by River Jaymes
No longer feeling victimized by a hellacious memory, Dylan grinned up at Alec, wearing the drops proudly. As far as he was concerned, they were a goddamned mark of honor.
“What do you think?” Dylan asked.
Okay, maybe he shouldn’t be gloating so much about the stupefied look on Alec’s face. Seriously, how needy could a guy get? He shouldn’t be seeking approval from someone who currently looked incapable of blinking, much less speaking coherently.
Words slurred, Alec murmured, “I loved every moment.” Dazed and glassy eyed, he sent a gut-punching wave of need through Dylan when he smoothed his finger across the slick spot on Dylan’s chin. “I love you.”
Jesusfuckingchrist.
Chapter Fourteen
The deer-sighted-in-the-hunter’s-scope look on Dylan’s face jarred Alec out of his loose-lipped, post-orgasmic stupor. Oh God, what the hell had he done? A buzzing sound droned on and on in the background, and he blinked hard, trying to make sense of it all. Unfortunately, he was still reeling from his premature words to Dylan when the noise finally connected in his brain.
The timer.
Oven.
Eggplant Parmesan.
The buzzing sound stopped as if by my magic.
“Dinner is ready.” Dylan looked all kinds of awkward, making Alec feel the same. And then the man let out a nervous laugh. “You should, uh, be careful of those words triggered by great sex and endorphins.”
With that, Dylan shot to his feet and strode for the kitchen. Alec stared at the door Dylan had disappeared through and tried to breathe against the thick mud filling his chest.
Damn.
For the last three days he’d been working up the courage to ask Dylan to attend the awards ceremony as his date. An actual date, not a fake one. As an actual boyfriend, not the backup. Alec was dying to inch this relationship closer to where he needed them to be, declared outright for all to see. Authentic. Genuine.
Real.
What the hell had he been thinking? A declaration of love during sex? Good God, why couldn’t he have been struck mute?
I love you…
Fingers shaking, Alec adjusted his clothes, making himself presentable. Avoiding Dylan would only make matters worse. So he smoothed down his shirt with a resigned sigh and headed inside, the scent of spicy tomato sauce in the air. The eggplant Parmesan sat on a counter in an empty kitchen. Had Dylan left the house? Had he run away because he’d freaked about the blowjob?
Alec knew better. He’d seen the front of Dylan’s pants and the raging hard-on beneath. And, although massively pleased for Dylan that he’d overcome his fear of sucking someone off, Alec knew the discovery hardly helped when the man had escaped, perhaps never to come back…
All because of Alec’s big. Rambling. Mouth.
Fear settled deep, oozing out his pores. He’d wigged Dylan out but good, and Alec had two choices. He could pretend he hadn’t meant the words or explain that he did, which had a 99.9% likelihood of pushing Dylan away.
Neither option felt possible.
Mind churning, Alec gradually became aware of voices coming from just beyond the kitchen. And only one person would drop by unannounced.
Alec pushed aside the churning thoughts and picked up the eggplant Parmesan—Christ, as if dinner could be used as a shield—and headed into the dining room. He spied Noah, drink in hand, leaning against the wall chatting with Dylan.
Noah caught sight of Alec. “I saved dinner from burning, so I should be allowed to join you in reward for my impeccable timing.”
Alec murmured an agreement as he set the dish on the table, too caught up in the way Dylan avoided his gaze to tell Noah the timing couldn’t have been any worse. Dylan distributed napkins to the three place settings as though the furniture would explode if not done just right.
This from a man who’d just as soon wipe his mouth on his sleeve.
Because he lacked anything brilliant to say, Alec nodded at Noah’s glass. “What’s the beverage of the day?”
“Mojitos.” With a huge smile, Noah lifted his drink of lime, mint, and citron vodka in a toast. “I just booked my tickets to South Beach for the Winter Party Festival. You should come with, Dylan.”
“I don’t know, Noah,” Dylan said as he began to place silverware on the table. “I prefer something a little dressier than running around in nothing but a speedo and a dog collar.”
Noah took a seat at the dining room table. “So says the man who thinks a black tie event refers to the color of the shoelaces in his work boots.”
