by M. J. O'Shea
“Which makes you… an heir.”
“I know.” He didn’t sound super pleased.
“Hey. You’re rich. It’s okay. I’m a Yankee.”
Tyson laughed again. “I like your sense of humor,” he said.
“I’m not going to judge you for being rich. You can’t help it. I mean, I guess you could give it all away.”
“I give a lot away. But sometimes it seems like a drop in the bucket. I try to help, but it’s… so hard.”
“Okay. This is kind of intense for date talk. First date at that.”
Tyson raised his eyebrows. “This is our first date, isn’t it? I hadn’t really thought of it that way. I’m guessing two club nights don’t count.”
“Those definitely don’t count. That wasn’t a date.”
“Do the kisses count?”
Avery squeezed Tyson’s hand where it was linked with his. “Of course.”
TYSON walked Avery home and dropped him off at the door of his little cottage. Avery couldn’t wait to see what Tyson’s house looked like—the one he was so embarrassed about. Probably made Avery’s cottage look like a shack. He supposed he’d see eventually. Tyson didn’t come in, but he gave Avery a few very steamy kisses before he smiled and turned to walk back to where he was parked near the square.
“Good night,” Avery called.
“Night.” Tyson waved.
Chapter Six
AVERY didn’t see Tyson on Tuesday, but he woke up to a “good morning” text that made him blush even though it was perfectly innocent. He did see Tyson on Wednesday for a movie at his cottage. He’d set out drinks and snacks and settled in for a night of cuddling and Star Trek reboots. The cuddling and the Star Trek happened, but he noticed Tyson didn’t take any of the snacks or drinks—just like he hadn’t had a drink at the club or wanted to do dinner the other night. Avery pushed the thought away, because Tyson’s arm felt so good around him and he laughed and cheered in all the right spots. He pushed it away even more when Tyson lowered him until he was lying on the couch and kissed him until he could barely breathe.
“I don’t know how it just keeps getting better,” Avery moaned. Every kiss with Tyson felt like the best kiss he’d ever had.
“It just does,” Tyson breathed into his mouth.
Avery wanted more. He wanted to pull Tyson’s clothes off and take him back to his bed and not let him go until the morning. He contented himself with slipping his hands under Tyson’s shirt and feeling his soft skin.
They kissed and touched until Tyson scooted down the couch and tugged Avery’s jeans and briefs down past his hips. “This okay?” he whispered.
“Fuck yes.”
Tyson grinned and proceeded to suck Avery all the way down the back of his throat. Jesus. Avery grabbed at anything he could, the couch, his own shirt, Tyson’s hair. Tyson kept groaning and stared right at Avery as he slowly lifted off and then sank all the way back down again. It was so fucking hot. Avery came before he even knew he was close.
“Sorry,” he breathed. He almost laughed, he’d come so hard. It was this giddy relief.
“That was sexy as hell.” Tyson kissed his belly and inhaled like he was addicted to the smell of Avery’s skin.
Avery tried to sit up, but Tyson shook his head and kissed him. “Next time,” he murmured. Avery wanted to taste him so bad it hurt, but he nodded. He got himself put back together and snuggled down next to Tyson on the couch for the rest of the movie.
It was hard to say good night to Tyson that night, but Tyson had smiled and left with one more long kiss. Avery was more satisfied than he’d ever been, lost in a serious lust haze, and frustrated as hell.
THEY spent the rest of the week kissing and holding hands. It was like one long rose-colored blur. Avery had never been sucked into the haze so badly. He didn’t know what he liked the best, if it was Tyson’s laugh, his kiss, the way he could talk for hours with Avery about the nerdiest things. It was like magic.
But Avery still noticed that things didn’t seem quite right. Every single time he brought up lunch or dinner or even coffee, Tyson somehow managed to steer them into another activity. He was starting to get concerned. Very.
