“Yes. She’s on her way to the holding facility, and the Chens are meeting her there. She’s confident she’ll be able to get Bao out in a matter of hours.”
Michael sagged against the wall for a second. “Thank God.”
“Do you want to go there?”
“Of course. But I don’t have a car, so—”
“I have a town car waiting outside. I’ll come with you.”
Michael’s heart leaped. “You’re a life saver. Let me just get my wallet. Oh, and come in and meet the family. They’d kill me if we left before they got to see you.”
“Yes, we would.” Lindsay came into the front hall, a big grin on her face. “Hi there.”
“Brad, this is my nosy sister, Lindsay.”
“His favorite sister, he means. Nice to meet you, Brad. Are you hungry? We have tons of stuff to eat.”
“Hello. Nice to meet you too.” Brad patted his stomach. “Actually, I forgot to eat lunch, so maybe we can grab a bite for the road.”
“Good plan.” Michael led Brad into the kitchen to introduce him to Mom and Dad and the rest of his family. He tried to act casual as Brad proceeded to charm them by being modest about the Kingston Trio CD. Mom looked like she was about to launch into one of her friendly interrogations—“Tell us about yourself, Brad.”—so Michael cleared his throat. “We really have to go.”
Mom sobered immediately. “Of course. Bao. My heart is breaking for him. Thank you for helping, Brad.”
“You’re welcome. It’s good to meet you all.”
“Come back soon.”
Lindsay had been busy putting together a couple of sandwiches and handed Michael a bag. “Food for the road.”
“Thanks, Linds.”
He noticed Brad listening intently to Dad, who was bemoaning the meanness of the current administration while the rest nodded. Seeing Brad in the heart of his family made Michael’s insides flip, and he had to swallow over the lump in his throat. Damn.
“Ready to go, Brad?”
Brad’s soft eyes and fond expression as he turned to Michael played havoc with Michael’s non-crush resolution. Get a grip on yourself. Squaring his shoulders, Michael waved to his family and walked Brad outside.
Chapter 8
After instructing the driver regarding their destination, Brad settled in beside Michael and took a breath. He wanted to savor this time—alone with Michael in the back of a town car with two uninterrupted hours to talk—and maybe make out. The situation with Bao weighed on his mind, but he was confident Linda and the ACLU would be able to intervene.
He glanced over to find Michael staring at him. He seemed nervous, not his usual enthusiastic self. Well, of course. His best friend was in a detaining cell. And there was that misunderstanding about Dave, which Brad intended to clear up. But first things first.
“I’m sure Bao will be okay. He’s a DREAMer, he’s protected under several California state laws. He has no criminal record, I’m assuming. This is just ICE doing a last-ditch crackdown before the enhanced protections become law on New Year’s Day.”
“Is that when it happens? What crappy timing. He wouldn’t even have been at the restaurant today except for it being Christmas Eve.”
Brad took Michael’s hand. “I’m sorry. But we’ll get him out.”
Michael nodded, his gaze riveted on their joined hands. Then he sighed.
“Are you okay?” Brad asked.
“Yeah. Or… no. Not really.” Michael pulled his hand gently away.
“What’s going on?”
“I’m having a problem with, um, the stupid thing I always end up doing this time of year.”
“Stupid thing? Baking amazing Christmas cookies isn’t stupid.”
Michael laughed, but quickly became somber. “It’s just that I have this pattern. Um, I always fall hard for someone during the holidays, and it turns out to be some kind of… of Christmas insta-love or something.”
“Okay.” Brad hoped he didn’t look as puzzled as he felt.
“Um, this is so embarrassing. My siblings all have long-term partners—and my parents, well, you saw them. Poster couple for happy marriage. And that’s cool. I mean, I’m glad for them all. But then we get to Thanksgiving and Christmas, and I’m sitting there in all my singleness watching the… the family tableau, if you know what I mean.”
Brad thought he was beginning to. “Yes.”
“So. Katrina pointed out that I have this pattern of getting a major crush on someone every year around the holidays, so I’ll have someone to invite home. And then the whole thing crashes by the time New Year’s comes around.”
