All Wheel Drive

by Z. A. Maxfield

  God, the man had eyelashes for miles . . . and no. That wasn’t laughter Healey saw in Diego’s expression. It was heat and desire. It was longing for this—this something they were defining together.

  An unaccustomed shyness struck him. “You like?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Diego’s hot gaze devoured Healey while he cupped the back of his bare thighs, sliding up, and up. “What is not to . . . like . . .?”

  “You’re about to prove all those nothing-under-the-kilt rumors true. Conclusively.”

  “Easy access. Me like.” Diego grinned wolfishly.

  “Whoops.” Healey leaped when Diego got his fingers involved.

  “I could really dig this. Wow.” Diego groaned. “First time I’ve had a distinct advantage because I’m seated.”

  Healey quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. “First time?”

  Diego flushed.

  Probably, he was remembering the massive shower in Cecil’s guest suite. Or all those times that tooth-brushing and shaving in Diego’s big bathroom gave way to blowjobs and fucking and more. Was it Healey’s fault his dick was always bobbing inches away from Diego’s face?

  They’d ordered toys together online. For a straight couple, that’d be like buying a house. Now, Healey was thinking the sorts of stupid thoughts that moonlight and roses and candles make a man think. He looked at Diego, who looked back at him as if he’d never seen him before.

  “What?” Healey patted his jacket, his belt, his sporran. He twisted to check as much of his ass as he could. “Do I have visible panty lines?”

  Diego smacked him. “Wouldn’t you need visible panties for that?”

  “Ah.” Healey went along with the gag, but added, “Don’t be cryptic.”

  “I was thinking about midnight.”

  “You worried I’ll try to kiss you in front of your whole family?”

  Diego stopped, turned his chair, and rolled into the light. “Do you really think that?”

  Healey shook his head. “No.”

  “Healey, I expect you to kiss me up in front of all my relatives.”

  “Of course you do.” But Nash was the brave one. He was the in-your-face Holly twin. Healey was more circumspect—not shy, but not entirely public. Not since Ford, certainly, and not ever, if he’d had a choice in the matter. Healey guessed they’d find balance there too, eventually . . .

  Saying good-bye had helped him let go of some of those other Ford things too. Each piece, each memory, glittered sharp as a shard of glass under his skin. He unearthed them painfully. Quietly.

  Diego had his own memories.

  Diego offered wisdom or silence. Both helped. They shared the ride, the workload, the storms, the sunrises, and the nights when sex between them was as fierce and filthy and treacherous as the currents in the sound. When passion held them under the surface of their pettiness and ground them down and refined them.

  Like life.

  “You’d better come in.” Healey stepped back, so Diego could precede him over the path. Healey followed, less aware of his own footsteps than the sounds of Diego’s wheels.

  The ceremony started on time. The music began. The lights dimmed.

  Healey’s breath caught when Diego took his place beside his stepdad. His black tuxedo, white formal shirt, and red-and-gold patterned tie were elegant and understated. He looked so fucking hot.

  Diego had let Healey tie his shoe laces. He was not getting enough of that anytime soon. Kneeling. Performing any tiny little act of kindness, of service—any of the few offers of help Diego allowed—was only possible because Healey finally admitted he wanted it.

  He’d asked permission to do it again, and that one little gesture—the symbol of all the give and take between them, placing a kiss on the tops of his feet afterward and then buffing his lip prints off the too-shiny surface—was a compromise, rather than a sacrifice on his part. Diego ruffled his hair when he did it. It was an invocation. A benediction.

  Healey could admit that much, at least.

  The wedding march began. Rachel entered with her eldest son, Ricky. He was handsome, half-Tongan, half-Mexican, built like an ox with thick curly hair. He was beautiful, the men were all beautiful, yet to Healey’s eyes, there was no one but Diego.

  Someday, Healey fully expected to get an invitation to Nash and Spencer’s wedding. Pop raised them to do the traditional thing. Even if Pop didn’t plan to marry again, he’d always urged both him and Nash to start families of their own. To have kids, if they wanted, and it stood to reason Nash would go first. Nash was always first through the airlock. Whether he was stepping in to console his twin when their mother died, or stepping up to support his dad when Shelby was injured, Nash had the quickest reaction time. And despite the fact that his extended family took up every available space in an admittedly immense house, it looked like Diego was the type to put family first too.

  Maybe that’s why they worked?

