by Hayes, Lane
I checked my reflection in the bathroom mirror. Not bad. I adjusted my collar and cocked my head. The navy gingham oxford shirt was a safe “meet the boyfriend” choice, and almost no one looked like a schmuck in dark blue. My hair was another issue. It was particularly wild this morning. I’d have to sneak some of Grant’s high-end gel to tame it so I didn’t look like I got stuck in a thunderstorm storm. I hurried into his master suite and grabbed an expensive-looking tube from his counter. I studied the script and tried to decipher the words but a few French classes hadn’t taught me anything more than “avec” meant “with.” I started to reach for another tube when a steady knock startled me. I took both tubes with me and rushed to answer the door.
Wow, he looked good. Finn was dressed like me in a blue checked oxford shirt and perfectly pressed khakis. Unlike me, he could have stepped out of one of those men’s magazines featuring rugged, muscular dudes. Field and Stream without the fish and mosquitoes.
“Hello.”
“Hi. Uh…come in.” I stepped backward to make room for him to enter then lamely added, “You look nice.”
“Thank you. So do you,” he replied with a lopsided grin. “We actually look a bit alike. They may think we went shopping together.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” I snickered as I led the way through the foyer to the great room.
“Are you ready to go? You did say ten o’clock, right?”
I glanced at my watch and nodded.
“I did, but I have a major emergency to take care of first.” I pointed to my mop of hair, forgetting I was still holding the gel. “I have to fix this mess.”
Finn knit his brow and then rolled his eyes. “You look fine. I like your hair the way it is.”
“Yeah right. This is no time to placate. I know what I’m dealing with here.” I shoved one of the tubes at him and gestured meaningfully. “All of Grant’s products are French. It must be a Canadian thing. What does that say?”
His eyes creased with instant humor as he turned the tube over. He cleared his throat theatrically and winked. “It says this is made with jojoba extract.”
“Okay. What else?”
“It’s a long-lasting, silicon-based lubricant.” He gave me a knowing look I couldn’t quite read.
“Go on. How much am I supposed to use?”
“I suppose that varies person to person, but you’ll be glad to know it’s condom compatible and…it was especially developed for the anal zone,” he finished with a smirk.
“What?”
“It’s lube, Josh.” This time he couldn’t contain himself. He burst into laughter, doubling over when the hilarity hit him in a fresh wave a few seconds later. “You were about to slather lube in your hair. That’s fucking priceless!”
“Yeah, yeah. Hysterical. What about this one?”
Finn’s shoulders shook with mirth. He fought to regain control of himself before reading the other bottle. “This one is body lotion, but you never know…it might do the trick. Actually, I bet the lube would work too. Which do you want to try?”
“Ha. Ha.” I shot him a dirty look then grabbed the lotion and motioned for him to follow me back to Grant’s room. “Help me out. I don’t want to be late and I can’t read the hieroglyphics on my own.”
Finn gamely complied. He perused Grant’s well-organized cache of guy products then chose a slim black bottle. “I’m not sure but I think this may be it. Take a look.”
He pointed at the words “hair gel” clearly marked along one side and chuckled. I gave him a dirty look and snatched the gel from him before popping the cap and pouring a liberal amount on my palm.
“That’s far too much. Here. Give me a bit of that.” Finn grasped my wrist and swiped his palm over mine, transferring some of the goop to his fingers. Then he motioned for me to face him.
“What are you going to do?” I asked warily.
“I’m going to put this in your ears and up your nose. What do you think I’m going to do?” he snipped. “Cooperate, please and stop asking twenty questions at a go or we will be late.”
I opened my mouth to argue but he looked kinda fierce and no-nonsense and yeah, it turned me on. If I tried to talk, I’d only say something stupid and give myself away. I fixated on the sleek light-gray tiles in the shower and the plush white towels neatly stacked on a shelf nearby. Anywhere but at the sexy man threading his fingers through my mane. I commended myself for blocking the smell of his cologne and not being lulled by the timbre of his voice but the truth was, I needed more willpower than I counted on to remain still and not lean into his touch. In the fantasy scenario in my head, he’d let his hands drift to undo the buttons on my shirt before he flattened them over my chest and—
“Ow!” I winced when he tugged my hair.
