Alex chuckled. “Would you believe we attended Midnight Mass?”
“Mon Dieu!” Eloise exclaimed, clapping in delight. “That’s wonderful.”
“It was actually pretty special,” Alex admitted. “Zeb suggested it.”
Henri’s familiar eyes lit up with excitement. “He’s a good influence, mon cher.”
Alex glanced sideways into Zeb’s surprised face and winked. Turning back to the screen, he said, “Yes, he is. Did you have a good Christmas, Papa?”
“Yes, but it wasn’t the same without you,” Eloise interjected. “Perhaps next year we can all be together.”
“Let’s plan on making it happen,” Alex replied. “I’ll let you go for now. Thank you for calling and stay well.”
“Alex,” Eloise said, forestalling the click of Alex’s mouse. She stared at her son intently. “You haven’t looked this happy in years.”
Alex nodded, clasping Zeb’s hand. “Things are good.”
“Est-ce qu’il sait que tu as des limitations?”
“Oui, maman.”
“Excellent!”
Laughing, Alex said, “Enough with the third degree. Talk to you guys soon.”
After disconnecting, Alex turned to Zeb, who probed, “Was she inquiring about your sex life?”
Alex cocked his head. “More or less.”
“Tell me.”
“She wanted to know if you were aware of my limitations.”
“You have none,” Zeb vouched. “I can’t believe there aren’t more guys beating down your door. You’re fucking gorgeous, a fantastic cook, and thoughtful in more ways than I can count.”
Alex pressed his forehead against Zeb’s. “You say the nicest things, shoushou.”
“Aaaand here we go,” Zeb mumbled, ducking his head.
“What is it?” Alex asked.
Zeb looked up, smiling shyly. “Whenever you drop the French or Creole, I get all mushy inside. I would advise you to refrain from using such language unless you plan to take it a step further.”
“Would those steps happen to lead to the bedroom?” Alex teased.
“How about the sofa? I’m good with cuddling for now.”
“Let’s go out instead,” Alex suggested. “We haven’t had a chance to admire any of the store windows. And we mustn’t forget the roasted chestnuts. Do you like them? I’m one of the few people I know who craves them this time of the year.”
“Yes, I like them too,” Zeb said. “Back home, they’re imported from Hong Kong and cost a small fortune. Are they expensive here?”
“They’re still affordable although I’ve been told the prices have skyrocketed. Sadly, street vendors are a dying breed.”
“How come?”
“Not enough customers. It seems to be a touristy thing associated with a bygone era. Younger people never acquired the taste.”
“That’s kind of sad.”
“I know,” Alex agreed. “But, hopefully, we’ll find one tonight, and I think we can certainly afford a bag. Are you game?”
“Absolutely. Is Bacon coming?”
“He’d act out if we leave him at home again.”
“I would.”
They layered up, knowing it would be cold, and took the subway. It was the wiser choice considering the distance and traffic. While they were zooming through the concrete tunnels, Zeb browsed tourist apps to find out which store windows were the most popular. Alex teased him for being so analytical, but Zeb reminded Alex that he didn’t live in Manhattan, and the opportunity to view Christmas decor was an annual event.
“You’re right,” Alex conceded. “Plan the route and I will gladly follow.”
“According to this app, our first stop should be Bloomingdale’s,” Zeb began. “It’s on Lexington Avenue, between Fifty-Ninth and Sixtieth. Does this train stop anywhere close by?”
Alex looked up at the map on the subway walls and nodded.
“Next store is Barneys. If we walk two blocks west, along Sixtieth Street, cross Park Avenue until we hit Madison, we’ll practically fall in the store.”
“Sounds good,” Alex said. “Are you writing this down or do you have a photographic memory?”
“Duh. I’m saving this on my phone.”
“Gotcha. What’s after Barneys?”
“Bergdorf Goodman on Fifth Avenue.”
“I heard they’ve outdone themselves this year.”
“Can’t wait,” Zeb said, practically bouncing on the seat. “Who knew there was so much free entertainment?”
“I think you’re missing the point, sugar. The window display is meant to lure you inside.”
