Preston leaned in and pressed his lips to Cam’s. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Bullshit,” Cam told him. “Your talent got you the job, not me.”
But Preston shook his head. “No, listen. I wouldn’t have done it, and you know it. So thank you. For everything.”
“You know how you can really thank me?” Cam asked, a tease in his voice.
Preston smirked. “Somehow I’m thinking it involves a French book in the bedroom à poil.”
“If that means buck naked, then bingo.”
Then Cam’s mouth covered his, silencing any reply.
* * * *
The first thing Preston did Monday morning after dropping Abby off at school was turn in his resignation. He wanted to give Roger a full two weeks’ notice, but secretly hoped his boss would be so pissed that Preston would be let go on the spot.
No such luck, of course. In fact, Preston didn’t even manage to give Roger the letter Cam had helped him write until after the morning rush eased up. Once the crowd thinned, Roger retired to his office, and Preston handed his spatula off to a line cook and followed.
Fortunately Roger’s wife Maureen was nowhere to be seen. The door was open slightly, and Roger was beginning to set up the surveillance tapes to review from the night before. Preston knocked on the door, pushing it open further. “Hey, Rog?” he called out. “Got a minute?”
Roger looked over his shoulder, a scowl already on his face. It deepened when he saw Preston in the doorway. “What is it, Pruitt?” he snapped. “I hope you didn’t leave the grill unattended.”
Yeah, like this is my first day in a kitchen, Preston thought, but he bit back the words. Instead, he stepped into the office and closed the door behind him. “This will only take a minute.”
Roger stood, his eyes widening at the shut door. Preston thought he maybe knew what was coming. When Preston pulled the envelope out of his back pocket, those eyes narrowed, turning beady. “What’s this?”
Preston held out the envelope. At first he didn’t think Roger would take it. When he finally did, it rested in his hand limply, as if Roger thought Preston could tell him what it said instead of waiting while he read it.
Maybe that would be easier, really. Clearing his throat, Preston nodded at the envelope and said, “That’s my notice.”
“What?” Roger looked as if he’d never heard the word before.
“My two weeks’ notice,” Preston explained. “I’m quitting—”
“You can’t!” Twin spots of red indignation flared high on Roger’s fleshy cheeks. Now he dug into the envelope and pulled the letter out, almost tearing the paper in the process. As he scanned it, he sputtered, “I’m not going to accept this.”
Preston laughed. For the first time in forever, he felt a lightness inside of him, a freeness—Roger didn’t scare him any longer. “I don’t care,” he said. “I don’t need your permission. This is it. I’m done here. I’m being courteous enough to let you know.”
Those two spots spread out, flushing Roger’s face a beet red. In his anger, he crumpled Preston’s letter in both hands. “Two weeks?” he cried, stunned. “That’s barely enough time for me to find someone else to take your place! Give me a month. Give me four weeks, at least. You owe me—”
“I don’t owe you shit,” Preston snipped. “And you’ve always said anyone could do my job. Wasn’t that your excuse why you couldn’t give me a raise last year?”
Roger’s mouth opened and shut, opened and shut, like a fish out of water gasping for breath. “But, but…”
“I could leave today,” Preston suggested.
Roger shook his head, a little too quickly. “Let’s not be hasty now. Maybe we can talk about that raise, what do you say?”
The first draft of Preston’s resignation letter had been a bit too honest, in Cam’s opinion. It had mentioned Roger’s homophobic slurs and how uncomfortable his bigotry made the workplace for Preston. But Cam had suggested he keep the letter short and to the point. So there were no details in it, no explanations as to why Preston was leaving Roger’s employ—Cam didn’t think it necessary. “All he needs to know is that you’re leaving,” Cam pointed out. “Why and what you’re going to do next is none of his damn business, so don’t tell him. You’re not BFFs or anything, are you?”
No, they were not. Still, Preston thought it wouldn’t hurt to tell Roger, “I’ve already got something else lined up. Sorry.”
“I’ll match whatever they’re paying you,” Roger said, a tad impulsive.
With a burst of laughter, Preston shook his head. “You couldn’t give me a measly three percent cost of living raise. I really doubt you’ll be able to match what—”
“Try me,” Roger challenged.
Preston shrugged. “They’re starting me at sixty thousand.”
Silence.
Greg had offered him literally double what he made at the River City. Executive chef wasn’t merely a step above short order cook; it was in a whole other tax bracket.
Knowing he was beat, Roger let out a low whistle. “Shit. You’ve been headhunted, haven’t you? Damn it. I knew this would happen one day. You’re too good a cook—”
“Really?” Preston asked, incredulous. “Because you always said I was easily replaced.”
“I-I-I-I never…” Roger started.
But Preston didn’t want to hear it. “Now’s your chance to see how easy it’ll be to fill my shoes. I’d say it’s been fun, but we both know that’s a lie.”
Roger winced. “Hey!”
Preston turned to leave. His last two weeks at the River City wouldn’t pass quick enough.
