by Willa Okati
Ford nibbled at Gavin’s lips and bumped their noses together. His gleeful grin told Gavin that Ford knew exactly what he’d accomplished there and was not in the least bit ashamed or abashed.
I wish I could be like you. Gavin settled for resting his hand at Ford’s waist and pressing his forehead to Ford’s. “Only… only one more thing. I have to ask. I mean this one. Promise you’ll go along with it?”
Ford withdrew, frowning. “I can’t promise anything until I know what it is. How could I be sure I’d be able to keep the promise?”
Gavin sighed. “Let me ask anyway?” Ford’s nod reassured him, though the worried look he wore didn’t. Gavin took a tighter hold on Ford as he got through the next part. “I don’t understand all of this. Maybe I never will. But I’ll try. Just… give me time to get used to it?”
Ford’s face smoothed out. “I can promise you that. Without a doubt.”
And there he went again, lifting the back of Gavin’s hand to his lips and kissing the knuckles. Did he know what kind of effect that had on a man, even the most wary of disbelievers in romance? On him?
Oddly enough, Gavin thought Ford might not know. Odder still -- or perhaps not -- that made it all the more endearing.
“One more thing,” he said, before he forgot -- before Ford made him forget. “Promise me if you can.”
Ford raised one shoulder. “Let me hear it first.”
“Don’t ask me to marry you again. Please don’t.”
The reaction was, finally, the one Gavin had anticipated. Disappointment chased by perplexed incomprehension both settling into resignation. But not into acceptance. “I can’t promise that,” Ford said. At least he was honest.
Donny never had been, unless it suited him to play so.
Another difference between them. A good one.
Gavin lifted up to kiss Ford. “Then give me time,” he said. “You promised that much.”
Ford laughed, sounding surprised. “Tricky little devil, aren’t you?”
Gavin ducked his head. “I have my moments.”
“And I lo -- really, really like all of them,” Ford said, cheeky grin fully back in place. “See? I’m being good. Now.” He calmed, amazing Gavin with his ability to turn on a dime but be no less sincere each and every time. “It’s my turn to ask you something.”
Gavin felt the cool wind on the terrace bite deeper into him, stealing away the body warmth from his back. Too vulnerable. But he owed Ford this much. At least an answer.
He nodded. “If I can, I’ll answer.”
“Who was it who hurt you so much they broke you this way?” Ford asked, cupping Gavin’s face again, brushing his thumbs as delicately as feathers over Gavin’s cheeks. “I’m not going to go after him. Promise in advance. I only want to know so I can be sure I don’t make the same mistakes.”
Ford was not Donny. But Gavin couldn’t tell him that without the rest of it coming out. “I can’t.”
Gavin didn’t expect Ford to accept that. Maybe that was what gave Gavin the courage to mirror Ford’s pose with his much smaller hands on Ford’s face and to kiss him. “But soon,” he said. “Soon.”
Ford’s smile seemed brighter than the sun through the clouds, and his kiss was warmer than any fire.
“Then I can wait,” Ford said between kisses that teased, kisses that promised, and kisses for the sake of kissing, one melting into the next. “That’s a promise I’ll keep as long as I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because,” Ford said, pulling Gavin into his lap. “Because I want to. And that’s true.”
* * *
Gavin’s lips still tingled from Ford’s exuberance, and he knew for once his face was warm not from a blush but from whisker rash. Inside his office, the space he’d considered sufficient for his needs before seemed too small. Stuffy.
A messy stack of letters dropped atop his desk caught Gavin’s eye. Hmm. Mail delivery came early today, he supposed. He tucked the lot under his arm and dropped with a casualness that surprised himself into his chair.
Where was that letter opener? Ah. Gavin flipped through the stack, sorting bills, letters of application for summer study from college students, handwritten envelopes that more than likely contained complaints about one collection or another, and ordinary junk mail.
The last of the letters bore neither a return address nor a canceled stamp of any kind. Gavin dropped that one and eyed it warily. He’d read plenty of news stories about --
Oh. Wait. Of course. This would be from Ford just in case the boom box maneuver -- dear God -- hadn’t worked, or a secret delivery from Kayla when Ford gave her some kind of high sign.
