by Max Walker
The tension in my shoulders disappeared slightly.
“Ever been here?” Oliver asked as the hostess gathered our menus and walked us in.
“Never,” I said, looking around. The restaurant was called Canary Birds and was a modern blast of color and design. It was a new spot and had everyone talking about it pretty much right from opening day. The walls were a luxe navy blue with golden trim. The tables were all sitting on top of ornate ivory birdcages while the cutlery handles were all shaped like feathers, and the food was said to be just as eclectic.
It was very Oliver, and it was very exciting.
The hostess walked us through the restaurant, leading us to a table in a secluded corner. Chances were they wanted to hide the two paint-crusted men away from the rest of the very well-dressed diners. It was fine by me. Privacy with Oliver was exactly what I wanted.
As we took our seats, I couldn’t help but notice that some diners nearby still threw curious glances our way.
It was an interesting feeling. Again, my instinct was to feel as if they were staring for other reasons besides our rainbow-covered clothes. As if the done-up and tight-lipped crowd were glancing at us because of the clear difference in age between me and Oliver. Normally I didn’t think twice about my age, but I’d also never dated someone younger than me by three years, at most. This was new territory, and that brought with it an entirely new set of paranoia.
“Want some wine?” Oliver asked, pulling me out of my thoughts once again.
“Red?”
“Pinot noir?”
I smiled. “We’re meant to be.”
With drinks ordered, we settled in, both of us staring at the other across the table like schoolboys out on their first date. I cracked first, looking down at the napkin on my lap, a goofy grin on my face and an odd kind of warmth surrounding my heart, the rest of the restaurant slowly disappearing around us.
12 Oliver Brightly
The restaurant was a boogie affair. There were glittering chandeliers and newborn baby–sized candles and golden utensils that ended in crazy-looking feathers. This place was always booked, but I’d managed to pull a string and get us some last-minute reservations. I was over the moon when Beckham said he didn’t want to reschedule, but honestly, I wasn’t sure if I even could reschedule. I offered it only because I was worried Beckham was upset with the paint drying on his clothes; maybe he needed time to clean up. But, as I was quickly coming to learn, Beckham rolled with the flow exactly like me. So what if our shirts were crusty and there were still a few random splotches of color on our arms and face? We were still going to make our reservation, and we would still have a freakin’ blast. That was the kind of man I wanted by my side. I’d gotten a taste of the ones who were always uptight or too into themselves to see much of anything else. Those guys would have called tonight quits and probably ghosted me the next day.
“So you’re allergic to cats but still worked hard to be a vet?” Beckham asked, picking up on the casual fact I’d tossed out about myself.
“And I own two cats, too.” I pursed my lips and nodded. “I’ve got a lifetime subscription for antihistamine meds, don’t worry. I also vacuum like once every thirty minutes.”
“That’s dedication,” Beckham said, taking a sip of his wine. It was our fourth glass. I already figured I’d be leaving my car parked overnight and Ubering, so the wine kept flowing even after we were done with our main course.
“It’s a sadistic form of self-torture, but I can’t complain all that much. I love what I do and I love my cats, even if I can’t cuddle with them as much as I want to.”
“How’d you come around to owning them? Or did you find out you were allergic once you had them?”
“Oh no, I knew I was allergic when Mason and Jar made me their permanent human concierge.” I grabbed the stem of the oversized wineglass and lifted it to my lips. “They were, uhm, Derrick’s cats. His parents live across the country, and, well, they didn’t really talk to him anyway. So I took them. Didn’t want to risk putting them in a shelter.”
Beckham’s eyebrows rose. “Mason and Jar are in good hands. Exactly what Derrick would want.”
“Yeah. He probably wouldn’t want to see how fat Jar’s getting, but I can’t help it. He practically rams down the cabinet door with body slams at around four o’clock every morning. I call it his bitching witching hour.”
Beckham’s laugh lifted my spirits. I took another gulp of the wine, my fingers already tingling, same as my lips.
“And what made you want to be a vet?”
