by Jane Davitt
Gary swallowed a moan and drank some of his coffee. They’d practically had sex under the disco ball. They’d definitely gotten off in the taxi. At least— No, that was one of the fuzzier parts. Back in their room was clearer. He remembered Abe’s tongue flickering against his balls like the rising heat of a candle flame, remembered tearing two condoms trying to fumble them over his dick; the third had gotten where it needed to be only with Abe’s help. Remembered wanting to tie Abe to the bed, and Abe begging him to, but he’d been drunk out of his fucking skull and had known that wasn’t a good idea. He’d settled for using a couple of five-hundred-dollar ties on Abe’s wrists and holding the loose ends in his fist while he fucked Abe to a climax that had left them both wiped out.
Abe had told him things he wished he remembered better. How much Abe had missed him, how he’d searched online for Gary’s name.
“You’re not on fucking Facebook,” Abe had said indignantly, poking him with a finger, and that’d seemed like the funniest—
“Mr. Stratton? Are you following this?”
“Not really.”
Abe snorted.
Gary took another hit of coffee and made an effort. “Sorry. As you can tell, we’re both hungover and hurting. Gloat, but do it quietly.”
“Been there on occasion myself,” she assured them. “I don’t judge. Not when it’s a client, anyway.”
“I’m not your client,” Gary reminded her. “Peter was, not me.”
“No, but I’m hoping you will be,” she said with a frankness Gary found refreshing. “Take a look at this, if your eyes can focus.”
He took a file from her. It was labeled with his initials, nothing else. He flipped it open and read, flicking through the papers. “It’s a portfolio. I don’t get it.”
“It doesn’t look familiar?”
He turned back to the list of companies. “No. I mean, I’ve heard of some of these, but . . .” He paused, a fugitive thought clamoring to be heard. “These names seem vaguely familiar, but they’re not quite right. I don’t get it.”
He was never drinking again if it left his brain this fuzzy. He read through the names, their familiarity teasing him.
“This will help.” She passed over a single sheet of paper. “Recognize those?”
Gary glanced at the paper. Same number of companies, but the names were different, and he knew them all. “What the hell?”
Abe set down his coffee on Ms. Daniels’s desk. “Everything okay?” His voice was husky from hours spent yelling over the music, but the concern in the rasped words was clear.
“Grant and Bailey—Gray and Benson. Different names, same initials.” Gary held up the sheet of paper. “This is a list of the companies in the portfolio Peter made up for me to practice on. Are you telling me they were real?”
“He did what?”
Gary turned to Abe, words spilling out during his rapid explanation. “He was teaching me how to handle money, do what he did, follow the market, that kind of thing. He gave me some companies and he’d tell me how they were doing and I’d decide whether to buy or sell—it was a game we played. I screwed up at the start and lost most of the stake, but I got it back by taking some chances and I— It was a game. It wasn’t real money or real companies.”
“Some game,” Abe said.
“No.” Ms. Daniels cleared her throat. “You were playing with your own money. Your salary, to be exact. Peter took it from you and invested it the way you told him to, and from time to time, he added a bonus. Sometimes quite a large one. The details are in the folder. I imagine you’ll be able to work out the reasons from the dates. I can see myself some match up to your birthday or his.”
“We never gave each other presents,” Gary murmured. He tried to take it all in, but the writing on the pages danced and wriggled. He’d taken the game seriously, always, but shit, if he’d known it was real—if he’d known it was his money—
“He told me if you’d shown no aptitude for the market, he’d have managed it for you, but you did, and so he let you handle it. Of course, the money’s tied up, but if you continue to handle it as successfully as you have in the past, it’ll provide you with a more than adequate income. He also left instructions that if you did what he asked to the letter—which you did—you’d receive a final bonus of a year’s salary. I arranged for it to be paid into your bank account this morning.”
“Jesus.” Gary couldn’t stop comparing the two lists, adjusting what he knew now that he had the real names to work with. One name stuck out and he tapped his finger against it. “There’s a casino on the list. The one we were at last night. I own part of that place!”
Ms. Daniels gave him a tolerant look. “And Peter owned a big chunk of the rest of it. You think he would’ve blown ten grand just anywhere?”
Gary closed the file. “No. Not Peter.” The exhilaration of discovering he was worth a modest fortune ebbed away, leaving him exhausted. “I don’t know what to do with all this.”
She nodded. “Understandable. There’s no rush. All the relevant paperwork is in that box you tripped over coming in, and you’ll know what to do with it once the shock wears off. If you need help, or the name of a good accountant, I can provide that.” She smiled, all teeth. “For free. Peter gave me a bonus too. After that, maybe we can come to an arrangement.”
Gary smiled without committing himself. She’d proven she was loyal, dependable, and ruthless—he never planned to ask what would’ve happened to the file if he hadn’t done what Peter told him to—but he wasn’t rushing into anything.
“For now, why not go back to your hotel and sleep it off? The room’s paid for until tomorrow, and you can afford to stick around.”
