

Auguries of Summer

By Mel Bossa

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2016 Mel Bossa

ISBN 9781634860840

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

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This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author's imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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Auguries of Summer

By Mel Bossa

# Chapter 1

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, I hurried down the apartment's outdoor staircase, eager to be finished with this move.

On the sidewalk, I looked around for Jack. Where was he anyway?

Five minutes ago, Jack had gone back down to our rental truck for more boxes, but hadn't returned since then. This "moving thing" definitely wasn't his cup of tea and I had a feeling he was hiding out in the truck, hoping I'd give up on him.

I grabbed the Gatorade bottle I'd left on the first step, taking a moment to quench my thirst. It was July first—moving day in Montreal—and I was glad the heat wasn't too bad this afternoon.

Gazing around at our new street, I knew Jack had been right: I _would_ get used to living in the gay village where I could be myself a little more. I'd finally made it out of my crummy east end place and into the apartment of my dreams on this beautiful street lined with mature oak trees.

I had a feeling Jack and I would be happy here.

I walked around the U-Haul truck and peeked into the backspace.

I'd guessed right; Jack was indeed in the truck, lying on his vintage couch—or _divan—_ as he preferred to call it, playing a game on his phone.

"Come on, Jack," I said. "Don't crap out on me now."

Looking up from his phone, Jack smirked, and his cheek dimples deepened. "I'm gonna invite Sam and Rocco later," he said in his soft-spoken voice, his blue eyes glimmering with humor. "For drinks."

Sam and Rocco were friends of his. They'd promised to help with the move, but had canceled this morning. "Okay..." I frowned. "But I doubt they'll come."

"Oh, they will. Those two can't resist free drinks and a new apartment to criticize. And when they do show up, I'll lead them to the front window to show them our fabulous view of the Gothic church on the corner."

I tipped my head, watching Jack's pretty face for a clue as to what would come out of his mouth next. With Jack, you never knew. "Yeah," I said, egging him on. "Okay."

"And then I'll shove them out of our open window _à la_ Kim Novak in Vertigo and hope they land on their precious Jeep."

I tried not to laugh. "It's not like they gave themselves food poisoning on purpose."

Jack rolled his eyes and stared at his nails for a moment. He'd gotten one of those French manicures again. I couldn't understand how a man could care for his nails so much, gay or not. He slipped the phone into his skinny jeans and cracked a smile. " _Whatever_. I'm black listing them."

I was glad to see his spirits were up.

Because ever since Craig—Jack's last worthless boyfriend—had dumped him, Jack had been downhearted. Craig had really put a dent in my best friend's self-esteem, but now that we'd be living together, I'd make sure Jack went back to his _bad-ass_ self again.

I wiped my sweaty brow with the bottom of my white tee and leaned against the side of the door, giving Jack a quick wink. "Come on, there's only ten boxes left and that couch you're lying on. We'll be done in fifteen minutes."

Jack studied my face. "Leaning on the door like that, all sweaty and shit—you look like Marlon Brando. Well, in his good years. The 'Stella!' years."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Isn't he the fat guy in that mobster movie?" I climbed in and grabbed a box. It was more of Jack's books. "And it's your fault this move is taking so long," I teased him, struggling with the box's weight. "If you watched TV like the rest of us do, instead of reading a book a week, we'd have been done by now."

"You know, Sebastien," Jack said, "you and those bulging muscles of yours are really good at this. Maybe you should consider becoming a professional mover."

"Yeah, right." I put the box down and climbed out of the truck, then slid the box back into my arms and looked at Jack over it. "Well, are you gonna help me out here or what? Should I carry the couch up the stairs with you on it, Cleopatra?"

"Yes, why don't you," Jack said, giving me an exaggerated lascivious look. "While I feed myself grapes."

* * * *

I paid the delivery guy and shut the door with my hip. As I carried the two pizza boxes back to the kitchen, I saw Jack—shirtless and wearing only pajama bottoms—stepping out of the washroom. A cloud of steam followed him into the hallway. "The fan doesn't work in there," Jack said. "You're gonna have to fix that." He grabbed the boxes out of my hands and turned away for the kitchen. "Thanks for the pizza. How much do I owe you?"

"Nothing. It's on me." I stared at his perfect little ass moving under those loose-fitted cotton pajama pants. "And I'll take a look at the fan later," I called out to him. I poked my head in the bathroom door. It was a like a sauna in there. The walls and mirrors were covered with steam.

I joined Jack in the kitchen. "Do you even turn the cold water dial at all when you take a shower?"

Jack was fumbling through an open box labeled _kitchen_. "Hot water is good for my complexion. It clears my pores." He pulled two plates out of the box. "I've trained myself to stand the heat."

"I see." I plucked two beers out of the case. "Want one?"

Jack was staring down at the pizzas with a dejected expression. "Where did you order these from?"

I twisted the cap off my beer and shrugged. I'd grabbed a take-out menu the previous tenants had left out in the living room and had dialed the first pizza place listed there. "What's wrong with the pizza?"