“Yer not listening.”
“You don’t have to get violent.” I rubbed my head theatrically and was rewarded with an eye roll.
“That was hardly violent. So?”
“So what?”
Finn let out a beleaguered sigh. “What did you tell your dad about us?”
“Nothing.”
“He wasn’t curious about who you were bringing over?” he asked incredulously.
“Not really. How do I look?”
I turned toward the mirror and grabbed a towel to wipe the excess gel from my hand. Finn captured my chin between his thumb and forefinger then leaned in close. So close I could see the green and gold in his eyes and a tiny freckle under his left eyebrow. He emanated a sudden intensity I had to think scared the crap out of his employees. But I didn’t work for him. We were…friends. Fuck. I didn’t want to be friends with him. I had to think of another title, I mused as he brushed his thumb over my bottom lip.
“You look good enough to eat,” he replied huskily. “But there’s no time for that. Answer my question. Do Lars and your da know you’re bringing a guest?”
I held his gaze for as long as I could, but his proximity intimidated me. And made me horny. If we weren’t in danger of being late, I would have backed him against the counter and stuck my tongue down his throat. The heat was palpable. I didn’t wonder if he felt it too.…I knew it. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.
“No, they don’t specifically know you’re coming, but Dad told me to invite a friend so…it’s all good. Why? Do we need a story? Lars might know your pretend girlfriend and wonder why you’re at his big gay brunch. I don’t want to mess with your game,” I said, widening my eyes earnestly.
Finn cocked his head and fixed me with a lopsided roguish upturn of the lips that was far too dangerous to be called a smile. Then he captured my chin and flicked his thumb over my bottom lip.
“You’re trying to get under my skin, aren’t you? Naughty, naughty. Behave yourself, Joshy.” He leaned in to lick the corner of my mouth. “Or better yet…don’t. Be bad and reckless. Say whatever you want and do whatever you please. We can figure out your punishment later.”
“Punishment?” I flicked my tongue over his thumb and then bit it.
Finn growled before covering my mouth in a possessive kiss that left me reeling. He smacked my ass and then stepped back. “Aye. Something tells me you wouldn’t mind it so much if I pulled you over my knee and spanked your bare arse Is that right, love?”
“Uh.” I gulped and closed my eyes in a desperate attempt to ward off the intense wave of desire.
Finn kissed me again and threaded his fingers through mine. “Come now…let’s meet the parents.”
Chapter 6
The three-block walk to my dad’s new home calmed my nerves. Or maybe it was Finn. He kept a steady dialogue over a wide range of topics, like the daffodils blooming in Golden Gate Park, which led to a brief chat about bike riding in the city. No one would have guessed I was walking off a raging boner after his playful promise to punish me if I misbehaved. Fuck, I really was a head case.
“It’s fantastic exercise if you have the time, but the hills are murder on your legs.”
“
Hmm. Do you ride often?” I asked conversationally.
“My goal is twice a week, but my schedule has been hectic lately, so I’ve had to settle on the gym.”
“Are you telling me you ride a bike from Pac Heights to the financial district?” I frowned then looked up at the street signs on the corner and motioned to my left.
Finn nodded, accidentally bumping my arm to make room for a fellow pedestrian. A spark of awareness sent a shiver through my body. Everything around me faded like parts of a coloring book that hadn’t been touched by a crayon yet. He was all I could see or hear. We were close to our destination now, but I wasn’t overly anxious to get there or have an awkward brunch behind me. I was content to be in the moment.
“I don’t live in Pac Heights. My grandmum does. I live in Hayes Valley. The hills are just as treacherous though and the traffic can be terrible but—”
I shook my head effusively. “That’s madness! Do you realize how dangerous that is?”
Finn rolled his eyes. “Tons of people ride their bikes to work. You should try it.”
“No fucking way. I’d be roadkill before I ever made it to Market Street. My mother would have a heart attack and my dad…” I stopped in my tracks and looked up at the narrow Queen Anne-style gray house with bay windows on the second story. The number over the one-car garage matched the one my father had given me the other day. “This is it.”
