“Do I get one of those?” Dean nodded to the bottle.
“You get whatever you want.” Jay lowered his voice as he poured, and then handed a drink over, with a wink.
Thoughts of forthcoming scratches, the tree, Christmas, or anyone in the room spun away; the man’s brown gaze consumed Dean, made his jaw and whole body ache. He anticipated kissing. More than kissing. The tormenting images were so many he couldn’t focus on one.
He also forgot his drink, until Jay took his hand, cupping it with his fingers. Heat sunk into Dean’s skin at the touch as Jay turned his hand up and placed the glass palm centre. The moment Jay released the glass, Dean lifted the crystal to his lips and took an appropriately stiff but small mouthful. He longed to toss back the lot and ask for another, but he was driving and needed to go light on the alcohol. The thought nor desire did nothing to mask his sudden disappointment of scotch diluted with soda.
No point complaining. He wouldn’t drink at all if several more hours didn’t need to pass before they departed in the evening. Damn his conscience, but his internal Jiminy Cricket saved him from April’s nagging…on the subject of drunk driving. Not from her scolding regarding her brother, though. No way. Never that.
“Down boy.” Jay patted him right on the cock, shattering his composure. Dean choked on the meagre quantity of alcohol leaking its way into his stomach. He glanced at April and Brian. Good thing they were busy talking. The blood rushing through his ears, and other places, tuned out their conversation, but Dean experienced only relief from their failure to notice. Gaze dancing, unrepentant, Jay smirked.
Dean took another sip of the scant liquid that remained in his glass. Time to dig into a mass of feathery tinsel; glittering boas Priscilla, Queen of the Desert would be proud to wear. Dean grasped them with as much fervour for a different reason. While he stood with a bundle of shimmering stoles draping his groin, he took a moment to grasp, squeeze, and to relieve, a sudden and troublesome hard-on. More in control, he confronted the tree.
April and Brian disappeared into the kitchen, while, with Jay’s help, Dean wound tinsel amongst the branches. The chore gave them plenty of opportunities to share glances, both doing nothing to hide their endeavour to eavesdrop. They stopped to glance at each other as Eleanor Reid laughed—a long pealing spontaneous and unrestrained sound spilling out, seldom heard, not because Eleanor didn’t laugh, but because she often worried too much, too serious. Dean raised his eyebrows as Jay widened his eyes. The new relationship might be promising.
Brian wandered back in as Dean set the last string of lights in place. Dean and Jay exchanged frowns as Brian popped a morsel of food into his mouth.
“Well, if that doesn’t…” Jay didn’t finish and didn’t need to. If either of them tried to snag as much as a single piece of crispy pastry, they gained nothing but rapped knuckles. Whatever made Eleanor Reid laugh so hard had won her approval.
“Are we on to the baubles?” April set two empty boxes to one side and searched for the next. When she spied what she wanted, she started forward, only for Brian to beat her to it. She drew up short, eyes widening. No argument spilled from her lips, however; a new development. April seldom liked men offering her help and doing things for her. Whenever Dean tried, he received only vitriol.
Brian, oblivious to the soundless play of emotions knocked back and forth by the other occupants of the room, opened the container, filling the room with reflected silver light. The round sparkling objects matched the grey decor—a good excuse, Jay’s father insisted, not to repaint the living room because nothing would match at Christmas. So far, the ruse worked.
“Brian’s a veterinarian.” This they knew, but April’s emphasis implied he had to be a good man because he worked with animals.
“Plain old vet will do.” Brian’s frown belied the underlying smile. He caught the strange significance, too. He swung round to Jay. “You’re in I.T., right?”
“Unfortunately.” Jay grinned as he spoke, revealing the joke. Everyone, with the possible exception of Brian, knew he’d always wanted to work with computers, but no job came without drawbacks.
“April says you’re a consultant?”
Jay blinked. Following the simple explanation, people rarely asked more.
“Technically, my title is Hospital I.T. Consultant, a dry and meaningless term.”