"Well, for starters, it looks so bland and cheap. I know a few great specialty pizza places we could have called." Jack picked up his beer and scoffed. "And Labatt Blue? Are you serious? This is probably what you and your friends drink watching hockey or something."

I dragged a chair out and fell back into it. I was dead tired from the move. "Have some of your red wine then," I said, serving myself a few slices of the thin cheese pizza. But Jack was right again; the pizza was like a piece of cardboard.

Jack pulled a chair out next to mine and sat. "No, no, it's fine." He smirked and lifted the bottle to his sexy lips. "I'll join you in this manly moving day ritual."

I tore a huge bite out of my pizza. "Cool," I said with my mouth full. I was starving. I ate quickly and then gulped half of my beer down.

Meanwhile, Jack was picking at his fries. He had a serious expression on his face and was obviously lost in his thoughts. Maybe he was thinking of Craig? Of his break-up? I stared at him for a while, watching his downcast eyes. The kitchen ceiling light hung low over the table and played in Jack's thick black hair, throwing shadows over his brow.

I swallowed another sip of beer, but my throat was a little tight.

I wanted to kiss him.

Wanted to put my hands on his slender thighs and slowly and deeply kiss him.

Jack must have felt my stare on him because he raised his eyes to meet mine. "What?" he asked in a gentle voice.

"Uh—nothing." I leaned back in my chair, unsure of myself.

Last Saturday evening, after Jack and I had finished packing up the rest of my things at my apartment, we'd gone through two bottles of wine together, talking and listening to music. Later that night, Jack had been a little drunk and upset over his break-up and I'd ended up lying next to him in bed, whispering comforting words in his ear. One thing had led to another and I'd kissed him.

We'd had sex. Gone _all the way,_ too.

"Are you thinking about last week?" Jack asked in a quiet voice. "Is that what's on your mind, Seb?"

"Do you think about it?" I couldn't look at him and fiddled with the corner of the pizza box instead. I was sending Jack mixed signals again. It was wrong of me, but I couldn't seem to restrain myself when we sat so close.

"Of course I think about it." Jack leaned in and nudged my knee with his. "A lot."

"But now we're living together." I chanced a look up at him, feeling more and more trapped. I didn't want this to go any further. We were friends. The best of friends. I couldn't risk losing that.

Or was it something else keeping me from taking our relationship to the next level? Sometimes I wondered if I was embarrassed by Jack.

Jack's features tensed and he cracked a caustic smile. "Yes. Now we're Bert and Ernie. Felix and Oscar." He sipped his beer, his blue eyes catching fire. "Batman and Robin."

"You were pretty upset last week and I was a little drunk."

And now I was a jerk for saying that.

Jack squared his shoulders and set his bottle down on the table. "Ah, yes, of course. We must factor in the booze and Jack's little meltdown into the equation."

I knew Jack well enough to understand that beneath his sarcasm lay hurt feelings. "The thing is—the thing is, Jack, I get real turned on by you." I let out a strong breath. "Look, I can't pretend you don't make me so hot I lose my head, but that being said—"

"That being said, we should resume our positions as friends and continue playing the game of Jack and Seb move in together."

I could never win with him. He was too clever and quick-witted for me. "All right, yeah. Okay." I gulped more beer, feeling insecure.

Last week hadn't been the first time we'd slept together. Five years ago, on the first night we'd met, I'd gone home with Jack and spent a fantastic night with him. But back then, our sexual relationship had ended abruptly and we'd agreed to be friends instead.

Our amazing friendship was the best thing that had ever happened to me and I couldn't imagine not having Jack in my life. But I didn't believe in romance, that whole _couple thing._

Jack knew this.

"Seb," he said, his expression softening, "it's all right. I don't wanna have this conversation again." He rose and gathered our plates, but he hadn't even touched his food. "I think I'm just gonna have a glass of wine and try to organize my bedroom." He gently pressed my shoulder and left. "Good night," he added, leaving the kitchen.

Confused, I stared at my reflection in the dark kitchen window, hating myself for playing this game with my best friend.

Had I made a mistake asking Jack to move in with me?

* * * *

Barefoot, with my blue jeans still dusty from the move, I walked down the long hallway that connected my bedroom to Jack's room. Boxes were lined up against the walls. We hadn't unpacked anything yet, except for those two plates, but I was too exhausted to mind the mess. Anyway, there would be plenty of time to organize our new place.

Cleaning was my business. What I did for a living. I was a cleaning technician.

In other words, a cleaning lady. _Man_.

Whatever.

It was close to midnight, and though I couldn't wait to crash down on the mattress in my room and sleep until noon tomorrow, before I headed to bed, I wanted to check up on Jack. I knew his first night in our new home would bring mixed feelings for him. After all, he'd lived with Craig for almost a year. I couldn't really imagine what he was feeling tonight.

My longest relationship had been with Ryan, my neighbor, and _that_ boring thing had barely lasted three months. That had been five years ago, when I'd been twenty-two years old and still naive enough to believe I had it in me to love anyone.

Coming up on Jack's open bedroom door, I slowed down a little. He was on the phone and talking real low to someone. I hoped it wasn't Craig.