“Parties aren’t my thing,” Dylan said.
Dylan turned to squat in front of the china cabinet, gathering plates. Damn it, he still hadn’t looked Alec in the eyes. But Alec had to ask.
“I was hoping you’d come to the awards ceremony,” Alec said, addressing Dylan’s back.
Dylan didn’t turn around. “’Course I’ll be there. What kind of guy misses out on his friend’s big day?”
The knot in Alec’s stomach grew larger. The use of the word friend hardly made him feel better, Dylan’s manner too evasive for comfort. Clearly he’d gone with option A: ignore Alec had confessed he’d fallen for Dylan in a big way.
“I was hoping you’d attend as more than just as a friend,” Alec added.
Breath stuck in his throat, he waited for Dylan’s response.
Dylan paused in the task of stacking plates, looking over his shoulder with a frown. “You need another pretend date?”
All the blood in Alec’s head drained to his toes. He dropped into a seat at the table before his legs gave way. Several seconds passed in what could only be describe as stunned silence. Noah finally swiveled his confused gaze from Dylan’s broad back to where Alec sat. Clearly his friend was wondering what the hell was going on, blissfully ignorant of Dylan’s reluctance to discuss what their situation meant.
And totally unaware of the “I love you” that might kill this thing before even being declared a relationship.
“I’m confused,” Noah said with a puzzled tone. “Aren’t you two—?”
Alec shook his head slightly, insisting with his eyes that Noah not. Go.
There.
Noah opened his mouth, apparently to go there anyway, and Alec hurried to speak first. “My parents are coming to the award ceremony, and Logan will be out of town.”
“What’s that got to do with me pretending we’re dating?” Dylan asked.
Alec fought back the bitter bark of laughter. They’d eaten dinner together every evening since the poker run. Dylan had spent seven of the past seven nights in Alec’s bed. At this point the only thing missing was Dylan’s name on Alec’s mailbox.
“Without someone running interference, my mother will spend the night trying to convince me and Tyler to get back together,” Alec said. “She’s pretty clueless in social situations.” Completely clueless would be a better description. “But if you’re there as my date, she’ll know enough not to push.”
Without comment, Dylan rose to his feet, set the plates on the table, and slid into the chair beside Noah.
Alec knew he shouldn’t let the choice bother him. He knew he should let the seating arrangement roll off his back, but the position rankled. Dylan purposely chose to place them at a distance when other people were around, even in front of Noah—a man well aware that Dylan had sex with Alec every chance he got. Worse, Dylan steadfastly chose to play dumb about Alec’s moment of weakness when he’d confessed all.
Mud filled Alec’s chest again.
“Seems like a whole lot of effort to avoid a simple conversation,” Dylan said.
“You don’t know my mother.” Alec’s lips gave a wry quirk. “It’s just to make the night easier.”
“Last I checked”—Dylan hiked a brow—“life was rarely easy.”
The mud in Alec’s chest grew thicker, and each breath seemed to meet resistance.
“Your parents already know you’re gay.” Dylan crossed his arms, lips pursed in thought. He looked disturbed. �
��So what kind of closet are you hiding in now?”
Heat flushed up Alec’s neck. “Not funny, Dylan.”
Dylan stared at Alec. “Who’s laughing?”
The tension in the room climbed several hundred degrees, and the mud in Alec’s chest turned to concrete.
“Do you have a problem with the idea?” Alec asked.
“I’m not thrilled about lying to your parents,” Dylan said.
“You didn’t have a problem with lying before.”
“You’re ex was acting like an asshole. I’ve never even met your parents.”
Guilt simmered in Alec’s veins. Dylan, as his significant other, would definitely take the pressure off. But, God help him, Alec longed for the situation to be true. He craved some sort of sign that, with time, Dylan would come around. But Dylan appeared to be happy with continuing as is.
And while Alec had originally mustered the patience required to give Dylan time to adjust, suddenly Alec’s ability had run out.
“I’m asking you as a favor, Dylan,” Alec said.
