by Allan, S. H.
“Happy anniversary, my darling.” Soren took Bobby’s hand. He kissed it, then returned it to his thigh and left it there, their fingers intertwined on his pale skin.
G.S. WILEY is a writer, reader, sometime painter, and semi-avid scrapbooker who lives in Canada.
Visit G.S.’s web site at http://www.gswiley.com.
Dream Lover
Nico Jaye
SORRY, baby, deal closing tonight. Stuck on calls w Tokyo office & will be back late. Don’t wait up. Love you. XOXO.
Chris texted a quick reply, then tucked his cell phone away. He glanced at the little clock in the corner of his computer screen and sighed.
11:38 p.m.
With a shake of his head, Chris turned his attention back toward revising the article on at-home sous-vide gadgetry he needed to finish this weekend so he could send it to his editor by Monday. He was a little proud that he was actually a couple of days ahead of schedule this time. As he typed out the closing paragraph, Chris contemplated the text he’d just received.
After six years, he shouldn’t be surprised that Brady’s law firm would have him working late on his own birthday, but really, sometimes it was just too much. Over the years, Chris had come to expect the late nights and unpredictable schedule. He understood that innumerable pressures came with being an attorney at a top firm, and he was as supportive as he could be of Brady’s profession. Brady’s job might get in the way sometimes, but in the end, Chris knew Brady was worth it.
And after all these years, Brady was still worth it.
When Chris had been chosen to lead the law firm’s food tour that summer six years ago, he’d never imagined he would meet someone like Brady among the group of suits who were participating that evening.
Jones, Hardaway & Lewis—more commonly known as JHL in law circles, which Chris sometimes secretly and in his innermost thoughts said quickly so it rhymed with “jail”—had been looking for something fresh and outside the box for its summer associates program. The recruiting manager had approached Chris, whose food blog was just getting some serious word-of-mouth props among the foodie circles, and asked him if he could lead a food tour through some of Los Angeles’s lesser-known eats. Chris had never done one before, but as a freelance writer who’d just left his job with one of the local gay zines, he was his own man and up for pretty much anything that sounded interesting. Besides, the fee they proposed paying him for the tour was enough to cover two months’ rent.
That fateful day, Chris arrived early at JHL’s downtown LA office and was ushered into a conference room that overlooked the city from its twenty-third-floor vantage point. Earlier that week, he’d prepared the itinerary and sent it along to the firm in order for them to charter a shuttle for the locations at which they’d stop for the tour. According to the recruiting manager, Marie, there would be twelve summer associates and a handful of lawyers who would participate that evening. Marie had been vague as to how many attorneys would come along because, as she noted matter-of-factly, their work schedules were so hard to predict.
Over the course of the next hour, Marie introduced him to the dozen summer associates, who mostly appeared to be in their early to midtwenties, and the four lawyers—two older men in their late thirties or early forties and two polished young women in their late twenties—who would join the tour. They were getting ready to go and would already be starting about fifteen minutes late, anyway, when Brady hurried into the room.
“Oh, fantastic. I’m glad I caught you guys before you left.”
Chris’s eyes went wide upon seeing the new arrival.
Maybe Christian Bale is method acting a corporate law role soon? That explains his presence right now….
The dark-haired heartbreaker greeted Marie, the lawyers, and the summer associates with a charming grin, introducing himself to a couple of the summers whom he apparently had not met before. He then turned to Chris with a curious smile quirking his lips. Marie introduced him as “Brady Tannen” and explained he was a fourth-year associate at the firm. Brady shook his hand with a heart-stopping smile on his lips, and Chris tried not to stutter as he said, “Chris Wexler.”
When Brady turned back to chat with the summer associates, Chris took a moment to collect himself. He just… well, it’s just that he didn’t think lawyers came in that kind of a package.
At least, not any who weren’t appearing regularly on CBS’s primetime lineup every week, that is.
Brady was dark-haired and classically good-looking, and his broad shoulders and trim-waisted frame turned the dark tailored slacks and slim-fitting cobalt-blue button-down of his business casual uniform into something impossibly sexy. He sported a five o’clock shadow that didn’t look scruffy at all on the square jawline of his handsome face. No, instead it gave him a rugged, rakish air, and he looked like he should have stepped out of a men’s cologne ad with the seas of Tuscany sparkling in the background.