“But if they’re closed,” Zeb said with a smile on his face, “I won’t be tempted.”
“True,” Alex replied. “What’s next?”
“Saks Fifth Avenue. We’ll be seconds away from Rockefeller Center, so if you’re bored and want to go straight to the people watching, we can stop there.”
“How many more stores after Saks?”
“Two. Lord and Taylor and Macy’s. Both are farther south. Why don’t we see how we’re doing before we decide if we want to go on? Hot chocolate or chestnuts might tip the scale in favor of ending our tour right there.”
“Whatever you decide is fine with me. I walk by those stores all the time, so it’s not a big deal.”
“We’ll see,” Zeb said. Before putting his phone back in his pocket it chimed, announcing a text from his cousin, Anabelle, in Queens. He read the holiday greeting and replied instantly. The next text was an invitation to spend New Year’s Eve at their place. We’ll have tons of food and karaoke. Bring Alex.
Zeb passed his phone to Alex, who raised his eyebrows. “How did they know you were here with me?”
“I might have mentioned it,” Zeb said, “when they invited me to spend this week with them.”
“Were they upset you had other plans?”
“Heck, no. I think they were just doing their cousinly duty by inviting me to spend my Christmas holiday with them.”
“I had no plans for that night,” Alex said. “If you want to go to your cousins’, I’m game.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah. Ask them if I should bring a dessert or something.”
Zeb texted an affirmative RSVP and informed Anabelle they’d bring treats. He got several heart emojis in reply.
“That’s that,” he told Alex. “Get ready to spend a crazy night with the Moreno clan.”
“I’m sure it’ll be fun,” Alex said. “They’re good people.”
Zeb smiled and thought back on Thanksgiving weekend when he first introduced Alex to his Filipino cousins. The Morenos had migrated shortly before the September 11 attacks. The patriarch of the clan had been killed at the Twin Towers, but his wife and children had stayed in the country, pooling resources to make it without his income. The money they’d received as part of the Victim Compensation Fund had been spent on his three cousins’ education. Now college graduates, two of them still lived at home with their mother. Anabelle, and her brother, Quito, were in their mid to late twenties, mostly raised in Queens, and as such, more American than Filipino in their general outlook. They’d been supportive of Zeb and his surprising new boyfriend, and even his aunt had approved, falling in love with Alex’s cooking and soft-spoken manner. It had been a good visit back then, and Zeb assumed it would be more of the same on New Year’s Eve.
It was almost eight o’clock in the evening when they started the window tour. It took them about two hours, between gaping and having to stop every few minutes to let Bacon sniff and mark. They decided to call it a night when they reached the vicinity of Rockefeller Center. The chance to finally sit down and enjoy the warm chestnuts they’d purchased a few blocks over was too tempting. The hot chocolate was the clincher, and they found a small bench where they could eat, drink, and people watch. Bacon sat at their feet, toasty in his fleece-lined Burberry coat. Zeb had remembered to bring him a few treats and slipped him a tiny bit of peanut
butter flavored rawhide to gnaw on while he waited for his masters.
Everything about the evening had been perfect until it was time to go. Zeb didn’t notice the two skinheads standing close to the subway entrance. Apparently Alex did, because he slowly moved Zeb to his right, farther away from the pair.
“Now, ain’t that the cutest thing I ever did see,” one of them said in a mocking tone. “Two queers and a damn poodle wearing a coat that probably cost more than mine.”
“Truth,” the other guy seconded.
“Don’t engage,” Alex ordered Zeb in a low growl. “They’re either drunk or on drugs.”
He would have obeyed except one of them blocked their path.
“You’re in our way,” Zeb snarled. “Move.”
“What if I don’t want to, faggot? You planning on doing something about it?”
“Give us a break,” Zeb said, trying to defuse. “It’s Christmas.”
“Exactly!” the first asshole replied. “Looks like Santa dropped you and your boyfriend right in our lap. How about sharing the wealth? Got a few dollars to spare?”
“Fuck off,” Alex said, grabbing Zeb by the arm and shouldering past the pair. Zeb was hurrying to keep up, but he felt a hard yank, and Bacon’s leash was pulled out of his hand.