“Fine,” Dylan said with a nod. “I’ll play the boyfriend again.” He settled back in his chair with a smirk any other time Alec would find sexy. “Though I think I should be getting something in return.”
“I thought you were getting some on a regular basis,” Noah said.
Face hot, Alec fought the urge to close his eyes, disregarding Noah and addressing Dylan instead. “Something in return? Like what?”
“Something sexual,” Noah murmured.
Christ. Where was the muzzle when you needed one?
Dylan picked up on Alec’s agenda, also ignoring Noah. “A home-cooked dinner that includes meat, every night for the next two weeks.”
Noah’s amused gaze darted between Dylan and Alec. “How domestic.”
This time Dylan shot Noah a look before reaching for the serving spoon.
Dylan dished up eggplant Parmesan onto three plates before addressing Alec. “But we need to get the PDA clarified up front.”
Confused, Alec tipped his head.
“I can do an arm around the shoulders.” Dylan placed food in front of Noah and Alec. “But only while seated at a table.” He cocked a brow at Alec. “And ass grabbing is out of the question.”
“Someone should be writing this down.” Noah pulled his phone from his pocket, his fingers flying across the tiny keyboard. “Is kissing acceptable?”
Dylan frowned in concentration as he served himself food. “Depends.”
“Tongue?” Noah asked.
“Hell no. And handholding is out.” Dylan pointed his plate Alec. “I do not hold hands.” He set his food down.
“Footsies?” Noah asked.
Dylan’s mouth quirked. “Footsies will be extra.”
“How much extra?” A spark glimmered in Noah’s eyes.
Alec bit his tongue, dying to tell his friend to quit encouraging the ridiculous discussion. Dylan pursed his lips in thought again—lips that, less than an hour ago, had been wrapped around Alec, pulling the most obscene noises from his mouth. Like a stupid fool, Alec had ended with the words I love you.
Dear God, he couldn’t breathe.
Dylan dug his fork into his food. “Like lemon-meringue-pie extra.”
Watching Dylan attack dinner with his usual gusto was satisfying and felt comfortable, familiar and strangely reassuring. Alec concentrated on the fact that Dylan hadn’t run off. He was still here, in Alec’s house.
Which meant Alec still had a fighting chance.
“Lemon meringue pie it is,” Alec said.
“Perfect. I’ll send you both a copy of the agreement.” Noah’s lips quirked in amusement. “Just so we’re all on the same page.”
Alec narrowed his eyes at the man. He should have poisoned Noah’s food when he had the chance.
“And for the record…” Dylan pointed his fork in Alec’s direction. “I will not discuss linens or patterns or whatthefuckever domestic issues with your mother.”
“Trust me, Dylan,” Noah said dryly as he set down his phone and picked up his drink, “you’d be better served brushing up on your nanotechnology.”
Dylan’s eyebrows scrunched together. “Nano-fucking-whatology?”
Alec closed his eyes. Christ, this was going to be a disaster.
~~~***~~~
The night of the awards ceremony, Dylan stood beside Alec’s mother and tried to decide whether to be amused or alarmed.
Eventually he settled on both.
He’d been so sure this backup-boyfriend gig would be easier the second time around. But, for some reason, Dr. Emily Johnson, sure to be the next brainiac cast on The Big Bang Theory, had decided to attach herself to Dylan for the night.
“Essentially we’re developing tools for early detection of ovarian cancers via in vitro diagnostics and in vivo molecular imaging,” Emily Johnson said.
She stared up at Dylan with big blue eyes, the spitting image of Alec’s, completely unaware that Dylan had no fucking clue what she was talking about. She continued to ramble on with barely a pause to breathe.
Like mother, like son.
Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on one’s perspective—the conversation didn’t require Dylan’s participation. He half listened as he scanned the crowd milling about the reception, searching for Alec.
Nearly one hundred and fifty people filled the spacious hall, the chatter bouncing off the high, ornate ceilings and polished wood floors—Brazilian cherry, Noah had whispered, as if Dylan actually cared. Lined with bay windows overlooking the city, the site represented some primo San Francisco real estate.
“These include adoptive T cell immunotherapies and small interfering RNA molecules,” Emily droned on, tucking her brown, chin-length hair behind her ears.
