“It’s no big deal,” Zeb said, frowning. “They’re not that kind of people.”
“If you change your mind at the last minute, I won’t object,” Alex said, giving Zeb a pass.
“Okay.”
They stopped at Whole Foods on the way home, and Alex loaded up his basket with everything he needed for tomorrow’s meal. Zeb insisted on splitting the bill and Alex accepted. If their roles had been reversed, he would have also offered to pay, so this didn’t feel out of the ordinary.
As soon as they walked through the door of the apartment, they dropped the bags and ended up in each other’s arms on the sofa. Whatever doubts had flitted through Alex’s brain earlier were quickly banished as Zeb kissed him passionately.
When they broke apart to catch a breath, Zeb exclaimed. “Wow. I thought it would be different this time around, but nothing has changed. It’s actually more intense.”
“Right?” Alex agreed.
“You’re seriously hot in that outfit,” Zeb said, running his hands up and down Alex’s biceps. “Who knew a black sweater could be such a turn-on.”
Smiling, Alex suggested, “Let’s put the groceries away before we go any further.”
“Lead the way,” Zeb said.
THE TANTALIZING smells wafting in from the kitchen penetrated Zeb’s consciousness and he stirred, slowly blinking awake. He tried to guess what Alex was cooking by parsing the various aromas. Sautéed onions and celery were easily distinguishable, as was the pungent sausage, but overpowering it all was a spice he didn’t recognize. Not surprising since he’d never had a traditional turkey and stuffing dinner. Now would be a good time to get his lazy ass out of bed and lend a hand, even if he didn’t have the first clue what Alex needed by way of help.
Back home, the kitchens were manned by a battalion of servants, and all Zeb had to do to assuage his hunger was make a request and food magically appeared. He sat up, and when the blanket slipped down his naked torso, memories of last night rushed to the forefront of his brain. He and Alex had had sex.
Major sex.
Amazing, toe-curling, heart-stopping, out-of-this-world sex.
Whoa.
It hadn’t been one-sided either. Zeb felt a pang of sadness when Alex admitted no one had ever taken the time to ask what he liked or how he wanted to be touched. Knowing he’d turned Alex into a puddle of goo gave Zeb a thrill of satisfaction.
Zeb’s cock stiffened as he recalled their erotic journey of discovery. Propelled into action by his lizard brain, he got out of bed and reached for the white terry cloth robe Alex had laid out for him last night. Touched by the thoughtful gesture, Zeb shrugged it on, grateful for the warmth. The sleeves dangled past his hands, and he rolled them up his forearms so he could function. Even then, he was dwarfed in the folds. Their height disparity was even more obvious when he slipped on Alex’s clothes.
He stopped in the bathroom to wash up, brush his teeth, and pee before joining Alex in the kitchen. Barefoot, he padded down the hallway and leaned against the doorjamb, watching in silence. Alex’s back was to Zeb, and he appraised the broad shoulders encased in a pale blue T-shirt that stopped short of the sweatpants hanging below jutting hip bones. Zeb’s gaze continued on its downward path, noting the two dimples right above the swell of Alex’s ass. He squeezed his eyes shut, reliving the moment he’d dipped his tongue into those enticing divots, loving the surprised gasp that escaped from Alex’s throat. Zeb might have whimpered out loud, because Alex spun around.
“Good morning, sugar,” Alex drawled, checking out Zeb’s attire. He smiled when he caught the unmistakable rise below Zeb’s belt. “Like what you see?”
Zeb flushed but headed toward Alex and snaked his arms around the bare skin. He looked up at the now familiar face staring down at him curiously and murmured, “I’m enjoying the view very much.”
“I’m wearing rags,” Alex protested. “By the end of this cooking marathon, I’ll be splattered in gravy and other assorted juices.”
“I’ll gladly lick you clean if you’re in the mood,” Zeb teased.
“Stop that or we won’t eat on time.”
“Eating you was part of the offer,” Zeb said.
Alex’s breath hitched.
“Cat got your tongue, big guy?”
Alex exhaled slowly. “No… I just forget how to breathe when I’m around you.”
