by Riley Knox
"Are you guys really all right with this?" Ethan asked as he turned with his ice cream, only to have it pounced out of his hand like a ninja by Becca.
"Eating our ice cream? Get real, Dad."
Ethan smirked as she grinned at him, her braces glittering beneath the recessed lights like the teeth of a pretty piranha.
Spoken like a true smartass. "You know what I mean. I know your mom getting remarried was a bit of a shock. If you're not comfortable with me dating Avery, you can tell me."
And he'd honor it even if it killed him--which it likely would now that he knew the reality of Avery's mouth was so much better than his fantasies. But the responsibilities of Dad-life trumped personal life, so he just waited patiently while they exchanged another silent look.
Hannah broke it off first, sliding off the stool to get herself an ice cream pop. "Daddy, it's totally okay. We like Avery. Why do you think we sacrificed our favorite cookies for him?" She grinned. "He's a good guy, doesn't talk to us like we're infants, and he really, really likes you. He used to stare at you during the games when he thought no one was watching."
"Yea, Dad, just an FYI, do not wear that tight black tee shirt to practice again," Becca admonished as she started dialing the local pizza place. "Avery almost took out half of us with his wild pitches that day." She snickered as Ethan made a face, ducking the balled up napkin he tossed at her head as she darted into the living room with the phone and menus to order.
"Don't stay up too late," Ethan warned a grinning Hannah, who saluted him with her popsicle stick. "I should be back by midnight."
He grabbed his keys from the wall rack, then dropped a kiss to the top of her head. "Thanks kiddo," he murmured, secretly pleased when she hugged him back. Becca shouted an "I love you Dad. Go get him!" from the living room.
The teenage years were iffy, but Ethan was sure of one thing; tonight things were going his way.
Chapter 3
* * *
By the time Avery reached the restaurant, the light rain that had started as soon as he had left the house had let up, leaving only a glossy sheen to the sidewalk. The umbrella Sarah had thrust on him had kept him dry, but somehow he still managed to look slightly disheveled when he gave himself a quick once over in the lobby's mirror.
His blonde curls defied all of Sarah's careful gelling and sculpting, and the gray-striped blue button-down tucked into his black slacks had last been worn to a funeral. At least his sneakers were new. He had a love affair with Converse high-tops and had ordered enough the last time he'd shopped online to last him to the apocalypse.
Working from home kept his wardrobe tee shirt and jeans casual--probably one reason why he didn't date much.
That thought made him pause for a moment, reminding him of exactly what he was doing and who he was doing it with. Unbidden, the visual that had started in the shower that afternoon of Ethan pushing him over the island counter in the kitchen and pounding him like he'd been a bad, bad boy, came back.
Only this time when fantasy Ethan flipped him over, Avery imagined himself trying to arch up sexily like some B-rated porn star, and instead slamming his head into the granite countertop. Goodnight, Gracie.
It was no secret to anyone who had ever had the misfortune to be with him and Ethan at the same time, that all the coordination Avery had worked so hard at developing after an awkward, gawky teenage period, went right out the window when Ethan was present.
On the track during practice, he could run a seven-minute mile easy, and between playing baseball and the video games he designed with equal fervor, his hand-eye coordination was stellar. But put him in front of one amazing, sexy, intelligent man and all bets were off.
The two minutes it took Avery to reach the front door of the well-lit restaurant found the cast of Avery's erotic fantasy bloodied and heading for the ER, their cocks deflating faster than Avery's ego.
His sigh blew his overly long curls away from his forehead. There was something to be said for optimism, but Avery had always considered realism a more accurate depiction in his case. For a moment he considered turning around, but with Sarah waiting at home--at her insistence, probably because she foresaw this happening-- there wasn't much of a point. She'd just drag him back out by his ear like she had when they were kids.
Forcing in a deep breath that barely calmed his nerves, Avery approached the attractive young woman with the million-dollar smile sitting behind the hostess desk. To his surprise, she told him that his party had arrived and was waiting for him. A quick glance to his wristwatch confirmed that Ethan was fifteen minutes early, and Avery's lips hitched into a slight smile.
