The Virgin Manny

by Amy Lane

  Every night they retired together, and most nights they made love. They stopped short of what Channing was starting to call “the big A,” but Channing didn’t seem to mind. Tino considered his virginity burned away by Channing’s hands on all of his skin, so while he was curious, he was content not to push for the one sex act when all of the others were so very, very….

  Revelatory.

  Being in bed with another person, naked, skin-to-skin with no barriers between them, was an act of commitment Tino could no longer deny. Yeah, sure, he’d thought that maybe holding back the “one last thing” meant he was still keeping the relationship tentative. But every morning when he saw Channing off to work and talked and sang as he drove Sammy around to his summer activities, he realized that they weren’t “playing house”—they were forging a life together, one kiss, one climax, one breakfast together at a time.

  But summer was drawing to a close, and Tino’s time as nanny with it, and he became acutely aware that he was going to have to make a decision about his role in Channing and Sammy’s life very soon.

  Channing was aware of it, though—he had to be. He made an effort to give Tino his space, days off from the family, time alone or with his friends. Once a week Tino, Jacob, and Nica saw movies together, and every now and then Artie came with them. Tino perversely missed Channing when he went.

  “Dude,” Jacob reprimanded one day in early August, three weeks before Tino’s nanny contract expired. “That’s like the third time you’ve used ‘Channing and I’ in the same sentence. You sound so Sweet Valley High!”

  Tino scowled at him. “I just—you know. I’d like to go out to the movies with him too. I miss him.”

  Nica dipped a french fry into her chocolate shake and said, “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “You’re telling me,” Tino muttered. “Dude, don’t let her do that.”

  Jacob kept his eyes on Tino. “It helps if I don’t look and you don’t mention it. So tell us—you been doing the thing?”

  “Jakey,” Nica muttered, looking at her next fry with a sour grimace, “so help me, you’d better not make me puke.”

  “Yes,” Tino said meanly. “We have sex every night. He’s built like a Trojan and hung like a Trojan hor—Nica!” He ducked and was pretty sure the fry missed his hair. “I’m so telling Mom on you!”

  “Real grown-up, Tino,” Nica muttered, flouncing off toward the ladies’ room.

  Tino shook his head. “Man, she’s way moodier than she used to be and—”

  “She’s pregnant,” Jacob said.

  Tino spit up his soda. “She’s what?”

  “She was on the pill.” Jacob shrugged. “And I used a rubber. And they both failed and….” He smiled shyly. “Please say you’re happy?”

  Tino stared at him, stricken. Nica. “College,” he said, emotions a helpless muddle.

  “She’s still going. I told her that. I told her that before it happened. I haven’t changed my mind.”

  “But….” Tino stared at him, aware that Jacob was going to have to grow up—fast.

  But Jacob’s smile was whole and unfettered. “Have a little faith, bro,” he said, and adulthood—which as far as Tino could tell they’d both been avoiding in a big way—suddenly sat easy on his shoulders. “We’ve got a plan. I’ve got an apartment, she’s got her tuition paid. I told you, we’re going to do okay.”

  “But….” Tino flailed. “My parents!”

  Jacob blushed. “Well, see, you know how you’ve been dodging out on Sunday brunch since you started getting laid?”

  Tino grimaced. “That obvious?”

  “Well, what? Six weeks ago you tell me you’re falling in love, then there’s the drama and the break-in and then you stop coming to brunch.”

  Blink. “That does not necessarily mean—”

  “It’s totally obvious. You were trying out a new family. Your mom knew it, your dad figured it out. But, you know, your little sister’s birthday is in two weeks, and it would be great if you showed up.”

  “So you can start a family fracas? Wow, uh, thanks!”

  Jacob rolled his eyes. “For support, dude,” he said quietly. “For… you know. Support.”

  Tino’s stomach clenched. “Yeah,” he said after a silent space. “I get it. Of course I support you.”

  He looked toward the ladies’ room where Nica had disappeared. “How’s she doing?”