“I wanted to be a vet for as long as I could remember. I loved animals, always. I begged my parents for all kinds of pets. When they wouldn’t get them for me, I’d sneak out with Jonah, and we’d end up getting our grandpa to take us to the pet store and he’d buy us what we wanted. My parents made us return the iguana, ball python, and any reptile basically. But we got to keep the hamsters and rabbits.”
Beckham’s face cracked into a wide, disbelieving smile. “So you and Jonah were trouble together?”
“Oh yeah, he and I fed off our troublemaking ways back then. We’d constantly be doing things and covering for each other. Our friends were similar, too, and we rarely ever fought. I know some people who fight tooth and nail with their siblings since birth, but that’s not us. Do you have any siblings?”
He shook his head. “Always wanted a little sister, though. I’ve had a protective streak in me since I was a kid, so I think I’d be a good big brother. Just me, though.”
“That’s good, too. You got all your parents’ attention whenever you wanted it.”
“And that’s a good thing?” Beckham’s brow arched.
I recognized that look. “Did you and your parents butt heads?”
“We did much more than that.” He took another drink of his wine, finishing his glass and dabbing at his lips with the cloth napkin on the table. “My coming out wasn’t exactly butterflies and rainbows. When I told my parents, I was sixteen. They both flipped. My father worse than my mum. We got into a physical brawl, curses were shouted, punches were thrown, lips were busted.”
“Jesus, Beck. I’m so sorry…”
“It’s all right. Now it is, at least.” Beckham’s face darkened, like a shadow had passed over him and him alone.
“It’s not all right, is it?”
He took a moment to answer. “No. No it’s not.”
I reached across the table and put my hand on his. I didn’t even think twice about it, just did it. My thumb traced small circles on his skin. “Maybe there’s time for things to be fixed. People always come around, especially when they’re family.”
“How about when they’ve been buried six feet under?”
Words escaped me. I squeezed his hand in mine. The pain and regret in his eyes was clear as day.
“I never got the chance to fix things,” Beckham continued. “He kicked me out of the house at sixteen. I was on my own, and I made it. I survived. When I moved to the States, I never looked back.” He took a breath. “Until I got a call from my mum last month. We had been able to fix things, me and her, something like ten years ago, but me and my father never… we couldn’t work it out. So I get a call and she tells me about the funeral, about how I need the closure. They had started talking a few years back.”
“That’s why you were in London.”
“I went to the funeral. I didn’t get any bloody closure, but I did get a sealed letter written by the man being buried, delivered by his widow I assume.”
I felt like my head was spinning on my shoulders. “What did… no, you don’t have to tell me. I’m just being nosy.”
“I wouldn’t be able to tell you what’s inside even if I wanted to. I’ve lost the damn thing.”
“Oh, Beck.”
His head dropped. He took his hand from mine and set them on his lap. My heart broke into a thousand different pieces.
“Whatever was in there, doesn’t matter now. He’s dead and so is my child
hood.” He shrugged, a steely expression taking over. “Guess that makes us even.”
“Your mom wouldn’t have any idea what was in there?”
“No. They had fixed things but still weren’t a hundred percent open with each other. I don’t think she ever forgave him for pushing me out. Or herself for letting him.”
My heart felt like it was in a vise grip. I could see the twisting pain that made itself home inside Beckham’s chest. His eyes turned toward his fist, his smile curving down into a deep frown. It surprised me: how strongly I felt Beckham’s pain, like I’d just been physically punched in the gut.
“You’re going to find it, Beck. I’ll help you look.”
He shook his head, eyes still turned downward. “It’s over. I went to the funeral and got whatever bullshit closure I could. I don’t need whatever was inside that damn thing.”
I could tell Beckham wasn’t being truthful, but it didn’t feel like my place to press. “All right,” I said, sitting up a little straighter in my seat, “this weekend, we’re turning it into a date. We’re going to hunt for that letter.”
Beckham’s head rose, his eyes locking with mine again, a tiny smirk playing on his face. “A second date, huh?”