Nice to know you're not the only one who's anxious. Maybe Kyle's Barney Band-aids will suffice for any disasters tonight.
Clinging to that thought like it was the last match on Survivor Island, Avery followed the sway of the young woman's hips through the restaurant, past tables of happily dining patrons out toward a canopied veranda area. The soft glow from hundreds of white Christmas lights wound around the trees and bushes lining the space, greeted him as he moved past the smiling hostess and up onto the deck.
As her footsteps faded away, Avery was left alone with a waiter discreetly standing off to one side, and Ethan, who stood with a grin as soon as he spotted Avery. Although Ethan's snug jeans and leather jacket were hardly a tuxedo, Avery suddenly felt very much like a contestant on The Bachelorette--his favorite guilty indulgence--when he saw the red rose in the man's hand. It matched the ones in the short vase on the table surrounded by a smattering of candles in cut glass holders that glittered in the soft light.
Forcing his heart firmly back into his chest, Avery lifted his gaze up to the other man's, taking time to linger on the attractive scenery on the way since Ethan had gone through the effort.
Some warm, spicy cologne teased his senses as Avery leaned in to accept the flower. "Wow," he murmured as he absorbed the elegant surroundings. Other than he, Ethan, and the waiter still standing politely to one side--seemingly unperturbed by the sight of two men settling in for an obviously romantic dinner--the patio was deserted and theirs was the only table, smack in the center.
"This is incredible. Thank you," Avery said, taking the rose and only barely managing to suppress the urge to sniff it and let his foot pop up like some old black and white film.
"Too much?" Ethan smiled, looking only more marginally pleased than he did relieved. "I nixed the violins at the last minute, though if I am crashing and burning right now, feel free to give the signal and I'll get the razors."
Avery smiled, giving into the temptation to sniff his rose, which only widened Ethan's grin and graced him with those dimples.
"Not at all. Though I am really beginning to wonder how much those little birdies sang for you."
"Let's just say I expect Men in Black to be knocking on my door any day now to harvest my home grown spies."
"Forget the bail money and consider an increase in their allowance. It'll be a small price to pay for the spectacular payout guaranteed at the end of the night if you keep this up."
"Really? How good are we talking here?" Ethan's voice was casual, but he couldn't hide the instant flare of interest to his nostrils.
"Good enough that you might want to reconsider that babysitter idea."
"You mean, who needs eyes when they're going to be fucked blind anyway?"
Avery laughed. "If I take off my glasses, I can't see farther than five inches in front of my face as it is."
"Then I'll have to make sure you get plenty of hands-on opportunities. Get those five senses engaged."
"Well, my eyes and nose are definitely working," Avery said as Ethan stepped in closer, the masculine clean scent of his cologne tempting Avery to close the gap completely and press his nose against the vulnerable hollow of Ethan's throat.
As Ethan leaned in to help pull out his chair, his hand brushed the small of Avery's back on its journey to the top of the chair back. The subtle caress lingered just long enough f
or the heat from his skin to skyrocket the temperature around Avery, leaving him feeling bereft when Ethan took his own seat.
Avery sucked down a healthy swallow from his water glass, the ice cubes clinking against his teeth doing nothing to stop the slow burn that lit through him every time Ethan made eye contact.
"Touch, check," he murmured.
Ethan offered a slow grin. "We'll work on taste and sound later...I want to know what you sound like when I kiss you all over."
Sweet fuck! Avery drained his water glass and switched to his wine.
Although he'd never had sex on a first date before, that hardline rule was quickly melting away like ice cream left in the sun. Avery discreetly adjusted himself beneath the snowy white tablecloth. "Survey says that's a very good possibility."
"Is that so? Should we just skip to dessert then?" Ethan's smile said he was teasing, but the look in his eyes suggested a second possibility, and Avery briefly wondered just how much privacy they could manage...