  Healey glanced up and found Diego watching him. The lady in front of him shifted, blocking Healey’s view for several irritating seconds. When she moved back, and Healey caught sight of Diego again—oh, how he wished he had his camera.

  Diego sat, chin lifted, watching Rachel and Cecil exchange vows. They obviously shared a deep and genuine love. Diego watched with such hope. With naked longing. In that moment, he was the image of his mother, whom Healey had now seen in countless film clips and photographs. Whom he’d heard about in dozens of interviews. Whom he felt he almost knew, through the devotion of her son.

  I love him.

  The thought was as startling as any he’d ever had. It came as a quiet epiphany, like the intuitive leaps that are sometimes necessary for great problem-solving—

  Someone tapped on his shoulder. Frowning, he turned, but whoever it was, no one was looking at him now. Maybe some kid had let a Jordan almond fly.

  I love him, was where he’d been when he was so rudely interrupted. The idea made him shiver. A delightful wave of roses and orange blossoms went by with the bride as she and the rest of the wedding party made their way to the yard.

  Although there were professional videographers as well as still photographers on hand, he knew Diego wanted to take pictures of the family later. Healey was expected to be in them. Apparently, news of their couplehood had made the Feliz Navi-Dad(!) newsletter. He’d even been featured prominently in some of the Christmas pictures. Diego’s family was like a colony of space aliens, complete with a hive mind. Resistance was futile. Healey didn’t even fight it anymore. His new plan? Give Diego a lap dance he’d never forget, take him to bed, and remind him that keeping an ingenious guy like Healey around had an upside.

  Dinner was being catered by El Cholo, served family style. Big vats of rice and refried beans, tamales, carnitas and carne asada, chicken mole. Everything melted in his mouth.

  Diego had ditched his jacket and tie somewhere and rolled up his sleeves. They sat together at the family table, laughing, talking. Leaning over and taking whatever liberties they wanted, because champagne melted away Healey’s inhibitions and sweetened his disposition.

  “We’re drinking champagne all the time from now on.” Healey whispered the words.

  Diego lifted his napkin to his lips. “You think it’s the wine?”

  “What else?” Healey teased.

  Diego ran his thumb over Healey’s lip. “I forgot what it’s like to think about the future. This feels . . . good.”

  “Maybe that’s why people hold weddings,” Healey offered. “To reaffirm life.”

  Diego laced their fingers together. “It’s sex that does that. We could reaffirm life later.”

  “I’m down.” Healey’s breath caught.

  Diego shook his head slowly. “I think your family may be more optimistic about the future than mine. Your dad could fall out of a plane and be totally ‘Hey, I’m okay so far!’ on the way down.”

  Healey had to laugh, ’cause . . . yeah. Wow. “Very true.”

  “But that’s good.” Diego sque
ezed Healey’s hand. “That’s good. Optimists should be like . . . sacred or something. You guys are blessed. You guys just gotta each stick with a realist. Buddy system, you know. You gotta stick with me . . .”

  Healey noticed the little catch in Diego’s voice, and turned to meet his gaze. His gorgeous, unfathomable eyes glittered with unshed tears.

  His own voice was hoarse when he replied. “Hell yeah.”

  “My mami was like you.” Diego rubbed at a spot just above his piercing. “She wasn’t easy.”

  “No.” Healey’s voice came out funny. “Doesn’t sound like she was.”

  “But wherever she went, she made things happen. You know what I mean? She could find the most interesting thing about a total stranger and magnify it. She made people feel good about themselves. She rejected authority. She lit things on fire just to watch them burn.”

  Healey winced. “As a physicist, I plan to err on the side of caution.”

  “You know what I mean. Most people just march in line, point A to point B. It takes someone like Mami to blaze a new path. Someone like your pop. Outside-the-box thinkers. People who try new things. These are difficult times. It’s okay to be scared, but it’s not okay to quit.”

  “So, we’re going to spend the next six months on the road making an expensive documentary film because you finally admit your mom was cool?”

  “Hello, I got a grant. If we’re super careful, it might last the whole first week.”

  “I can strip for cash, if you need me to. Wasn’t there a movie like that?”

  “Sorry.” Diego leaned over and gave his cheek a quick kiss. “Your stripping contract was exclusive. Didn’t you read the fine print?”

  The back of Healey’s neck heated. “Exclusive?”

  “You want to share me?” Diego asked.

  “No.” The wallop of rage that hit Healey’s gut did not lie. “No. Nope, nyet, non. Iie.”