I poked my head in his door and Jack motioned for me to come in. He was shirtless, wearing only those skimpy white Armada boxer briefs he bought by the dozen every month. Jack had a fantastic body he obviously enjoyed flaunting for my pleasure. He was five-foot-eight, shorter than I was, much leaner, too. There was a gracefulness about him. A sensual quality I'd never had myself.

I was six-foot-three, all brawn, too bulky, and clumsy as a bear.

Jack hung up and then stared at the phone in his hand.

"Was that Craig?" I asked, already prepared to give Jack a speech about standing his ground.

"No...my mom."

"Oh." I leaned back on a stack of boxes that stood against the wall. "So, is she still freaking out about you moving into this neighborhood?"

Jack's parents were both university professors living in the burbs. They all got along fine. _Twice a year_. Specifically: On Christmas and Jack's birthday. For the remaining three-hundred and sixty-three days of the year, they avoided Jack. There had never been any real arguments between them all—only this ongoing cold silence full of disapproval for Jack's life. They'd wanted their valedictorian son to pursue his studies and assume his reserved place in academia society.

But Jack had hit the road at fourteen and decided to study life instead.

"She just wanted to make _sure_ that I know how _dangerous_ the gay village is, and that she read somewhere in one of her lady magazines printed by the Devil's Publishing House that seventy-four percent of gay men are HIV positive, and oh—what else—yes, that last week, a man, a poor innocent father stepped on a syringe in a park somewhere and of course, she's sure it's the park next to our place, which she hasn't even seen or know the address of yet."

I cocked a brow at him. "Yikes. She needs to get out more. The gay village isn't all hustlers and bathhouses."

"Well, well, well, look who's finally coming around." Jack smiled. "And no, my mother needs to stay _exactly_ where she is, with that big ol' river dividing my world from her world." He picked up the bottle of red wine that he'd left on the floor and took a swill right out of the bottle, then offered it to me. "Hey, cheers," he said. "To being roommates."

Obviously Jack was in a better mood. I slipped the bottle of Big House Red out of his small hand and drank, too. "Living together is gonna be cool." I gulped another good sip of the wine and handed the bottle back to him.

"Yeah, I think so, too. Although, I do hope we don't go all Gauguin and Van Gogh on each other by the end of the month."

I usually didn't get Jack's references. His knowledge of culture, contemporary or past, was way over my head. He had a phenomenal memory and could retain information easily. I remembered the first time he'd mentioned Leonardo and Donatello to me, I thought he'd meant the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

"For a time," Jack patiently explained, understanding I needed a little enlightenment. "Gauguin and Van Gogh—you know—the painters, lived together in Arles, France. The whole thing ended in violence and that's when Van Gogh cut off his ear."

I instinctively touched my left ear.

Jack took another sip of wine and laughed. "Oh, don't be so worried. You're definitely the Gauguin in this pair." He tipped his head, watching me. "Hey, you look tired, Sebastien."

I realized I was standing there, half asleep. "Yeah, I should go to bed."

Jack set the wine bottle down on the floor and fell back against his pillow with a long sigh. "God, the last time I was this sore, was that afternoon when I was ten years old and Brody Thompson stuffed me in a truck tire and kicked me down a hill."

I snorted. "That sounds kind of fun actually." I looked at him a little longer. Jack's mouth was tense. Something was up with him. I could read him like an open book. "So, uh, how are you feeling?"

He shrugged and turned on his side, facing me. "I'm fine."

That was a typical Jack reaction, so I pushed on. "Yeah? Sure?"

"Look, it's fucked up. Being single again after almost a year of living with someone is fucked up. I'm fucked up. The world is fucked up. You're fucked up. But in a fucked up way, I'll be okay. Just don't fucking ask me about it."

"All _fucking_ right." I laughed. "Understood." I moved away from the boxes and leaned in over him, going in for a hug.

Or more, if he let me. I wanted him so bad, but should we cross that line again?

Slowly, Jack sat up and gently tugged at my T-shirt. "Fuck it," he said. "Come here." He pressed his fingertip to my bottom lip. "I can't help it, Seb. I just can't." He kissed my mouth, my chin. "I can't stop myself. And please don't ask me to."

"It's okay," I said in a husky voice, not really knowing what I was saying anymore. My pulse raced and I could hear my blood pounding in my ears. "Just one more time, that's all."

Before I knew it, we were both grunting like mad dogs, panting and nearly ripping each other's underwear off. Jack's body looked like a swirl of thick white cream freshly poured over the sheets and I went down on him fast and deep, sucking him off and squeezing his balls, while he pulled my hair, his thighs crushing my shoulders. God, I adored his short and thick cock. Loved the taste of his cum. It only took a minute and he cried out and quivered so hard, I thought he'd break my neck with his thighs. "Oh, yes," he groaned, rolling his head on the pillow. "Oh, Seb, you sure know what to do."

_Of course_ I knew what to do. I'd been listening to Jack complain or brag about his sex life with Craig or the other idiots he'd dated for five years. I knew what he liked in bed.

Sex had never been this pressure-free for me.