The appearance of the waiter temporarily halted his potential foray into adventurous sex, and Avery let out a slow breath, forcing himself to relax as he sipped at the wine that Ethan selected. The man had obviously gone through a lot of trouble tonight to make it special, and though Avery would have been happy to use the table for something other than eating the most amazing bruschetta he had ever tasted, this was nice, too.
After they'd placed their orders and Ethan turned away to speak to the waiter quietly in what sounded like perfectly fluent Italian, Avery took the opportunity to admire the other man's profile in the candlelight, which softened that rugged profile into a purely masculine sensuality.
With angular features and a scar Avery had noticed many times before under his left eye, Ethan wasn't pretty like so many of Hollywood's current heart throbs were. But there was strength in the hard cut of his jaw, and warmth in the too thin lips that smiled at the waiter before he turned that expression on Avery.
He was a hundred times better in the flesh than in any fantasy because he was real. And he's mine.
Granted, that last part jumped the gun a bit, but in Avery's experience--albeit limited as it was--men didn't often take the time to wine and dine you if they thought they could slam into home base during the first inning.
Not that he would have voiced much protest if Ethan decided to cut the meal short. After almost a year's hiatus from any sexual hijinks, Little Avery had re-entered the building, and was more than willing to make up for lost time. Especially when Ethan shifted a bit closer, his knee brushing Avery's under the table. The subtle touch was more effective than a hand on his cock would have been--sending sparks of awareness through him.
"Are you okay with me ordering?" Ethan's voice drew Avery's attention back to the other man. "I should have asked what you liked, but I eat here a lot, and I'd say most of what's on the menu is better than bologna, though maybe not cookies and Pop-Tarts." His smile teased, but rather than be embarrassed, the ease with which the other man addressed him released the remaining tension in Avery's shoulders.
"Hey, I may not be a gourmet chef, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate it. And I assure you that Pop-Tarts are a step above the wheat germ and soy protein that my sister Sarah tries to convince us all is real food." He grinned. "I know I'm only screwing myself, loading him up with enough sugar to power the next lunar mission to Mars, but kids need some kind of junk food in their lives. Healthy living before age five is un-American."
Ethan chuckled, his warm gaze travelling over Avery's face. "Do you get to see them often?"
"Yea, ever since they moved back to town. Sarah moved out to California when she got married," Avery explained, taking another piece of bread piled high with the savory tomato and basil mixture. "But Kyle's dad--a.k.a. 'Dick the Prick'--walked out on them for his twenty-three-year-old secretary when Kyle was two, leaving Sarah with a mortgage and a toddler." He frowned as he picked at a piece of finely diced onion.
"Sounds like a winner."
"Between she and I, we're poster children for celibacy. Sarah always had a thing for the bad boys and I always went for the 'safe' men who would guarantee me a roof over my head so I had a nice place to be when I nod off from boredom." Avery offered a crooked smile. "Anyway, after they left California and came back home after the divorce was finalized, I helped Sarah buy the place she has now."
"Really?" Ethan arched a curious brow and Avery shifted a bit awkwardly at the unspoken question.
He shrugged, flicking a piece of basil off his slice of bruschetta bread. "I'm no Bill Gates or anything, but I'm pretty good at what I do, and I've patented a few programs, so I do all right. Our parents died in a car accident when I was in college, so Sarah and Kyle are the only family I have. If you can't take care of your family, what's the use of having anything?"
Ethan didn't say anything to that, but his smile widened, and Avery had the distinct feeling he'd somehow passed some kind of test. "So do you have company often?"
Avery tipped his head to one side and the other man's grin flickered, revealing those dimples again. "So I know if I have to bring over cookies...for Kyle, I mean."
Ethan was as transparent as a windowpane, but Avery felt a slow warmth bloom in his chest, and he leaned back in his chair to avoid doing something as undignified as the "he really likes me!" dance.
"When Sarah goes away for business seminars, then I usually have him for a few days, sometimes the weekend. Otherwise he is in preschool for most of the day, so I actually get a chance to get work done."
"But not the day I came over," Ethan said, eyes teasing.