“Cheer up, mate. It’s Sunday brunch, not a funeral. This will be fine. If all else fails, at least we have champagne.” Finn cocked his head and lifted the bottle of Veuve Clicquot he’d brought as a gift for our hosts. It was a thoughtful gesture I wished I’d have come up with on my own.
“Yeah.” My voice lacked conviction and my earlier calm was evaporating quickly. And Finn sensed it. He straightened my collar then leaned in to brush his lips over mine.
When he pulled back slightly, I wrapped my arms around his waist and fused my mouth to his. It was a manic connection with zero style or grace. But when he licked my lips, I melted and welcomed him inside. I closed my eyes when he glided his tongue over mine. He tasted amazing and—
“Hi, there, son!” my father bellowed, waving his hands over his head on the off-chance I wouldn’t see him standing in the doorway twenty feet away.
I groaned before pulling back and pasting a smile on my face. “Come meet my dad.”
My expectations were appropriately low, but that was because I had a good idea how this initial meeting would play out. Dad would introduce me to Lars and I would introduce them to Finn. Finn and Lars would briefly chat about shared acquaintances before we all moved on to make small talk about the weather, my job situation, and future plans. Somewhere in between, we’d eat. It would certainly be a polite affair with no drama. Hell, it could even be boring. But my skittering pulse and clammy palms told a different story. I was a nervous wreck. Dad’s sunny smile and Finn’s hand on my lower back lessened my anxiety, but my knees wobbled like a baby giraffe’s when I finally reached the top step.
“Hi, Dad. This is—oomph!” My father pulled me into a crushing embrace and held on until I gasped for air.
He squeezed my hand meaningfully and stared deeply into my eyes as if to indicate this moment was of the utmost significance. “I’m so happy you’re here. Thank you, Josh.”
“Of course. I—” I turned to Finn and gestured between them. “Dad, this is Finn. Finn, this is my father, Jeff.”
Finn offered his hand in greeting. “Hello, sir.”
“Please, call me Jeff. We’ve met before, haven’t we? You look familiar,” Dad said.
“Yes. Lars introduced us at a fundraiser a couple of months ago.”
“That’s right! Well, it’s nice to see you again. Come on in. Lars is in the kitchen. I’ve been informed that the soufflé is in a critical place,” Dad said with a wink.
Finn pulled my belt loop, halting my progress before I followed my father inside. “Remember to breathe.”
I nodded slowly and let out a rush of air. “Thank you for this. I really appreciate it.”
“You’re welcome. Don’t worry now. Everything is going to be okay.”
The house was a beautifully renovated two-story with light hardwood flooring and high ceilings decorated with intricate molding. Sunlight poured through the wide bay windows in the living area and onto a comfy-looking beige sofa littered with colorful striped pillows. The decor was streamlined with tasteful oversized black and white photographs of San Francisco street scenes. It was nothing like my dad’s condo in San Leandro with its mismatched furnishings and stained carpets. This was inviting and homey without trying too hard.
I gave it a mental thumbs-up but faltered a step when I spotted the framed pictures of my sisters and me on the fireplace mantle. The personal touch jolted me and served as a reminder that this was really happening. My dad was living with someone new. It didn’t matter if that person was male or female. It just mattered that it happened. He’d really moved on.
As I turned to follow my father’s cheerful voice, Finn hooked his pinkie finger around mine. I remembered Finn was a handsy guy. He was the kind of lover who opened the door for you, pulled out your chair at a restaurant, and seemed compelled to lead by gentle, unobtrusive touches that somehow anchored you to him as well as to whatever it was you were doing. What I’d forgotten was how much I liked it.
I was startled from my reverie by a silver-haired man with a close-shaven beard, bright blue eyes, and a booming voice when we stepped into the kitchen.
“Hello! You must be Josh. I’ve heard so much about you.”