Kayla was… a surprise, Gavin mused as he neatly slit that envelope open first. He hadn’t thought he’d like her. Ford was enough enthusiasm and overabundant personality in a male. In a female? Gavin would have run scared.
Yet he did like her. She fit in.
Gavin could have described himself as content as he tilted the envelope upside down. No. Almost -- no, not almost. He would have said he was happy.
When the contents of the envelope slid slickly out onto his desk, everything changed.
A glossy sheet torn from a magazine. The picture, a face Gavin knew far too well, circled in bold black marker, and a black arrow pointing to the text.
Donny flirted up at Gavin from his picture, older but no less the roguish charmer, caught by the photographer in a freeze frame of life so exuberant, he nearly leaped out of the frame and onto Gavin’s desk.
For all the effect it had on Gavin, Donny might as well have done just that.
Gavin shoved his chair back as if the paper had burned him, his pulse hammering in his ears. No. No.
“You fuck with me, and I fuck right back.” Roger pushed the door open and smirked smugly at Gavin. Bastard. He must have been lying in wait for this moment. Watching.
The skin on the back of Gavin’s neck crawled with loathing. Gavin couldn’t speak, but that was a good thing. Roger would have used whatever came out against him. In every way he could.
“Read the article,” Roger said. “It’s a good one. Come to find out, your old flame’s going to be back in town in, hmm, about a month. He’s working with a traveling performance of Les Misérables. Don’t you just love irony?”
Glaring. That, Gavin could do, and if looks could kill, he would have reduced Roger to a pile of oily ashes before he’d gotten another word out.
Roger’s smirk wasn’t going anywhere, glare or not. “You really sure you’re over him and not just fooling yourself with that dumb ox that follows you around? Think about that, dick. Think hard.”
Gavin found his voice. “Get. Out.”
Roger snickered as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no sweat. My work is done here. Just think twice before you mess with me again, pretty boy, because if you do?” He clicked his tongue.
He could count himself lucky he’d gotten clear before Gavin slammed the door on his fingers and locked it tight. A jerk to the cord and down came the security blinds so Gavin could lean against the door and try to take slow breaths.
Donny smiled as brightly as Ford from the picture. Gavin could still see it on his desk. He knew now he’d see it in his dreams.
No. No. I won’t let it -- him -- not now. Gavin swept the envelope and its contents off his desk and into his trash can.
Ford is not Donny.
Instead of sinking down at the desk and crushing his face into his hands, thinking about what had been, seeing Donny’s face in his mind’s eye -- Gavin drew his phone out and dialed a number he already knew by heart. He wrote it across his mind, number by number, driving the strokes deep.
“Hey, you.” Ford picked up on the second ring. He sounded… happy, like there was real joy for him in hearing from Gavin.
Ford is not Donny.
For once, Gavin could say what was in his heart even when the seas were at their most turbulent. “Come out with me tonight. I want to be with you a
gain.”
Chapter Six
Seven thirty. Still an hour and a half to go before Ford arrived. Or so Gavin had told him. Plenty of time.
Was nine p.m. a strange time to start a date? Gavin bit at his thumbnail. It’d been so long he didn’t remember, and there hadn’t been a plethora of much besides one-night stands before Donny. He could probably Google the information.
Gavin rolled his eyes, then stopped and hissed when his teeth dug too deeply at the sensitive quick of his nail. He looked at the digit in disgust. Damn. When would he ever manage to break himself of that habit?
It’s not the only habit you can’t shed, a voice murmured inside his head. Like falling for the wrong men.
Shut up, Gavin retorted. It didn’t work.
Seven thirty-five. Gavin smoothed down the sweater he’d chosen. He’d told Ford to dress casually. Should he have added “dress warmly” too? The nights were still chilly at this time of year.
As quickly discarded as it came was the thought that Ford could borrow one of his sweaters. Not likely. Ford’s hockey-champ shoulders would burst the seams before he had any sweater of Gavin’s halfway over his head, and the length would probably end up around midchest.
