by Tara Lain
“Merwaowr.”
Anderson oozed onto the bed and slid under his arm, butting Ian’s hand with his big head. Ian’s fingers slid into the silky fur all on their own. “You’ve got me trained, fuzzball.” Yeah, they’d trained each other since that night they’d found some warmth and comfort in their mutual loneliness and despair beside the dumpster. Of course, Anderson never surrendered. Ian smiled. Intrepid cat.
“Okay, buddy, give me some fuzzy balls. Here goes.”
Chapter Eleven
Ian dialed. Probably get voice mail.
“Hello, Ian.” Rico’s voice dripped with sympathy. Maybe sadness, but more like he felt sorry for Ian. Enough of that shit!
“Hi.” He filled the word with enthusiasm. “How’s your dad?”
“Not well. He’s having trouble walking up stairs.”
Uh, okay. That didn’t sound like death’s door. Good. “I have a surprise for you.”
“Oh?” He sounded more suspicious than excited.
“Hear me out, okay? I’ve made some inquiries.” He swallowed. “I’m hoping you’ll be able to fill me in on the rest. So—” He rushed ahead. “—I’ve looked into transferring my credits to UNAM and it’s hard but not impossible, and I’m thinking I could start right out helping you set up your family’s architecture practice, and if I need to get different work, well, maybe your brother or father might have some contacts, and it will take me longer to finish my degree, but at least I can get my license in Mexico, and—”
“Ian, stop!”
“I know you think I’d be giving up too much, but I really believe if we love each other that we need to find a way to work this out, and I’m the youngest and have less to lose, so I should be the one—”
“Stop!”
He stopped.
Rico sighed long and patiently. “It won’t work. It’s out of the question.”
“Why, for God’s sake? You have a business. You have a place to live. How much space will I take up?”
“It’s impossible. If you came here, we couldn’t be together. There’s no place for another person in our business. I’m living at home. I couldn’t do that. I’m so sorry, Ian. I know it’s not what we talked about or planned—”
“I don’t care about not having our home here or my working in a big architectural firm. But why can’t we be together? Why can’t I have that much of what we planned? Our family. That’s all that matters. I don’t care where we live. I just want to be with you.” Tears ran down his face, and he swiped at his running nose.
“I’m so sorry, dear. My father’s illness, my coming here, has changed everything. You’re young. You’ll forget me.”
“No.”
“Believe me. It’s all for the best.”
“No, please, Rico.”
“I’m so sorry, dear.”
The line went dead. As dead as his heart.
“Merwaowr.” That little expression of feline sympathy hammered the last nail. Ian collapsed on the bed, sobbing his guts out.
Sometime later—minutes? hours?—Jim and Ken found him. Feeling Jim’s big arms around him returned some semblance of consciousness—and pain.
“Hey, buddy, what’s wrong?”
Ian shook his head.
Ken sat on the other side of him, and Anderson slid onto Ian’s lap. “Rico, right?”
Ian nodded.
Jim said, “You’re not going to Mexico City?”
“N-no.”
“He doesn’t want you to come?”
“H-he didn’t s-say that. Just that if I did, we couldn’t be together. He said everything is different.” He burrowed his head in Jim’s shoulder. “I don’t w-want it to be different, Jim. I want to be with Rico. He’s my family.”
Jim’s arms tightened. “We’re your family, buddy. If you leave us, we’ll be miserable too. Even Anderson. What would he do without you? You saved him.”
“B-but I want a family of my own—like you and Ken.”
Ken wrapped his arms around Jim’s, so Ian felt a double hug. “It will come, Ian. You’re only twenty-one, dear. You have lots of time to find your guy.”
“R-Rico’s my guy.”
“I know it seems like it now.”
“He said we’d move in together.” He wiped at the tears that flooded down his cheeks.
“When?” Ken frowned.
“At the airport before he left.”
“You mean before everything changed?”
“Y-yes.”
“Well, now, for whatever reason, he has to stay in Mexico, and you can’t be with him.”