On Friday, Tyson picked Avery up from campus in a seriously swanky Mercedes and drove him to a café for a coffee and a croissant. It was one of those moments, moments that Avery had been having lately where he wondered if it was real life or an alternate universe he’d dropped into where some movie hero was romancing him.
He was also relieved. Food. Tyson was going to take him to eat.
The café was adorable, although Avery had never seen it before. It was decorated in creams and yellows and whites, cheery and clean. They took a seat at a table with two cushy armchairs and ordered coffees and pain au chocolat for Avery and a plain croissant for Tyson. The coffees came, and Avery took a long sip. He almost held his breath and waited for Tyson to do the same thing, but… he didn’t. Avery watched Tyson across the table. He’d pretended to sip his coffee. Avery knew they weren’t real sips; there was no actual liquid passing through Tyson’s lips. And he’d picked at that croissant, put pieces of it back in the bag, scooted them off to the side. It was good. He was good, but Avery had to know.
He’d seen enough of it in the community—boys who were unhappy with their bodies and thought starving themselves was the answer. He’d get Tyson help if that was the case, but… but how to bring it up? When he’d come across it before, the problem came with a hefty amount of defensiveness. Denial. Tyson would probably be the same. And he’d be better at it. He was clearly very smart.
Better to just jump in the deep end and get it over with.
“Listen, I have a question.” Avery felt awkward about it, but well, what was new? He was awkward a lot of the time. He needed to have this conversation before they moved on, before Avery got inextricably deep.
“What’s up?” Tyson took another fake sip of his coffee. It was kind of insulting that he expected Avery to buy that shit.
“Do you have a problem? I wish I could think of a less awkward way to ask that, but I have to know.” He supposed he could’ve picked a better word.
“Problem? What do you mean?” Tyson raised his eyebrows.
And here come the word games.
“I don’t want to play, Tyson. I’ve been around you, like… I don’t know, nearly four days in a row, plus a few days last week and at the club, and I’ve never seen you eat or drink anything other than water. Never. I want to help you if you have an eating disorder, but I can’t if you play pretend.”
Tyson started laughing. Not the reaction Avery was expecting. “You think…. Sorry, it’s insensitive to laugh. I don’t have an eating disorder. I love to eat.”
“Then why don’t you?” Avery asked. He felt a flash of annoyance.
Tyson just grabbed his croissant off the table and took a big bite. He groaned like it was the best thing he’d tasted all year. “Fuck, I forgot how much I love croissants.”
“Why don’t you eat them regularly?” Carbs? Fat? There were always excuses.
“They’re not good for my digestion. Really. That’s not an excuse. I would eat them every day if I didn’t get a stomachache after too much bread.”
“Mmm.”
Tyson took the cherry preserves from the middle of the table and slathered some on his croissant. Then he took another bite. “I do eat. I promise you. And I don’t have a problem.” He kept chewing like he was orgasming. It was simultaneously hot and seriously embarrassing. Avery was glad there weren’t many people in the café. “Well, I mean, I have problems. Everyone has problems. But food isn’t one of them.”
Avery wasn’t sure he bought the story, but he decided to drop it. “I’m glad,” he said.
“So, do you want actual dinner and not just a croissant?”
“Sure. What do they have here that’s good?”
“I love the club sandwiches and the jalapeno grilled cheese.” Tyson looked like he was about to start
salivating when he said it. Maybe he liked eating after all.
“Grilled cheese. Definitely.”
It was weird how with a few bites of croissant he’d turned so enthusiastic about the entire thing. Avery couldn’t let go of the feeling that something was off, but if Tyson was eating, well then, that was the best he could do. He’d take them on a long slow walk after dinner to make sure he didn’t do anything drastic after.
“I know what you’re thinking.”
“What?”
“Avery. I really… I’m fine. I’m just picky, and a lot of public places don’t make food that I want to eat. That’s all. I’m a raging food snob. But I like it here, and I’m going to eat it. You promised not to hate on me for being a rich boy.” Tyson winked.