“So the short answer, right?” Brian hung ornaments. “What do you actually do? I mean,” he gave a small shrug, “name a couple of examples.”
“Well, my job typically comprises of three. Creating and installing new software, maintaining the existing software, and fixing crisis level items. I’m an anti-consultant consultant. The work I do is often what an employee would do if the person had the time and skill set.”
“Hope you’re appreciated.”
“He is,” Dean said.
“By some.” Jay gave Dean a nod, most likely acknowledging Dean respected both him and his capabilities. “The highest compliment from my clients is being told I’m not a consultant, I’m more an employee.”
“Why’s that?”
Jay moved in a way Dean understood meant he was a little uneasy. “Not something I want any of my colleagues to hear but the typical consultant can be an arsehole, comes in, wastes everyone’s time with endless meetings to discover how the business works, hands out a pretty report that summarises things everyone knew, and not only charges but overcharges for the experience. The best thing I ever heard concerning consultants is a consultant is a guy with grey hair so he can appear distinguished and haemorrhoids so he can look concerned.”
Brian burst out laughing. Dean had heard this before but still, he couldn’t help grinning.
“The stories you must both have to tell.” Brian shook his head. “I still can’t get over hearing how many shite places April has to sell. No need to play it down,” Brian added when she shook her head.
“I’m not. No job is a hundred percent fun. Yours takes the greatest toll.”
“Maybe, but it’s rewarding, too. Can’t see any of us are doing badly. Jay’s work keeps hospitals running. You help people find a home.”
Brian referred to April’s work as estate agent, but had she not mentioned her photography course? Dean fought the urge to stick up for her. Better not to say until he was sure. She might not want Brian to know for a reason he couldn’t imagine and, if he made a thing of the course, it might belittle her day-job. Better to ask her what she wanted Brian to hear, or not, before he said something he shouldn’t by accident.
“Mechanic, right?”
Now under the spotlight, Dean had nothing to say. He gave a simple nod. Put that way, he sounded the least useful one here.
“People need to get around.” Though true, the comment sounded a banal excuse for Dean getting up in the mornings. For a tense second, the silence became cumbersome.
“Is that your MK in the driveway?”
Dean’s jaw almost dropped. He recovered, lips stretching wide, instead, head bobbing. Overcome and overheated with embarrassment, Dean tried to curb his own enthusiasm, though to do so was difficult. With the one sentence, the man soared in Dean’s estimation. Of the cars to undergo a regular service at the garage, the MK had always been Dean’s favourite. When the last owner had at long last mentioned selling because of its age, Dean had snapped up the car, was now the proud owner. Dean stumbled his way through the explanation.
“Figured,” Brian said.
The pale blue colour of the vehicle matched Dean’s eyes, but although he parted his lips to say so, he snapped his mouth shut faster than he could drive. No need to sound so pathetic, but when talking cars, Dean lost sense. To his delight, Brian swept his foolishness aside, asking questions. True aficionados paid attention to the little details, including why another enthusiast loved a particular vehicle, which he and Brian did for several minutes, chatting around what made a great car while ignoring the expressions pulled by their loved ones.
The tree was a few trinkets s
hort of bejewelled when Brian reached into the last box and extracted the fairy. Either three drew in a collective breath or Dean imagined the sound.
“Not seen one like this for ages.” Brian rotated the object, gaze intent. “Bit…outdated, isn’t it?” He looked up, jolting back. His gaze darted between the three others.
Did Jay and April have the decency to have a sense of embarrassment because of their scrutiny as Dean did? They stared as if Brian had grown an extra appendage. No wonder the poor man looked so startled.
“S-sorry if it’s a family heirloom.”
“No. No, it’s not.” April grimaced. “It’s something mother bought and insists on having on the tree.” She gave the impression none of them agreed or liked the thing, which was true.
“Right. Erm…” Brian eyed the green and now sparkling edifice before glancing at the nearby stepladder before handing the fairy to Dean. “Don’t suppose you’ll do the honours?”
