by Anyta Sunday
Then why did it calm him that these ‘ifs’ were impossible?
"You're shivering." Paul fished in the swim bag and pulled out another towel. "Wrap that around you."
* * *
"The place seems so quiet without Charlie," Paul said, coming into the dining room and settling himself on the bar stool a couple down from Karl. "Especially with you secretly scribbling away there not making a peep." Paul leaned toward the index cards piled in front of Karl. When his hand darted out to grab one, Karl slapped it away. "Aw, what was that for?"
Karl let out a sheepish grin. "You know, I thought you'd be making those conference calls for longer." He quickly scrawled the last of the sentence and set the card atop the others, moving the pile protectively to the left.
Paul's cast knocked against the counter as he swiveled in Karl's direction and raised a brow.
Karl felt himself dragging the index cards to the middle of the counter between them. Imprisoned under his palm, Paul couldn't access them. "They're my New Year's resolutions. You know, goals for the year."
"Isn't it a bit late in January for that?" He shook his head. "Guess that's beside the point. I've only once made resolutions, they didn't work out, so I never bothered to try again. Does it work for you?"
"I don't know. This is new for me." He slid a couple of blank index cards toward him—close enough Paul could see them. "Make a resolution this year. I'll write it out for you."
"Do I get to see yours?"
"Maybe."
"No deal."
"Okay, yes, you may see one for each resolution you give me."
A sneaky grin dimpled Paul's cheeks. "I'm taking you out to dinner at Rapunzelle tonight, maybe I should get to see one as a bonus?"
Karl shuffled through his pile and placed one card in front of Paul at the edge of the counter, so the corner licked his sleeve.
"Further Education: Look into possible culinary school programs." A shadow passed over Paul's eyes as he read aloud. "Is this something you really want?"
"It's something I need."
Paul stared at the words again. Nodded with a jutting swallow. "Right." His voice croaked and he cleared his throat. In more of a whisper, he added, "What else do you want?"
Karl tapped the blank card, and Paul responded with a small, unenthusiastic smile. He said nothing until their breaths in the silent air became more than noticeable. Then he looked up into Karl's eyes. "I only have two—they sort of belong together though."
Pen poised, its tip to the card, Paul slowly spoke, and Karl noted each word. He frowned when Paul stopped speaking. "I don't understand." He looked at the seven words.
'To think of it as a gift.'
"What as a gift?"
"I've been thinking about how I told you it"—he pointed to himself—"was a disability. But maybe I'm thinking all wrong. Maybe it's a gift? Because, the fact is, being with you makes me feel special." Paul continued on before Karl could take a moment to appreciate and respond to the sweet words. "And that's the difference. I didn't like my stutter. Hated it. But being with you . . . I like that. It should make the outside opinion less important. But, honestly, and we both know this, more than how I view being gay, my problem is the—the guilt. That's the hardest part of this—us. I know you want me to say that Laura . . . that it wasn't my fault, but I don't know if I ever will forgive myself. I can only hope in time it will get less."
He dropped his gaze, fingers curling his index card at the corners. "But guilt aside, I want to work on thinking of my being gay as a gift—not . . . I just need to work on it."
Not knowing how to respond, Karl removed one card from his resolutions and placed the rest in front of Paul.
A finger hesitated over the small pile, then picked up the top yellow card. A wonderful, genuine laugh poured out of Paul. Karl could read the words from where he sat. "To find out how Charlie's she-sha magic works. And try and get some."
Paul slid off his chair, and before Karl had time to realize what was happening, lips joined his, soft, sweet. "You're making my resolution seem like it should be easy."
"I know it'll take time, Paul, that's okay." Karl cupped the back of Paul's neck and kissed him again. Then stood, matching Paul's height and pressing hard into him, holding him as close as he could. When they broke away both were flushed and smiling.
Paul picked up the pen in his good hand and passed it to Karl. His words tumbled out, a nervous ring to them. "Try to show you more how I feel about you."
Karl embraced him into another kiss. Pressing Paul into the counter, hands either side as it deepened. Paul. Beautiful Paul. Karl's hands drifted gently down the sides of the man's body; his kisses escaped the realm of lips, trailing across jaw and down throat. He felt an overwhelming need to make him feel good. Better than good: great.
