by Anyta Sunday
Karl groaned.
Paul gave him a little tug. Oh hell, he couldn't be for real. Then Paul was whispering at his ear, the bite into his lobe an exclamation. "You look so hot right now. Can’t wait to finish this. "
Karl swallowed hard, and made sure to brush against Paul's groin once more. Then he shakily stepped back and met Paul's gaze with a promise in his eye. They'd sure be having the sex of their lives tonight.
In the meantime, it was a good thing they were going out in the snow.
* * *
The sexy mood sobered up on the ride to Charlie's pre-school. Like, really sobered up. At first he thought it had something to do with Karl driving them, and Paul's anxieties to get behind the wheel again, but that's not when he'd drifted into a weird quiet. That'd come after Karl asked him more about the meet-up with Tirone and Gillian.
In his peripheral vision, Paul sat, shoulders hunched, eyes too intent on the slushy road. "What's up?"
Paul swung him a look before returning his gaze out the passenger window, his index finger circling the face of his watch. Round and round. "It's just . . . about us . . . I know I said I'd try . . ." Karl heard the 'but' before it left Paul's lips; hell, his body language screamed it for him. He let his breath drizzle out of him as he flicked the blinker and made a right turn. "But," ahh, there it was, "Tirone and Gillian . . . they wouldn't understand."
Karl hadn't noticed his grip on the wheel tighten until he had to peel one hand off to change gears. "You said yourself Tirone has a gay brother. I think he'd accept you—and come on, they're okay with me. I don't think they'll mind."
Paul's eyes were now on him, he could feel his cool stare. And he got it too, shit, why couldn't he just have kept quiet and nodded? At the lights, Karl cuffed Paul's wrist, stopping him from fingering the watch. He gripped the silver strap, feeling each link as he ran his thumb over it. Tirone and Gillian, they were her friends first. Karl could accept Paul's fear that he was in some way betraying them. Even if he didn't think it was the case. "I'm sorry. Of course, I won't let on a thing." But his fingers tightened a moment on the strap as if they had a life of their own; as if they wanted to tear it from him and break each link. Like it would sever the remainder of his connection with her.
Hurriedly, he yanked his hand away. How could he think such a thing? If this was going to work at all, sure Paul would have to learn to accept what they have, but he had to accept Laura would always be there. Always. In the watch. In Charlie.
He couldn't keep getting jealous like this. Karl looked at Paul again, this time to find gray eyes reading him. "I'm sorry," he mumbled again, in case somehow Paul had read his thoughts.
"Me too, Karl." Paul plucked Karl's hand from the wheel and, not caring about the lanes either side of them, kissed each finger.
Karl's hand felt light—only the traces of Paul's kisses a welcome weight—the rest of the drive to the pre-school.
As Paul picked Charlie up and settled him into the car, Karl couldn't help but smile, though under it was a nervous tremor. It was all very well that Paul said he wanted a 'them', but the seriousness of what they had wouldn't be proven until Paul told Charlie. Every day for weeks since they'd decided they wanted this, Karl had held his breath waiting—hoping—for Paul to tell the boy.
But he understood. Really, he did.
Really.
Karl's tooth pierced his lip, and he sucked the blood as he started the car to meet Tirone and Gillian.
"Took forever, didn't you?" Gillian was the first to complain as they trudged through the crunchy snow to meet them. Water dripped from Charlie's boots, sliding down Karl's jacket. He lifted the monkey off his shoulders. Little arms flung out, wrapping themselves around Gillian's legs. "Hey, you're in a good mood."
"Tirone!" was his bubbly response, and he pointed behind her.
Tirone pulled two sleds, one in either hand; he stopped at their side, took one look at the jumping Charlie and grinned. "Let's test these babies out, shall we? Jump on, and I'll pull you up the hill."
Well, hill was stretching it, but there was a good little incline that made for prime sled riding. The spare sled was handed to Paul.
"We expecting more kids to turn up?" Karl queried, a hint of a chuckle in his voice.
Gillian served him a blank stare. "They're all here already." She tilted her head towards Tirone and then Paul. Crimson laced the latter's cheeks, but a smile teased the corner of his lips.