Avery snorted. "Not then by a long shot. I mean we did have a rather eye-catching interruption that day." He chuckled when Ethan had the grace to blush. "Then after you left I got to sit through two more hours of answering questions about the 'Cookie Man.' You've outranked Elmo in popularity, by the way, so that's huge. He was excited that I was going to see you and your cookies tonight--told me to let you know that he was an extra good boy."
Avery offered a droll smile. "He gets his subtle nature from his mom. Sarah's still at my place, by the way. She made excuses to hang around all day, and about an hour before I was supposed to meet you, she started sneezing and coughing up a storm. Claimed she was too sick to drive the fifteen minutes home. She also mentioned I probably shouldn't come back home tonight since she and Kyle might be contagious."
The low rumble of Ethan's laughter brought a smile to Avery's face. "Sounds like Hannah and Becca. I was pretty much assured that I should find somewhere else to live if I mess this up tonight."
Avery felt his ears heat as he groaned. "I still can't believe they knew. I mean everyone knows I'm gay, and the girls on the team always tease me about finding me my dream man to settle me down, but considering they wanted Jake and Bella to end up together, I'd rather sit at home making use of my Netflix subscription. I mean what person in their right mind would choose fleas and allergies over living forever with a guy whose bite brings bliss?"
Ethan coughed into his hand, not quite managing to hide his grin. Conversation paused for a few moments as an older man with a heavy handlebar moustache brought out their dishes. Although Avery couldn't understand the Italian exchange, he assumed he was at the center of the conversation when both men looked at him and smiled.
His brow arched as they were left alone again. "I didn't know that you spoke Italian."
"I didn't--not till my company was offered the building contract for Antonio's restaurant three years ago. He insisted on an 'authentic' vibe for the design and layout, since he was trying to recreate a small restaurant his grandparents had owned and operated in Italy. Part of that was putting me through my cultural paces, so Antonio spoke to me only in Italian for weeks, and I had to learn to cook half the items on the menu. He was a pain-in-the ass, but we've been friends ever since." He chuckled, taking a sip from his wine glass. "Honestly, at the time, I think he was just trying to set me up with his son. Gio is the head chef here,
and we did date a few times--testing that theory of finding my heart through my stomach."
"Ah, I see..." And he did see the obvious facts written clear as crystal on the wall. Ethan was an attractive, successful man. To assume that he hadn't dated at all before Avery was plain ridiculous, according to the rational little voice on his right shoulder. Unfortunately the green-eyed hellion on the left was tempted to drop kick the other asshole on the right.
Avery inhaled deeply, then let it go hard enough to stir the surface of the wine in his glass. "Well, I can't cook..."
Ethan's grin curved knowingly, making it obvious he was not fooled for a minute. The wooden legs of his chair scraped on the cobblestones as he shifted his chair around to Avery's side, leaning in enough for their voices not to carry. "Is that your oh-so-slick way of telling me you're jealous of all the men in my life, Avery?"
Avery blushed again. "I..." Don't do it, the right shoulder puritan warned. Stay stoic, mysterious. You don't want to look desperate by telling him know you've wanted to brand your name on his ass since day one.
"Avery, I'm waiting" Ethan murmured, long calloused fingers curling around Avery's slim wrist like a living cuff, sending another mental image involving the posts on his bed and Sarah's gag gift from his thirtieth birthday party two years ago slamming through Avery's brain in full frontal color, straight down to his dick. So much for playing it cool.
"I don't have any claim on you now, Ethan, much less on what you did or with who before we met." There. That sounded cool, collected. Bully for him.
Ethan leaned in a little more, his breath as warm on Avery's jaw as the thumb that was drawing maddeningly slow circles on the sensitive skin on the inside of Avery's wrist. "Do you want to?" He smiled. "I didn't kiss you when you came in because I know you're shy, but if you want me to make it explicitly clear that you're with me, prepare your tonsils."
Avery's laugh turned into a hiss as his nervously jiggling knee made up-close-and-personal contact with the underside of the table hard enough to tip over his water glass.