Did a degree of innuendo exist? When Dean hesitated, Brian frowned, looking and likely feeling foolish, holding out the figurine dressed in tired lace adorned with fluffy wings.
“You are the tallest.” Brian tried his best to hand over the winged-creature.
Dean took the fairy and placed the tired-looking sprite on top. Brian moved away to help tidy while Dean looked over to Jay. The other two helpers walked off as Jay moved closer.
“Should I tell April you once suggested we didn’t need a fairy for the tree because you now had me?”
Ohhh crap. He’d forgotten. To think April had evicted two boyfriends because of a comment Dean got away with saying to Jay’s face. Heat rose from the base of his spine, flaring up into his cheeks with every characteristic of an inferno.
Jay strutted out of the room, chuckling.
* * * *
“Too hot.” Brian joined Dean on the back step.
Dean nodded. Although unwise to stay outside for long without a coat in early December, with the oven on and pans steaming away—and acting as a spare part in the proceedings—he’d come out to sit on the steps for much-needed air. He swigged from the one and only bottle of lite beer he would drink.
Brian settled beside him, with what had to be a real beer in hand in a tall glass. Silence persisted for several seconds, stretching out into minutes. What to discuss? They’d exhausted the topic of the car. The garden, though kept well, appeared cut back and bedded for winter. Besides, Dean knew little of plants, struggled to tell a rose from an aspidistra. A few weeds persisted on battling through the patchy lawn and, as few of the shrubs were evergreen, bare branches stuck up out of the soil resembling broken bones.
“So…you’re bisexual?”
Dean choked. Beer frothed and bubbled in his throat before he swallowed. None shot up the back of his nose, although the escape was narrow. Few people surprised him. Whatever he thought of April’s new beau, Dean hadn’t expected him to be so forthright. He shook his head, causing Brian to frown, so Dean shook his head again, no way clarifying. He intended neither headshake as an answer to Brian’s question. Why should he? His sexuality wasn’t anyone’s business.
Damn, but things had gone well. Now it appeared April’s latest conquest would end up being as big a dick as the others had. Ironic so many called Dean the same thing, not for reasons complementary. He might consider this a payback if April weren’t the one who always ended up with emotionally empty pockets.
“Sorry.” Brian raised the glass to his lips and drank. “I must have my wires crossed. Just April…” He shrugged, small twitches of emotion erupting over his face.
What was the look? Embarrassment? Puzzlement? Hard to tell. Brian glanced over his shoulder back into the house, no doubt searching for April.
“What did she say?” Intuition sparking, Dean asked the most logical question.
The other man now shook his head, gaze sliding away as if he’d prefer not to answer. To hell with that. There were ways to intimidate, several subtle, many not so. Often, all Dean needed to extract information was to use a particular expression. He put one on his face now, squaring his shoulders. Size had much to do with manipulation, even when he didn’t intend to follow through.
“Nothing.” Despite the warmth projected into his voice, Brian shifted, knees swaying, upper body hunched. “Just April being silly.”
Dean said nothing, kept staring, although he took time and pleasure imagining April’s reaction if she heard Brian refer to her as silly. No point his allowing any of that to show in his expression. Best to keep his jaw set, fight the rising smile, keep his gaze hard, but the struggle was real. He didn’t want to make Brian feel awkward—the guy came across as an okay sort and, with luck, would stick around—but Dean required an answer not entirely born out of his egocentric nature.
What did April have to moan about now? If trouble brewed, he needed to find out, for Jay’s sake as much as his own. To uncover the truth, he’d stare Brian into the next century if need be. He might as well try prompting though.
“She’s said plenty of things to my face. I wouldn’t worry. Whatever you tell me I’ve no doubt heard.”
Brian’s lips twisted, and another short time passed, before he said, “She seemed surprised over how long you’ve been together.”
