by R. J. Moray
Channon applauded along with everyone else, and tried not to fidget as he waited for Jack to return to the table.
The lunch had so far been, as predicted, intensely boring, but Channon did his best to look keen anyway. He represented Jack, and JNNS, and liked making a good impression. The VIP table was up the front, near the stage, and from here he’d had an excellent view of Jack looking dapper as fuck in a navy suit with a snowy white shirt and no tie. Jack had unbuttoned one button, exposing a little tan neck, and Channon liked that a lot. Business casual, relaxed. And handsome, as always. But that was Jack. Channon didn’t think he’d ever met anyone so handsome as Jack, not ever.
Not even the man who turned to him now, smiling at Channon in a way that suggested something a little more interesting than a work lunch ought to.
“He’s quite a guy, your Jack.”
Channon smiled back. He couldn’t help it. Jack really was and he loved knowing that everyone here knew he was with Channon. “I think so, Mr Ruiz.”
Victor Ruiz grinned. He was sharply handsome, and sharply dressed, in a suit Jack probably wouldn’t be ashamed to wear, with dark eyes and warm tan skin that made Channon think of sand and surf and tropical drinks. He was also a client of JNNS, and Channon was acutely aware that he was on the clock now, and therefore on his best behavior.
“Must be a lot to handle. Jack strikes me as a demanding person to be with.”
“He works a lot,” Channon said, nervous over saying the wrong thing.
“And you don’t get lonely?”
Channon opened his mouth, and then checked himself. Victor looked innocent enough, but was that…more than it sounded? “He takes care of me,” he said, opening his eyes wide in his best equally-innocent look.
Whatever it had been, Victor seemed satisfied with the answer. “You two should come down to the ranch. Get a little downtime. I’ll barbecue something for you.”
“Thanks,” Channon said, not sure how enthusiastic he should be. “I’ll tell Jack you said so.”
Victor eyed him for a moment, a slow smile spreading across his handsome face. “You’re an enigma, aren’t you? Channon Beaumont.”
It seemed out of place. Channon didn’t know what to do with it, so he said, “I don’t know. Am I?”
“Definitely.” Victor glanced at someone over Channon’s shoulder, standing up and lifting a hand in greeting. “Please excuse me. I look forward to seeing you again.”
“You too, Mr Ruiz,” Channon said, curious about him, but not curious enough to stay curious for long.
When Jack returned to the table he slung an arm across the back of Channon’s chair. “How was the speech?”
“Not as boring as I thought it would be,” Channon said, and Jack shook his head, smiling a little. “The view was good, too.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Jack said, mock solemn.
“Oh! Mr Ruiz invited us to his ranch for barbecue. He called me an enigma.” Channon wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know why.”
Jack grinned. “That means he finds you mysterious, or maybe intriguing.”
“I know,” Channon said. “I just don’t know why.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed the limits of your vocabulary.” Jack stood up and offered Channon his hand. “He probably just wants to find out if we’re going to break up, so he can get in your pants.”
Channon made a face, pulling himself to his feet. “Gross.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Jack kissed him on the brow, just a quick bit of PDA. “He’s practically a billionaire. And he’s hot. You could do worse.”
“I already have one of those,” Channon said, and it made Jack laugh, and squeeze his hand.
After that, they had to mingle. It was work, after all. Channon tried to be polite and keen, but the conversations were really boring. Half the people there were stuck up their own asses, and the rest were just dull. Channon seemed to attract the latter, which was painful, but the former ignored him to talk to Jack, and that was painful in its own way.
A woman in a white dress—someone Jack had apparently gone to college with—said something to Jack about everyone in their class having kids now. “Except you,” she added, and then laughed. “But I don’t suppose that’s a concern for you.”
“Is that what you think?” Jack said shortly.
“I mean, given the circumstances,” she went on, glancing at Channon who was trying to pretend he couldn’t hear her while simultaneously pretending to be interested in logistics. “It’s not as though you can.”
There was a pause, and then Jack said, “Of course I can. One day.”