Gary shook his head. Last night had been fun, and he intended to have more of it with Abe, but they didn’t belong here. “We’ll be leaving tomorrow, but thanks.” He stood and offered her his hand to shake. “It’s been interesting getting to know you.”
“I get that a lot,” she said. “Never quite figured out if it was a compliment or not.”
“Maybe the people saying it don’t know either,” Abe told her.
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “You could be right.”
Gary bent over to pick up the box by the door, his stomach lurching when he straightened. Before he could embarrass himself by dropping it on his toes, Abe took it from him. “I’ve got it.”
Gary met Abe’s eyes and forgot his physical woes and the woman watching. “Think you can handle it?”
He wasn’t talking about the weight of the box. He thought Abe knew that.
Abe managed to look insulted and fond at the same time. “Always could, always will. Make yourself useful and open the damn door, Fox.”
Gary opened the door and stepped back to let Abe walk through it. He glanced at Ms. Daniels, but she was already sorting through a stack of files, humming under her breath.
He let the door close behind him and caught up to Abe at the elevator.
“Where to?” Abe settled the box more comfortably. “If it involves margaritas, you’re on your own, rich guy.”
Gary shuddered. He could still taste tequila, and his tongue was stained green. “No margaritas. Maybe a nap. And I’m not rich. If the market crashes, I’m left with nothing.”
“You’d still have me.” The truth of that felt warm, sunlight and hugs, and Gary nodded, for once left without words. He trusted that Abe could see from his expression how that made him feel. The elevator doors opened, and Abe added, “A nap? Jesus, Fox. Didn’t take long for the romance to leave this relationship.”
Gary abandoned sentiment in favor of flirting as the doors closed them in. “If you want to show me something more interesting to do in bed than sleep, I’d be up for that. If I throw up on you, don’t take it personally.”
Abe grinned at him. “And look at that. The romance is back.”
“Is that what we’re having? A romance?” He’d never had one before, wouldn’t recognize one if it bit him in the ass
.
Shifting the box to the other hip, Abe kept his eyes trained on the rapidly descending elevator numbers, and his voice carefully neutral. “A romantic adventure. And to top it off, the hero finds out he’s rich. Was that your happy ending, Fox?”
It shouldn’t have made a difference to his future plans, having money when he’d expected to leave Vegas as dead broke as he’d been when he showed up. How he felt about Abe shouldn’t change because he had money all of a sudden. Except he really hadn’t made any plans for after that one big memorial spin of the roulette wheel for Peter. Anticipating that experience, driving toward it, fighting through the storm, getting through the spin, had consumed him.
Now the days stretched ahead of him, days he could spend however he liked . . . with whomever he liked. Now he had possibilities. It wasn’t about the money. It was about time.
The elevator’s rapid descent caused another wave of queasiness, but it passed quickly. Gary tugged on Abe’s sleeve, then lifted a finger to Abe’s chin to turn his head. He needed to see Abe’s eyes.
“No. That didn’t feel like the happy ending. I bet there’s still plenty of romance left in this relationship.”
Abe opened his mouth slightly, his eyes bright, his breath heating Gary’s fingers. “Plenty? Like how much?”
The doors slid open as Gary answered. “I think it’s time we found out.”
Gary looked up from his computer when Abe walked in. A screen full of figures, or Abe? No contest, especially when Abe was snickering, his face lit with amusement. He leaned back, stretching out cramped muscles with a long groan, then waved encouragingly.
“Okay, share the joke.”
Abe bent over to tweak a rug straight. “Sailor chased his third squirrel of the day up the big tree.”
“Not funny after the first hundred or so times.”
“This time, he chased a baby one, and guess whose mama was also in the tree?” Abe shook his head. “Man, that cat turned tail and galloped back to the house. I’ve never seen him move so fast.”
“He was scared of a squirrel?” He found that hard to believe. Sailor had moved into his new home, a rambling house by the shore of Puget Sound, with Mount Rainier visible on a clear day, and instituted a reign of terror over his immediate neighbors. The four-legged ones, at least. The first month, Gary and Abe had spent more time apologizing for Sailor than introducing themselves.
“Big squirrel.” Abe held his hands apart. “Mutant squirrel. I came inside too.”
Gary sighed. “I now think less of you as a man, but I’ll hide it because I love you. Are those cookies ready yet? They smell ready.”
“They’ve been cooling for the last hour, so yeah, they’re ready. But they’re for my parents, not you, so back off.”
“They’re never for me.” He tried to look pitiful, but it wasn’t easy. He’d made a tidy profit on an investment, and if the losses of the month before meant he was breaking even, he still felt good. Abe in a short pair of denim cutoffs and no shirt was doing nothing to kill his happy buzz. “Why don’t I ever get cookies?”
Abe snorted and walked over to him to deliver a kiss. He smelled of fresh air and soil, his hands grubby, his skin sun-warmed. “You eat too many, and you know it. You should get out in the garden more with me and earn your treats. The vegetable patch won’t weed itself.”