The man fiddled with his glass, tipping it in one direction and then the other, so the amber liquid caught the light. Under Dean’s continued stare, the man’s behaviour became twitchy, erratic, as if he didn’t know how to behave, what to do with his whole body, let alone his hands. Dean tried to keep his tone level, but doing so meant his voice emerged from between teeth slightly parted, his jaw tight. He practically snarled, “It’s as good as three years.”
Officially, that was one Christmas over three years before, discounting a few months when no one knew. This was their fourth—the last three spent living together and the festivities celebrated with both sets of parents, alternating Christmas and Boxing Day if Dean’s parents were home. He and April…Well, things remained strained between them at times, but he had thought he’d put her doubts to rest.
“Oh.” Brian blinked several times. “I didn’t realise.” He peeped over his shoulder before facing forward again. “Sorry. She meant nothing, I’m sure. I was…surprised…” He shook his head, glanced in Dean’s direction, as fast away. A garden ornament of a damaged and now three-legged tortoise stole Brian’s attention. He gestured to it. “Should I take it in for surgery, do you think?” The attempted grin fell away with another glance. “Never mind. I didn’t mean to stir.”
How long would it take before Dean could read this man? His expressions ran all over. Was he apologetic? Ill?
“I thought little of it until I arrived. Now…” Again with a shrug. “I’m…more than surprised. From what I’ve seen, you and Jay are well matched. I’m guessing April’s worried about the…the bisexual aspect.”
Was Brian now quizzing him? That was a turn-up. Spying? For April? Could be, but if so, indirectly. If April wanted information, she wouldn’t send Brian. She wouldn’t send anyone. She would reach for the nearest sharp object and demand.
More likely, Brian tried to work through this. The man made excuses for April, maybe wanting to bring peace, apologise in a roundabout way for being nosey. As one often unable to apologise, Dean forgave him and relaxed.
“Don’t worry. I’m used to April’s opinion of me. I won’t make trouble. Besides,” he gave a jerk of his head back to the house, “it’s coming up to Christmas. I won’t spoil things.”
Brian looked relieved. “Still sorry. I wasn’t aware you and April have problems. We’ve only been going out a few months.” He made the time sound both wondrous and no time at all.
A few months…and now Dean had given Brian something to figure out—the puzzling woman the man dated. Dean, at last, recognised a few of the man’s reactions because the moment Brian’s concern shifted to April’s motivations, it spelled itself out across his wrinkled brow, his pinched lips. Had Dean caused the couple trouble? Hi
s conscience prodded. He cleared his throat.
“I don’t understand what I am. I dated women before Jay. Didn’t know…I felt that way.” Dean stared at the ground. Took a swig of beer. Not true—not the whole truth—but close. He waited for Brian to fidget, develop the ‘I would rather be anywhere but here’ expression. He didn’t.
“She said you’ve been friends since you were kids?”
Dean nodded. “She was the girl next door. Puppy love on my part and not much of that.”
Fibber.
He gave Brian a small smile, making light of it, not mentioning the way his young heart had ached. When a flash of shock came over Brian’s face, Dean shook his head, fast. Christ. The man hadn’t known. How many more things could Dean say wrong in the span of one morning?
He took another swallow, emptying the bottle. Brian had drained his glass.
“Was never going to happen. Never did.”
Well, that was awkward to say. His wanting to treat the situation as unimportant only drew attention. Funny thing, kids growing up so close. Dean could have almost been a third sibling if things had gone a different way. Might sound creepy to someone unaware of their shared history. School together. Homework together. Weekends. A few holidays. Jay’s parents had taken Dean on a camping trip once. Did Jay remember? Dean couldn’t recall much of the trip. Swimming—he remembered, along with walking, and climbing, and fishing. Pushing April over in the stream in a boyish tantrum akin to pulling the pigtails of a girl he liked: love portrayed by violence. He might have coloured April’s view of him from the beginning.
Dean spent a few moments considering before he noticed Brian grimacing into his glass. “What?”
Christmas Angel Page 2