Clutching his beer, Dylan remembered to smile. “Fascinating.”
She blinked up at Dylan in what he’d begun to recognize as a sign of approval.
As promised, Alec had served his parents drinks and appetizers at his house before the event. Noah, of course, had invited himself along. And thank God too because, from the moment Emily Johnson arrived, she’d sat next to Dylan and proceeded to ask him about his work. In great detail. Then she’d proceeded to share random, statistical facts about small businesses until Dylan’s head swam with numbers. Noah provided a much-needed buffer, and Dylan had been relieved when the time came to make their way to the event.
Nobody argued when Dylan suggested they take two cars.
Whether her intellectual ramblings were a nervous habit or standard operating procedure, Dylan wasn’t sure. After several hours in her presence, Dylan finally understood Alec’s tendency to babble when stressed. His father, currently listening to Noah chat about plans for the clinic, was tall, black-haired, and blissfully quiet. Or maybe he simply lacked opportunity.
Dylan had noticed the pride and adoration in the man’s eyes as his son accepted the plaque and a check for one hundred thousand dollars for the Front Street Clinic. Alec had clearly inherited his father’s tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve.
“Most people don’t realize homosexuality occurs in the animal kingdom,” Emily Johnson said.
Whoa, he’d really tuned out for a moment. When had the topic changed? To cover his confusion, he lifted his beer to his mouth.
“Animals masturbate too,” Emily went on. “And some primates have been known to use sticks for genital stimulation.”
Mid sip, Dylan coughed on his drink. Fortunately, Alec had inherited only a fraction of his mother’s questionable social skills. But the subject of discussion had taken an interesting turn, and the woman was really starting to grow on Dylan.
He bit back a grin, racking his brain for an appropriate response—if one even existed—as she went on.
“Homosexuality is quite common among the species Cygnus atratus,” Emily said. “And male-male pairings can last a lifetime.”
A lifetime… Wait, what? Jesus, was this Emily’s way of askin
g about Dylan’s intentions toward her son?
A vise clamped around his chest. Hell, he could barely wrap his mind around Alec’s I love you. In fact, Dylan had been studiously ignoring the memory.
Love.
Seriously, how was he supposed to respond to that? He’d been worried Alec would ask him to move in, and then the man had lobbed the L bomb instead. Dylan figured, hoped, the words had simply been triggered by his fabulous technique while sucking Alec off.
Maybe Emily was fishing because Alec had told her how he felt about Dylan.
And what if Alec started to push? What if he began to expect more? When Dylan told him no, Alec might end things again. Not that Dylan could blame him. Alec thrived in a domestic setting, and he certainly deserved more than Dylan could ever give. Fiddling with his motorcycle at Alec’s was easy. With Alec there, the company was easy too, filling a long-standing void Dylan hadn’t even known existed.
The thought of returning to his lonely garage left him feeling empty and depressed. He could feel a mother of a melancholy mood looming in his future.
But every day after work he headed to Alec’s because he chose to, not because he had to.
Alec weaved his way through the crowd and came to a halt at Dylan’s side. “You two okay?”
“We were just discussing the sexual practices of Cygnus atratus,” Emily said.
Alec tossed Dylan an I’m-sorry look, and Dylan sent a small shrug back.
Oblivious, Emily went on. “Alec, have you seen Tyler? I had a few things I wanted to discuss with him.”
Dylan thought he heard Alec sigh.
“Mom,” Alec said, “you have to let go.”
“Let go?”
“Grieve,” Alec said. “Move on with your life.”
“Who says I need to grieve?”
“I do,” Alec said. “Tyler’s here to accept the award and enjoy himself, not be cornered by the mother of the man he used to live with.”
“I just…” Emily Johnson blinked owlishly at her son. “I just expected to see you happily married by now, Alec.”
The air around them grew thin, as if pulling enough oxygen from the atmosphere took more of an effort. Alec’s shoulders sagged as he shifted his gaze elsewhere, a little bit of misery and a whole lot of guilt in his expression, and the painful catch in Dylan’s chest made breathing that much more difficult.