"This is a little . . . tradition," he merely stated with a casual shrug.
Gillian just rolled her eyes and grinned, then, cozying up to Karl's side, said, "They race each other. Best of five. Charlie and I adjudicate. Each round there's a new rule."
"God, please don't let there be blindfolds involved this time," Paul muttered, rubbing his hands together.
"It's all pretty lame, really."
Catching Gillian completely off-guard, Paul grabbed her by the waist and heaved her over his shoulder. "Lame, huh?" He swung around trying to grab at a dangling piece of material. Once he got it, he flicked it in Karl's direction. Black and white checkers darted in front of his nose. "And the way we start each round is totally cool."
Gillian clawed her way off Paul in bursts of laughter. "Hey! Give me back my scarf!" She snatched it out of his hand. "Let's just agree that none of it’s cool. Except seeing you guys ending up face-first in the snow."
Seeing Gillian still giggling and sweetly flushed, Karl wished he'd been the one tackled. Paul's gaze flirted in his direction and stopped when he saw Karl staring. He quickly blinked. "Um, so what does the winner get?"
"Well I get to babysit Charlie either way—the loser has to buy some expensive type of whiskey, and they have a night yarning about who-knows-what."
Paul shook his head. "Expensive-type-of-whiskey! That's why you get to babysit."
Tirone and Charlie screeched as they hurtled past on their sled. Looked fun.
"You don't have to babysit, Gill, I could do it."
"Yeah, but I'm doing this as a favor—you can have the night to yourself. You sure work hard enough as it is. You're the best caretaker Charlie's had." She turned to Paul. "Don't let go of this one."
Paul and Karl exchanged a look, and Paul was the first to break it. "You can join us if you like, Karl." He made it sound like a polite offer, and that bugged the hell out of him. Couldn't he show a little emotion—make it sound like he actually wanted him to come along?
Time. Time. Time, Karl repeated in his head to soothe the disappointment. Paul probably wanted him to say yes—expected it even. But—"No, that's okay thanks." He was glad Paul's eyes snapped to his just then. Something at least. "I have some emails to write, and there are a few recipes I want to try out. Can I cook you dinner, Gillian?"
"Honey, you never need to ask."
Paul's brow furrowed in his direction. "Are you sure, Karl? I mean, we could make it a guy's night out."
"Yes, I'm sure. It's your tradition—something I'm obviously not involved in," he said it lightly, adding a smile, but behind it both he and Paul knew what he was really saying. That the way things were between them, he wasn't really involved in Paul's life. His life beyond locked doors.
Paul kicked at the snow as they waited for Tirone and Charlie to come back up the hill. Every now and then, Paul would sneak an annoyed? frustrated? glance his way. Well, whichever, it sure was mirrored.
But damn, why did he have to look so hot with a scowl?
Tirone halted at the top of the crest, nudging Gillian's side. "Your turn with the boy."
While she and Charlie roared down the slope, Tirone made an impressive display of flexing his guns and stretching, well, everything. "Gonna win this year, Paul. Count on it."
Paul scoffed. "In your dreams, man. In fact, there isn't much point in even doing this. You can pull out now, save some face if you like."
Tirone stooped into what looked like a stretch, but from Karl's position he could see a large hand cupping a ball of snow. Wham! Dead cente
r of Paul's face. Karl laughed.
"That amuse you, does it, Andrews?" It was the first time Paul had called him by his last name. Something about it he liked. Not that he had long to dwell on it. Snow burst on the side of his head, cold flakes falling on the inside of his jacket. He flicked it off before it ran down his back, eyeing Paul's mischievous grin.
Another ball hit him. He blinked. Fine. Let them see just how good an aim he had. Within seconds snow shot in all directions; the three of them tackled each other into a heap and, in their attempts to gain the upper hand, slid halfway down the hill.
When they all lay back, exhausted, Karl looked up to see Gillian and Charlie both shaking their heads at them. Charlie clapped his hands. "Up boys!"
Gillian smiled, and unwound the scarf from her neck. "You heard the boy. Time to start the relays."