  Jacob’s smile was dreamy. “Man, you know how we were talking? About wanting children?”

  “Yeah.” Sure he remembered. It was the first time he’d ever looked at Sammy and thought, This kid—this kid could be mine, and that would be wonderful.

  “She wanted them more.”

  Eighteen, Jakey. She’s eighteen.

  At that moment Nica came out of the bathroom, her red eyes betraying the casual expression on her face. She swept by Tino and he grabbed her hand, just grabbed it.

  And held it as she turned around and looked at him, half-miserable and half-defiant.

  He smiled hopefully into her eyes and she wiped her face on her shoulder.

  And then he opened his arms.

  She lunged into his hug and cried, his little sister, soon to be married, with a baby and a whole lot of responsibility.

  “I’m happy,” she whispered in answer to the thing he couldn’t make himself ask in front of Jacob. “I’m really, really happy.”

  “Good,” he mumbled. “So am I.”

  She cried harder, and he held on tight, Jacob smiling at him over her shoulder.

  This—this was their family. Whatever triumphs Nica had in business, she was going to be sharing them with Jacob and the baby she was carrying.

  And whatever missteps she made, she was going to worry about them suffering too.

  Tino wasn’t sure he could make it balance out for them. He wasn’t sure he could do anything for them, especially since they seemed to have it all worked out on their own.

  And the tangle in his stomach of all the things he’d been putting off in a big way became a palpable object, a lump of anxiety, a barrier between him and Channing and the family they’d been on the verge of forging.

  When he got home—and yes, he’d been thinking about it as home—that night, Channing was sitting on the couch, reading something Tino was sure was work related, his tablet on his knee. Tino wandered into the living room, jangling his keys in his pocket and chewing his lip, unsure what he wanted to say.

  He felt guilty for wanting to bounce his life off Channing’s head when it so personally affected the man himself.

  “Heya, T,” Channing said softly. “How was the movie?”

  Tino made a face. “Not great. I can’t even remember what it was.”

  Channing held out his hand and Tino couldn’t resist—he walked to the couch and plopped down, taking the extended hand and leaning against Channing’s shoulder, seeking comfort.

  “That bad, huh?” Channing looped his arm over Tino’s shoulders, and Tino smiled.

  “Yeah. It was brutal and messy and full of hard decisions,” he said, his voice catching, and Channing arched a curious eyebrow.

  “Sounds like life,” he said.

  Tino grimaced. “I need to start looking for a job,” he said, feeling like crap.

  To his surprise, Channing nodded. “Yeah. I’ve got some ideas about that. What are you doing tomorrow?”

  Tino swatted him lightly on the abs. “Tomorrow is Saturday—I’m hanging out with you and Sammy. Duh. But that reminds me.” This was the last thing Jacob and Nica had talked about, and he’d been so distracted he’d almost forgotten it. “Sunday we have to get Elaina for brunch. Nica says Mom and Dad are going to San Francisco tomorrow night, and she and Jacob are leaving early and spending the day together.”

  “Huh.” Channing tapped a few keys on his tablet. “Well, brunch with Elaina is fine, but as for tomorrow…. Here—I’m e-mailing Carrie. She was coming over anyway, but childcare is in her contract, and Sammy has wanted to p
lay with Hope more anyway. We can leave as soon as she gets here, okay?”

  Tino didn’t try to contain his curiosity. “Sure. Where we going?”

  Channing’s grin was cat-with-the-canary. “You’ll see,” he said smugly.

  “Don’t be an ass!” Tino laughed. “I’m freaking out! I have to go find a job and I don’t even have a suit and….”

  “Hey, hey….” Channing cupped his cheek and stroked his lower lip with his thumb. “What’s the matter?”

  Tino swallowed. “My little sister,” he said after a moment. “She… she was the ambitious one, you know?”

  “Was?” The alarm in Channing’s voice gave Tino hope. “What do you mean, was?”

  “I mean, she still is—but she was the one who was going to set the world on fire, and I was….”

  “What?” Channing’s casual, careless fingers flicking his hair back from his forehead were almost his undoing.