“That’s funny because I breathe a lot freer whenever I’m in your presence,” Zeb said sincerely.
“Aww, sugar. You’re one nice surprise after another,” Alex noted.
“Good to know,” Zeb said. “What I can do to help?”
“Can you cook?” Alex asked dubiously.
“Not really,” Zeb admitted. “But I’m pretty sure I can peel or stir if you need help with that.”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Alex said. “But first, how about some coffee and a beignet?”
“I’d love some coffee. What’s the other thing you offered?”
Alex picked up a puff of pastry covered in powdered sugar and plated it.
“What is it?” Zeb asked, peering down at the sugary lump.
“A Southern take on donuts.”
Zeb took a bite, humming with pleasure as he chewed and swallowed.
Alex reached for a kitchen towel and wiped a smudge of powdered sugar off Zeb’s nose. “Want another one?”
“Yes, please.”
Zeb finished the second beignet in three bites and drained the coffee. After wiping his mouth, he cocked his head at Alex, waiting for orders.
“Let’s start you off with a few potatoes and see how it goes,” Alex said, handing over a yellow ceramic bowl filled with spuds.
Zeb picked out a large potato and the sharp paring knife Alex offered and got to work. He stuck his tongue in between his teeth while he concentrated on his task, inadvertently digging in too deep with each pass of the knife. By the time Zeb finished, the big Idaho spud was the size of a golf ball.
“How’s that?” he asked, looking at Alex proudly.
Alex stared at Zeb in amusement. “Haven’t you ever done this before?”
Zeb shook his head.
“What planet did you say you lived on?”
“Shut up,” Zeb said, embarrassed. “I told you I don’t cook.”
“Apparently you don’t do anything in the kitchen but eat,” Alex said, snorting with glee.
“But I do that so well,” Zeb said, joining in the laughter. “Can’t I just keep you company instead of ruining the meal?”
“Absolutely,” Alex said. “You sit there and look cute while I get everything ready to go in the oven.”
“Why don’t I take a shower instead,” Zeb said. “I must reek.”
Just then, Alex’s phone rang and Chyna’s name popped up on caller ID. He reached for Zeb’s hand to hold him in place, almost certain the roommates would include him in the group hat. Accepting the call, he greeted Chyna effusively.
“Happy Thanksgiving! I’m putting you on speaker so Zeb can say hello.”
“Hey, Zeb,” Luca interjected. “How’s it going, buddy?”
“Great. I’m sitting here pretending to help Alex prepare our meal.”
Luca hooted. “You don’t have a clue, do you?”
“Shut it, Dilorio. How are the dads?”
“Everyone here is good. They want to wish you and Alex a Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Thanks,” Zeb said. “Say hi to everyone for us.”
“Will do,” Luca said.
“What are you guys planning on doing after you’ve had your fill of turkey?” Chyna asked.
“Not sure,” Alex said. “I had hoped to take Zeb to his first Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, but didn’t plan ahead. Most people are lining the streets hours before the nine o’clock start. We might go down to Rockefeller Plaza or Central Park and try our hand at ice skating.”
“That’ll be interesting,” Luca sniggered. “A Southerner and a Filipino on the ice. You might want to se
ll tickets first. The money will come in handy at the emergency room.”
“I’ll have you know I’m a fabulous ice skater,” Alex said.
“For real?” Chyna asked.
“Just kidding,” Alex said. “Can you imagine me trying to balance on a thin blade? I don’t think so.”
“Zeb might do better,” Luca suggested. “He’s got a shorter distance to fall.”
“Asshole,” Zeb called out.
“We’ll let you guys go,” Chyna said. “Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”
“Too late,” Alex said, disconnecting before Chyna could reply.
“Five feet nine inches is not that short,” Zeb hissed. Luca’s casual remark had struck a nerve, and suddenly, he was tensing up, worried his height might become an issue for Alex. The guy was almost a head taller than him, and they were bound to draw unwanted attention. He hated the thought of failing him in any way.
“He was just teasing, sugar.”