* * *
Paul had asked Karl to come out again after he'd put Charlie to bed. Truth was, he wanted to go with them. This stubborn streak he had was annoying. But he also felt justified turning Paul down. Natural consequences, right? He sighed as he cut the lasagna into perfect squares and prepared two plates.
Consequences. What was he playing at here? Was this him being petty? No, not really, he was playing it safe. It'd be too easy to let something slip in front of Tirone. Especially if alcohol was involved.
He sighed as Gillian came into the room, cell phone still in hand. "Okay, looks like everyone will make it for Paul's 28th. So, if you're all set with the menu and Tirone's done sorting out the music, I think we're pretty much set."
Karl just nodded.
"What's the long face for?"
"Nothing." He forced a smile. "I'm all good."
"And I hate chocolate. Come here."
Karl rested their plates on the little wooden placemats and tried for a better, more believable smile.
"Good try. Still not buying it."
"Well, you should. I’m fine." But his snappy response served only to fuel her skepticism; Karl could see it in the slight raise of her brow.
Her nails tapped against the glass as she picked it up and sipped. He tensed, waiting for her next response. The fork twisted between his thumb and forefinger, and when she said nothing, Karl stabbed into his lasagna. Why did he want her to say something now?
Maybe because he wanted something recognized, if only his mood. God he could be such a dick. Acting like an adolescent.
He was so up and down. One moment the image of Paul in his office overwhelmed him and he almost heard himself humming, and then he goes to mention something about Paul to Gillian and he has to stop and think whether it's okay or not first. It sucked.
With reluctance he forced the food into his mouth. Not exactly the burst of flavor he'd been aiming for. Still, the caramelized red onion did add a little something.
"Honey," Gillian's voice had a motherly hint to it, warm, and her pitch rose at the last syllable, possibly turning it into a question. Karl didn't have to answer though, Gillian continued, "It's okay, you know. I'm not blind."
Huh? He looked up, startled. A coil of nervousness began to unwind in his gut. "Sorry?"
She held his gaze for a moment, then popped a forkful of lasagna into her mouth. Each of her chews sped up the uncoiling process. Did she know? And what did that mean for him and Paul? And would Paul feel like he had something to do with it, that he'd let it out somehow? That even though he’d promised, he hadn't been careful?
He gulped; the food seemed to lodge in his throat and he washed it down with water. "Not blind to what, exactly?"
Gillian sighed and dropped her gaze to the plate. She frowned a moment, then lifted her head again, this time with a smile. "Oh, you know, making this amazing food just for Paul and Charlie and us, it's . . . well, maybe not enough. You're going to want to spread your wings and fly soon."
Karl studied her carefully. She quickly picked up her glass, and Karl couldn't brush off the feeling she was hiding behind it.
His pocket buzzed. Two messages. Must have missed one earlier. Karl read them. The first: Dammit Karl, I wish you were here. You were meant to be here.
Karl felt a smile stretch his lips, puff his cheeks, crease the skin around his eyes. He checked the second: It’s later now, isn’t it? Pick up where we left off . . .
A thrill shot through him, sharp and heading downward. Fuck yeah. He slipped the phone back in his pocket, looked up and Gillian and found her shaking her head with grin. "Go on, off with you."
"What—How did you—?"
"Your expression gave it away." She waited a moment, then added, "I could almost see those whiskey glass thingies in your eyes."
Karl laughed as he got to his feet, the rest of his dinner forgotten.
"Oh, and pinch Tirone for me every so often, would you? When he doesn't feel it anymore, send him home."
"To yours or his?" he quipped, without thinking. Then froze.
Gillian blinked. Up came the glass again, only this time he could see her profile, and he didn't miss the lashes closing briefly, the fogging on the glass as she let out a long breath.
"I'm sorry, Gill. I wasn't thinking."
"No, it's . . . fine."
"Right. And I hate cooking."
The chair legs screamed against the floor as Gillian stood abruptly, rising up to her full height, still so much shorter than Karl. Yet her composure made up for the foot and a half between them. She met his gaze squarely. He expected her to raise her voice and throw it at him, instead her words came out almost a whisper, and suddenly the strong woman in front of him was blinking back tears. "It's unrequited, Karl. And I'm okay with that. He's my best friend, and I can love him that way, too."