Crop top. Gavin chuckled. He’d have to remember to share that one with Ford; even if it was sort of at his expense, Ford would get a kick out of it. Gavin found it as easy as dipping his hand into fresh water to drink to imagine the sparkling delight in Ford’s eyes and the brightness of his smile.
Seven forty. All right, this was getting ridiculous. Better to be on the move. Gavin dusted off his jeans, frowned, forced himself still, and took a deep breath to smooth down the nerves jangled up from anticipation.
Gavin’s other thumbnail crept toward his mouth, where he bit absently at it and considered the picnic basket sealed up tight and ready to go on the dining table he never used. What was the point when dining alone?
Making the right impression mattered. Gavin would have wondered why if he hadn’t already known for sure. He wanted Ford to think better of him. A part of his brain argued that it didn’t matter and that Ford would love whatever he came up with; the larger half insisted on attacking this move as a mathematical equation.
Gavin did history and art. Not math. He rubbed his forehead. Maybe he’d been right before, and this wasn’t a good idea.
Seven fifty-five.
Gavin noticed movement in his peripheral vision. Oscar again. Strange how he’d become bolder since Ford had entered Gavin’s life. The F1 was truly as close to a wild animal as could be, and honestly days could go by when Gavin wouldn’t even have known he was there if food and water hadn’t disappeared. He could escape and not be noticed as missing for days.
Such was the life of a loner.
Now Oscar disappeared beneath the breakfront that came with the unused table. Gavin could still see him peeking out, watching him warily through two glowing amber-green eyes.
“You’re not used to this, are you?” he asked, slowly crouching. “Any of it. That makes two of us.”
Oscar blinked and turned his head.
Eight o’clock.
A knock that could only be described as hearty thundered at the door.
* * *
You’re early, was what Gavin had meant to say when he let Ford in. Followed by, Can I get you something to drink?
Would that have been right? Did you offer dates complimentary beverages before you left the apartment?
What actually happened was this: when Gavin opened the door, the full visual of Ford so physically present and crammed full of vitality stopped him in his tracks.
My God.
“Handsome” wasn’t good enough a word. A black hoodie over a gray T-shirt and a pair of halfway-worn-out jeans made Ford look good enough to eat, never mind the way his hair begged to be touched, tousled as it was from biking. Thoughts of picnics and gardens fled from his consciousness, replaced by one thing alone: Ford.
Why was Ford staring at him? Was that how he looked to Ford? Gavin’s cheeks warmed. Surely not. He had on a gray sweater with flecks of blue and green, one of his favorites, and blue jeans. What was so appealing about that?
Ford saw something, even if Gavin didn’t understand it. He ate Gavin up with his eyes, the lids growing hooded and the light within them dark and saturated with sensual need. His bright smile didn’t fool Gavin, who knew what Ford had on his mind.
Same thing as Gavin had on his. Was it a good idea? A bad idea?
He cleared his throat. “I have a picnic. For us.” Oh God. “I’d thought. Romance. You like that stuff.”
“Sounds good,” Ford said, still drinking Gavin in with his gaze.
Gavin wasn’t one to throw plans out the window. But this… Good idea, bad idea, Gavin didn’t care, and abruptly he didn’t want to.
He closed the distance between him and Ford and laid his palms on Ford’s broad chest. “Or we could stay here,” he said, amazed that it was him making the offer.
“Oh thank God,” Ford said in a rush. “We can definitely stay here.”
Gavin smiled.
* * *
A smile like Gavin’s, so pretty and so real despite the nervousness, deserved a reward. Given gently.
Ford tipped Gavin’s chin up and bent to brush his sweet mouth with all the good meaning he could pour into such a small thing. Slow and careful. Not Ford’s greatest strength. For Gavin, he’d try. For Gavin, it might even be easy. Love did that to a man if it was true.
And so when Gavin leaned into the kiss and should have melted into Ford’s arms but didn’t, Ford covered Gavin’s hands on his chest with his own and held them until the fine tremors running through Gavin’s fingers eased.