I swallowed his hot cum and kissed his trembling stomach, then looked up at him.

Jack's blue eyes were fixed lovingly on my face.

"What?" I asked, sitting up and clearing my scratched throat. Something about the way he'd gazed at me so tenderly had triggered a defense mechanism in my heart and now all of my walls were coming up. "You look like you're about to ask me to marry you or something," I said.

Jack chuckled nervously "Yeah, _right_. And spend the rest of my life a soccer widower? No thanks." He jerked his underwear up, not looking directly at me either. "So, do you want me to return the favor or what?" He sounded like a waiter taking my order.

"If you feel like it," I muttered, feeling my cheeks getting red, too. Did I want a blow job from him?

I was _dying_ for his attention.

Jack jumped out of bed and stood before me. Without warning, he shoved me back onto the mattress.

"Whoa, easy now," I pulled him close to press my face against his neck. "You wanna get rough and tough with me?"

"You're mine now." He straddled my thighs. "It's your fault," Jack said, his wonderful mouth trailing down my chest. "You gave me a taste last week and now I want more."

I dove my fingers into his hair and made him look at me. "But we're not a couple. It's like you said last time. What did you call it?"

Jack kissed the tip of my dick and looked up. "A pleasant living arrangement?"

Oh yes, it was.

* * * *

# Chapter 2

When I woke the next morning, my whole body ached as though I'd gone to bed twenty-seven years old, only to wake up an eighty-year-old man.

I squinted at the light pouring through my curtain-less bedroom window. There was music playing somewhere in the apartment. It was a band Jack loved: VNV Nation. This group played industrial but melodious music Jack enjoyed _forcing_ on me during our many evenings of drinking and talking—or as Jack liked to call those nights, "Aristotle's hours".

I climbed off the mattress and dug around for a fresh pair of boxer shorts in the open suitcase which still served as my closet. I slipped my favorite shorts on and walked out of the room, heading for the living room, where I knew I'd find Jack up and dressed, not a hair out of place, drinking his morning organic green tea and probably organizing his books.

I stepped through the living room threshold and smiled to myself.

Ah, I'd been right.

Cup of tea in hand, Jack stood over an open box of books. He was clean shaven, clad in his black Levi's jeans and a fitted blue T-shirt which showed off his thin, but well-defined arms. The way the sunlight hit the nape of his hair caused me to lose my cool for a second. I had a thing for necks. Kissing them. Holding them.

And Jack had a great neck.

At the sight of me, he made a little moue. "Ugh, when are you gonna burn those?"

He meant my gray boxer shorts. I liked my gray boxer shorts. Granted, they were so worn thin, you could see right through them, but they were loose and gave me plenty of room to move in. "Why are you unpacking your books?" I asked, ignoring his snarky comment about my flimsy undergarments. "I haven't even put up your bookcases yet."

Jack sipped his tea and sighed. "Because I'm gonna go all _Cincinnatus C._ here, just looking at this mess."

"Who?"

"You know, Nabokov? Invitation to a beheading?" Jack picked up one of his books and flipped it over. "It's an absurd novel _à la_ Kafka. I think you'd like it, Seb. Anyway, I don't have the mental capacity to find a place to start here. So please, could you put up the bookcases, hammer stuff and shit—whatever it takes—and then set up the television and do all the wiring, because I need our internet hooked up, _pronto_ , and while you do all that, I'll make piles of my books by genre and author."

"You'll stay out of my way?"

"Fuck yes. I'll stay in this very room until next Friday if that's what it takes for you to get it all done."

"All right." I walked away, but then came back and poked my head in the doorway. "Only if you keep the beer, coffee, and food coming. And none of that vegan shit either."

"I'll fry you up a whole cow, teats and all. And when this place is organized, I'm gonna turn it into the most incredible apartment in the gay village." He snapped his fingers like a diva. "I'm talking vintage seventies meets antique Louis XIV the sun king gone all mad in Versailles, with a splash of gay Miami art deco, and of course, a touch of Greco Roman obscene."

I had no idea what that could look like. To me, decoration meant hanging up a poster in my bedroom and a shower curtain in the bathroom. But I was sure it would look fantastic because Jack was amazing at this stuff. "We have ourselves a deal then."

"Great." Jack turned around and started organizing his books again. "Oh, I made some coffee for you."

I stared at the back of his neck for a few more seconds.

So this was the new us. Officially fuck-friends.

I couldn't think of anything better than having Jack's supple body available to me whenever I wanted it without the pressure of being in a romantic relationship.

I stepped away from the doorway. "Thanks," I called out. "That's sweet."

"You're welcome," he answered as I was walking to the kitchen. "What are _friends_ for?"

I could have sworn I heard a note of sarcasm in his voice.

* * * *

Later that day, I finally decided to put together the last of Jack's bookcases.

It was a hot July night and we hadn't set up our air conditioner yet, so I was sweating and getting a little impatient. My tools were scattered all around me and I couldn't find that little silver screwdriver IKEA provided with this mess.

In his fancy armchair, Jack peeked at me over his book. "Need any help?" he asked.