“I’m practically a dwarf compared to you guys but—”
“You don’t hear me complaining, do you?” Alex interrupted.
Zeb stared into Alex’s earnest face and realized he might be overly sensitive. He took a deep breath and relaxed. “No, especially when we’ve leveled the playing field on your mattress.”
“Don’t let them ruin our day,” Alex said, moving closer. He captured Zeb’s face and ran his tongue playfully along his pouty lower lip. “We can’t all be in the NBA, sugar, and who would want that anyway?”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. You’ve got the grit and determination of a guy twice your size. Apart from your sad performance as my kitchen helper, I like everything about you.”
“Good to know. It bugs me when people stereotype. Not that Chyna and Luca do it, but others have. Because I’m Asian, they assume certain things, and it’s insulting.”
“Like what?” Alex asked.
“I’m a genius at math and have a pencil dick.”
Alex’s laugh came out in a snort. “I know what you mean. I’ve been hit on by a lot of size queens who expect me to pop out a ten-inch cock since I tower over everyone and I’m half black. You should see their look of frustration—and anger—when they realize who they’re actually dating. You’ve never made me feel like an imposter or an epic fail. Not once. When I’m with you, I feel valued.”
“Wow, that’s really sad,” Zeb commiserated. “I’ve never thought of you as anything less than a man.”
“A precious gift, in and of itself,” Alex said gently. “Your big heart makes up for whatever you lack in height. There’s nothing about you I’d change. Not a goddamn thing.”
“Thank you,” Zeb said. “That means a lot coming from a famous model.”
Alex snorted. “Fame doesn’t do squat for your self-esteem unless other elements in your life are in sync. Dozens of famous people have reached for booze or drugs to counteract the loneliness, and they end up overdosing.”
“True,” Zeb agreed. “You keep reading the same desperate story over and over. Promise me you’ll never do anything dumb like that.”
“Come on, sugar, I’m in my twenties. Who knows what the future holds.”
Zeb gave a half smile. “I know we’re only starting out, and there’s no telling where we’ll be a year from now, let alone ten, but I’d like to think we’ll always be friends. Any time you feel despondent, pick up the phone and call me. Promise me, Alex.”
Alex seemed to consider his reply, and Zeb had to wonder how often the stunningly attractive man had looked in the mirror and anguished over something out of his control. The thought was chilling, and he reached for both of Alex’s hands and squeezed.
“Give me your word,” Zeb insisted.
“All right,” Alex said hesitantly. “You can be my anchor whenever my ship gets tossed around by life’s waves.”
“Good,” Zeb said, relieved.
“I should be done with the food prep by the time you finish your shower,” Alex said. “Then we can sit and watch the parade on TV while we wait for everything to cook.”
“I’m on it,” Zeb said, heading for the hallway.
By the time he strolled back into the kitchen, freshly showered and dressed in black jeans and button-down shirt, the counters had been wiped down, sink emptied, and the roasting pan with the stuffed turkey was in the oven.
“You look rejuvenated,” Alex commented. “Let me hop in the shower so I can clean up. I can smell myself and it’s nasty.”
“Don’t be silly,” Zeb said. “You look like someone who’s just cooked me a fabulous meal, and I appreciate it more than you know.”
“Let’s wait until you taste the food before you dish out the compliments.”
“Hurry up,” Zeb said. “I’ll give you a good neck and shoulder massage for your hard work.”
Alex faltered. “You can do that?”
Zeb’s eyebrows shot up. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No, but I’m glad you do,” Alex said. “See you in a few.”
Zeb straightened out the living room, plumping up throw pillows and folding the twin afghans Chyna and Alex kept handy on one end of the sofa for snuggling. In their rush to jump each other’s bones last night, they’d left everything in a mess, and Zeb was certain Alex would be grateful if he tidied up. He might suck in the kitchen, but he could compensate by being a good houseguest.
Bacon had been yipping and whining at his heels the entire time, probably ravenous after the delicious aroma wafting in from the kitchen. Zeb wasn’t sure if it was past his mealtime, or what Alex usually fed the little guy, so he topped off his water bowl. Apparently he’d guessed right, judging by the noisy lapping. Would he need to be walked after so much liquid?