He seemed of a height with Chris’s six feet one—give or take an inch—but while Chris always felt gangly and awkward at this size, Brady wore it with a graceful athleticism and confident authority that just drew the eye. Brady appeared to be in his late twenties or early thirties—in other words, Chris’s libido piped up, the perfect age to complement Chris’s own twenty-eight years.
Chris shook his head at himself and brought his focus back to the task at hand: to guide this buttoned-up professional crowd on a night of fun food adventure through the urban jungle of Los Angeles. After launching into his prepared introduction to the tour, he passed the rest of the evening trying not to spend a disproportionate amount of time noticing Brady’s thickly lashed coffee-dark eyes or his rich laughter as he socialized with the crowd.
Chris thought he’d done a pretty good job of it until the end of the night.
The evening was winding down, and they had completed their final food tasting at a Korean barbecue stop in Koreatown. Enthusiastic summer associates and slightly more subdued, but smiling, already-lawyers alike were hopping into cabs and car service sedans on their way home. Chris had just finished speaking with Marie and was scrolling through his cell phone’s missed calls when a voice interrupted him.
“You were great tonight.”
Chris looked up and gazed into warm espresso-colored eyes. His heart beat a little faster, and Chris blushed as he slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Thanks. It was my first tour.”
Brady’s eyes twinkled. “Well, you’re a natural.” He looked to the side for a moment and then met Chris’s gaze, his lips curving in a slow smile. “Look, I’m not sure if I’m reading you wrong or anything, and if I am, then I hope you won’t mind. But I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go grab a bite sometime?”
Chris’s eyes widened. He cleared his throat and spoke without thinking. “With you?” he asked, then instantly regretted how obtuse it sounded.
Brady chuckled and ran a hand through his thick dark hair. “Yeah, with me, I mean. But not on a tour. You know, on a date,” Brady added with a grin and an endearing tilt of his head.
Chris answered him with a grin of his own even as his heart continued to beat in double time. “Sure. I mean, yes. I’d love to.”
Brady had then pulled out his business card to scribble his cell phone number on the back. He’d taken down Chris’s number at the same time too, and they’d had their first date that weekend.
Chris smiled as he remembered those early days. The maneuvering of schedules and shuffling of meeting times had taken some getting used to, but he’d had a hunch Brady would be worth it.
And he was.
Getting to know Brady had been thrilling and exhilarating, and Chris had been impressed by his ambition and talent. His heart had melted when he’d learned Brady volunteered at a local rescue shelter because, even though Brady thought it would be unfair to have a pet with his hectic lifestyle, he still couldn’t resist the opportunity to interact and play with them. And Brady hadn’t batted an eyelash when Chris had shyly discussed his writing goa
ls and his life as a freelancer, even though that unpredictable lifestyle was clearly so different from Brady’s own extremely regimented path.
In truth, they’d had some ups and downs over the years, but Chris loved Brady, ridiculous schedule, animal lover, chaotic work life, fantastically supportive partner, and all.
Chris looked at his computer screen and covered up a yawn. After doing a quick read-through of what he’d written, he e-mailed his article to his editor and shut down his laptop. Chris set his computer aside and stood to switch the lights off. Stretching his arms over his head, he made his way into the kitchen.
In the dim light of the hood lamp he’d left on earlier, Chris caught sight of the carrot cake frosted with cream cheese he’d baked earlier that evening and left sitting on the kitchen counter. He couldn’t help the small flicker of disappointment that shot through him. He’d made the cake because it was Brady’s favorite, and he’d hoped they’d be able to share it when it was still fresh out of the oven, right before they shared an evening of a more… intimate nature.
Chris suppressed a small sigh.
He’d hoped that, after Brady had made partner at JHL two years ago, this type of unpredictability would be less frequent, but instead, it seemed like everybody wanted Brady on their deals. It appeared he was being groomed to take over a number of the firm’s large clients once the senior partners on those accounts retired, and Brady was just as busy as a junior partner as he had been as an associate.