Avery did laugh at that, and he called their server over to order two of the jalapeno grilled cheeses and some tomato basil soup to go with them.
He watched Tyson eat like a little kid at Christmas, excited and full of enthusiasm. Maybe nothing was wrong after all. Avery let himself relax, in the cute café with its cheery walls and a Tyson so happy with his grilled cheese that he looked like a little boy. He told himself not to go looking for problems in a relationship that had barely gotten off the ground. Avery wanted to be happy. He wanted what he thought he and Tyson were about to have. He just needed to chill.
THE next morning, Tyson woke smiling. He’d made it up to his bed for once, fallen asleep under crisp sheets rather than in the library under a lamp with a book sliding off his lap. It felt nice to be rested, and he knew why he was. He was happy. He hadn’t felt so uncomplicatedly ready to face the world in centuries.
He shouldn’t be smiling quite as hard as he was. Things weren’t perfect. Avery thought there was something wrong with him, and it was early enough in… whatever they were doing that it might make him bolt if Tyson couldn’t convince him that there wasn’t—even if there was in a way. Not wrong, really, but definitely not normal.
Tyson sat up and kicked the covers off before placing his feet on the floor. He wondered what would make Avery run away faster—the thought that Tyson had an eating disorder he was trying to hide, or the fact that Tyson was immortal and couldn’t eat food because it reacted badly with the minerals that kept him healthy and young. Minerals that, according to Avery and most of the world, didn’t exist.
He thought the second option probably had a strong lead. If he started with special minerals and immortality, Avery would probably give Usain Bolt some good competition in his haste to get the hell away.
The thing was, Tyson didn’t want to let him go yet. He knew he’d eventually have to. Nothing real could happen between him and, well, a regular guy, but he just wanted. Wanted in a way he’d never wanted before in all those years being mostly on his own.
He got up and showered, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and went downstairs to find Mrs. Peggs puttering around in the kitchen, getting their tea together. She had a pop station on and was dancing to the latest girl band hit. Tyson hugged her and gave her a customary kiss on the cheek.
“None for me today, Mrs. Peggs. You can drink it if you want, but I’m going to take Avery out to dinner.”
He said it casually, but Tyson knew it would come as a shock to her. She’d been with him for long enough to know he didn’t break his rule of once a year. Ever. Even before her he’d rarely broken it. With hundreds of years behind him and lifetimes of experience, at the bottom of it all Tyson was an academic. A scientist. When he was true to himself, he liked predictability of result, he liked routine. He was about to throw it to the wind. At least for a little bit.
Tyson got that same terrified flutter he’d gotten in his belly the day before at the café. But he’d eaten, and then he’d woken up the next day and he felt fine. Great, even. It was only a few days, right? He could afford to miss a few days. Incredible things like Avery didn’t happen in his life. There was no way it could last. Thinking of going back to normal in a few days calmed him down. Thinking about Avery… that got him all wound up again.
He had no idea what to do with everything that was going on in his head.
Mrs. Peggs stopped still and stared up at Tyson. “You’re… going to eat today?”
“Yeah. And you can obviously decide what you want to do. As always. I mean, always decide what you want to do. I don’t want to make you stay if you don’t want to.”
“Where’s this coming from, dear?” she asked. “You’re acting strange.” She quirked her eyebrows. She put his cup on the dish rack and proceeded to pour her tea and take a sip. Mrs. Peggs didn’t even flinch anymore. At first she’d made faces and complained about how horrible it was. Goes to show people grow accustomed to most tastes.
Tyson shrugged and then grinned. “I don’t know. Things just seem different today.” After the terror passed, he was actually giddy—giddy at the prospect of seeing Avery, of eating and drinking and experiencing it all for as long as it lasted.
“Hmm. I wonder why. Might it have something to do with how often you’ve been out of the house lately? It’s been decades since I’ve seen you this excited about life.”
Tyson chuckled and leaned over to give Mrs. Peggs another kiss on the cheek. “Anyway, you choose.”