It was like a shard of ice sliding into Channon’s gut.
That sounded so definite, like a thing Jack actually intended to do. Not yet, but one day. And when that day came…what did that mean for Channon?
Because Channon couldn’t have a baby with Jack. And he knew Jack, all that talk about legacies. Jack wasn’t the kind of person who’d be happy adopting someone else’s kid.
Which left them where, exactly? What was Jack going to do when he decided he wanted kids?
Where did Channon fit into that? Or was it that he didn’t fit at all?
❧
The rest of the lunch passed in a haze. Channon found himself back at his work desk, staring at the same three lines of code and unable to focus.
“Hey!” Ewan snapped his fingers in Channon’s face. Obnoxious, of course, but when wasn’t he? “Wake up!”
“I’m awake,” Channon grumbled.
Ewan propped his ass on Channon’s desk like he owned the place. “Oh, aye? That’s why you were drooling on your keyboard, is it?”
Wiping his hand across the back of his mouth, Channon realized this was a trick. “Very funny.”
“You all right?” Ewan demanded. “You don’t look sick.”
“I’m fine.”
Ewan looked both unconvinced and unimpressed. “Wanna come over after work and play Smash Bros?”
Jack wasn’t going to be home—he had a late meeting. Channon didn’t really want to be stuck rattling around the condo on his own. Then again, Ewan was going to be nosy.
“I got them disgusting kale chips you pretend you like,” Ewan said, his lip twisting.
Fine. “Okay,” Channon said, “but only for a couple of hours.”
Of course, the moment he got there Ewan shoved him onto the sofa and climbed into his lap. “Spill it! What’s crawled up your arsehole and died?”
Channon fended him off but it was fruitless. Ewan was all limbs, and he wasn’t afraid of accidentally elbowing a guy in the junk. “I’m fine! Get the fuck off!”
“Tell me what’s wrong with your face!” Ewan tried to tickle him, which was ridiculous because Ewan was the ticklish one and they both knew it. So Channon dug his fingers in between Ewan’s ribs and Ewan squealed and they toppled onto the floor, barely missing the coffee table.
Ewan swore a lot, but Channon had the advantage, always, so he pinned Ewan down and held him there, waiting for him to stop wriggling.
This was how Tig found them when he came home from work. He eyed them suspiciously. “Are you two fighting or fucking?”
“Fighting,” Channon said.
“Both,” Ewan said.
Tig dropped his satchel on the floor and headed for the fridge. “I’m only joining in if the percentage of fucking goes over sixty.”
“It’s one hundred percent fighting!” Channon insisted, but Ewan ground up against him and…okay, so maybe it wasn’t as innocent as he’d thought. He disentangled himself and flopped back onto the sofa.
“Our Channon’s having a cry over something and he won’t share,” Ewan said, propping himself on his elbows and glaring up from the floor.
“Aw, are you having sad feels, Channon?” Tig handed him a bottle of mineral water and dropped onto the sofa. “Tell us what’s wrong, we promise not to be assholes,” he said, pointedly kicking Ewan in the shoe.
“I
’m not having feelings. I just…it’s stupid.” Channon glanced at their curious expressions and thought, Oh, fuck it. “I think Jack wants to have a baby.”
“Oh.” Tig squinted. “You’ve been together how long? Like a year-and-something? And he’s getting clucky? Sheesh.”
“Did he buy a crib?” Ewan asked, looking innocent and therefore very suspicious.
“Did he leave a book of baby names on the coffee table?”
“Is he putting on weight?”
Channon scowled at them both. “Don’t even! I just…he was talking about his legacy today, at this business lunch thing we went to. And this lady said something about him not being able to have kids and he was like, ‘sure I can, one day’.”
“That sounds…non urgent,” Tig said carefully. He tucked his feet up under him, back braced against the arm of the sofa. “Like, that could be years from now.”
“I know,” Channon groaned, miserable. He stared at the bottle of mineral water, not wanting to make eye contact with either of them. “I just…I don’t want him to break up with me, even years from now. I hate it. I just—”
“Whoa, why is he breaking up with you?” Tig had both eyebrows up as far they could go. “Do you not want to have kids?”