Gary stood so he could stretch some more and kiss Abe without getting a crick in his neck. He nuzzled into Abe’s shoulder and added a bite to prove how hungry he was. Breakfast seemed a long time ago. “Your parents called, by the way. They’re stopping an extra night on the road, so they won’t be here until Thursday. If the cookies were for them, they’ll be past their best by then. We should eat them now.”
“And you were going to tell me this when?”
“Things got exciting. Stocks. Shares. Ups. Downs.”
“You’re such a pain in the ass,” Abe muttered, but his hands slid down to Gary’s hips, bringing their bodies closer together.
“Yeah.” Gary was unrepentant. Abe didn’t seem too upset over the postponement, which was puzzling. He’d been tidying the house for the last three days, treating every unwashed dish or dropped sock like a personal insult. Maybe he thought it would give him time to clean the grout around the bathroom tiles or something. Gary was prepared to stage an intervention if needed. Abe’s parents weren’t coming to see spotless floors and dust-free tables. They wanted to see their son, his new home, and Gary. Probably in that order. Gary had been as charming as he could be, but Marianne and Sam, though polite, still held a grudge for the way Gary had swept their son hundreds of miles away.
He couldn’t blame them. If anyone had tried to take Abe away from him, he’d have held a grudge too. Hell, he’d have gotten nasty.
“Sorry they’re delayed.”
“I’m not.” Abe worked Gary’s T-shirt free of his jeans. “When they’re here, we can’t have sex. I want to see them, but I’m not happy about that.”
“Their room isn’t next door to ours. If we’re quiet . . .”
“Not going to happen.”
Gary narrowed his eyes when his T-shirt was tugged over his head. Sam and Marianne would be staying with them for a week. Seven days, seven nights. No way was he sleeping next to Abe for a week without touching him, but that was a battle best fought after Abe had gone a day or two without getting any.
“And what I meant was, I won’t be able to come in here anytime I want and do this.” Abe bent his head to lick a wet circle around Gary’s nipple.
“Yeah, we’ll have to cut back on the blowjobs in the kitchen.”
“There won’t be any.” Abe dropped to his knees and nipped teasingly at Gary’s belly. It wasn’t flat, but it was unfair to blame the cookies. Abe’s were made from scratch, and that meant they were wholesome and nutritious. Well, not the chocolate chip and caramel ones. “I don’t think I can get hard when they’re around.”
“Uh, yeah, yeah you can. I remember that time you carried on a conversation with your mom through a closed door when I had my hand down your pants, and you were hard, trust me. High-pitched and squeaky, but hard.”
“I was seventeen so it doesn’t count.” Abe mouthed the outline of Gary’s cock, the damp warmth of his exhaled breath and the gentle pressure from his teeth coaxing it harder. “Speaking of erections . . .”
“Actions speak louder than words.” Gary tangled his fingers in Abe’s hair, his eyes half-closed, enjoying the anticipation of waiting for Abe’s mouth on bare skin without wanting it to last much longer.
This didn’t happen every day. Working from home didn’t mean he was always available, and Abe was a busy guy. He’d turned down Gary’s offer to set him up in a restaurant, pointing out he had no experience and it’d go under in the first six months, taking Gary’s investment with it. Instead, he’d taken over a stall at the local farmers’ market, and twice a week he sold an assortment of cakes, cookies, and specialty breads. Gary had stayed away the first few weeks to give Abe time to settle down, but he’d wandered over to it one day and found Abe in his element, and a tray of samples emptying faster than Abe could refill it.
“Actions? Like this?” Abe pulled the zipper on Gary’s jeans down and went to work on the button. A moment later, Gary stood hobbled by his jeans and underwear, wishing he had a wall to lean against because his knees were weak.
“Just like that,” he managed to say.
Sailor chose that moment to pad into the room, a dead mouse hanging limply from his mouth. He purred loudly, his honor restored.
Gary closed his eyes, refusing to be distracted. He heard a frantic squeak that had him opening them again.
“Oh God, it’s not dead!”
Abe rocked back on his heels, his lips glossy and swollen, and took in the situation at a glance. He sighed.
“I’ll take care of it.”
Sailor dropped the mouse, his eyes gleaming. He prepared to pounce and recapture it. The mouse, showing a commendable survival in
stinct, dove into the space between the couch and floor, a gap too small for more than Sailor’s paw.
Gary shrugged philosophically. The mouse might find its way out, or it might not. Sailor wailed, an ululating cry of pure temper, but Gary was good at focusing on what was important. He crooked his finger at Abe and grinned.
“Take care of me first?”
“Don’t I always?”
“Yeah.” Gary cupped Abe’s face in his hands and tilted it so he could see Abe smile at him. “You always do.”
And these days, he knew how to return the favor. It wasn’t difficult. Loving Abe was as simple and necessary as breathing. He had just needed enough time to figure that out.
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