"Mmm, but I want to see the resolution you put in your pocket."
Loosening his hold, Karl leaned back, brushed a loose lock off Paul's forehead. "I'm not ready to share that one yet."
After an intent, curious stare, Paul nodded. "Okay." Then they were kissing again. Hot breath with hotter words hit the side of Karl's neck. "I want to feel your skin against mine."
Off came their tops. The belt undone, Karl's pants puddled at his feet on the floor; the index card fell half out of the pocket. Karl knelt. Gripped onto it, letting out a shaky breath.
'Admit my feelings even if I'm scared of them.' He quickly stuffed the card under his pile of clothes.
In front of him, Paul shucked out of his clothes, a grin plastered to his face. They shared an amused smile as he struggled with his one hand to yank off his jeans. Karl brought himself flush against Paul, slipping his hands over the curve of his ass, under the jeans. "Let me help you there."
* * *
Paul's brows sunk together in concentration. "It's the same problem as I had last time," he said, resting the menu on the table, "I have no idea what to order."
Karl stared blankly at him. "I have the same problem, I want to try most of them."
Head tipped to the side, Paul gave a little nod. "Hey, that works for me. Then we can share."
Shifting on his plush cushioned seat, Karl said, "No, no—I didn't mean to suggest that—"
"Why not? It's a good idea." God, each main was well over $100. Karl shook his head again, but Paul ignored it. "Just name the ones we should get when it's time to order."
When the waiter came, Karl limited the orders to two small entrees and two mains. He sat back in the chair, satisfied and excited. He shot Paul a small smile. He'd ordered enough off the menu, but without over doing it—and he loved the idea of sharing. Win-win, right—
Paul began to order. Began to order! What? He added two more starters and an additional main.
Puzzled, Karl nudged Paul's foot under the table as the waiter exited their private room. "What was that about? I thought I was ordering for the both of us."
"You're too considerate. I know there was more you wanted to order. Shame that I had to guess what they might be."
Karl huffed, but under it was a smile. "You guessed most of them. Especially the Vichyssoise."
They laughed and chatted lightly. It felt good. Not just the ambiance—the mirrors either end of their private room echoing the chandelier and spilling warm light onto them—but their voices danced joyously in the room, sometimes clashing, other times circling, and always with an underlying laugh.
Paul held his hand, thumbing over his upturned palm and occasionally brushing over his burn mark. The doors slid open. He jerked back, breaking the contact, a red blush creeping over his face as the waiter laid down their food.
Karl tried not to let it bother him and concentrated on the beetroot, pear and feta salad in front of him. Aromas wafted over, new and delicious, but Karl's gaze drifted over the array of dishes to Paul's empty hand. It would take time. Good things did. It was fine.
With a short nod to himself, he allowed Paul an understanding smile. The door clicked into place, leaving the
m alone once more. Still red, Paul couldn't meet Karl's gaze. Instead, he cursed lightly under his breath.
The conversation head-dived, awkward and forced, as they tasted each of the entrees. Unable to enjoy the food as it should be enjoyed, Karl nudged Paul with his foot. "It's okay, you know, don't worry about it. I don't expect you to be fine with everything overnight."
"Yes, b-but I want to be." Paul popped a mushroom into his mouth and chewed. His chair scraped over the floorboards as he leaned back. "Tonight, this was meant to . . . " He drifted off.
Karl threaded his arm through the clear part of the table and offered it to him. Paul accepted, taking Karl's hand in his.
At the next telltale slide of the door, Paul glanced to the side. His Adam's apple sunk and rose. Karl went to slip away, but fingers clutched him, nails digging moons on the back of his hand. The entire time the waiter refreshed their wine and removed empty plates, Paul had his palm locked. His face looked ashen and a light sheen covered his forehead.
Alone again, Paul's grip relaxed.
"You look green."
Paul shook his head and offered him a shaky smile. "I'm good." Squeezed his hand. "I was just, um, nervous."