Swallowing his disappointment, Chris rummaged through the lower cabinet for the dome lid to the cake dish. He sealed it onto the base and opened the fridge door to slide it onto the bottom shelf. As he shut the door and made his way upstairs to prepare for bed, Chris was matter-of-fact about the evening’s turn of events.
This type of last-minute urgency wasn’t new, and it certainly wouldn’t be the first time their plans had been thrown a curveball. The fact that it was on Brady’s birthday, though, was a tad annoying.
There had been plenty of opportunities in the past for Chris to reflect on whether the unpredictable nature of Brady’s work was enough for Chris to think that spending his life with Brady wasn’t worth it. And quite honestly, in those early days, it had been a bit touch and go. In the end, though, Chris had decided he was in it for the long run because the happiness and joy he gained from loving Brady and spending time with him far outweighed the disappointment he might feel at these last-minute inconveniences. Besides, Chris knew how much Brady excelled in high-pressure environments, and he wouldn’t want to deny him these opportunities to shine.
After washing up, Chris headed into their bedroom. He peeled off his socks and stripped off his T-shirt and flannel lounge pants, then flipped up the corner of the light bedspread. As he sat on the edge of the bed in his blue-and-white-striped boxers, he slowly rubbed in some hand cream. Finally, he switched off the bedside lamp and climbed into their king-size sleigh bed.
He understood that Brady’s job was hectic. The time they spent together, though, was always wonderful and, if possible, somehow made him fall more and more in love with Brady every time.
Chris reached for Brady’s pillow and hugged it to himself as he closed his eyes.
He just sometimes, in the tiniest corner of his heart, wished those times he did see Brady were a little more frequent and predictable.
CHRIS was standing in the middle of what looked like a cornfield in his native Iowa. He ran his hands over the swaying stalks of lush golden-green. The wind sifted through his hair—it was longer, like he’d worn it in college—and he brushed a strand of light brown behind his ear. He was looking for someone. Chris moved forward between the high stalks.
He was looking for Brady.
A rustling sounded to his right. He turned toward it and only saw the golden-green of corn stalks.
Chris rolled onto his side, and, through a residual haze of cornfields, summer breezes, and earthy hay scents, he registered a rustling sound in the dark room.
He tensed for a moment but then recognized this type of rustling wasn’t foreign to him. Without opening his eyes, Chris murmured sleepily into his pillow. “Brady?”
The rustling stopped. Then a familiar voice whispered into the dark. “It’s just me.”
Chris relaxed and resumed cradling his pillow. He murmured a “welcome home” as he dozed in a half slumber.
Brady’s voice drifted through Chris’s semiconscious mind. “Thanks, baby. Go back to sleep.”
“Mmm-hmm,” Chris mumbled in agreement.
Chris couldn’t say how long he drifted in and out of sleep, but he heard Brady rustling around in the background a bit longer. He fell asleep again before he had a chance to ask Brady what he was doing.
A bird was whistling in the background as a light breeze drifted through the cornfield, filtering through the tall, solid stalks. He was closer and closer to Brady. Chris could hear him just around the corner. If he could just find him….
“Mmmmm.” Chris grumbled in protest when he felt a gentle tugging on his Brady-pillow. He hugged it closer to his body, but he finally let go of it, as he always did, when he felt the weight of Brady’s body settle into place next to his.
Chris snuggled up against the soft cotton of Brady’s T-shirt and breathed in the clean scent of detergent mixed with Brady’s light aftershave. He eased into Brady’s warmth and sighed peacefully when he felt Brady’s arm curl around him. Chris moved one of his hands up to rest it on Brady’s firm chest. Chris’s lips tried to form the words “Happy birthday” before he drifted back into the land of dreams.
Brady hugged him gently to his side, and Chris’s half-conscious state registered that Brady’s voice was warm with amusement. “Thanks, baby. I love you.”
“Love you too.” Chris was pretty sure he managed to murmur the words before he returned to those cornfields of Iowa, wandering through acres of golden-green rows, always closer and closer to reaching Brady.
“CHRIS.”