Gavin broke the kiss with a shaky, self-deprecating laugh that Ford didn’t like half as much as his previous smile. “You must think I’m such a hopeless case.”
One more small kiss. “You’re anything but hopeless. Believe me.”
Ford didn’t think Gavin believed, but despite that, he turned his cheek toward Ford’s palm and rubbed like a lonely cat shyly begging for attention. Even more slowly, he twined his arm around Ford’s waist and stroked low, both teasing and daring to hope all at once.
Ford was the one at a loss for words now.
Gavin smiled at him again. Was that amusement Ford saw there this time? Shy but true? “Don’t think so hard,” he said in his softest voice. “I can smell wood burning.”
By God. A joke. That deserved another kiss. Ford forgot he’d meant to be playing with a light hand, but as luck would have it, apparently Gavin didn’t mind.
“Didn’t mind” being an understatement. Gavin threw himself into the kiss as if he were starving and Ford were a banquet. It was almost all Ford could do to keep up with Gavin’s swarming hands locking behind his neck and Gavin -- holy cow -- wrapping a leg around Ford’s thigh, as high as he could go.
Most of Ford said woo-hoo, yes! The rest warned him, Tread carefully for once, you big ox. Ford pushed Gavin down -- well, as far as he could make himself let Gavin go -- and studied him. “Are you okay?”
Gavin growled. He sounded like a lion cub. “We’re… And you ask me…”
“I do.” The more Ford checked Gavin out, the more he figured Gavin had something weighing heavy on his shoulders. “What’s wrong? Hey, hey, look at me. Gavin? You can tell me.”
He could see Gavin’s struggle for words before Gavin shook his head and shrugged helplessly.
Okay. So he couldn’t coax the words out of Gavin. Maybe Ford could love them out of him. And this time, he meant that in a more carnal -- no, sensual -- way. Show him how good it could be to trust.
“Does anything ever get to you?” Gavin blurted. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. Lightweight or not, they slid right back down again.
If they hadn’t make Gavin look so hot and if Ford hadn’t had a sudden burning urge to see Gavin naked except for those glasses, Ford would have taken them carefully off Gavin’s nose and laid
them aside.
Gavin waited for Ford to answer his question. Ford could see the nerves rising again, closer to the surface, and that wouldn’t do. He stroked Gavin’s jaw with the pads of his thumbs, one on either side. “Sure. Things get to me. All the time.”
Gavin blinked. Clearly not the answer he’d expected.
Ford had kind of hoped it wouldn’t be, because this was important. “So I do something about them. It helps if you have faith. You can turn things around if you believe. You don’t have to believe in luck. Just believe in something. You could believe in me, if you let yourself.”
The ghost of a smile passed fleetingly over Gavin’s lips. “You make it sound easy.”
“It can be.” Enough talking. Gavin, vulnerable and somehow naked even with a mouthwatering sweater on, needed to be shown, not lectured, and there was a couch in the corner that positively beckoned.
Ford took Gavin by the hand and pulled. “I could stand to get more comfortable. How about you?”
That likely hadn’t been as subtle as Ford had hoped, but maybe that wasn’t a bad thing. A sparkle crept into Gavin’s eye. He squeezed Ford’s hand and nodded.
Good sign. Good, good sign.
* * *
First things first, which meant taking care of Gavin. Ford guided him to the couch and down, one foot propped on the cushion and one flat on the floor. He watched Ford in a way that made Ford’s hands shake. Shy, still wary, but willing to give his trust.
“If you knew how much that meant to me,” Ford said. He guided both of Gavin’s feet to the floor and settled cross-legged between them to start work on the laces of his sturdy walking boots.
Gavin’s forehead crinkled. “What?”
Ford kissed the inside of Gavin’s thigh. “Tell you later.” He rose to his knees, soothing Gavin all the while with nonwordy murmurs. By the time he’d shouldered his way between Gavin’s knees to start working on his zipper, Gavin had relaxed as much as he could and even chanced petting Ford’s hair.