Karl found himself reaching out and awkwardly patting her shoulder.
She quickly smiled and twisted to collect the only half-eaten plates, squashing the food as she jammed them on top of each other.
Did she just need some space now? Should he slip away? Or was he supposed to talk this out with her? What was the protocol here? They were friendly—in fact, he and Gillian seemed to get on especially well—but she was Paul's friend. It wasn't his business to get involved at this level, right?
And yet . . . Paul trusted him to look after his friends. "Gill?"
She hurried past him into the kitchen. Air stirred in her wake. He felt a little . . . unsure. "Gill . . . " Words failed him. He wanted to say that, from what he'd seen between them, it seemed like they both liked each other. How did she know it was unrequited? But it seemed insensitive to say. Or like he was offering false hope or something. He really didn't know how it was for Tirone. But the look on his face at the aquarium . . . Hmmm.
Gillian moved to access the table once more, but Karl caught and dragged her into a hug.
"You are quite something, Gill." He squeezed, and then added, "I don't know of anyone who can pack away quite so much chocolate as you."
Her giggle came as a warm surprise against his chest. She slowly unfolded herself from his arms. "I think you and I are going to get on really well. I'm glad you're . . . part of our circle."
It was in the weight of her last words; in the look they shared between them. Karl was sure of it.
Gillian knew.
19
Touch Me
"FINALLY. ABOUT TIME you got his texts!" Tirone stretched to the neighboring table and began dragging a free chair over. Karl hooked his hands around it, placing it ever-so-slightly closer to Paul. Not that it mattered too much; the small round table brought them almost shoulder to shoulder anyway.
Tirone got up to grab an extra tumbler from the bar, and as he did, Karl leaned over to Paul, flashing him the text he'd written earlier. It’s later now, isn’t it? Pick up where we left off . . .
Paul's eyes widened and he swallowed, shifting in his chair. His gaze darted to Tirone across the cozy bar, under his breath, he said, "I’m so ready." His tongue slipped over his bottom lip. "So, how was dinner?"
Karl stilled a moment. A part of him wanted to t
ell Paul about Gill. But a bigger part warned him against it. Not tonight. Paul would think he'd let it slip when they were alone together. Besides, maybe Karl got it wrong, maybe she didn't know. Oh, but she did. He couldn't say anything; Gill would have to be the one to do it.
At least he knew she'd accept them. But he had a feeling Paul would be blind to that level of rational thinking if he heard it from him. Best not say a thing.
He wouldn't.
"I wasn't very hungry in the end." Which, between his bad mood and sudden decision to come down here, was true. Karl glanced at Tirone, chatting to the bartender, an elbow on the counter, throwing around a flirtatious smile. "I sort of upset Gill, though." He quickly detailed his thoughtless moment.
"Unrequited?" Paul repeated. "You think?"
"No idea. I sorta thought he might be interested in her, but . . . "—He danced a hand towards Tirone—"Now I really don't know."
Paul looked at Karl out the corner of his eye. "Well, guess we could fish . . . I mean," he pointed at the Canadian Club cask, "what do you say?"
Karl risked a quick squeeze to his knee. "Sure." Then, taking advantage of the opportunity, he ran his fingers all the way to the top of Paul's inner thigh before dropping it again. He relished the sharp intake of air Paul took.
"I'll be good now," Karl promised.
"You're going to have to stop smirking like that, too."
"Oh yeah,"—brow raise—"why's that?"
"You know damn well what that does to—" But Tirone was back, and Paul ended with a shoulder shrug. His flushed cheeks spoke volumes for him though. Karl chuckled inside.
"Just scored myself a number. Still got it, guys." He raised a hand and Paul slapped it. Karl didn't really want to, sort of felt like he shouldn't, considering Gillian.
Gloating, Tirone shoved the numbered napkin into the middle of the table.
Paul poured them each a good ounce and a half of whiskey and added a splash of bottled spring water. "You going to call?"