* * * *
Friday after he got off work, Preston swung by Abby’s school to pick her up. She was more excited than usual—Jocelyn had invited her over to spend the night. Her very first sleepover. Though Preston was looking forward to having the house to himself for the evening, he had to admit the thought that his little girl was old enough now to stay over someone else’s house made him a bit emotional. When he’d told Tess about it, he’d added the line, They grow up so fast.
Tess’s response had been, Ha ha, better buy stock in Kleenex. Her first date is just around the corner.
God, he didn’t even want to go there yet.
Mel would pick Abby up; Jocelyn had a gymnastics class that ran until 5:30 that was taught not far from their home, so Mel said it wouldn’t be an inconvenience to swing by a little before six. Abby didn’t really know what gymnastics were. She heard the word gym and wrinkled her nose. “Is that like extra P.E., or something?” she had asked.
But Jocelyn explained, “No, mostly we tumble and stuff. There’s the balance bar, but I’m no good at it. Some of the older girls do the rings or the vault, but not me. I’m more of a rhythmic gymnast.”
That was a new one even for Preston. “A what?”
“Like in the Olympics,” Mel told him. “You know, those girls who twirl the ribbons and such? Joss does that.”
Abby gave her father a look of pure longing. “Daaa-dy! I want to do that, too!”
In a low voice, Mel said, “It really doesn’t cost that much, and it’s great exercise. Teaches discipline and coordination, too. I can give you the link if you want to look into it.”
Though she wasn’t supposed to overhear, Abby hung on Mel’s every word. Now she tugged on Preston’s hand. “Daddy, please! I’ve never wanted anything more in my entire life!”
With a laugh, he promised her, “I’ll see what your mother has to say about it.” If he knew anything about Tess, though, he already knew the answer would be yes.
* * * *
Before Mel arrived to pick Abby up, Preston made sure her overnight bag was packed with everything she’d need and not only the things she wanted to take. Toothbrush, toothpaste, pillow—in case she didn’t like sleeping on the one Jocelyn let her borrow—comb, nightgown, clothes for the morning, the stuffed bunny she couldn’t sleep without. A handful of toys and books
Preston wondered would make it back home or get left behind.
Abby pulled the bunny from the bag and clutched it tight, then tucked it into the top of the bag so its head stuck out. When she reached for it again, obviously nervous, Preston reminded her, “Now you know Mel isn’t going to have pancakes for breakfast tomorrow.”
“I know.” Abby smoothed down the bunny’s ears as if they were hair. In a sing-song voice, she recited, “I’ll eat what I’m given, whatever it is, and I’ll thank her for feeding me and letting me stay over. I know, Daddy.”
He smiled. “Give me a hug.”
She did, squeezing him extra tight. “Don’t mess up my room or anything while I’m not here,” she whispered into his ear.
He had to laugh at that. “What do you think I’m going to do, rent it out? You’ll be home tomorrow. What time?” he prompted.
“Mel’s dropping us off for lunch,” Abby said. “Cam will be here, too, and will take her home afterwards. Is he sleeping over, too?”
“Is that okay with you?” Preston asked.
Abby tilted her head to the side, thinking it over, then nodded. “I like him. But don’t let him sleep in my bed. He’s too big for it!”
“Oh, don’t you worry,” Preston assured her as he heard tires crunch in the gravel of their driveway—Mel’s minivan had arrived. “He won’t.”
* * * *
Preston had worried Abby might have a last minute change of heart, but the moment she saw Jocelyn waving from inside the minivan, she barely remembered to give him a goodbye kiss—she shot out the door and down the steps, racing for the open side panel. “Joss!” she screeched.
Leaning out the driver’s side window, Mel called, “This is going to be a fun night.”
“Better you than me!” Preston laughed.
Cam arrived shortly after they left. By then, Preston had already begun dinner—steaks au poivre with gratin dauphinois and asperges vinaigrette. Once again, Cam provided the wine, a French Malbec his contact at Total Wine suggested. “She sees me and starts to drool,” he joked, kissing Preston as he handed over the dark red bottle.
“That’s because you’re so damn sexy.” Wrapping his arms around Cam’s waist, Preston pulled him in for another kiss, and a third. He wanted more, but the sizzling steak on the stovetop demanded his attention first.
With a laugh, Cam said, “It has nothing to do with me and everything to do with you.”
Turning to check on the food, Preston looked back over his shoulder, quizzical. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Your cooking,” Cam explained. “I go in there, tell her what we’re having for dinner so she can pick out the perfect wine to accompany it, and she almost faints with envy. This time she actually asked if she could join us. Said she’d pay for the wine if we let her come.”
Preston smirked. “That’s good to know.”
Easing up behind him, Cam leaned against his back and hugged him tight. “Oh? Interested in a threesome sometime?”
Preston arched his hips, pushing his butt into Cam’s groin. “We haven’t even had a twosome yet, silly. And no, for the record, I’m not into girl parts. If Tess never tempted me and she’s hot as shit, then no other woman’s going to ever be able to catch my eye, trust me.”
