because I haven’t invited a stranger to have breakfast with me and ask personal questions about a friend of mine?”
He did have a point, but Niall was undeterred.
“Look, I just don’t want to make a fool of myself - again - and I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.” Niall plunked his tray down on the table. “I get the impression that you two are, um, close,” he continued, “so maybe you could help me out a little?”
Mr. Model looked down at his food - he’d eaten about three spoonful’s of yogurt and two blueberries - and shook his head.
“He has mentioned you, and he would like you to call.”
Niall tapped a fist on the table and pulled out a chair.
Mr. Model looked like that was the exact opposite of what he’d hoped his words would achieve.
“Cool.” Niall took a big bite of his burrito. “I wanted to make sure he wasn’t just being nice.”
“Liam’s very nice,” Mr. Model seemed resigned to having to continue their conversation, “and he looks for the good in people. Whether they deserve it or not.”
“You mean his ex.” Niall said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“I mean everyone.”
Niall unscrewed the top of his frappuccino and took a drink.
“He’s still hung up on his ex, aye?”
Mr. Model frowned.
“If you want to know more about Liam, then ask him.”
“It’s just,” Niall swallowed some more of his breakfast. “I overheard you two talking about the ex at the café on Saturday.”
Mr. Model shot him a look of disbelief.
“You were eavesdropping?”
“Well…no, not really. I mean…kind of.” Niall swigged more coffee. “Is his ex from…where was it…France?”
“Spain.” Mr. Model put his spoon down and pushed his tray away. “He’s not Spanish. He’s total trash and a complete asshole. That’s all you need to know.”
Niall chewed some green onions and cheese.
“What about you?”
“I’m not from Spain, either.”
“I mean, Liam’s told me you two are…friends, but I’m just wondering…” Niall trailed off, not sure how he could be delicate about his next inquiry.
Mr. Model leaned back in his seat expectantly.
Niall decided tact wasn’t going to work. He gulped more frappuccino.
“That with or without benefits?”
Mr. Model’s eyes widened in the worst possible way.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Sorry…I didn’t mean…I just…” Niall couldn’t even find the words to attempt to backtrack.
“None of your fucking business.” Mr. Model stood abruptly, and Niall half expected him to throw his small black coffee in his face, but Mr. Model just stalked off.
Niall felt like throwing his own drink in his own face. That had been a spectacular screw up.
He had no doubt that Mr. Model was going to tell Liam all about their conversation, and what a nosy pervert Niall was.
Niall set his breakfast burrito down, appetite lost.
For the rest of the day, Niall didn’t have much time to think about his latest meeting with Liam.
His Saturdays were always busy with running errands and taking care of everyday life stuff he’d managed to put off the rest of the week. That evening he’d been invited to a dinner party by Colleen, a fellow teacher at the Folk School, and her husband, so by the time he’d gotten home, it was too late to make any phone calls.
On Sunday mornings Niall did yoga and practiced meditation with Sylvia, or at least he tried to. What he’d learned so far on his “journey” was that he wasn’t particularly flexible, and “meditation” was just another word for nap in his case. The real reason he kept at it was the breakfast tea and fresh muffins or scones or biscuits Sylvia rewarded him with afterward.
Sunday afternoons he gave private lessons, and in the evenings, when he wasn’t too exhausted, he concentrated on his own music; jotting down lyrics, practicing riffs, experimenting with various chords, until he was about ready to fall asleep holding his guitar.
So it was Monday morning before Niall could even start the internal debate over whether or not he should take Liam up on his offer for drinks.
Niall wanted to see Liam again, but he wasn’t sure what Liam’s expectations were, nor what his own should be.
As far as Niall knew, Liam was rebounding from a bad breakup with his client/”friend” and not interested in anything beyond a casual acquaintanceship. Or, if he was angling for some kind of three-way hookup, then Liam could go on Grindr like everyone else. Niall didn’t consider himself a prude, but he had to admit he was most definitely a one-on-one kind of guy.
Niall was in line at a cafeteria he frequented near the Folk School, puzzling over his predicament while he counted out exact change for his breakfast.
The next available cashier waved him over.
“Breakfast burrito; bottled frappuccino - $13.63.” She said flatly, not bothering to look up.
“It was twelve sixty-three last week.” Niall noted.
The cashier shrugged.