He was reading something on Da Vinci.

I grunted a fast "nope." I knew Jack was simply being polite. And anyway, I didn't want him touching anything. I had a system going on here and he'd only confuse me.

I sniffed and chewed on my bottom lip, bending to the pile of black screws again. I could feel Jack watching me.

"Those jeans make your ass look like something you'd find hanging in a meat packing fridge."

I shot him a look over my shoulder. "What?"

Jack licked his index and turned another page of his book, not looking at me. "It makes me regret being a vegetarian."

I shook my head at him and crouched down, going back to work, but though I didn't show it, his compliment had made my heart skip a few beats.

So Jack liked my ass.

_Nice_.

"Going out to kick a ball around tonight?" Jack asked, still not looking up from his book.

Yes, and I was looking forward to getting out of this apartment. I was meeting the guys later for a night of soccer. I hadn't played in a week and that never did me any good. Since childhood, I'd been into physical activity. It had helped me with my learning disabilities.

"Well, well, well," Jack said, before I could answer him. "I'll be damned. Then again, I already am _damned_ , according to half of the world's population, but hey, did you know that your name is derived from the Greek word _Sebastos_ and that translated into Latin, the word means _Augustus_?"

"I did not know that," I said, tongue-in-cheek.

_As if_ I'd know that.

"Yeah, I'm reading this book on Da Vinci's Vitruvian man. You know, the drawing with the gorgeous male body spread-eagled, surrounded by a circle and square."

"Yeah, okay, I know that one."

"Do you now? Well, look at you." Jack winked. "So anyway, Vitruvian was named after the Roman architect Vitruvius who came up with the idea, and this guy served under the emperor Augustus, and it says right here, that Augustus means the 'venerable one'. The majestic one. They gave that name to the emperors."

I loved it when Jack shared these trivial things with me. Of course I never remembered any of them after a couple of days, but nonetheless, it was always entertaining.

"Sebastos takes us to _Augustus_. August." Jack stared at me. "Then finally, to _Augury_. Oh, William Blake's _The Auguries of Innocence_."

"William who? And what the hell is an augury?"

"William Blake was a poet. He painted, too. The word augury means omen. Like a feeling of something to come. A presentiment, if you will." He rose and patted my head, walking away. "So, are you going out to kick a ball tonight or not?"

"Yeah, I am."

Jack stopped and looked over his shoulder at me. "Well, I'll be out tonight."

"All right."

He laughed. "You and your two-word-sentences."

I shrugged.

Jack leaned his face against the doorway and smiled. His smile was so full of tenderness, that for a moment, he seemed to be himself with me, instead of hiding behind his usual flamboyant persona. "Before I go," he said, "I'm gonna fix you dinner, okay? I don't want those breeders outrunning you tonight."

"Thanks, that would be great."

Jack hesitated a moment longer and then I knew he'd show me a glimpse of his true colors. I could feel it. See it in his eyes. "I appreciate what you're doing for me," he said in a low voice. "All of it, Seb. It feels nice to have you close."

Then of course he disappeared down the hall before I could say anything in return.

That was Jack all right.

The man could dish out one-liners faster than anyone, and cut people down to the bone with his wit and cultivated remarks, but when it came down to the simpler things, Jack could barely get a few words out. It wasn't his fault. He'd been so bullied growing up—so ostracized—that as a result, Jack had created this persona, this almost cliché version of a character out of a sitcom, a cheesy sitcom at that.

I rarely had a chance to hear his real thoughts on anything.

Jack's diva act took over everything.

Then again, I had my own baggage. For starters, my father was a pothead and I supported and enabled him, and I had little education and no real plans to better my situation.

I cleaned houses for a living, under the table, too. I didn't have much going for me.

But Jack accepted all of it and never made me feel any less than important.

I stared at the living room doorway, listening to him banging pots in the kitchen.

Part of me wanted to stay home tonight and spend the evening making love to him, but if I did stay, we'd be that much closer, and then what?

* * * *

Monday morning, Jack rushed past the open bathroom door. "Have a good day!" he shouted. But then I heard him walking back to me. "Wait—what are you doing?" he asked. He leaned on the door, his mere presence flustering me.

I met his eyes in the mirror and tried to pretend I wasn't affected by his gaze roaming all over my naked chest. "Shaving," I said, from under the shaving foam. "What does it look like I'm doing?" I knocked the razor blade against the sink and then rinsed it in the pool of warm water.

"I see that, thank you. But why is there hair all over the floor?" He stepped in. "Oh, you cut your hair," he said, eying me over.

"Don't come in here or you'll get that fancy suit of yours covered in hair."

In the mirror, Jack's eyes flashed at me. "So, you do like my new white suit." He dusted my shoulders briskly. "You should have asked me to do the back of your head at least." He caressed the nape of my hair. "It's a little crooked here."

"Yeah, well, it gets a little complicated." I ran the faucet and started rinsing my face.

"Let me fix it," Jack said, behind me. He slipped his snazzy white blazer off and hung it on the towel rack.