“Then what was that comment for?” Cam asked, kissing Preston’s neck.
With a shrug, Preston said, “Well, if there’s ever a really expensive wine we want to try, we can invite her over for a free dinner and get a hundred dollar bottle of Chablis out of it.”
Cam hugged him tighter. “You really don’t know wine, do you?”
Glancing back at him, Preston grinned. “No, why?”
“Bordeaux wines are the priciest,” Cam said, “and a hundred dollars a bottle is chicken feed. They sell bottles that cost twenty-five hundred dollars at Total Wine.”
Preston turned in his embrace. “Shut up.”
Cam grinned. “I’m almost afraid to walk down some of the aisles. What if I bumped into them and knocked them down? How could I ever pay for something like that?”
“Shit,” Preston drawled. “Well, damn. I don’t know if a free dinner alone would cover the cost of that. We might have to invite her to a threesome then. That’s like drinking gold.”
* * * *
They ate at a small table on the patio, their chairs pulled around together to one side so they could cuddle during the meal. At one point Cam leaned his head on Preston’s shoulder and pointed out, “You know, this is only the second time I’ve had you all to myself. So this is technically our second date.”
Around a forkful of asparagus, Preston laughed. “I thought we were counting any time we ate together as a date. By my book, we’ve been dating for weeks now.”
“Then what do you call this?” Cam asked, kissing Preston’s cheek.
Preston waited until Cam’s lips puckered up again, then turned and caught the next kiss on his own mouth. The pepper on Cam’s tongue was tangy and sharp, additional heat to an already spicy kiss. “This is you and me time,” he murmured, “and as soon as we’re done eating, we’re taking it upstairs, where I have un livre français dans mon lit pour vous.”
With a slow grin, Cam purred, “I heard the word French. I know where this is heading.”
* * * *
After dinner, Preston took Cam by the hand and led him upstairs. He had left the bedside lamp on earlier, and the golden glow beckoned to them from the end of the darkened hallway like a beacon. Cam moved closer to him, lacing the fingers of both hands through his. “I love the ambiance,” he whispered into Preston’s ear as they headed down the hall towards the light.
“Had to do something to make it special,” Preston whispered back.
Cam’s breath was warm on his neck. “It’s already more special than you know.”
Inside the room, a slim paperback book with a red cover rested on top of the bed sheets. Poèmes d’amour français was stamped across it in gold script. It’d taken Preston some time to actually find a book of French poems written in French; most he’d come across in the bookstores were by French poets but written in English. He thought he would have to settle for a children’s book after all—Tess had a copy of Le Petit Prince somewhere in her room, he was sure of it—but then he’d found this and, when he glanced through it, he knew it would be perfect.
Now he led Cam into the bedroom and gently closed the door. Standing behind Cam, Preston reached around him and began to unbutton his shirt and murmured, “I’ve waited so long for tonight.”
Cam caught his hands and turned to face him. “God, me, too.”
Then Cam kissed Preston hungrily, pressing him back against the door, hands eager as they tugged his shirt up to smooth over his firm stomach. They dipped down, plucking at the button on Preston’s jeans, then unzipped his fly and spread it wide to delve inside. As their kiss deepened, his hands eased down over the front of Preston’s briefs, massaging, kneading, hardening softened flesh, stiffening, thickening, awakening it.
Preston moaned into him and finished unbuttoning Cam’s shirt, then pushed it off his shoulders, down and away. With a shrug Cam let it fall to the floor, then Preston was pulling his undershirt up, eager to have that obstacle out of the way, too. Cam stepped back, breaking their kiss, to pull it off over his head. Preston took a moment to strip out of his shirt, as well. There was a mad dance as they both wriggled out of their jeans, kicked off their shoes, stepped out of their socks, and then they met again on the bed in a glorious press of naked flesh, bare skin on skin, dappled and golden in the lamplight.
The first thing Preston said as he took in his lover’s body was, “Damn, you’re freckled all over.”
Cam grinned. “Told you. Did you think I was lying?”
Crawling over him, Preston pushed him back against the pillows and promised, “I’m going to kiss every single one.”
With a laugh, Cam said, “God, we’ll be here all night.”
“Oh? You have somewhere else you need
to be?” Preston teased.
Cam hugged him close. “Nowhere I’d rather be but here with you.”
THE END
ABOUT J.M. SNYDER
A multi-published author of gay erotic/romantic fiction, J.M. Snyder began writing boyband slash before turning to self-publishing. She has worked with several different e-publishers, including Amber Allure Press, Aspen Mountain Press, eXcessica Publishing, and Torquere Press, and has short stories published in anthologies by Alyson Books, Aspen Mountain Press, Cleis Press, eXcessica Publishing, Lethe Press, and Ravenous Romance. For more information, including excerpts, free stories, and monthly contests, please visit jmsnyder.net.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
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