“Alex, stop!” Zeb said. “They’ve got Bacon.”
“Did he just call this mutt Bacon?” Skinhead Number One said in amusement. He cackled, picked up Bacon by the scruff of his neck, and threw him at his friend, who deftly caught him.
Frightened yips quickly turned to angry barks, and soon the pair was tossing Bacon back and forth like a ball while Alex and Zeb looked on helplessly. Zeb wanted to rush the guys, but he was afraid they’d drop the dog or worse, make a run for it.
Alex had no such qualms, and he moved in, dwarfing the guy who held Bacon while holding the other one at arm’s length by his throat.
“Zeb,” Alex called. “Grab Bacon.”
Zeb wrenched the poodle away and clutched him to his chest, watching as Alex eased his hold on the man’s throat and shoved him toward his companion. He fell against the guy and they clumsily took a few steps back. They were obviously high on something. Zeb spotted a cop across the street, but before he turned to ask for assistance, Alex stopped him.
“No cops, or we’ll be here all night.”
“What about these two assholes?” Zeb asked. He was livid and wanted them punished. By now there was a small crowd watching this scene play out.
Alex glared at the guy who’d started the trouble. “Will you get the hell out of here before I press charges? There’s a cop who’s looking our way, and I’ll gladly go down to the police station if you decide you want more.”
“Fuck off,” the guy slurred. “We were just playing with you.”
“Your games suck donkey balls,” Alex said, moving away and standing close to Zeb. “Go before I change my mind.”
He flipped Alex the bird, murmured a few more degrading slurs, and took off with his sidekick.
“I can’t believe you let them go,” Zeb said. “They deserve at least one night in jail.”
Alex grunted. “If I pressed charges every time some piece of shit started trouble, I’d be doing nothing else.”
Zeb looked up at Alex, whose expression was murderous.
“Does this happen that often?”
Alex quivered, visibly struggling to control his anger. “Welcome to my world, sugar. Are you sure you want to stay?”
Zeb’s mouth gaped, and then he snapped it shut with determination. “Hell yes.”
Chapter 13
ALEX SHUT his eyes and leaned on the subway window, using the rhythmic sway of the train to transcend the roiling in his gut. He needed to restore his confidence—and serenity—brutally disrupted by the unexpected attack. Thankfully, his breathing slowed down, and his heart stopped racing. It would do no good to let his emotions get the better of him. What mattered most was their safety—Zeb and Bacon’s. Alex had succeeded in protecting them this time, and he considered it a win, even if justice hadn’t prevailed.
Although a small crowd had gathered to watch the altercation, they scattered like dead leaves in the wind once the word cop had been mentioned. No one wanted to get involved, especially on Christmas, and a judge couldn’t do much if none of the bystanders were willing to testify. Alex felt fortunate that Zeb followed his lead. Being combative and insisting on having the skinheads dragged away in handcuffs would only subject Zeb to snide remarks and pitiful glances at the police station. Alex could handle the bullshit, but as scrappy as Zeb had proven to be in the past, he was still unseasoned in his newly acknowledged orientation, and the humiliation would sting. It might even ruin whatever chance they had at a long-term relationship.
Now Zeb sat quietly by his side, with Bacon securely on his lap, and for that Alex was grateful. He was afraid he’d lose it if the opposite were true. All the same, frustration swamped him when he turned the key in the front door. Punching a hole in the wall would have been satisfying, except the building was old and probably made of plaster instead of drywall. He’d end up breaking a few bones and feeling worse.
After getting Bacon settled into his crate, Alex joined Zeb at the kitchen table. He’d already popped open two beers and was halfway through his bottle.
“Let’s go to the living room,” Alex suggested. “It’s more comfortable.”
Sitting on opposite ends of the sofa, they finished their drinks before attempting a conversation. Alex didn’t know what to say to make the situation any better. He hoped Zeb wasn’t having second thoughts; on the other hand, who could blame him? He didn’t sign up for any of this shit.
As if reading his thoughts, Zeb put his drink down and straddled Alex. Bracketing his face, he observed, “You’re overthinking this.”