Karl trapped Paul's leg between his. "How do you feel now?"
"Honesty, I'm—I'm st-st-stuffed, Karl."
"We haven't even gotten to the mains yet." But Karl had the feeling Paul hadn't meant he was full.
Paul's nails started biting into Karl's skin again. "I'm saying, I know I have issues—I'm working on them, but I—what are we, Karl?"
Karl focused on one of the chandeliers in the mirror. Crystal shattered light into fractions as it stirred. "I don't know, exactly." He looked at Paul. "It's something I want to know myself." His heart began to race and the rich food flipped in his stomach. "What . . . what do you want from this?"
The answer came much quicker than Karl expected, as if Paul had been waiting to say this a while and it needed out of him. "I don't want you to leave."
"Sorry?" he said, genuinely perplexed. The idea chilled him. Leave? Hell no, he didn't want that.
"My insurance will be paying you out a hefty sum for the Lamborghini. You won't need to work for me soon. You'll be able to go to your culinary school and go for your dreams . . . "
Karl blew out the breath he held. The money would be helpful for school that's for sure. "But I don't have to go. I've checked some things out, I think I can arrange it so most days I can drop and pick up Charlie. I don't have to leave . . . however—"
Paul flinched at the added fancy 'but'.
"I don't want this as a job, anymore." There, he said it, what had been quietly weighing on him since Christmas. He linked his fingers through Paul's. "You ask what we are, Paul. Well, right now we have a very questionable boss/employee relationship." A small chuckle and brow raise came with that. "But I"—Karl closed his eyes, thinking of his resolution, Admit his feelings, even if they did scare the bejesus out of him—"I want there to be an 'us'. A you-and-me, and Charlie."
He peeled his lids open, hurried to read Paul's expression. His heart rate fell back from a gallop to a trot. Paul smiled—radiated, in fact. Then said the four best words Karl thought he'd ever heard. "I want that, too."
I want that, too. Karl's breath whispered relief as he let it out and his stomach flipped with butterflies. The feelings drowned out the little voice in his head warning him: just because this is something you both want, doesn't mean it will be simple.
18
Till Later
THEY’D DEFINETLY NEED a cleaner too.
The vacuum cleaner pipe hit the frame of Paul's bed as he shoved it under to collect any dust. It helped he had Rock pumping into both ears, and a beat that he could really move to—it sort of doubled as exercise. But still. If he wasn't get paid for this anymore . . . Besides, he'd be starting classes soon. He'd hardly have the time. Charlie was priority.
Okay, he just didn't want to.
The end of the cleaner caught on the foot of the bed, causing it to budge when Karl yanked. A slapping sound had Karl on his knees, checking if he'd broken something. Everything looked fine. Except . . . He stretched for a lone book, lying diagonally, close to the middle. Maybe that'd been the slap? Could've slipped out of the slats.
Karl's heart rate picked up as his fingertips touched the spine. What was a book doing under here anyhow, unless . . . maybe . . . he should just leave it alone. Karl hesitated a moment, but it got the better of him. He dragged it over the clean floor, berating himself—Damn curiosity.
He probably didn't need to flick through once he saw the title, but his hands had a life of their own. Especially when his eye caught dog-eared pages. Not soon enough, sense came crashing down on him—they might be in a relationship now, but Paul still deserved his privacy. He quickly slipped it back under the slats. But damn if he didn't need to adjust himself. Just thinking of Paul like that . . . He shuddered, the pleasant kind that had him wishing Paul were there right now.
There wouldn't be time until much later to sort himself out. Punishment for prying. Damn curiosity.
He notched up the music on his iPod and picked up the still roaring cleaner, when his pocket started to vibrate, right up against—Ohhhla. The world's way of telling him he shouldn't have snooped.
Snatching the phone to his ear, he barked, "Yep?"
Paul chuckled down the line, and Karl felt his own lips correspond.
"Tirone and Gill are meeting us at Frast Park, bringing their sleighs. I'm wrapping up now so I can pick up Charlie."