So this was Lars. I found a recent photo when I googled him to get some background info about the man my dad was moving in with. Most of the online info had to do with his philanthropic work in the LGBT community or his company’s futuristic outlook in green design. Every other article lauded his cutting-edge sense of style. I’d half expected his home to be a glass and steel wonder, and I wouldn’t have batted an eyelash if he was one of those uber-hip older guys with colorful tatted arms who always wore black. But Lars’s home was more traditional than modern and the man himself was…normal looking.
He was maybe an inch or so shorter than me and had a husky build and a ruddy complexion. His features were even and pleasant. And though he wasn’t an especially handsome man, he had a commanding presence. He was the sort of person you noticed when he walked into a room and hoped you’d have a chance to meet.
I shook his offered hand and smiled. “Hopefully Dad hasn’t brought out the baby books yet.”
“Well…maybe a couple,” he teased. “He’s terribly proud of you. I’m thrilled to finally meet you in person.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too.”
Lars let go of my hand and slapped Finn on the back. Hard. “Finn Gallagher. This is a surprise! I haven’t seen you since I bumped into you and Scarlet at that fundraiser in Tiburon. How are you?”
Finn chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m very well. Thank you. I brought a bottle of bubbly to soften the blow of having an extra guest at your table.”
“Thank you. I just popped the soufflé in the oven so we’ll be ready to eat in twenty minutes. I’d say that’s more than enough time for a drink.” Lars turned to address my father. “Grab another glass, hon. I’ll get the orange juice and meet you all outside.”
Dad nodded then gestured toward the open French door leading to the patio. Finn and I took the hint and stepped outdoors. A small round table was set with a bright yellow floral cloth and blue-and-white dishes. The vase of pink roses in the middle added a level of sophistication I never in a million years would have associated with my happy-go-lucky parent.
I had to be in another dimension. No way was this real. Finn, Dad, Lars. And did Lars really have to mention Scarlet? I swiped my hand through my gelled hair and bit my bottom lip.
“You okay?” Finn whispered before Dad joined us.
I nodded. “Yeah. He seems nice, but…I don’t know. I feel funny.”
“Hmm. I recommend two mimosas. If you feel wonky after that, we’ll find you something stronger.”
“Not a good idea. I can’t get bombed. I’ve got to stay on my A game. Or at least roll with my usual B plus one. That means I have to be friendly with the aid of minimal alcohol.”
“Be yourself, Josh. You’re not the only one this is a first for. I think your dad and Lars are as nervous as you.”
“I doubt they—”
“Here we are!” Dad exclaimed as he joined us. He juggled another place setting, the bottle of champagne and a flute. He set everything on the table then handed the flute to Finn before pouring a generous amount of champagne.
“Dad, you’re supposed to leave room for the orange juice.”
“Oh. Right. I’ll drink this one. I’m not putting juice in wine. That’s just weird,” he declared. His disgusted expression rivaled the faces my nephews made when they found out green beans were on the menu.
I quirked my brow and smiled. Maybe this dimension wasn’t completely unfamiliar after all.
* * *
Brunch was nice. The food was delicious, conversation flowed easily, and the day remained cool and pleasant. But honestly, it was all a little anticlimactic. After a couple of mimosas, I forgot this was possibly the strangest thing I’d ever done. Dining on an egg soufflé served with a side of apple sausage and mixed berries with my former lover and my father and his new lover would never make my list of “great ways to spend a Sunday.” However, this wasn’t so bad. And for two hours, anyone could pretend this was a new version of normal.
“The soufflé was outstanding, honey,” my father gushed, setting his hand over Lars’s.
Or not.
I nodded absently in agreement when Finn praised the chef, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the joined hands on the table. Breezy conversation and quality champagne had lulled me into complacency but now…
My stomach lurched in protest as a million thoughts flew around in my head. The problem wasn’t the myriad of thoughts, but the emotions attached to them. Fear, confusion, and a sense of loss overwhelmed me. They were immediately overshadowed by profound shame. I was ashamed of the double standard warring within me. If they hadn’t physically touched each other, I might have convinced myself they were only friends and this was an innocent albeit unusual gathering. But those hands and that casual term of endearment ripped the blindfold from my eyes and forced me to acknowledge my father’s truth.