“Ah. And this year you invited me.”
“Yes. No. I mean, yes, I invited you, and I regret doing that because I… because you’re….”
Brad felt a smile escape. “You have a major crush on me?”
“I…. God, yes. ‘Major’ is an understatement. I’m sorry.”
Michael seemed so upset, Brad wanted to hug him. This was probably not the time, though. “Why are you sorry? I have a major crush on you too.”
“You do? But you have that boyfriend, and you’re a hotshot lawyer and—”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“He’s not?”
“No. I need to explain about Dave, now that we have the time. He’s an ex and the Napa trip is something we’ve done for so many years that I go along out of habit now. But he’s not my boyfriend or even my… my lover. Not anymore.” Brad shot him a meaningful glance, but Michael was still downcast.
“Oh. That… that’s good. But you deserve more than being my lust object just because I’m pathetic.” He grimaced. “I mean, back in my twenties I was always falling in lust, but you’d think I’d have gotten over that.”
“Wait. Back up. How old are you?”
“Thirty-three.”
Brad laughed. And laughed some more while Michael watched him in confusion. When he composed himself, he explained, “I’ve been keeping the brakes on because I was saving you from being with a much-older man.”
“Huh? How old did you think I was?”
“Twenty-three. Twenty-five, tops.”
“Wow. Thanks. I guess. And you’re what? Thirty-nine?”
“I’m forty-one. Now, about this crush stuff, or insta-lust, or what have you. I think you’re selling yourself short. I was coming to see you because I’d realized that even if we were twenty years apart, you’re the best thing to happen to me in years.”
“I am?” Michael’s mouth fell open and he suddenly seemed absurdly young despite his thirty-three years, and hopeful, and everything Brad could ever want.
“You are.” He cradled Michael’s sweet face between his hands. “You’ve brought fun and happiness into my life. I also think this—what we have—goes way beyond lust.”
Michael nodded, his eyes large and serious. “It seems like that to me. That it’s way more, I mean.”
“And I don’t see this crush being over by New Year’s. Do you?”
“No,” Michael whispered. “I hope not.”
Their kiss was long and so passionate that Brad’s body was singing the Hallelujah Chorus by the time it ended.
“Although,” Brad said, voice husky, “there’s nothing wrong with lust.” He closed the divider between them and the driver.
Michael glowed with his old enthusiasm. “Awesome. I’ve always wanted to do it in the back of a Lincoln town car.”
It was hard to kiss Brad when Michael was smiling so much. Twenty-three? Oh my God. Michael’s impending laugh turned to shivers as Brad kissed along his jaw and nibbled at his ear, while his emotions careened from joy to desire to sheer disbelief at his effing luck. Brad was the best man he’d ever met. Michael was going to make him so happy. He ran his fingers through Brad’s hair and inhaled his scent—citrus and sandalwood and perfect. Perfect like Brad, who was driving Michael crazy with his deliberate and methodical exploration of every inch of his skin. He’d gotten to Michael’s neck and seemed
to be worshipping it with his lips as he dropped kisses in a pathway to Michael’s collarbone. It was hot, but excruciatingly slow, torture, and Michael burned and gasped as his cock dripped and begged for mercy.
“Brad,” he finally pleaded.
“Hmm?” Brad lifted his head. His eyes were hazy, his lips parted. God. He looked blissed-out and completely gorgeous.
“I need relief.” What? “Um, I mean….” He couldn’t come up with any elegant way to ask for Brad to suck his cock.
Brad smiled mischievously. “I’m driving you mad?”
“God, yes. And I love it. But I’m dying here.”
“Here?” Brad’s hand found Michael’s hardness and gripped.
“Oh Jesus. Fucking yes.”
“We’ll have to do something about that,” Brad murmured. He stroked Michael’s length while his other hand deftly unsnapped his jeans. “Can’t have you dying on me. Not when I’ve finally found who I’ve been looking for.” He unzipped him. “Lift up,” he commanded, all lawyer-like, and wasn’t that a turn on.