“I’m going to drink it. Obviously. I don’t want to get more wrinkles. You have lots of days to skip before any of that happens.”
Tyson laughed at her again. “Gemma. You’re ridiculous. And beautiful.”
“Thank you, my love.” She shook her head at him fondly. “You really are different today.”
Tyson texted Avery and asked him out for dinner. He wanted to pull out all the stops, flash his wallet around for once and spoil Avery. Avery might read it as a show, but Tyson honestly didn’t mind. He just wanted to have a fun day. A day with a bit of excess. A break. Sue him.
Tyson grinned when he got the affirmative, then made reservations at a restaurant he hadn’t been to in a few years, since he and Mrs. Peggs usually opted to take their day off on Thanksgiving. Then he went about doing something he’d definitely never done.
Freaked out over what to wear on a date.
Chapter Seven
“HEY, will you let me cook for you? I was going to take you out to dinner, but I love to cook, and I really don’t get around to it that often.”
“You want to… cook for me? At your house?”
Tyson’s chest fluttered nervously. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been nervous. It had been… too long to even imagine. He’d changed his mind somewhere around lunchtime when he was looking through his pots and pans and trying to remember how he’d made the garlic risotto he and Mrs. Peggs had last year on the day off. He wanted to make it again. Impress Avery in a different way. “I do. What’s your favorite?”
“I love macaroni and cheese. Actually, I love cheese. So anything with it. Whatever you like to make.”
Tyson could do cheese. He loved cheese.
“So, pasta and cheese? You’ll eat salad?”
“Of course.”
“I’m on it. If I give you my address, can you be here at eight?”
A man in his house. That was a first. Tyson tried to remember if everything looked okay. He figured it did because Mrs. Peggs was amazing, but he’d want to do a run-through after he got dinner started and—stop freaking out. Apparently hundreds of years of sophistication could dribble right out the door at the drop of a hat. Or the prospect of one adorable professor coming to dinner.
He could almost feel Avery’s smile through the phone. “I can do that.”
“Remember. No judgment.”
Avery simply laughed.
AS soon as Tyson got off the phone, he told Mrs. Peggs he was going to the grocery store and asked if she wanted anything. She gave him a list, laughed at his enthusiasm, and sent him on his merry way. Tyson floated around the grocery store with a cart and a plan for his grand seduction dinner. They’d already made plans to meet Donovan and Macy at the club later, which in a way was
too bad, but he’d deal with a few hours in public. He’d just gotten used to having Avery to himself, and he wanted more of it. He liked how he felt with Avery. He liked the person he was when he wanted to smile.
By the time he returned home, it was nearly four. There was time to make food, but it felt like barely. He danced around the kitchen, getting out pots and pans he hadn’t seen for months, lighting up the stove, heating the oven. It felt good to be cooking, illicit in a way, since it wasn’t the right day, but good all the same—or maybe because of that. He boiled water, grated cheese for the Mornay sauce, and chopped vegetables, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so excited about anything. By the time Avery was on his way over, he had the whole thing set out, had showered, and was practically vibrating out of his skin.
Tyson had decided he’d go the whole way and put dinner out in his formal dining room. He had to admit it looked beautiful. He had never updated the dining room—or any of the other rooms that didn’t need it for utilitarian reasons. The dining room was decked out in all its original glory, with pale champagne-silk-covered walls, elaborate moldings, carved furniture, and candles everywhere. Even he had to admit it was impressive, and he’d owned the room for decades.
Tyson made a last-minute decision and moved everything into the kitchen so it didn’t overwhelm Avery. He was finished just in time to sprint to the front door when the bell rang. Avery stood on the other side, nervous and smiling.
“Hey. Wow. You weren’t kidding, were you?” Avery said, looking in awe at the cavernous front hall. Tyson’s front hall was a lot like the rest of the house—cream-colored woodwork, inlaid floors, rugs, and the walls covered in trompe l’oeil paintings.
“Remember, no judgment.”