“Why, were you done after this one?”
His eyebrows jolted. “What? No, no. I wasn’t sure if you wanted… I’ve been having a really great time with you, Oliver. Truly.”
“I’ve been having more fun with you than Christina Aguilera had kissing Madonna on live TV. And that looked like a helluva lot of fun.”
Beckham chuckled at that. “I remember when that happened. Turned me into a Christina fan.”
I feigned a gasp. “You weren’t an Xtina fan from before?” I bundled up my napkin and dropped it on the table. “On second thought, I’ve gotta go.” I looked to him, both of us smiling. “I thought this was, like, what a girl wants… that there ain’t no other man… now I just feel dirty. Like… a… genie in a bottle?”
“Did you just use five Christina song titles in casual conversation?”
“Yes, yes I did. And what about it?”
Beckham stared at me for a second before cracking, laughter bubbling up through the both of us.
The conversation drifted into iconic pop queen territory as we talked about which diva left the most impact on us. I went with classic Britney while Beckham had a soft spot for Kylie Minogue. By the time we got to Gaga and Grande, the bill was already sitting on the middle of the table. I snatched for it, but Beckham was faster, grabbing the bill and stuffing his card into the holder. He proceeded to hold the bill on his lap until our waiter came back, handing it to her with a toothy grin.
“Jennifer Lopez,” I said, hitting the table. “She’s a goddess on earth. Ugh, I so wish I could go to her concert coming up. But when that vet school tuition hits, it hits harddd.”
Beckham nodded and smiled. “She’s really great. Oh, Pink, too, how could I forget,” Beckham said. “She was another of my favorites. I had all of her albums.”
“Oh-my-lanta, yessss! I love Pink. And she was really leading the pack back then, too.” I shook my head. “Jesus, I can’t believe I just said ‘back then’ for something like fourteen years ago.”
“That is ‘back then.’” Beckham laughed, his green eyes holding my full attention. “Time doesn’t stop for anyone.”
I glanced at my watch. “Holy shit, it definitely doesn’t. How is it ten thirty already?” The minutes had flown by, and I had been none the wiser.
“Past your bedtime?” Beckham teased.
“Yus. I’m going to need to be tucked in very soon.”
With more laughter, we grabbed our stuff and made our way through the restaurant, which seemed to have somehow gotten even busier since we arrived.
We walked through the ornate white double doors and were greeted by a blast of warm beach air. It was a nice night out, without a cloud in the sky to stop the full moon from shining down on the partying city. The restaurant was only a few streets away from the beach while a gay club thumped with music down the block. Judging by the gaggle of gays wearing Madonna- and Lady Gaga-inspired outfits and T-shirts, I figured it was a battle of the pop queens night. I considered asking Beckham if he wanted to jump in line, but at the same time… I was kinda tired. We’d had a day. And the thought of loud music mixed with an insane number of sweaty, drunken bodies all crammed under one roof literally made me want to cry.
I didn’t want to go home, though, that was for sure, so when Beckham suggested to take a walk by the beach, I didn’t even think.
“Let’s do it.”
We walked down the street, alcohol still making the world a little brighter for me and my worries a little dimmer, our clothes still crusty from the paint, but I didn’t care one bit. We were laughing and having one of the best dates I’d ever been on. At some point, don’t remember exactly when, I reached for Beckham’s hand and found it, locking our fingers together.
“Wow,” Beckham said as we reached the sand. Palm trees stretched high above us, gently swaying in the dark.
“Beautiful, huh?” Straight ahead of us was the ocean, empty of people and full of magic.
“It is, it is.” Beckham’s hand left mine, only to land on my lower back. I felt shivers course through me. “I actually celebrated my thirtieth birthday right over there, by that rainbow lifeguard tower.”
“No way, really?”
“Yup, I remember that tower. And that’s the Sunset Hotel right over there, where I stayed for the night. Damn, ten years ago now.”
“Time really does go by in a blink, huh?”