“I know. I feel so bad for him. Things must be terrible, and he just can’t tell me. He doesn’t want me to worry about him. Oh God, poor Rico.”
Jim held his face and wiped at his cheeks. “I know this is a terrible loss, buddy. But you’re a fighter. We’re in it together, just like when Dad threw you out. And now we have Ken—and Anderson. That’s a lot of balls. We’ll make this work out, okay?”
“O-okay.” He forced his lips to turn up. Nothing would ever be okay again.
“Here’s what we’ve selected for the buffet, Braden. Do you think it’s enough food? Most people like Mexican, so we’ve loaded up on tacos, enchiladas, and chimichangas, and stuff like that.”
“Sounds great to me. In fact, you’re making me hungry.” He smiled at the three women who had taken on most of the party-planning responsibility. Of course, caterers would do the work, but these three took the frivolous decision-making off his shoulders, which was a damned good thing, because he sure as fuck didn’t feel frivolous. “Remember, we’re right in the middle of June gloom in Laguna, so we need to be prepared for a lot of the day being too foggy to be fun, and people will have to hang at my house.”
One of the women, Alicia, grinned. “I don’t think having fun at your place will be a hardship.”
“I hope not, I—” He looked up at the gray cloud drifting past his office. Ian. “Uh, would you excuse me, ladies? I need to speak to Ian Carney about the, uh, building we’re working on.”
Virginia, one of his architects, flashed some wide eyes in Ian’s direction. “Isn’t he an intern?”
“Yes.” More detail he wasn’t prepared to add. He got up and walked to his office door. “Ian.”
Ian turned. The usually bright eyes looked dull. “Yes, sir?”
Sir? Jesus, if he hadn’t felt that much older than Ian before, he did now. “May I see you for a minute?”
“Of course.”
Ian plodded into his office like whips and chains might be waiting, and not in a good way. The women crossed his path as they left. “Hey, Ian.”
“Hi, Ian.”
Virginia, the highest ranking of the three, gave him an appraising look but said nothing.
Braden called, “Thanks again. Just keep me up-to-date on what I can do to make this all go off smoothly, short of controlling the weather.”
“Thanks, Braden.”
He walked over and closed the door, which got a look from Ian. “Please sit.”
Ian sat and stared at his hands.
Braden flopped in the chair behind his desk. “We’re planning the beach party for the company.”
Ian said nothing.
“It’s next weekend. I might tell the planning committee they can check with you about access to the beach and setting up my house if I’m not available.”
Ian nodded.
“Is that okay with you?”
“Sure.”
This is stupid. “You’re not planning to move to Mexico before then?”
Ian sucked in a visible breath but shook his head.
Braden stared at him. Whipped puppy. Cute whipped puppy, but still beat-up. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“Oh bullshit, Ian. You may be prepared to act fifteen, but I’m not. Tell me what’s happening with you, now.”
Ian looked up with flashing eyes. “Is that an order, sir?”
“Take it any way y
ou want. But I thought we were friends.”
His green eyes skimmed with moisture.
Braden wiped a hand over his face. “Oh hell, Ian. What did I do?”
“What? Nothing!”
“I know I was hard on you the other day, but we’d just done this great building together and I was excited and—shit, I apologize for being so high-handed. I’m sure I’d do the same thing if the man I loved was in Mexico.”
His eyes dropped to his hands again. “I’m not going to Mexico.”
Braden’s heart leaped. Stupid. “I’m, uh, sorry.”
Again, Ian just nodded.
“You couldn’t transfer your credits?”
“Rico says we can’t be together there. He won’t say why. Something to do with his family, I think.”
“Oh. Uh, could it be he’s actually in the closet there?”
Ian looked up at him, his eyes shiny but narrowed.
“Mexico City is fairly liberal, but that doesn’t mean all the people are. Machismo still rules much of Mexico, and Catholicism is the religion. Perhaps his family doesn’t know he’s gay, and he’s too embarrassed to admit it.”
“I never thought of that.”
“It’s possible.”