Michael obeyed, stifling a groan as Brad got his jeans and briefs down in one swift move and his dick sprung free. “I’m… we all get tested every month and I haven’t been with anyone, so—”
“Okay,” Brad replied absently. “Me too.” He was holding Michael’s cock and gazing at it like it was one of the world’s seven wonders. “Beautiful.”
“I’m glad you…” Michael’s words died as Brad’s mouth encased him in warmth.
And then there were no words. Only sensation and heat and Brad’s slick tongue working until Michael clawed at the leather seat and howled in sweet release.
“Well?” Brad’s voice seemed to be coming from far, far away.
Michael pried his eyes open as he lay in a boneless heap, the car vibrating underneath him as it continued its journey down Highway 101. “Hmm?”
Brad’s face hovered over him and he was legit smirking. “Was doing it in the back of a Lincoln town car everything you hoped for?”
“Everything. Beyond everything, you sexy beast.” Michael slung his arm around Brad’s neck and pulled him down. “Get ready for payback.”
Brad’s stomach was about to burst. Any more of these late-night feasts at the Chen’s restaurant and he’d have to buy a bigger pants size. That might be a problem, as Brad foresaw many more nights of him and Michael being fed by Bao and his parents.
Linda and her crack team of ACLU lawyers had sprung Bao from his holding cell a few hours earlier. They were here too, stuffing themselves with Chinese food. The Chens had toasted them all with plum wine to begin with. Then Bao had snuck into the kitchen and come back with the good stuff—a couple bottles of Chivas Regal 18 Year Old Scotch that some rich customer had given Mr. Chen for the holidays.
Michael sat snuggled up to Brad in the booth, resting his head against Brad’s shoulder. Setting down his fork, Brad put his arm around him and pulled him closer, then dropped a kiss on the top of his head.
“You guys are too cute.” Bao appeared tired but content. His mother sat next to him fussing with his food. Bao had abandoned it for the Scotch, which he was drinking steadily.
“Are we?” Brad asked. It had been years since he’d been called “cute.”
“We are.” Michael’s sleepy voice amused Brad.
“Hey, sleepyhead, I’m the old man in the relationship. Shouldn’t I be the one yawning?” He peered at Michael, who merely butted his head against Brad like an affectionate cat.
A cuddler. Brad had never been with someone who cuddled before, much less cuddled in public, and he found that he was in favor of it. He was also in favor of the scorching hot blow jobs they’d exchanged in the backseat of the town car. Lust and cuddling—a fine combination.
Brad picked up his Scotch with a dreamy smile. He was in favor of the whole damn world tonight, except for the creep in the White House and the cowards who kowtowed to him. That reminded him. “Linda.”
“Yes?”
“Are there any job openings at the ACLU? Here in San Francisco?”
“I’m pretty sure there are. And even if nothing’s officially open, we’re always looking for good lawyers. Ones with trial experience are gold. Why?” She winked at him. “You got someone in mind?”
“I may.”
Michael lifted his head. “You’re going to work for the ACLU?”
Was he? Why not? The world, specifically this country he loved, was going to hell at an alarming rate. He’d prefer to spend his time fighting for justice rather than racking up billable hours and holiday bonuses.
“I am. If they’ll have me.”
Linda and Bao laughed and clapped while Michael kissed his cheek. “My hero.”
Epilogue
One Year Later - December 2018
Michael leaned down and peered in at the cookies. They looked almost done. He was still getting used to the shiny new oven Brad had insisted on installing for him in the house they’d just bought. When he straightened, he felt a pair of arms come around his waist.
“Well, hello there.”
“Hello, my Christmas sprite.” Brad pulled him against his chest and kissed his ear. “How’re the cookies doing?”
“Almost done. But no eating any.” He hid a smile when he saw Brad’s outraged expression.
“What do you mean? I need your Christmas cookies more than life.”
“I know, but these are for the party tonight.” He waited a beat, then laughed. “Just kidding about not eating any. But leave some for the others, okay?”
