by Tara Lain
Well, hell. “Yeah. Soon.” He wrapped his arms around John’s slim back and hugged. John looked up at him with a glowing smile, and he felt like crying. Weird. Why? Some piece of his heart whispered for everything you don’t have. He sucked in air. Fuck that.
He disengaged John gently, walked to the door with Mr. P., glanced back at Wen’s pretty, pretty face that still looked sad and distant, and left. Mr. Pennymaker set the same blistering pace going down the stairs as he had coming up. Murphy stood at the car door in front of the building, which suggested ESP since there was no parking in front and the chauffeur must have been driving around since they arrived.
Mr. P. jumped in, and Peter slid in behind him. As soon as the door closed, Mr. Pennymaker turned to Peter. “So you’ve become quite an essential part of that family in a short time.”
“No!” He felt the frown and tried to smooth it, but Pennymaker had already taken note as demonstrated by his raised eyebrows. Peter shook his head. “I barely know them. Wen kind of stalked me to get me to do the art project for him. I did it. It’s over.”
“But you clearly said you’re friends.”
“That’s kind of overstating. I like those kids a lot. I like Wen too, even if he is a damned grandpa. But I don’t do family.”
“What about the Lost Boys and Tink?”
He stared out the window at the dense Brooklyn traffic. “Loosely connected. Any one of us could leave and the others would barely notice. We’re all adventurers, man. We live life as it comes and make the best of it. Shit gets boring and we’re out.”
“And I gather Wen is boring.”
“Deadly.” His lips turned up on their own. “Not all the time, but too much of it.”
“Too bad for John. He obviously looks up to you.”
Peter shrugged. “I just remind him of his mother, and apparently she was no damned good, so he’s better off without me.”
“Ah, you think you’re likewise no good?” Mr. Pennymaker leaned against the door on the other side of the limo. The privacy panel between them and the driver was conveniently raised, and the interior felt cozy and confidential.
“I never said that.”
“Then why would John be better off?”
Peter’s head snapped up. “Why is it any of your business?”
“It’s not my business, Peter. It’s yours, and you should be about it.”
Murphy’s voice over the intercom said, “We’re at Neverland, Mr. P.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Murphy.”
The door opened, and Peter leaped out like a cat escaping the vet. Ignoring Mr. P. except for a hurried “Thanks,” he ran inside, saw the Boys on the stage, and rushed to join them.
Samu gave him a frown. “You okay, PP?”
“I’m fine, thanks. Haven’t had time to change yet.”
“Yeah, I can see that. Did John get home okay?”
He nodded, and the band began playing. Peter walked through the songs without a lot of energy, saving himself for the performance. That was his story, anyway.
After their rehearsal, full of singing and not thinking, Peter walked back to their meager dressing room, where he kept a couple outfits for just such occasions. When he stepped in, Tink already sat there. “Youokay?”
“Why does everyone keep asking? Yes, I’m fine.”
“DidyougoseeWendellDarling?”
“I saw him briefly. I took John home.”
“He’sbadforyou.”
“Come on Tink, be fair. He’s done nothing except be sure we can pay the fucking rent.” He stomped across the room, stepping over her flower-patterned legs that stuck out in his way.
“Yougetupsetwhennyouseehim.”
He sighed loudly as he pulled a green T-shirt over his head with his back turned to Tink. The T-shirt was just like the others except it proclaimed in brilliant sparkles Underthrow the Overground. He stared in the wavy mirror on the back of the closet door. She’s right. Wen upsets me. Why the fuck can’t I stay away from him? “Let’s just go play music, okay?”
He retraced his steps out the dressing room door and went to drown himself in lyrics.
Two hours later he knew it wasn’t working. All he could see was Wen’s face. John’s face. I don’t want to see them. He snorted. I don’t want to want to see them. That’s different.