  “It was okay,” Tino said, voice breaking. “If I didn’t… if I didn’t go out and become the CEO of a big company or move to Tokyo. I liked being director of activities in school—I just wanted a job, and to be productive and enjoy myself. Because Nica—she was going to be the star, and my family, they’d be okay.”

  “What about Elaina?” Channing asked, almost like he was changing the subject to calm him down.

  “She’s going to dance, or sing, or be on stage,” Tino said, smiling a little. “You should see her—I need to take you to….” He ran his hand through his hair. “Family brunch. I need to take you there, so you can know her better.”

  Channing nodded sagely, as though he understood exactly why this would be important. “You do,” he said. “You need to take me there, and then I’ll know your family, and then they’ll know….”

  “That you and Sammy mean something to me,” Tino conceded, his throat too tight to swallow again. “But… but Nica was going to be—”

  “Why can’t you set the world on fire?” Channing asked bluntly. “And why is Nica out of the running?”

  “I… having a family is hard.” Tino flailed. “I… I mean, you’ve cut back from work. You can’t work sixty-hour weeks when you have a husband and a kid—it’s not fair!”

  “No,” Channing conceded. “It’s not. It’s why I let my employees choose flexible hours and modify their contracts. So they can work a short week and share an office with someone else.”

  Tino’s whirling brain stopped for a moment. “That’s really smart,” he said, his lower lip quivering. “I mean….” Oh Lord. He felt like such a weenie. “Really smart.” He smiled weakly, as though that was going to make up for the fact that he made no sense.

  “Thanks, Martin—now are you going to tell me why you’re talking about your sister like she’s dead and like suddenly you have to be captain of industry when I know you’re going to miss the hell out of Sammy when he goes back to school as it is?”

  Martin. He’d used his full name. Tino always felt so… so grown when he did that. He needed to live up to that.

  “I’m going to be an uncle,” he said baldly, and Channing sucked in a gulp of air.

  “Oh.”

  “And… Nica, she’s going to be happy—I mean, she’s stupid, but she’s going to be happy, I think. But—”

  Channing dropped a kiss on the top of his head. “But you feel like you’ve got to go out and be the shining star, because you thought it was going to be Nica, and you want your parents to be proud.”

  Tino groaned and buried his face in Channing’s shoulder. “Am I stupid?” he asked, his voice muffled.

  “No,” Channing murmured against his temple. “You’re not. But you don’t have to give up… everything, just to have everything—you know that, right?”

  “That doesn’t even make any sense,” Tino muttered.

  “You’re the one who said it,” Channing said. “What’s the use of being out front when you’re there all alone?”

  Tino’s mouth parted, but he had no words. Channing captured his chin and raised his face up for a kiss, a devastating, possessive kiss that leveled any of Tino’s defenses, any of his reasons for saying no, any excuse he had ever dreamed of to think about backing out of the two of them.

  Tino didn’t even try to hold out. He’d spent six weeks in Channing’s arms, had held him as they’d slept, had rubbed his shoulders when he was stressed and touched every tender place on his body with reverence and joy.

  Tino had no defenses. Channing owned him. Every time Tino tried to think about duty and ambition, Channing’s mouth on his, his hands on Tino’s skin, eliminated the words.

  Channing pulled away just long enough to move his mouth to Tino’s throat, and Tino tilted his head back and gave a breathy moan.

  “What?” Channing asked. He’d set the tablet down and now swung his body around, so he was on his knees between Tino’s thighs, pushing Tino back against the cushions with the seduction of his mouth and the domination of his enormous presence.

  Tino was so willing it should have been embarrassing, but there was no room for embarrassment in the heat of Channing’s kisses.

  “What about what?” Tino mumbled, letting Channing shove his T-shirt up and over his head.

  “What were you thinking when you stopped kissing me?” Channing peppered little kisses down his chest, over his pecs, his nipples, his abs, every nibble interspersed with a word.