“What? No, I mean, I can’t. I’m a guy.”
Tig and Ewan exchanged a look. “So…you adopt,” Tig said slowly. “Like Angelina Jolie.”
“He’s not that kind of person,” Channon said, clutching the bottle in both hands. “I mean. If he wants a kid he’d want it to be his kid.”
“So you get a surrogate to have the kid for you,” Tig said, staring at him wide-eyed. “Channon, he’s not going to…do you think he’s going to dump you for a woman so he can have a fucking baby?”
Channon hunched, hating himself. “Yes? I don’t know!”
“Your obsessively besotted boyfriend who worships the ground you walk on?” Tig went on, his voice pitching up into a shriek. “Your ludicrous sugar daddy? Fuck you, he’s more likely to buy some kind of illegal cloning technology from Russia than hook up with a woman!”
“You don’t understand,” Channon said miserably.
Tig looked like he was going to launch himself across the sofa and strangle him, but before he could Ewan said very quietly, “Shut the fuck up. Your old man’s a lot of shitty things but he’s not stuck in the closet. Everyone in the world knows he’s gay as a bowl of kumquats. If he was gonna ditch you for a wife he wouldn’t parade you around at business lunches or introduce you to his clients. He’d keep you locked up in a secret fucking apartment like a dirty little secret while he dated women and pretended to be straight.”
It sounded logical. Channon felt stupid, or stupider. Because on some level it didn’t matter how logical it was. He felt like this, worried and inadequate, and nothing Ewan and Tig could tell him was going to help.
“Channon,” Tig asked after a long silence. “Is it maybe not about this imaginary baby at all? Is it maybe that you’re just worried he’s going to leave you one day?”
Teeth clenched, because he couldn’t say it out loud, Channon nodded.
“Because you think he’ll get sick of you?” Tig slid on the sofa, swinging his legs down the floor and pressing the length of his thigh along Channon’s leg. “Or because…why?”
“People do,” Channon said, the words coming out of his throat in horrible lumps. “No-one stays. I wish…”
Tig looked so worried. “You wish what?”
“I wish I hadn’t met him yet.” Channon dragged in a breath, feeling like his head was going to open up on top and all his thoughts might spiral out into space. “I wish I could have met him later, and then…then maybe…”
“Is this about your da?” Ewan demanded. He’d rolled up onto his knees, sat back on his heels, and he had a stubborn, angry look on his face.
“Not just my dad, but—”
Ewan didn’t let him finish. “Isn’t your da a pile of shit, though? Jack’s an arsehole but he’s not a fucking arsehole.”
“It’s not going to last forever,” Channon snapped, and it felt like something in his chest was breaking. Like a rib or a lung, or something worse. “It can’t.”
“And if it doesn’t then you don’t want it to, trust me,” Ewan said roughly. “My ma shoulda divorced my step dad years ago but she won’t. They just make each other fucking miserable. But, just…Christ.” Ewan yanked on one of Channon’s shoelaces, unraveling it fitfully. “Just enjoy it while it lasts, eh? Don’t fret it now. If it goes tits up then you can cry about it all you fucking want. I’ll bring the ice cream. And a golf club.”
“Why a golf club?”
Ewan and Tig exchanged a look. “I think the golf club’s for Jack,” Tig said. “But, seriously, don’t make up reasons to be miserable. Life sucks enough without making it worse for yourself. Trust me.”
It was supposed to be helpful. Channon wished it actually was. They were right, there was no use in worrying. And maybe the baby thing wasn’t the real problem. Maybe it was just that he knew Jack couldn’t keep him, not for always. No matter how much Channon wished he would.
Things would change, and when they did, Channon would just have to deal with it.
Chapter Three
“I don’t care,” Jack snapped, unable to hide his frustration. “If you’re inviting Gwendolyn then I’m not going.”