“Oh, all right. If you insist. When’s the gang coming to help set up?”
“Five.”
Randall loped in, sniffing the air. “I smell cookies.”
Michael eyed him and moved in front of the oven. “No eating them. Wait till this evening.”
“Awww, c’mon, Uncle Mike.”
“No way. If you get started, you’ll eat them all.” He regarded Randall’s skinny frame. “I don’t know where you put all that food you eat.”
Randall pouted. “You sound just like Mom.”
“Exactly. And while you’re staying here, you refer to me as Mom 2. She didn’t let you eat all the cookies, and neither will I.”
“I feel your pain,” Brad said to Randall. “He’s very protective of those cookies. But guess what?”
“What?”
Brad leaned in and whispered loudly, “I know where there’s a secret stash.”
“Really? Cool.”
“Come with me and I’ll reveal all. Hey, are you coming with us to the Messiah sing-along this week?”
“Oh yeah. We’re doing the Messiah in chorus.”
“Thank goodness. Sing loudly, okay? That way no one will hear me and Michael flubbing the notes.”
Michael shooed them away as the oven timer dinged, watching them go with a smile. He loved seeing his nephew and his husband bond. When Lindsay had gotten stationed overseas for a two-year tour, Randall had elected to stay and attend high school in the States. He’d been accepted to a special school for the arts in Berkeley, and Michael was touched and flattered that Lindsay had asked him to take Randall in.
But where to put him? Michael was still living in the group house at the time, although staying most nights at Brad’s San Francisco apartment. But the group house was full to capacity and perhaps not the best living environment for a thirteen-year-old. Then the house next door had come on the market, and Brad and he decided it was a sign. Time to get married, buy a house, and raise a teenaged boy.
He pulled out the cookie sheet, only to be butted in the legs by Shonda, their Chesapeake Bay Retriever. Oh, and also a dog. “Not you too.” He grabbed a dog biscuit from a jar and held it out to her. “Here. Here’s your cookie.”
“Another cookie?” Brad offered the platter to the group sitting on their new couch. He loved seeing their friends fill his and Michael’s newly redecorated living room.
Linda groaned. “If I eat one more thing, I’m gonna pop
.” She held out her hand. “But these are so damn good.”
Bao lounged beside her. “Remember you have another meal tonight. My mother is determined to fatten you up.”
Linda patted her stomach. “She’s doing a good job of it.” They grinned at each other and kissed.
“Aww, you guys are sweet,” Katrina said. “Hand me one of those cookies, Brad. We’re celebrating.”
“What in particular?” Brad asked as she and Linda grabbed more of Michael’s cookies.
“Everything. But especially the 2018 elections.”
“Woo-hoo,” called Michael from his post overseeing the Christmas tree trimming. “Way to flip the House.”
Tomer raised his glass, then frowned. “It’s empty. But yeah. We fucking did it, and we’re fucking gonna keep on doing it. Adding the Senate and a whole new president in two years.”
“We all need to drink to that.” Juan stood with his usual grace. “I’ll go open the champagne.”
Jordan stood as well. “I’ll help you.”
“Champagne?” Bonita, a fellow ACLU lawyer, clapped. “Brad, you sure know how to throw a party.”
“Actually, this is all my husband’s doing. He’s in charge of parties, social occasions, and general merriment. And he does a great job of it.”
Michael blew him a kiss. He was wearing his Santa hat and the garish holiday sweater Brad remembered from last Christmas, back when Brad had finally realized life could be a celebration. He loved Michael’s Santa hat. He’d make him wear it later when he got Michael out of the rest of his clothes.
“What’s Brad’s job?” Bao asked with a smirk.
“To love me and be loved by me,” Michael replied solemnly. Then with a grin, he added, “And he does it perfectly.”
Juan and Jordan came back with the champagne and glasses, and Randall tore himself away from the game he was playing on his iPad. “Can I have some champagne, Uncle Mike?”
Michael frowned. “Oh, okay. A few sips. And don’t tell your mother.”
Brad hid his smile. Michael was pretty much a pushover in the child-rearing department.
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