When they took their break, Peter walked off the stage straight into Mr. Pennymaker. Somehow he’d changed to a black jacket with floral collar and cuffs. Seriously? And somehow he’d gotten past the guards to hang out backstage. He pressed his hands together. “Splendid, Peter.”
“You kidding?” Peter frowned. “I can barely get my head out of my ass.”
“Yes, but sometimes that’s precisely the view we need.”
Peter spewed a laugh. “What do you want with me, really?”
“Why must I want something?”
“Because people don’t usually bother with people unless they want things.”
He rubbed his chin with two fingers. “All right. I want you to be happy.”
“Why me, for God’s sake? You don’t even know me.”
He smiled softly. “I want everyone to be happy, Peter. I just happen to be speaking with you.”
“Jesus!” Peter wiped a hand over the back of his neck. “You’re too smart for me, old man.”
“Not at all. I simply want you to be smart for you.”
“What does that look like?”
“Getting your head out of your ass and paying attention to what you want instead of what you think you should want.” He yawned behind his hand. “I’m a bit tired, so I’ll say good night. Thank all the Lost Boys for such a splendid show.”
Mr. Pennymaker turned, walked out through the stage door, and was gone.
Peter’s mouth hung open. Hit by a five-foot-one-inch truck.
Chapter Sixteen
Wen’s eyes fluttered open. Not again! With zero preamble, he sat up in bed and stared at the spot by the drapes where he knew Peter would be. Yep. The streetlights reflected in little glints off the blinding red of his hair.
Wen hopped up and pulled down his sleep T-shirt over his sweatpants, because his cock thought it knew why Peter was there and Wen disagreed with its attitude. He hissed, “What are you doing risking your life on that damned fire escape again? You already said a small cat would make the thing collapse.” That wasn’t quite what he thought he was going to say, but it would do.
Peter snarled back, “If you don’t want me to climb in, don’t leave your damned windows open.”
“It’s hot!”
Peter took a pugnacious step forward. “Then you’re stuck with me!”
They stared at each other—and burst out laughing!
Peter ran a hand through his hair and let it fall back across his face. “Nothing on earth makes me as crazy as you.”
“Ditto.” Wen turned and flopped on the couch. “Why is that, do you think?”
Peter settled beside him. “Mr. Pennymaker, whoever the hell he is, thinks we don’t want to want what we want.”
“And what is it we want?”
Peter sighed. “You know the answer to that.”
Silence.
Wen looked up. “What does Mr. Pennymaker, whoever the hell he is, think we should do about it?”
“He said I should get my head out of my ass and face up to what I want.”
“He really said that?”
“Yep.”
“Who is this guy? You really don’t know?”
“Nope.”
“So John was totally responsible for showing up at Neverland.”
“Yes, but please don’t tell him I told you.”
“I won’t. The kid’s really having a tough time with—you know, us.”
Nobody said a word.
“Do you think Pennymaker’s right? About facing what you want?” Wen stared at his bare feet.
Peter sighed. “Yes.”
Wen swallowed.
Peter looked up. “What
about you? What do you want?”
“I want the kids to be happy.”
“Do you get to be happy?”
Some huge, dark wave washed over him, and he sucked air.
Peter cocked his head at him. “What?”
“I—I don’t know?”
“You don’t know if you get to be happy?”
The words rushed out. “I’m not sure I know how.”
They both stared at the floor.
Peter said, “Do you think the kids would be happier if you were happy?”
Wen gritted his teeth. “My mother was always happy. Didn’t do John and Michaela much good.”
“John seems to like her.”
Wen looked up but Peter’s face wasn’t challenging. He was just stating a fact. Wen nodded. “Yes. She was fun.”
“Fun matters. You should try it sometime.” He smiled.
Wen slowly raised a hand toward that elven face. With one finger he touched Peter’s cheek. “Maybe I could have fun with you.”
“Would that make you happy?”
“Funny. I think it might.”
Peter placed his warm hand over Wen’s finger on his own cheek. “Remember how we were going to go on that date? Want to try again?”
