So I have all my fingers and toes crossed that she’s actually willing to give me a chance to impress her with how much I adore her son.
I spend the day alternately feeling confident that I can handle this and wondering how I’ll cope if things go bad. What if Dimi decides this is a deal breaker after all? Or worse, what if he doesn’t, and then blames me down the track for causing a rift in his family? There are so many ways this can go bad. By the time the end of the day rolls around, I’m emotionally exhausted. And we still have to actually go to dinner.
No way am I letting Dimi know, though—he’s already worried about me. I know he hated that his mom wasn’t warm and welcoming, the way she was at the holiday party before she knew I was dating her son.
With a bright smile pasted on my face, I stick my head into Dimi’s office. “Ready to go to dinner?”
He looks up me, then laughs. “Fuck’s sake, Jase, don’t ever smile like that at anyone. You could traumatize kids.”
I guess the bright smile was more a terrifying grimace. I sigh and go to sit in his visitor chair. “Sorry. Long day.”
Studying me, he says, “If you don’t want to go tonight, we can stay home.”
Oh, hell no. “No.” I shake my head for emphasis. “If we don’t go tonight, that sends a message, Dimi, and not the one we want. I want things with your family to be good.” Plus, if we don’t go tonight, I’ll be on tenterhooks for another week—and have to go through this all over again next Monday.
He stands. “Okay, let’s go, then. Delaying will just make you feel worse.”
Huh. I guess I didn’t hide my feelings so well. I pull a rueful face as I get up and follow him out. “It’s not that I don’t want to go,” I begin, and he laughs.
“Jase, I don’t want to go. I have really high hopes, but I’m also terrified that tonight is going to be just as bad as the last few weeks.” He holds the door to the parking lot open for me. “So let’s just go, get through it, and then go home.”
That sounds like a plan to me, and I tell him so.
I spend the drive compulsively flipping through his playlists—I don’t think we hear more than twenty seconds of any song. Dimi’s a saint, because he puts up with it and says nothing. By the time we pull up in front of his parents’ place, I’m convinced I have the best boyfriend in the world.
We sit.
“Everyone’s here,” Dimi says, looking around at the other cars parked nearby, but he makes no move to get out of the car. Neither do I.
Another minute passes. We should go in. They’ll be waiting for us to start dinner. But….
Yeah.
Movement at the front of the house catches my eye, and I turn my head to see Patrick come out the front door and close it behind him. He strolls down the front walk, gaze on us, then opens the back door of the car and slides in.
“Hey, guys.” He props an arm on the back of each of our seats and leans between them so he can see us. Dimi and I both half turn to give him our attention.
“Hi, Pat.”
“How are you?” I ask politely, then feel like an idiot.
He grins. “I’m well, thank you, Jason. And you?”
Yeah. I definitely feel like an idiot. I snort self-deprecatingly.
“Good. Thanks.”
“Feeling a bit tense, maybe?”
Have I mentioned before that I like Dimi’s oldest brother? I do. Even when he’s making fun of me.
“Don’t be a dick, Pat,” Dimi chides, but he’s smiling.
“Are you going to join us inside?” Patrick asks, tone still light.
“We haven’t decided yet,” Dimi tells him. “We plan to, but….”
“You’re worried. Well, I can’t change that, but you know the only way to fix it is to come in and see what happens.”
“You’re such a dad,” Dimi grumbles, and Patrick laughs.
“I know, right? I’ve become the sitcom dad I never wanted to be. I even tell dad jokes. Want to hear some?”
“And on that note”—I open the car door—“we should go in.”
“Works like a charm,” Pat says smugly as we all get out the car. Dimi waits until we’re halfway up the path to shove his brother, and then they engage in a shoving match that would do any child proud. The mood is a lot lighter by the time we reach the front door, but I’m still nervous.
Dimi takes my hand.
Who knew just holding the hand of the man I love could make such a huge difference?
Wait…
Did I…?
Fuck.
Okay, this is not the time. I’ll deal with that later. Lots later. After this deal with his mom is sorted.
I mean, it’s not like I didn’t already know, deep down. I just wasn’t ready to admit it. And I don’t know if he is, either.
But I know the feeling is there. A man doesn’t threaten to cut his beloved mother out of his life if he doesn’t love you.
Right?
Fuck.
We’re in the living room. How did that happen? When? I need to stay focused, not get distracted, because there she is.
Sascha Weston.
I almost wish she hadn’t been so nice the first time we met. If I’d only known her as the witch who hated me being with her son, I could dislike her. Instead, I know she’s an amusing, interesting, community-minded woman who’s usually very open-minded—just not when it comes to me. Which makes it worse.
“You’re here,” Dimi’s gram says, getting up from her chair and coming over to hug Dimi tight. I smile, seeing how he bends to kiss her. He’s such a caring, loving man. How can I not love him?
Alina turns to me next, hugging me as well, though maybe not so tight. “It’s good to see you, Jason,” she says, looking me right in the eye, and I know that whatever her daughter is struggling with, she’s not going to let this strife tear apart the family.