As Niall reached for his wallet, a second cashier chirped;
“Plain Greek yogurt with flaxseed and blueberries; small black coffee - $9.57.”
Niall glanced over, because he was curious who was buying such a disgusting-sounding meal, and nearly dropped his tray.
It was none other than Mr. Model himself.
“How are you everywhere?!” Niall hissed, too loudly, because Mr. Model turned his head.
“Excuse me?”
Niall tried to look innocent as he collected his receipt.
“Do I know you?” Mr. Model wasn’t going to just let it drop.
Niall shook his head.
Mr. Model studied him for a second.
“You’re Niall.”
Niall nodded, doubting he could deny it as this point.
Mr. Model stared at him until Niall met his eyes.
Then he said;
“Hm.”
And walked away.
Niall followed him.
Mr. Model sat down at a table, and Niall came and stood behind the chair opposite, tray in front of him, like a student waiting to see if the cool kids would allow him to sit with them in the lunchroom.
“So, Liam’s mentioned me?” Niall asked.
Mr. Model looked up, appropriate, “what the hell” expression on his face.
Niall stood firm.
Mr. Model didn’t invite him to sit down, but after a few seconds he did say;
“I recognize you from the café.”
Niall really wanted to ask Mr. Model why the hell he was habitually hanging out in this neighborhood when he undoubtedly lived in some glamorous, cavernous penthouse somewhere in Manhattan, but he tried to keep the focus on what was pertinent.
“So, Liam hasn’t mentioned me.”
Mr. Model ate about half a spoonful of yogurt and sipped his coffee.
“Listen, I know being aloof and disdainful is part of your whole aesthetic,” Niall made a circular motion to indicate Mr. Model’s vibe, “but you don’t have to be so rude.”
Mr. Model raised an eyebrow.
“I’m being rude? Because I haven’t invited a stranger to have breakfast with me and ask personal questions about a friend of mine?”
He did have a point, but Niall was undeterred.
“Look, I just don’t want to make a fool of myself - again - and I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.” Niall plunked his tray down on the table. “I get the impression that you two are, um, close,” he continued, “so maybe you could help me out a little?”
Mr. Model looked down at his food - he’d eaten about three spoonful’s of yogurt and two blueberries - and shook his head.
“He has mentioned you, and he would like you to call.”
Niall tapped a fist on the table and pulled out a chair.
Mr. Model looked like that was the exact opposite of what he’d hoped his words would achieve.
“Cool.” Niall took a big bite of his burrito. “I wanted to make sure he wasn’t just being nice.”
“Liam’s very nice,” Mr. Model seemed resigned to having to continue their conversation, “and he looks for the good in people. Whether they deserve it or not.”
“You mean his ex.” Niall said around a mouthful of scrambled eggs.
“I mean everyone.”
Niall unscrewed the top of his frappuccino and took a drink.
“He’s still hung up on his ex, aye?”
Mr. Model frowned.
“If you want to know more about Liam, then ask him.”
“It’s just,” Niall swallowed some more of his breakfast. “I overheard you two talking about the ex at the café on Saturday.”
Mr. Model shot him a look of disbelief.
“You were eavesdropping?”
“Well…no, not really. I mean…kind of.” Niall swigged more coffee. “Is his ex from…where was it…France?”
“Spain.” Mr. Model put his spoon down and pushed his tray away. “He’s not Spanish. He’s total trash and a complete asshole. That’s all you need to know.”
Niall chewed some green onions and cheese.
“What about you?”
“I’m not from Spain, either.”
“I mean, Liam’s told me you two are…friends, but I’m just wondering…” Niall trailed off, not sure how he could be delicate about his next inquiry.
Mr. Model leaned back in his seat expectantly.
Niall decided tact wasn’t going to work. He gulped more frappuccino.
“That with or without benefits?”
Mr. Model’s eyes widened in the worst possible way.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Sorry…I didn’t mean…I just…” Niall couldn’t even find the words to attempt to backtrack.
“None of your fucking business.” Mr. Model stood abruptly, and Niall half expected him to throw his small black coffee in his face, but Mr. Model just stalked off.
Niall felt like throwing his own drink in his own face. That had been a spectacular screw up.
He had no doubt that Mr. Model was going to tell Liam all about their conversation, and what a nosy pervert Niall was.
Niall set his breakfast burrito down, appetite lost.