Ian fell against the back of the chair. “That would explain a lot.” He still frowned.
“Assuming his family doesn’t corner him into marrying a woman, maybe he’ll still be able to come back here regularly, and you two can be together until you figure out something more permanent.” Shit, Lord, what are you saying? He clamped his mouth closed.
“That’s an amazing idea.” Some giant cloud bank lifted, and Ian smiled. “Thank you. I’ll give him a few days and then call him. Maybe let him know I’m open to some clandestine liaisons.” He actually laughed. “I could even fly there sometimes. Meet up in a remote spot or something. Maybe we can work this out after all.” He leaped to his feet. “If this wasn’t the office, I’d kiss you. Thanks again.” He powered toward the door and stopped. “Oh, sorry. Was there something else you wanted?”
“No. Just wanted to check on you.” He swallowed.
“Thank you.” He beamed at Braden. “I’m sorry I was such a brat. I don’t know how I got so lucky as to have you for a friend.” He ran out the door.
Braden watched Ian going—going—gone. Friend. Right. All he was or could ever be. Wake up and smell the Mexican coffee.
Thirty minutes of total submersion in his design drug later, his cell buzzed. Still bleary from wandering in a two-dimensional world, he clicked. “Yes?”
“Braden?”
“What?” He glanced at the phone. “Oh hi, Yancey.”
“I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to call. I had a conference and then ended up at an emergency client meeting right after it.”
“I know how that is.”
“So would you like to try dinner again? Maybe someplace new?”
Real life. Deal with it. “Yes.”
Yancey laughed. “No ‘let me check my schedule’ or ‘see if you can work me in’?”
“No.”
“I like a decisive man. How about Thursday?”
“Fine.”
“There’s a new Italian place in that shopping center near Pelican Point. I pass it on my way home.”
“Okay. Send me the address.”
“Sure you don’t want to be picked up?”
“No. I’ll see you there.”
“At seven?”
“Fine.”
He laughed again. “Great talking with you.”
Braden hung up. There’s more than one kind of drug.
Braden pulled into the parking lot in front of Calibri. With a twist, he turned off the ignition and sucked in breath. Sucked. You sure you want to do this?
Don’t think. Get out of the fucking car.
A minute later, he walked in and got a wave from Yancey at the bar. Three minutes later, he had a vodka martini in front of him and the smell of alcohol warming his brain. He took a long drink.
Yancey grinned. “Must have been a tough day. I don’t remember you drinking much.”
“I don’t.” He took another swallow.
“So what’s going on?” He slugged back a mouthful of Scotch.
Braden shrugged. “Nothing big. Just wife threatening to take my kids away, figuring out how to come out of the closet without undermining my business and losing my clients, attempting to cram two hundred people into my house if the weather’s bad for the company party, and trying to keep my design collaborator from moving to fucking Mexico.” He finished the drink. “Just your regular.”
“Shit, man, have another martini.” Yancey laughed and raised a hand for the bartender.
“I better eat or you’ll carry me out of here.”
“That sounds fun.” The bartender arrived. Yancey said, “We’re going to go in for dinner. Would you send us another couple of drinks and add the bar bill to our check?”
Braden’s second martini arrived way before the food, so most of it went down before he ever got to the eggplant parmigiana, and a third one magically took its place.
By coffee, he’d consumed too much alcohol and stayed way too distracted to make good conversation, but Yancey talked for both of them, explaining his new ad campaign for the client they shared. As best Braden could grasp it through the fog of vodka, it sounded interesting and creative.
“So I didn’t know you had a design collaborator.” Yancey sipped his coffee.
“What?”
“Earlier, in your list of burdens, you mentioned trying to keep your design collaborator from moving to Mexico.”
“Oh yeah.” He tried to mainline some caffeine to fight off the alcoholic buzz. All it seemed to do was create a wide-awake drunk. “He wansh, I mean wants, to follow his boyfriend to Mexico. Crappy idea.”
“Oh? Why?”
Braden shook his head. “Ruin his career. Work for a developer. Waste of talent.”