“I’d like that.”
Peter grinned and pulled Wen’s hand into his lap. “One thing, though.”
Wen raised his eyebrows.
“The most awkward part about first dates is trying to get to that first kiss.”
Wen grinned.
“So I think we should get that out of the way now.”
“Oh really?” Wen was already leaning in. “Uh. I thought we did that.”
“Shhhh.” Peter took Wen’s hand and curled it around Peter’s neck, then slid his own around Wen’s. With a soft smile, he leaned in until their lips touched. Funny. They’d sucked and jerked each other off, but nothing matched a real kiss. Oh my. Soft, warm, cinnamony. Peter’s lemon spice scent filled Wen’s head like essential oils. Essential. Good word.
Peter nibbled on Wen’s mouth, then caressed with his smooth tongue, teasing at the seam between Wen’s lips and playing at the corners of his mouth. Wen heard the soft sigh come from between his own lips as they parted, and Peter slipped inside.
Whoa!
How could a simple meeting of tongues be sexier than a blowjob? Wen’s whole body blossomed in goose bumps, and his penis unfurled like a flag in the breeze. He tightened his arm around Peter’s neck and got a gratifying response as Peter whimpered and slipped his hand to Wen’s waist.
A giggle made him freeze. Peter did too, and there they sat, lips pressed together, not moving, mimicking a statue by Rodin.
“Eww!” Another giggle.
Wen pulled away and faced the hall. “John!”
John burst into the living room. “See, I told you. You guys are like boyfriends, and you’ve gotta quit pretending like you’re not.”
“We’re trying.”
John planted hands on his skinny hips barely holding up their burden of plaid cotton pajama bottoms. “Try harder.”
Peter nodded solemnly. “We will, John. We’re going to go on a date and try to have a normal relationship.”
“It’s about time. When?”
Good question. Wen looked at Peter. “Next Friday night? That gives me time to finish up our test run on the ad.”
John plopped down on the floor like he was staying a while. Excuse me, it’s 2:00 a.m. “What’s a test run?”
“We try out the ad in select markets and test responses from viewers. We adjust based on their feedback and then, if all goes well, we release the ad nationwide. This one may even go international, since it’s mostly visual and little translation’s required.”
“Wow. That’s cool. So we get to see it this week?”
“Yep.”
“And then you can go on a date?”
Peter smiled. “That’s the plan.”
John leaned his elbow on his crossed legs. “What’re you going to see?”
Wen stood. “Okay, enough. It’s the middle of the night. We’re not discussing movies. You go to sleep now, and you can give us film recommendations tomorrow.”
“Oookay.” John got up slowly, then flashed his cheekiest smile. “But my eyes will never recover from seeing that kiss, and you may have distorted my poor preadolescent brain and warped my development forever.”
Wen thrust an arm toward the bedrooms as Peter collapsed back on the couch laughing. “Bed!”
Giggling, John ran all the way to his room and closed the door.
Wen looked at Peter, who was wiping his eyes and still trying to control his chuckles. “See what I deal with?”
“He’s his own planet.”
“So can I walk you to the subway?”
“Deal.”
“Be right back.” He walked to the bedroom and slipped in to find John curled in bed and heavy-eyed but not asleep. “I’m going to walk with Peter to the subway. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” He grabbed his jeans, sat on the narrow bed, pulled off his pajamas, and replaced them with the denim.
John murmured, “Wen.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think I’m gay like you?”
Whoa. Guess I better get ready for this conversation. “What do you think?”
“Probably not. I think girls are pretty cool.”
“That makes sense. I imagine you’re right. We’ll pay attention, okay?”
“Okay.” He sighed and snuggled under the covers. “I sure do like Peter.”
“I’m glad.”
“’Cause you like him too, huh?” He giggled softly.
“Yeah, I like him too.”