“Maybe, but my concerns are legitimate,” Alex said, detaching Zeb’s hands and holding them close to his chest. “Don’t expect me to shrug this off without discussing it.”
“Look, you asked me a question earlier and I answered it,” Zeb reminded him. “I’m not running away because of one random incident.”
“Actually, this sort of thing isn’t that random,” Alex stressed. “You’d have no way of knowing, since you’re new at this, but the majority of us are vigilant to the extreme. We have to be hyperaware of the way we dress, the things we say, and our surroundings. You can’t count on reasonable human reactions to irrational hate, no matter how often you hear the words tolerant or gay-friendly. We’re not there yet. And as a trans man, I’m under more scrutiny, which will rub off on you. Honestly, sugar, I’m not sure you’re equipped to deal with any of this. It would crush me to see the admiration in your eyes change to fear or, even worse, regret.”
Zeb shook his head. “I know you’re trying to scare me away.”
“Is it working?”
Zeb pressed their foreheads together, and Alex waited for the ax to fall on their short-lived union.
“You should know by now that I don’t quit when things get tough,” Zeb stressed. “I might be the lousiest cook, and somewhat of a slob, but I’m no coward. I’ll admit that there’s a lot I don’t know yet, but I’m a fast learner and won’t give up on us. Not for this. If we break up, it’ll be for a better reason.”
Once again, Zeb had managed to overcome Alex with his sincerity. He was horrified to feel the pressure in his throat, and would rather have his eyes gouged out before succumbing to tears. All his life he’d been told that real men didn’t cry. Whenever the urge came upon him, he felt like an imposter, and the last thing he wanted to lose was Zeb’s respect. Dredging up the last of his reserves, he asked in a wobbly voice, “What would you consider a good reason to break up?”
“If we stopped giving a shit,” Zeb replied. “You’ve had your say, given me the opening to exit gracefully, and I’m turning you down. Believe me when I tell you my life has been so much better since meeting you. You make me happy, and that’s all I care about.”<
br />
Alex squeezed his eyes shut and dragged in a long, shuddery breath. He knew he’d lost the battle as unwelcome tears began to flow the minute he opened his eyes. “Sorry for being such a big cry baby.”
“What did I tell you about crying?” Zeb said gently. “Don’t apologize, sweetheart; just say you feel the same way.”
“I do,” Alex choked out, clinging to Zeb. When he could talk without hiccupping, he asked. “Are you ready for bed?”
“Yes,” Zeb said, getting to his feet.
Alex left his boxers on, as usual, but Zeb was naked when he climbed into bed and spooned against Alex’s back. He wasn’t hard, though, which was just as well. Alex wasn’t in the mood for sex, and he refused to fake it. He’d sworn not to fall into that trap long ago. It would have been easy since his body didn’t have to catch up with his brain. With a drawer full of toys, “getting in the mood” was simply a question of strapping on, but to Alex, it felt like a betrayal of epic magnitude.
“Can I ask you a question?”
“Uh-oh,” Alex replied. “This is your standard opening for an earth-shattering discussion.”
“Sorry, but you know me. I’m curious by nature.”
“What is it, shou?”
“Have you ever bottomed?”
His silence prompted Zeb to ask uncertainly, “Too intrusive?”
Alex rolled over and stared at Zeb, who was looking at him wide-eyed. He’d picked a hell of a time to broach this conversation, but he supposed Zeb deserved the truth after he’d been so honest about his own feelings. Would this next revelation be the last fucking straw? There was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath, Alex said, “Long ago I let someone into my life who turned out to be a self-serving douchebag. He said he loved me just as I was, but in the end, he resented my lack of equipment.”
“How old were you?” Zeb asked.
“I’d just turned fifteen,” Alex replied.
“That’s so young!”
“We start early in the South, and I’d already had my growth spurt. I looked older.”
“Doesn’t make a difference,” Zeb snarled. “What did he do?”
“He dropped a roofie in my Dr Pepper and raped me. I’m a big dude and tried to fight back, but it felt like I was under water. My limbs were too heavy, and nothing was effective.”
Being With Him Page 11