Dimi’s dad comes over next. This personal greeting is not the norm, not based on what I’ve seen before, but it seems they want to make it very clear how welcome we are here. How welcome I am here.
Too bad they weren’t the ones I was worried about.
“Well, now that you’re here, let’s eat,” Carter announces, thankfully preventing the need for me to greet Sascha. Although it makes me wonder if he did it so she wouldn’t have the chance to say something nasty. From the nervous glance Dimi shoots me, he’s thinking the same thing.
As dinner progresses, though, I relax. Sascha’s not exactly friendly, but I can see that she’s trying. There are no snide comments, she’s participating in general conversation, and twice she actually directs a remark to me—the first time to explain who she’s talking about in an anecdote, and the second to ask if I’d like more green beans. I don’t think we’re destined to be lifelong besties, but it’s a start—and way better than it was last week. I can live with this.
Dimi feels the same way, I can tell, because his tension has all drained away. He’s smiling widely, happy and vivacious and outgoing, and so beautiful I can barely take my eyes off him. He’s in full favorite uncle mode tonight, planning a day at JU with the kids, and he’s having such a great time that it takes me a while to realize he intends for me to go with them.
My nerves come rushing back, and I wait for a break in the conversation and lean over to whisper, “Dimi, I don’t think I’ve ever spent any time with kids without their parents there.” Translation: I’ve never been responsible for small children before and I’m terrified at the very idea.
“Don’t worry,” he murmurs back. “I’ll be there, and the kids are good.”
Um… not exactly the response I was hoping for. Still, seeing how excited he is, I guess I can handle it. He’ll be there, and he’s done this before. My job will be to follow them around all day, right? I can do that.
I can do anything for him.
“I’m so glad tonight went well.” I break the silence.
Dimi squeezes my hand. “Me too. I really wanted to give you my family.”
Oh. I take a deep breath, my lungs suddenly feeling tight.
“I really want to be part of your family.”
***
Ever taken three kids to a theme park? No? Consider yourself lucky.
Don’t get me wrong, the kids were well-behaved… mostly. Two five-year-olds and a seven-year-old are going to get tired and cranky, right? I get tired and cranky, and I’m fifty-three.
But it was a long day, and by the time it got to midmorning, I already understood why Dimi had said no when I suggested the kids sleep over and give their parents the night off. “Day out or sleepover, Jase,” he told me. “Not both. Not with all three kids, anyway.” And when the kids were arguing over which park they wanted to go to and I suggested we could do more than one, he just smiled and said, “Let’s see how we go.”
I get it now. He has more experience being a hands-on uncle, and I bow to his superior knowledge.
Not to mention, it was super cute the way he sang along to all the songs in the shows. And I do mean all. He knows all the lyrics. No wonder the kids adore him.
Now, though… I’m beat. We dropped the kids off with their parents just after five. Originally I thought we might want to have dinner at the park and stay for the fireworks, but even if the kids hadn’t been too tired, I changed my mind by midafternoon. My feet hurt, I’m exhausted, and even though I had a hat and sunglasses on all day and the day was really not hot, I have a headache. I’ve been slumped on my couch since we got here, trying to gather the energy to get up and go get some water.
Dimi comes into the room, freshly showered and looking edible wearing only a towel. Too bad I’m too tired to do anything about it. My dick wants to be interested, but only if I take a nap first.
He takes one look at me and chuckles, then goes into the kitchen and comes back with a glass of water and a small chocolate bar. I don’t know where the chocolate came from.
“Drink,” he says, sitting beside me and handing over the glass. I sip cautiously at first, because the hot dog I had for lunch is sitting poorly, and then when my stomach doesn’t revolt, I gulp. “In a minute, you can go shower. You’ll feel better.” He offers the chocolate.
“Where did you get this? It wasn’t in the kitchen.” I’m surprised to find that I actually wouldn’t mind some chocolate, and I give him the glass to hold and peel open the wrapper. The smell hits me first, and suddenly I’m ravenous. I attack the chocolate like I haven’t eaten in a week.
“I bought it for in case the kids started whining. A small piece of chocolate makes a great distraction, and usually holds them off until I can arrange better food.”
“I don’t know why I’m so hungry,” I say around a mouthful, and he shrugs and takes a sip from my glass.
“We walked around a lot today, and you just had the one hot dog the entire day. Plus, when you’ve got kids with you in a busy public place, you’re always on high alert, and that eats up a lot of energy.”
I think about it while I chew, and he’s right. The whole day, I’ve tried to keep my eyes on all three kids, the people around us, and anything that could be a potential hazard. That’s hard work.
“How do parents do it?” I marvel, immensely glad I don’t have kids. Dimi shrugs.
“I guess they get used to it. I got used to it—the first couple times I had the kids were a nightmare. It’s much easier now.” He pauses. “You’ll get used to it.”
I can’t help it—I grin. Because, yeah, I will.