"Aren't you gonna be late for work?" I patted my face with a hot towel and checked my reflection in the mirror. I'd used my hair clipper to do the sides and back of my head, but had missed a few spots. "Yeah, I kind of messed up, didn't I?"

"Nothing I can't fix. Remember, I dated a hair stylist and he thought me a few tricks." Jack unfastened the wrists buttons of his shirt and then rolled up his sleeves.

"I bet he did."

Jack ignored my remark. "Let me get a kitchen stool first. You're too tall for me this way." He walked out before I could argue with him. Moments later, he returned with the chair and gestured for me to sit. "Okay," he said, once I was seated. He examined my hair. "Let's see what we have here."

I sat, facing the mirror, staring at our reflection. As usual, Jack looked fantastic and so perfectly put together. His black hair was impeccably combed.

"We could do this later," I said, suddenly feeling self-conscious about my furry chest and homemade haircut. "I'm just going to spend my day scrubbing floors and toilets. Not like anybody ever gives me a second glance."

Jack gently pulled my head back. "People give you plenty of second glances; you just don't notice the looks you get."

"Hard to notice looks when your head is in a toilet."

"All right, all right." Jack turned the clipper on and ran his hand over the top of my head. "I love your hair. It's so thick and healthy, like wheat or something." He rolled the hair clipper over the spot I'd missed, the buzzing sensation drawing a quick chuckle out of me. "Quit squirming, will you? Just sit still."

I sat up straight, watching him in the mirror. Jack's expression was so serious. He was furrowing his brow, completely focused on his task. I wanted to take his small agile hands into mine and press them to my chest. Here I was again, getting a hard-on just thinking of his breath in my ear. The scent of his cologne in the air was making it more and more difficult for me to keep my head. I looked down at my lap, seeing the bulge of my erection in my jeans.

Jack slowly turned my head. "Let me get this spot right here," he whispered.

In the mirror, our eyes met again and I couldn't look away. I sat there shirtless, my heart pounding so hard I could see it beating through my chest.

Jack breathing changed and his cheeks darkened.

I lowered my eyes to the shape of his dick swelling in his fitted pants.

But before I could touch him, Jack quickly stepped away and dropped the clipper on the counter. "It's good like that," he muttered and rinsed his hands, staring down at the sink.

I slowly rose and stood right behind him. The heat of his body drew me to him and I pressed my mouth to his ear and kissed his earlobe. Jack didn't move. In the mirror, I saw him moistening his lips with the tip of his tongue, but still, he wouldn't look at me. He was breathing hard now, his body reacting to every one of my moves in subtle invitations. Reaching around him, I unfastened his belt and pants, and slowly slipped his underwear down over his white thighs. Then pressing myself up against his back, I opened the medicine cabinet above his head and found what I needed. Flushed with fever, I put on a rubber and prepared my sheathed cock with lube.

I pushed my knee between Jack's thighs, forcing them open.

Jack grasped the counter and let out a soft moan.

I slipped my free hand under his fancy white shirt and pressed him close up against me, while I slowly and gently penetrated him.

Jack groaned a little and leaned forward on the sink, opening himself up to me. He finally raised his face, and in the mirror, we locked eyes—something so beautiful passing between us, it heightened all of my senses. I held him tighter, thrusting my hips slow, fucking him without a sound or a word. Jack was nimble and hot in my arms, nothing of him resisting me, and I thrust faster, our bodies slamming into the sink now. Jack's face flushed pink. "Harder," he said under a breath, his body tightening against mine. I was so wild for him—how could I ever let him go? I wanted to be deeper inside him. I dug my fingers into his chest and reached over to stroke him with my free hand, my own knees bending from the climax pushing through me. We made love standing up against the sink, looking into each other's eyes in the mirror, until Jack clenched his ass and turned his face to kiss me, his hot cum spilling all over my hand, "Oh, I love you," he moaned softly against my lips. Pushing him harder into the sink, I shuddered, coming with him in spasms.

I leaned on him a little, and then wheezing, gently pulled out.

Jack stepped away from me and stared down at himself. "Look at me. I'm covered in cum and hair." He hurried out of his clothes. "Now I'm gonna be late for sure."

I reached into the shower stall and turned the hot water dial all the way. "Get in there quick then," I said, picking up my jeans. Then I paused.

When Jack had come, he'd said...

Had he?

Had he really said _I love you_?

No, I must have misunderstood. Or imagined it.

"Fuck," he said, "and I have that new girl starting, too. I need to be there before she gets to the store." Jack was the manager at Uomo Nuevo, an upscale clothing store downtown. He stepped into the shower. "Do you think maybe you could give me a ride to work this morning?"

"Yeah, sure. Of course." I wanted to join him in the shower, but something stopped me from it. I cleaned up at the sink instead and left the bathroom.

In my bedroom, I slipped on a fresh pair of boxer shorts and then my gym pants, but I realized I was anxious, moving quickly from one place to another, confusion and fear taking over me.

"Hey, uh, I think I'll take the subway after all," Jack said. He stood in my bedroom doorway, clad only in a towel. "With traffic downtown, it'll be a mess anyway."