The music faded, the parasol danced off into the distance, the camera closed in on the crocodile in the corner of the painting, and it wriggled to life and plunged into the crimson water, making a splash that became a cloud that floated into a peanut butter sky.
The screen faded to black.
The room full of account and creative people held their collective breaths and stared at Graham Henderson.
He leaned back in his conference chair. “Amazing. Astonishing.” He looked at Mark Allworth. “I’ve got to hand it to you. I wasn’t sure you could pull this off.”
Mark grinned. “I told you we had the winning team, Graham. Arnie gets the best from them.”
Henderson looked at Arnie, who smiled like the crocodile in the painting.
Laila, who sat beside Wen, clutched his thigh. His spine froze, not for the first time that day. Mark’s language choices never said Arnie did the campaign but clearly laid the credit for it at his feet.
Come on, be happy. They can’t fire you because they’ve got no idea how to replicate the look without you. So what if Arnie looks like the hero? You’ve got a paycheck.
Henderson said, “I’ve got a few notes, then I want this in test run by the end of the week. Can do?”
Arnie glanced quickly toward Wen, then back at Henderson with a big smile. “Can do.” He looked at Wen and Laila. “I’ll get the notes and bring them back to the department so we can get to work right away.”
Arnie got up along with Henderson and Mark and left the conference room. The walls seemed to sigh. Everyone looked so relieved, except Laila. She turned to Wen and hissed between her teeth. “Those fucking bastards are pretending they did this. They’re taking all the credit. It makes me want to puke.”
“Sometimes we win by making others look good.”
She glared at him. “What fucking book of wise sayings did you read that in? Those SOBs couldn’t have created this campaign if you gave them a new brain.”
Mickey, who’d worked so many hours to get the rough concept right, leaned over from his spot at the table. “I agree. Those dudes are asswipes. They don’t deserve you, Wen.”
“Thanks, both of you. But if I make a stink, they’ll find a way to get rid of me and make it look like I was the one who almost lost the account.”
Laila
shook her head vehemently. “No. You’re the only one who knows the artist. You’ve got them by the pubic hair.”
He grimaced. “Painful image. All I can say is, ‘for now.’ You know they’re going to try to wring that out of me.”
“Fuck ’em.”
Easy for her to say. She only had herself to feed.
“Look, Wen, why don’t you let me and Mickey take Arnie’s fucking notes? You know the changes won’t be much. Leave. It’s the end of the day. Let him live without you for one night. The thing runs in three days, so he’s not going to alter anything substantive.”
Damn, that sounded good. “Okay, yeah. Call me if you need me.”
“Will do, boss.”
He grinned, grabbed his stuff, and walked out of the agency. One whole evening to spend with the kids.
“Wen, you can’t wear that!”
Wen stopped buttoning the white shirt he was about to tuck into his brown gabardine pants and glared at John, who’d just bounded into the room and landed in the middle of Wen’s bed. “Why?”
“Because it’s too derpy.”
Michaela walked in and perched next to John. “Derpy as in conservative and businesslike. You’re going on a date, Wen. Not to a client meeting.”
Wen stared at his few clothes in the tiny closet. “I haven’t got anything.”
She stood and crossed to the minimal wardrobe. “Sure you do.” She reached in and pulled out the holey jeans he wore around the house.
“You’re joking?”
John shook his head. “Not even. Put them on and take off those terrible things.”
Wen frowned, dropped the brown pants, and stared down at the boxer briefs he was sporting beneath the white shirt. “Do these pass?”
John nodded. “It’d be better if they were a color, but at least they’re not tighty-whiteys.”
Wen made a face at both of them and slid on the jeans. “I’m going on a date in these? It’s looks like I’m going to paint the house.”
Michaela waved her hand. “Now tuck in the shirt and grab that sport coat you never wear because it’s too casual.”
Wen did as he was told, scowling at his sibs. “I’m going to look stupid.”
“No. You’re going to look twenty-three.” Michaela gave him a motherly glance and reached out to adjust his collar.