"I was just finishing the cleaning now and about to head down there to get him myself." It came out a lot more strained and, well, annoyed than he'd anticipated. It was the use of 'I' and lack of 'we' that'd done it. Jesus. Sensitive much? "I mean, we can pick him up together, right?" Yep, seemed so.
Paul's soft laugh he hadn't expected. "I meant I have the time to come along with you. I didn't even think you might want to do something else given the chance. Seems a bit stupid to ask now though."
"Too right. Should we meet in the parking lot?"
"How about my office in five? I just sent Maggie home—"
"Be right there."
"Wait, bring me something casual to slip into. Slacks and a T-shirt. Oh, and a jacket. Maybe my boots?"
"Did you just want to come up here?"
Pause. "Ah, no . . . not really. I . . . " There was a nervous edge to his voice, and Karl liked it. A lot.
His grip tightened on the phone. "You know what? Hold that thought."
In less than five minutes, clothes bundled in his arms, he was striding past the secretary’s desk and right into Paul's office.
Paul was attacking the tie at his throat while reading something on his laptop. It was good seeing him out of the cast. Good seeing him period. He glanced up and his lips peeled into a smile. "Shut the door."
Karl kicked it with the back of his foot and dumped the boots behind it. Then piled the rest of Paul's clothes on top of the desk, almost knocking over a cup of juice. He stabilized it before leaning over the desk, prying at Paul's laptop, but the screen stared blankly back at him.
"You're nosey, aren't you?"
"Yep."
Paul swiveled his chair, and bent to capture Karl's lips with his. "Just got an email reminding me that it's Sue and Timothy's weekend to take Charlie. They'll pick him up eight o'clock tomorrow morning."
Was it bad Karl was glad for that? He loved Charlie around, but . . . he was also looking forward to some quality alone time with Paul. Even more so since seeing that book. . . .
"What're you smirking at?"
Karl focused on Paul's pupils, slowly eating at the cloudy gray around them.
"Nothing. Say," Karl said nice and low, "why'd you want to get dressed in here?"
Paul sat back in his chair. Still bent over Paul's desk, Karl could guess what was going through Paul's mind as his gaze deliberating wandered the scene.
"Oh, just thought it'd be quicker," Paul
said, keeping his voice level as if he were conducting a meeting rather than addressing his boyfriend draped rather suggestively over his desk. "I knew if I went up to the apartment, I'd want to shower and that would, ah, take too long."
The whole thing, Paul in his suit, trying to keep in control—it seemed so, oh hell, freaking hot. It was turning him on even more than he'd thought it would. "Sure, Paul. It'd take too long." Karl's smirk broadened. He reached over and tugged at the tie, tightening it again and urging Paul forward. "Come on, sending Maggie home, inviting me down here . . . What's the real reason for it?"
He wanted to close the distance between their lips once more, but held back to watch Paul squirm and let out a shuddering breath. Karl didn't miss the hand that moved to his crotch and adjusted. "I'm staring at it."
"Good start. Now be more specific. What exactly do you want Paul?"
A quick sideways glance at the clock. Karl followed his gaze. Damn, there really wasn't much time.
Paul calmly stood and rounded the desk. Karl lifted himself to stand too, until a firm hand between his shoulder blades stilled him. Then Paul's body pressed into the back of his. Breath swept over his neck. "There's so much I want, I don't know where or even how to start."
Karl shifted slightly and wondered if it were possible to come just hearing Paul speak to him like that.
"I can't even decide which I'd like more," Paul husked, grinding against his ass. "To be where I am now, or where you are." A little sucking on his ear. Karl moaned. "I'm definitely ready to find out though."
His balls tightened. Holy shit, he really was close to exploding. Pushing back against Paul, he created enough room to turn. Before he could comprehend, their tongues locked together and Karl was shoving Paul against the closed door. "Fuck," he said between kisses, "should meet . . . you in here . . . more often."
Paul laughed, but grabbed Karl's wrists before he could start to unbutton the shirt. The guy was strong, and he failed to free them. Definitely going to join a gym. Buff up a notch.
"We really don't have time right now, though." Paul took both his wrists in one hand and with the other grabbed Karl's throbbing erection. He stared right into his eyes. "Hold it till later?"