  “I was thinking I have no brain when you touch me,” Tino breathed, and to his dismay, that made Channing pull back.

  He regarded Tino intensely, his gray eyes burning through Tino’s kiss-induced fog. “You have a very able brain,” he said, his voice serious. “I don’t want you to ever feel like it’s not being challenged.”

  Tino groaned, not wanting to think about it anymore. He bucked his hips, wanting more kisses, more love making, more Channing.

  “You’re challenging my patience,” he muttered, leaning forward and holding Channing still so he could pursue the kiss.

  Channing’s chuckle echoed in his mouth, and he framed Tino’s face in his hands and pulled away, both of them panting into the quiet of the darkened house.

  “I’ll challenge more than that.” Channing pushed up then and offered Tino a hand.

  Tino took it, following Channing up to the bedroom, where they undressed each other slowly and made love like they had all the time in the world.

  When they were done and Channing lay sprawled on top, his head resting on Tino’s stomach, his arms pulling Tino’s hips close, Tino spared a thought about how he was going to go out and become God’s gift to business administration, working the awful hours Channing had at the beginning of the summer, setting the world on fire.

  The thought left him so lonely he closed his eyes against it.

  Channing was there—he would protect against all the scary things in the world.

  Bespoke

  “WHERE are we going?” Tino asked as Channing’s sports car hugged the curves of Auburn/Folsom road.

  “Oz,” Channing teased.

  “Channing, I don’t like playing this game with Nica either. C’mon, I’m dying! Where are we going?”

  “Placerville,” Channing responded, giving in before Tino imagined he would.

  “Why? What’s in Placerville?”

  Channing smiled smugly. “Lots of local history about the gold rush, as well as some landmarks and original buildings.”

  If Channing hadn’t been driving a high-performance vehicle at a frightening speed, Tino might have smacked him.

  “We did not get Carrie to babysit overnight so you could take me to see the gold rush stuff.” Tino rolled his eyes. “Besides, we take field trips out here in the fourth grade. I may be younger than you, but I don’t think I’m that young, yeah?”

  “No.” Channing rested his hand on Tino’s thigh for a moment. “You’re pretty much a grown-up, Tino—that’s why we’re here.”

  But he didn’t say another word about it until they arrived in the city.
r />   Placerville had evolved. Thirty years ago it was a small town, a tourist trap, a little-known destination in the foothills of Northern California. The town had kept that vibe but had become a haven for artists and artisans, and the quaint brick buildings that lined the main streets were picturesque and historic. The older part of the city had evaded the strip-mall trap, and that’s where Channing parked. Casually, he grabbed Tino’s hand and guided him off the main strip into a back street, and a small business front featuring a placard with a needle, thread, and scissors.

  Tino stepped inside and gasped.

  Then he looked very slowly at Channing and tried to come up with something to say.

  Suits. The little shop was crammed with suits. Tino had been watching Channing dress for months—he recognized silk/wool blends and European-cut suits of the best and most enduring styles.

  “Go on,” Channing said, nudging him a little. “Browse. I’m going to talk to Helen for a minute, okay?”

  Helen was a squat middle-aged woman with stringy brown hair and a perpetually sour expression—except when Channing was twinkling his eyes and sparkling his teeth at her, when she apparently became a contender for the Miss Placer County pageant.

  Tino lost himself in the displays of fabric and cut, trying to remember everything he’d been seeing in fashion magazines this summer. Unlike Channing, who was a clothes whore, Tino came from the school of thought that believed six T-shirts and a button-down could pretty much carry him through three-quarters of the year.

  But then, Tino had never been put into a premium menswear boutique and told to shop either.

  He knew he was—generally—a large, so he wandered to that part of the store, only to be stopped by Miss Placer County.

  “Medium,” she said, assessing him. “Nipped-in waist, I’d suggest pegged ankles since they’re in style, and perhaps some vertical striping.”

  Tino’s eyes widened. “Uhm—”

  “And no bright colors!”

  “No?” He’d been eyeing the turquoise and plum-colored suits, because they really were pretty.