Before Zeb could decide what to do, Alex appeared in a flowing white tunic-type shirt over dark leggings. He’d wrapped his hair in a white turban that had jeweled ends hanging over one shoulder. Alex’s eyelids were smudged with dark gray shadow, and he’d dabbed his mouth with lip gloss. Zeb stared, openmouthed.
“Too much?” Alex asked.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” Zeb exclaimed. “You’re like drop-dead gorgeous.”
“Thanks, sugar. These are dregs from my last photo shoot.”
“Were you acting the part of a Saudi prince?” Zeb asked.
“Something like that.”
Zeb stepped closer and inhaled near Alex’s neck. “What’s that wonderful cologne?”
“Tom Ford Extreme.”
“I love it.”
Alex grinned. “So do I. Feel free to use it while you’re here.”
“Maybe we can go shopping tomorrow and I’ll buy my own,” Zeb suggested.
“Black Friday usually has good deals.”
“Oh, I forgot the whole Black Friday thing. Will the stores be crowded?”
“Ridiculously.”
“Maybe we should wait until Saturday?”
“You can decide tomorrow. Shall I check on the food?”
“Yes, and then come back here so I can give you that massage.”
Chapter 7
HAVING NO point of reference, Zeb concluded Alex’s pecan tarts were the best in the world, and a career as professional baker would always be an option if he decided to make a change. The rest of the meal—turkey, sausage and cornbread stuffing, mashed potatoes, collard greens, gravy, and sweet potato pie—had been perfect, and Zeb was very vocal in his praise.
“You’re a fantastic cook, Alex. Tell me why you chose to walk away from a ready-made business back home to claw your way to fame in New York?”
“Cooking is far more enjoyable as a hobby,” Alex admitted. “Plus, the food industry in general is brutal, hard work.”
“So is modeling,” Zeb countered. “I know the kind of hours you and Chyna keep.”
“But it’s not an everyday thing and the payoff is huge,” Alex explained. “As an owner of a restaurant, I would have to be there all the time. My parents haven’t had a vac
ation in years. And then there’s the big elephant in the room.”
“Sorry? What elephant?”
“Being a transgender gay male in New York City is a lot safer, believe it or not. LGBTQ rights back home move at a glacial pace. Having to constantly be on guard is no way to live. In my case, the anonymity of this big city is preferable to the syrupy Southern hospitality that’s all for show. At the end of the day, those same people who greet you at church and offer sweet tea by the gallon wouldn’t hesitate to put me in harm’s way. They have certain boundaries, and I cross too many to be ignored. I’d be a walking target.”
“Shit, I never thought of that.”
“You didn’t have to think of such things in the past. Now that I’m in your life, it might be more relevant.”
“True,” Zeb said. “Do you ever go home to visit?”
“I like it better when my parents come here.”
“But you just mentioned they can’t get away,” Zeb noted. “When was the last time you saw them?”
“It’s been over eight months.”
“Don’t you miss them?”
“Of course, but work has to come first. My job is fulfilling, the pay is great, I get along with my roommate and his boyfriend, and there’s this guy….”
Zeb smiled. “You like him?”
Alex reached across the table, and Zeb extended his hand, meeting halfway. “Very much.”
“You’re kind of his favorite person right now.”
“Yeah?”
“He’d like to show you how much, if you can leave the cleanup for later.”
“There’s nothing here that can’t wait,” Alex said, standing.
Zeb led the way down the short hall, and they tumbled on the bed fully clothed. Alex slipped a hand underneath Zeb’s T-shirt and toyed with his nipples, even as he latched on to his mouth with wet kisses that made Zeb’s stomach flop and his dick hard. It was late afternoon and the room was dim, but not pitch-black. Cognizant of boundaries, Zeb asked, “May I take off your shirt?”
Alex began unbuttoning the tunic, and Zeb helped with clumsy fingers, attacking the long row of pearl-shaped buttons impatiently.
Being With Him Page 6