Beckham pulled me in a little closer. There was a towel hut, closed for the night, directly behind us, giving us a little bit more privacy from the street. We had walked a good bit down Ocean Drive, away from the heavier crowds, so it pretty much felt like we had this entire beach to ourselves. No one else as far as the eye could see.
“I’m twenty-four, in case you’re wondering.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Mhmm.” I nudged him with an elbow and rested my head on his shoulder. “Does that bother you?”
I had to ask it. The words had formed on the tip of my tongue and fell out before I could even think twice.
“No, no it doesn’t.” The break of waves filled the air.
“Good,” I said, confident. “Me either.”
“You sure about that one?”
I had to look up at Beckham, only to make sure he wasn’t joking. “Yes, of course I’m sure. I mean, your salt-and-pepper look doesn’t exactly scream ‘I’m in my early twenties.’ I figured you were older than I was the second I laid eyes on you. Which also happened to be when I realized how badly I wanted you.” I leaned up and kissed him. He tasted as sweet and sensual as I remembered. “Coincidence? I think not.”
Beckham was smiling. I could see it under the moonlight. “I don’t think so, either. And side note: I’ve had this hair color since I was in my teens. I started getting silver strands really early.”
“Well, I love it.” I couldn’t help but put a hand in his hair and feel it, feel the thick strands. We kissed, my lips taking his for a moment.
“Come on,” I said, pushing off him. A flame of adventure lit up inside me. I hadn’t felt this alive in a very, very long time. “Let’s go in.” I grabbed Beckham’s hand and started walking toward where the ocean lapped at the sand. Beckham was protesting, but I wasn’t having any of it. I stopped inches away from where the sand was dark and smooth. Holding myself with one hand on Beckham, I started taking off my shoes.
“Into that? The dark water? I don’t know, Oliver. Today’s been adventurous, but I think I might have to put my Dora bookbag down on this one.”
“Oh puh-lease. Is big ol’ Beckham scared of a little water?”
“Not at all. What I am scared of is the sharks and jellyfish and stingrays and—”
“Okay, okay, I got your point.” I smiled his way. “We can come back when the sun’s up.�
� The moonlight was reflected in his glittering green eyes, making me wonder how safe his waters were, considering how badly I wanted to jump in.
I started to put my socks back on. The darkness hid my look of disappointment.
But Beckham was more intuitive than that. He didn’t need light to see that I was let down. “All right, all right.” I heard a zziiiipp and realized it was Beckham already pulling down his pants.
13 Beckham Noble
I couldn’t believe Oliver was talking me into this. My paint-covered pants were already down at my ankles, and my shirt was coming off next. The warm ocean breeze ran over my bare chest. For what felt like miles, we were the only ones on the stretch of beach. There was no one else, just Oliver and me, getting down to our briefs, looking at each other with mischievous smiles and eyes glittering under bright moonlight.
“Let’s go all in tonight.” He gave a pointed look to my briefs.
“All in?”
“Alllll in, honey.” Oliver’s smirk was wicked. I was already getting hard.
“This is mad.”
Oliver tsked. “Live a little, Beck.” He looked me up and down as I started to take off my (tightening) briefs. “Besides, I think the paint’s already seeping into your skin. If we don’t wash this off fully, I’m not sure how much living we’ve got left.”
I chuckled. “I like that about you.”
“What? My deep concern for skin care as well as being alive?”
“How you turn every moment into a memorable one.”
He seemed a little taken by that. His face cracked into a wide smile. “Well, let’s make sure tonight is really burned into our memories, then.” He crossed the distance between us, the sand parting as his toes sunk onto mine. His lips were on mine in seconds. My hands moved to his bare hips, feeling the soft skin underneath my touch. It sent a bolt of need straight to my cock, which was pulsing against Oliver’s hard length.
We kissed and the entirety of Miami Beach faded away. Never had I felt something so powerful. It took my breath away. Fully. I had to pull back, suck in a breath of air. Oliver’s eyes were pinned to mine, his lips parted, his hands on my ass.