Diana sighed over the speaker-phone, managing to inject the sound with dignified hurt. “Darling, I can’t keep on splitting up my social calendar between the two of you. Gwen deserves a chance, don’t you think? We all make mistakes.”
“Yes, but she keeps on making them.” Jack abandoned the pretense of getting any more work done tonight, sinking back into his chair and closing his eyes. “She’s harassing Channon. She’s just trying to get to me, and I don’t care if she just takes it out on me but if she so much as looks at Channon again, I’ll—”
“You’ll do absolutely nothing,” Diana said sharply. “You promised.”
Now it was Jack’s turn to sigh. “I did promise. That promise is wearing very thin, these days.”
“You know she’s only pulling your pigtails, darling,” Diana went on, as if this was all trivial stuff. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it.”
“It makes me feel impotent,” Jack said, hating the word but, well. “I can’t do anything about it and she just laughs at me from under your protection. I won’t put up with it much longer, Diana. I’m serious.”
“She’s harmless.”
“She damn well isn’t. She touched him, Diana. She tried to steal him at Mr White’s dinner. She doesn’t even want him.”
“It’s just her way.”
“She’s a missing stair in the community, and you know it.” Jack made a fist and did not slam it down in the table. “I can’t help noticing a double-standard here—and no, before you accuse me of it, I’m not crying ‘reverse sexism’. I’m just saying that if a man nagged you to top him, and when you rejected him he went out of his way to spread gossip about you, and then re-styled himself as a Dom and harassed your sub, what exactly would you do about it? Just put up with it because boys will be boys?”
“Well, maybe I would have topped him in the first place,” Diana said cheerfully.
“Diana—”
“I take your point, however. It would be a nuisance. And I suppose she is being a nuisance. But she’s young and inexperienced. She needs time to settle into herself.”
“She needs a lesson in discipline,” Jack snapped.
Diana laughed, rippling and melodic even over the phone. “I’m sure she’d love a lesson in discipline from you.”
“Why don’t you give her one?” Jack said, rubbing his eyes. “Turn her over your knee and smack the bitch out of her.”
“Mmmm, what an intriguing suggestion. You know, she’s single again.”
Jack allowed himself a vindictive smile. “Alice had enough?”
“I gather that Alice might have got herse
lf in rather deeper than she expected, and politely declined to continue.”
“Smart girl. Brave girl. Is she all right?”
“She’s fine.” Diana paused. “Listen, darling, I do want you to come to the party, very, very much, so I’ll forgo inviting Gwendolyn. But you must say you’ll come or I’ll be put out, do you understand?”
“Of course. I’ll be there with bells on.”
“I would love to see that. Goodnight, Jack.”
“Goodnight, Diana.”
He hung up. Then he rolled forward to brace his elbows on the desk, putting his face in his hands. What a mess.
How he hated Gwendolyn. How he hated knowing that, yes, she only wanted his attention. And maybe, if he’d ever given it to her, she would have lost interest in him ages ago. But he refused to give her what she wanted, not even a taste of it, and having promised Diana he wouldn’t do anything final to her, he could do nothing at all.
It chafed. He wasn’t used to feeling this way, had worked so hard to never feel helpless again. And yet here he was, rendered fucking impotent by a promise to a friend.
The main thing, then, was keeping Gwendolyn away from Channon. Jack had so few means to defend Channon against her if he meant to keep his promise to Diana. And he did. Her regard meant something to him. He didn’t want to spoil it without strong cause. And Gwen was becoming that, a very strong reason to break his word.
In the meantime, physical distance would have to be enough. If necessary, Jack would keep Channon home, not go to play parties if Gwen might be there. Maybe throw one or two of his own. I could start my own Club if I wanted. He grinned. It would probably turn into a sausage-festival.
Maybe he should host a party. Maybe it would cheer Channon up. Channon had been listless the last couple of days, doing his best to hide it but something was obviously bothering him.
Jack was trying very hard not to pry into his business all the time, though…he wanted to. But he needed to give Channon the opportunity to come to him with his problems when he was ready. It was, Nate said, part of giving him independence.