“A shower helps, you say?” I actually wouldn’t mind a shower, now that I no longer feel like my brains are leaking out of my ears.
“It does,” he assures me, and then he smiles slyly. “But you still look tired. I wouldn’t want you to get dizzy and slip.”
Huh? Fuck, I’m tired, not sick.
“Why don’t I come with you, help you out?”
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh.
Well.
“But you just showered,” I point out as innocently as I can manage. He raises a brow, and my straight face falters. “Okay then, if you insist.” I slowly heave myself off the couch, adding a theatrical moan as though I’m in pain and putting my hand to my forehead. “Oh, you’re right. I’m a bit dizzy.”
The look he gives me nearly sends me into gales of laughter. “It’s a good thing you’re a brilliant director, Jase, because your acting skills need work.”
“Everyone’s a critic,” I sigh, and follow him to the bathroom. Halfway there, I say, “Hmm, I’m going to need a towel,” and snatch his from around his waist. He laughs, but says nothing and doesn’t turn around, which is very disappointing. At least the view from behind is nice.
In the bathroom, he winks at me and says, “Strip,” then goes to turn on the shower. I consider taking my time and turning this into a striptease, but to be honest, I really do feel sticky and sweaty and in need of a wash… plus, me and Dimi naked in the shower is always a good thing. So I’m out of my clothes and under the stream of water before it even finishes heating up.
Dimi joins me and reaches for the body wash before I can, squeezing it into his hand and then rubbing his palms together. “Let’s see if we can make you feel better.”
And he does.
It starts with his soapy hands on my body, ostensibly cleaning away the day. Then, as the hot water cascades over us, washing off the suds, and steam builds around us, his mouth replaces his hands, kissing, licking, biting. My knees go weak as he works his way lower, and I prop myself against the cold tile wall.
Later, when he’s sucked the energy from me (literally), and I’ve jerked him in return, we both sprawl on the shower floor, panting, the water around us turning cool.
“That was epic,” he says, and I bite back my smug pride.
My stomach growls, and he laughs and reaches up to turn off the water.
“Come on, let’s get you dinner.”
***
I’m at work when the call comes in early March.
Does that sound ominous? I meant it to. We’re literally days away from opening night. Everything is crazy right now, and everyone’s stress levels are through the roof. Dimi and I finally had to impose a moratorium on all work talk at home so we’d have time to decompress.
This is normal. There are a million details to take care of right now, and it doesn’t seem like we’re anywhere near ready. We are, of course. I’ve been here before, and though it feels like disaster is looming, it’s all going to come together in the end.
The stress is amped up a little by the fact that this is A Big Deal for Joy Universe and for Dimi—and me. Last year, a woman murdered her husband here at JU and then tried to implicate the company and some of the staff. There was a huge kerfuffle that Derek got dragged into, and even though the evidence (so I’ve been told) all firmly points to the woman being guilty, things looked really bad for JU for a while. So they decided to start this theater company as a distraction.
It worked, because lately the press has been full of talk about our upcoming debut production, which is good. On the flip side, lately the press has been full of talk about our upcoming debut production, which means all eyes are on us. Opening night is going to be a huge event. Aside from the bosses of Joy Incorporated flying out from LA, there are going to be several A-list celebrities and a few Broadway theater critics.
Why is that, you may ask? After all, JU is nowhere near Broadway. But it seems that w
hen a company like Joy Incorporated opens a theater division, then employs a Tony award-winning director (that’s me) and a widely renowned performer (Trav), it attracts attention. So here we are, slightly panicked but inwardly confident that it’s going to be okay come opening night. Well, that’s how I feel, at least. I think Dimi might just be at the “slightly panicked” stage.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the call. I’m not actually worried when I look down at my cell and see my friend Brice’s name on the screen. I’m actually a little excited. I haven’t talked to him for a while.
“Hey.”
“Don’t you ‘hey’ me after you moved to Georgia and practically ghosted us.” He tries to sound pissed, but I can hear the smile in his voice.
“I’m a terrible friend,” I admit. “Things have been insane here. But I didn’t ghost you—we texted just a couple days ago.”
He sniffs. “You missed our New Year’s Eve extravaganza.”
“I know, and I can only hope you’ll forgive me.”
“Maybe. First I have to meet this new man of yours, make sure he lives up to the pictures.”
Yeah, so I sent Brice a couple of pictures of Dimi. He was nagging me about getting out, meeting people, maybe dating again. The word Grindr came up, and so I sent him the pictures and told him I had a boyfriend. That was back in the early days before we were really announcing anything, and since then, he’s asked about Dimi in every text.
“I don’t think we’ll get up to the city anytime soon,” I caution.
That’s when I get the first hint that something is wrong. Because Brice hesitates.
Uh-oh.
“What?”
“Nothing. It’s just, David and I were thinking we might come down for your big opening, meet your guy, spend some time at JU. Can you get us tickets to the show?”
“Sure,” I say automatically, my brain racing to catch up. “Uh, what?”
Follow My Lead: A Joy Universe Novel Page 16