  “Okay. I guess you don’t like the idea of sharing me.”

  Healey showed his teeth. “I do not.”

  “So.” Diego shrugged. “I guess that makes me your man.”

  “Yeah it does.” Healey glanced around. “Hell yeah it does. You are my man.”

  “And that makes you my boy.”

  “Wait—” Healey’s smile flatlined. “How come I’m your boy, but you’re my man?”

  “It’s just an expression.”

  Glasses clinked again, while they argued playfully. The orchestra played “My Heart Will Go On” and the children ran unsupervised with sparklers—which, nobody asked Healey, but seriously he could see a whole lot of problems with that.

  At midnight, they kissed while fireworks exploded overhead. Instead of cordite and ozone, the scent of orange blossoms teased Healey again. He glanced at the centerpiece, which featured a puff of hydrangeas in a white ceramic bowl, then at his plate. Flourless chocolate cake with a raspberry coulis . . .

  “Do you smell orange blossoms?” He had to shout over the noise to be heard.

  Diego narrowed his eyes. “What?”

  “I smell orange blossoms.” Oh god. Healey’d forgotten the connotation of the flower. Orange blossoms were for brides. “That’s not a metaphor or anything. I actually smell it.”

  Diego froze then relaxed and gave him a wistful, wide white smile. “Cali used to be one big orange grove.”

  Duh. “I know.”

  “They’re everywhere.” He pointed out the rows of neatly pruned fruit trees. “Tangerines, grapefruit, oranges. My stepdad makes marmalade for Valentine’s Day.”

  “Of course he does.” Cecil was a man of weirdly specific talents.

  “So eat your cake.” Diego winked. “You’ll need your strength later.”

  If there was an extra little twinkle in his eye—if a stray but very visible bit of sentimentality got caught there—Healey wasn’t about to mention it.

  Healey’s smile started somewhere behind his heart. It was slow to bloom, but when it finally burst, sheer happiness washed over him. As a physicist, he calculated his joy had to be affecting everyone in a five-mile radius . . .

  Healey forked up a bite and offered it to Diego first.

  “You seem awful sure of things.”

  “I’m sure of myself.” Diego positively set Healey on fire by lipping the cake off his fork. “Want to come along for the ride?”

  Healey made Diego wait for his answer. Kissed him so he could share the rich, spicy chocolate flavor of his dessert while at the same time getting a little payback for the uncertain moments Diego’d put him through when they met. But then Diego’s question had held just a little more apprehension than Healey liked. Did he not know how Healey felt by now? Silly man.

  They’d have to work on that.

  “Was that a yes?” Diego ground the words out.

  “Nope.” Healey cupped Diego’s face between his palms. “It was a hell, yes.”

  Starstruck

  L.A. Witt

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  L.B. Gregg

  Hell on Wheels

  Z.A. Maxfield

  Lone Wolf

  Aleksandr Voinov and L.A. Witt

  The Burnt Toast B&B

  Heidi Belleau and Rachel Haimowitz

  Wedding Favors

  Anne Tenino

  The Deep of the Sound

  Amy Lane

  When to Hold Them

  G.B. Gordon

  Rain Shadow

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  Stuck Landing

  Lauren Gallagher

  How the Cookie Crumbles

  Jaime Samms

  Selfie

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  All the Wrong Places

  Ann Gallagher

  Bluewater Blues

  G.B. Gordon

  No Small Parts

  Ally Blue

  For a Good Time, Call . . .

  Anne Tenino and E.J. Russell

  Get a Grip

  L.A. Witt

  Lights, Camera, Cupid!

  Valentine’s Day collection, featuring: SE Jakes, Amy Lane, Z.A. Maxfield, Anne Tenino, and L.A. Witt

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  Dear Reader,

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  Hell on Wheels (a Bluewater Bay story)

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  What Child Is This?

  Z.A. Maxfield started writing in 2007 on a dare from her children and never looked back.

  Pathologically disorganized, and perennially optimistic, she writes as much as she can, reads as much as she dares, and enjoys her time with family and friends.

  Three things reverberate throughout all her stories: Unconditional love, redemption, and the belief that miracles happen when we least expect them. If anyone asks her how a wife and mother of four can find time for a writing career, she’ll answer, “It’s amazing what you can accomplish if you give up housework.”

  Readers can visit ZAM at zamaxfield.com, Facebook, Twitter, or Tumblr.

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