"Are you sure? I can drive—"

"No, no, it's fine." Jack shot me a quick look. "I'll see you at dinner?"

"Actually, I'm having—"

"Oh, right. You'll be at your dad's this evening." Jack stepped back into the hallway. "Well, then I'll see you later tonight."

"Jack?" I called his name, but didn't know what I'd to say to him.

He poked his face in my door. "Yes?" he asked with an expectant expression.

I wanted to ask him if he'd really said those three words to me before.

"Good luck today," I finally said instead.

Jack hesitated and tipped his head, looking straight at me. "Is that it?"

Embarrassed, I had to look away.

But when I looked at the door again, Jack was already gone.

* * * *

# Chapter 3

Later that day, I was in my dad's kitchen, preparing dinner for him. My old man never ate anything but convenience store crap, except on those nights I'd drop by after soccer practice.

I pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and checked the egg rolls. They were nice and golden, the way he liked them. I shut the oven door and stirred some butter into the steamed broccoli, then turned everything off. My father was a healthy man, yet week after week, I came by to fix him dinner.

Sometimes I wanted to give up on him and disappear somewhere far away from here.

But I'd promised her. I'd sworn it to my mother days before she died, that I'd never leave him alone.

My phone buzzed inside my jeans and the sound shook me out of my gloomy thoughts.

I had a text from Jack.

Hey handsome, still at your old man's?

I typed my reply.

_Yes, and I have more work tonight._ :-(

Seconds later Jack sent me another text.

If you started a naked maid service, you'd make five times the cash. Think about it. (You can practice at home with me this weekend)...xxx

I laughed softly and slipped the phone back into my pocket. Jack always seemed to know when I needed a little pick-me-up. And I was glad to see the morning awkwardness between us had passed.

I'd really have to keep my hands to myself tonight and lock myself up in my room.

At my father's bedroom door, I knocked with my free hand and then opened the door a sliver. I stood in the doorway, holding his food, not really wanting to go in. The bedroom smelled badly of pot and other things I had no desire to identify. "Want some supper, Dad?"

Sitting up in bed with his laptop on his knees, my father motioned for me to enter. "I wanna show you what I got for Lou."

Lou was my little cousin. He was turning eleven on Saturday.

I took a few steps into the room. "Dad, you know, I got a call before. Uh, from Visa, and it's not good. Maybe you oughta cool it with the internet shopping. What card did you use anyway? Visa said the card is frozen."

"Oh, my Mastercard."

"I made a huge payment on that one last month, and I thought we agreed you wouldn't use it anymore."

My father sniffled and nodded. "Yeah, you're right. Absolutely. I just—well, this was the _last_ thing. But it's the kid's birthday, so I figured why not splurge a little, right?"

"So what d'you get him?"

"When my check comes in next week, give those jerks at Visa half of that and they'll leave you alone, okay?"

"I can't give them half of your sick leave check, Dad." My father was so clueless. Didn't know how bad things really were. He barely had any money left and if it weren't for my contribution, he'd have been living on two-hundred dollars a month after the mortgage payment. "Don't worry about it. Anyway, I'm figuring everything out and I'll make arrangements with the bank or something."

"I'm sorry about the financial stress." He looked away at the television. "I'm fucking up. I know."

Ever since my mom had passed away two years ago, my dad hadn't been able to hold a job. "So what d'you get Lou?" I asked again, changing the subject.

"A cell phone."

What the hell?

"Lou gets lonely during the day," my father said before I could reply. "He could call me from the bathroom at recess instead of being so alone."

Lou was a heavy kid who got teased a lot at school. My aunt worked two jobs, and because her husband, my father's brother, had left her high and dry, my dad felt responsible for her son. I admired my dad for his devotion to Lou, but that didn't change the fact that my old man was broke, smoked way too much pot, and hadn't left his bedroom in months.

"That's not gonna help him." I sighed. "Lou needs to feel strong, we can't give him crutches and expect him to run the distance."

"You're right, but I don't want him to be lonely." My dad stared down at his hands on the blanket. "Maybe it's because _I'm_ so lonely. Don't be angry."

"I'm not angry." I took a deep breath. "And I know you're lonely."

"How's work?" he asked, changing the subject, as usual.

He and I could never really talk. Something always stopped us from breaching that big void between us. Our egos, I supposed. We hadn't been close before my mother's death and since she'd left us, it was even worse. Her absence filled the house more than her presence ever had.

"Dad," I said, "I clean houses. There's not much to it. What do you want me to say? It's shitty. Sometimes _literally_."

"Sit down here for a second."

I set his plate on the cluttered dresser. "I have to go. I have work tonight"

"I love you, you know that, right?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. I hated it when he turned sentimental on me. Because with my father, affection was more often than not, straight out manipulation.

"You're her spitting image."

"Don't." I couldn't talk about her. Not yet. I wasn't ready.

My father looked down at his laptop. "Do you want me to cancel the purchase?"

"Yeah, I do. I really do. Get Lou a book or something."