Chris thought he heard his name, but that couldn’t be possible. It was Saturday morning, and he usually woke up to a kiss from Brady. It was a habit they had formed when they’d first started living together, and honestly, call him a sentimental fool, but he just loved it.
Chris felt Brady’s lips touch his, and he smiled against them. “Mmmm, this is more like it,” Chris whispered before returning Brady’s kiss. He opened his eyes lazily and saw that Brady was crouched by the side of the bed—in other words, not in it—and, to Chris’s sleepy brain, appeared to be dressed and shaved already.
Chris’s eyes shot open. “What’s going on?”
Brady smiled warmly and rubbed Chris’s shoulder with a soft hand. “Good morning,” he said, leaning in for a quick kiss. Chris returned it on automatic and then shifted to sit upright. Brady’s lips curved up in a half smile. “C’mon, baby, time to get up. You can sleep on the plane.”
Chris reached up with his hands and tried to rub the sleep out of his eyes. “Plane?”
Brady’s smile widened into a grin. “We’ve gotta head to the airport. Our flight’s at eight.”
Chris dropped his hands, and he was positive his jaw dropped as well. “Flight? What?” He was pretty sure someone had pushed a button on his brain, because he couldn’t seem to do anything other than repeat Brady’s words. Chris blinked blearily and looked around. Near the bedroom door stood their two carry-ons. Brows lifted, Chris slowly turned toward Brady.
Brady sat on the edge of the bed and took Chris’s hands in his. “Flight,” he confirmed, his eyes bright and the corner of his lip quirking up in a mischievous smile. “We’re going up to Napa for a long weekend in wine country.” He began playing with Chris’s fingers, smoothing over them and interlacing them with his own. Brady’s dark lashes swept down to cover his eyes, and when he looked up again, his rich brown gaze was warm with affection. “I know how much you love that Trinity Estates Private Reserve Cabernet, so I planned this trip a while ago. As a surprise. I was at the office late
to close that deal so that work wouldn’t interfere, and I even took vacation days through Wednesday so that we could do a few different vineyard tours.” Brady smiled and brought Chris’s hand to his lips for a quick kiss. “I packed last night so we could sleep later and still be ready to go. I… well, I just want us to spend some time together. Just you and me. But first,” Brady added with a touch of humor, “you might need to get out of bed.”
Chris’s eyes widened as his brain worked to process the information. “Really? Napa? For me?”
Brady smiled softly. He leaned forward and pressed a lingering kiss to Chris’s lips. “Really. For us.”
Chris melted. The rustling in the middle of the night… the missed birthday… the late-nights working… all so they could go on this trip together. It all clicked.
Chris pulled Brady in and kissed him hard. “You’re the best. You know that, right?”
Brady grinned. “And you’re a sleepyhead,” he said affectionately.
“I’m awake, I swear.” Chris stretched his arms over his head and nearly cracked his jaw on a wide yawn. He caught sight of the clock. Six o’clock. Right. He shook his head briskly.
Chris gave Brady a playful shove to move him off the bed, then tossed back the covers with a grin on his face. “Now stand aside, lover, because I’m getting dressed. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
CHRIS shut his eyes and stood under the shower spray to finish rinsing off his shampoo. He wiped the water from his eyes and grabbed the showerhead handle for one last rinse after his—ahem—thorough postflight shower. After shutting off the water, he pushed open the glass door and stepped into the large and brightly lit private bathroom. As he toweled himself dry and combed his hair, he reflected on the events of the morning that had brought them to this place.
After breakfast and a quick dash to the airport, the flight earlier that day had been smooth, and they’d picked up a rental car at SFO for the trek out to wine country. As they drove along the winding roads that spring morning, the geraniums and poppies on the sides of the road bobbed their heads cheerfully in greeting. When Brady pulled up to the Astor Manor Inn shortly before eleven o’clock, Chris thought they’d fallen into a storybook fantasy. The solid three-story whitewashed façade of the bed-and-breakfast was warm and inviting with the morning sun reflecting brightly off its paneled windows. Two Corinthian columns on each side of the double-wide burgundy door stood tall and proud. Ivy and vines trailed up at the edges of the first two stories and tickled the third-floor balcony that faced the wide circular drive.