“Sometimes a job isn’t the whole deal.”
“I know.” Shit, did he know. “Boyfriend is a crap boyfriend. Doesn’t appreciate him.” He passed up the coffee cup to slug down the last mouthful of martini. “Should be running back to claim him. Left him alone. Shouldn’t be alone.”
Yancey frowned. “Sounds like you’ve given this a lot of thought.”
“Yeah. Crap boyfriend.”
“Want to go dancing?”
“Nah. Not so steady. Probably go home.”
“You shouldn’t be driving, my friend. I’ll take you. Your car will be okay here overnight.”
“’Kay.”
Trying very hard to appear totally sober, which probably failed miserably, Braden marched carefully to Yancey’s car and flopped on the passenger seat. Yancey closed the door behind him, and Braden collapsed his head against the headrest. Stupid! Why did I do this? Bright green eyes flashed in his mind. Bullshit.
Yancey drove down the Newport Coast Drive toward the blackness of the ocean stretched in front of them. Peaceful. They turned left on PCH toward Laguna. Yancey’s hand crept across the console and caressed Braden’s thigh. Kind of nice.
Halfway to Laguna, those fingers tickled Braden’s balls through his jeans. Little bolts of electricity zapped his cock, and the thing started climbing. Braden opened his eyes, but his head swam and his stomach lurched, so he closed them again. God, don’t feel so good. Carsick. He opened one lid and glanced out the window. Almost home. The lights of central Laguna shops gave way to the south Laguna houses lining the highway. Hang in there. The car will stop soon.
Pounce. Yancey’s hand closed over Braden’s half-masted cock just as Braden waved his hand toward the entry to his cliffside home. Yancey pulled in, stopped, and in one move, Braden opened the door and leaped out, gulping big lungfuls of sea air. He leaned against the car and hung his head.
The car door slammed. Yancey’s footsteps on the gravel of the drive preceded his heat against Braden’s side. “You okay?”
“Yeah. T
he movement of the car bothered me.”
“Just breathe. I’ll entertain you.” He stepped in front of Braden and clamped a hand into his crotch. Moving closer, he stretched up and captured Braden’s lips with his open mouth.
Uhh, not helping with the breathing. Braden rolled his head to the side. “Need air.”
“Oh right. Okay.” Yancey’s lips nibbled Braden’s neck and ear while his hand grasped and released, grasped and released.
Shit, for all the attention that cock got, this ought to feel wonderful. Somehow, it just didn’t. Braden shook his head. “Sorry. Got too drunk. Not a good time.”
“C’mon, baby. You’re gay. Get with the program. Let’s get back in the car, and I’ll suck you off. Or better yet, go into your house and fuck.”
“Kids. No.”
“Oh shit, you’ve got the whole package of crap. What good is being gay if you can’t sidestep all that hetero baggage?” He massaged harder. “Come on, let’s get in the car. At least we can jerk each other off.”
“Nah. Not a good night.”
“This is two dates that haven’t been good nights.”
“Sorry.” He tried to push off from the car, but Yancey slammed his body into Braden’s and started riding against him, erect cock almost making it to Braden’s now deflated one.
“Come on, baby.” He reached up and grasped Braden’s hair, pulling his head lower and consuming his mouth with very watery lips.
Yuck. Even his cock wasn’t interested. He started to pull away and—flash! The whole car lit up like someone had set off a firework in the tailpipe. What the fuck? His eyes flew open and he stared at a guy standing in the bushes at the edge of his driveway with a camera bigger than a cell phone. The guy grinned and disappeared.
“What in hell was that?” Yancey looked around frantically.
Braden sighed. “Probably someone working for my wife’s lawyer.”
“You are fucking kidding me.”
“Wish I was.” He felt his shoulders droop. Matched his mood—and his outlook. “Good-bye, Yancey. I’ll send you a check to cover dinner.”
He walked slowly to the front door of the house that somehow had to hold two hundred people. Man, he did not feel like a fucking party.