My dad reached over for the ashtray on the nightstand. Now he was going to light a joint and get high. It was medicinal marijuana, or so he called it. But he didn't get his pot from a clinic. He bought it from a neighbor—a dealer I knew from high school. My dad said the weed helped with the nerves. The depression. The headaches.

Fine.

Maybe it did.

But I couldn't stick around for that part. "I'll call you this week," I muttered, walking backwards to the door.

"How's the new place?" my dad asked, stopping me from leaving.

"Great."

"And how's Jack doing?" But I knew my old man was only being polite. He didn't care a thing for Jack. He thought Jack was too flamboyant. Too _gay_. Too effeminate.

To Dad, it was all right to be gay if no one else in the world knew about it. According to my father, there were two types of gay men: the gays and the _fags_.

Myself, I thought that was complete homophobic bullshit.

"Jack's all right," I said. Funny how saying Jack's name set my pulse racing. "He was promoted last week. He's the manager there now." I was proud of Jack. It wasn't the most prestigious job in the world, but he worked so hard every day. He definitely deserved that promotion and the little raise that came with it. He was the best sales man the Uomo Nuevo store had ever had.

"Oh. At that place. That fancy Italian clothes place, right?"

"Yeah."

"Going out after work?"

"No."

"Why not?" My dad watched me, still holding the joint in his fingers. "You should go out more often. Living with Jack isn't gonna help you meet anyone. I still don't understand why you had to move in with him. Of all the people in the world. I can't imagine living with a guy like him. How does he not drive you completely insane?"

I decided not to dignify my dad's stupid question with an answer.

As I was stepping out, I heard the flicker of his lighter and cringed. Who the hell did my old man think he was to judge anyone?

* * * *

A few hours later, relieved to be in the cool indoors again, I shut the heavy front door behind me and then locked it. Valencia had told me she'd be home this evening. She sometimes visited her niece on the days I cleaned her house. She was my last customer of the night and I was eager to be finished already.

In the entrance, I slid my bag off my shoulder. "Hello?" I called out, announcing my presence. My voice trailed down the long, lacquered-wood corridor before me. I checked my phone for the time and saw I had another text message from Jack.

Hello Sebastos,

Hang in there. I made some pesto and garlic bread for us when you get back. I also have wine waiting. Don't inhale the bleach fumes. And if you spot an elephant trinket collection, bring me back a few. They'll fit nicely with my Alexander the Great vs. King Porus collection.

I laughed out loud. What a nutcase Jack was, but I couldn't wait to hang out with him tonight. I missed him already.

"Oh, hello, dear." At the end of the hall, Valencia waved at me. "I thought I'd heard the door." She was wearing her loose painter's frock and had tied her white hair in a bun. "I was in the studio, painting."

"Uh, well, I rang a few times," I said, stuffing my phone back in my pocket, "but then I thought maybe I'd use the key you gave me."

She walked to me and her lavender perfume filled the air. "It sure took you a long time to finally come around to the idea."

Valencia had given me her house key months ago, as well as the code to her alarm system, _just in case_ , she'd said. But for some reason I'd been too shy to use it until tonight. This house was so beautiful, every object in here so precious and deeply personal, that I always felt as though I was entering Valencia's memories every time I walked into her Redpath Avenue stone house.

Ready to start work, I grabbed my bag and unzipped it. The sooner I started, the sooner I'd finish and go home to Jack.

But Valencia's sharp brown eyes sized me up. "What do you think you're doing, young man?" She was eighty-two years old, but her mind was fast, and her will was strong. "You don't have to start working _just_ this minute." She pulled on the backpack in my hands and forced me to drop it. "Come on, I want to show you my new tableau and I have espresso waiting for you."

I hesitated. "I told Jack I'd be home around eight or so. I think I should just get to work."

"Oh, I see. Well, how is he? You two boys all settled in?"

"Not really, but we're having a good time trying." It was strange how much this old lady knew about my personal life. Valencia had a way to get me to talk; she was subtle and stubborn, always managing to draw information out of me. I enjoyed her curiosity and her interest in my life eased the grief I still felt over losing my mother.

"I'm sure you two must be enjoying each other's company." She gave me a probing look. "He's such a beautiful and witty boy, that Jack." She'd met him last month after Jack had insisted on accompanying me to work one evening. "Well, I suppose I'll leave you to your work then." Valencia began to turn away, her shoulders dropping a little. She seemed disappointed.

"No, okay, I can take a look at your painting," I quickly said, wanting to please her. "Maybe I'll grab the espresso on-the-go or something."

Her face brightened and she led me down the hall, holding my elbow the whole way. She was short, maybe five-foot-two, but her back was still straight, and her walk was always confident. "It's not finished. Although, art never is, right, dear?"

"I guess so."

What the hell did I know about art?

Valencia was a retired art historian who'd written a series of scholastic books on the renaissance period. She seemed to enjoy trying to evoke passion in me, as Jack did. Those two really had my education at heart.

We entered her studio which was a large room, sort of like those ballet dance studios, except that instead of a wall-to-wall mirror in the back, there were three huge windows letting in the late day July sun. Propped up against the left side wall, were a few blank canvases, and in the middle of the room stood her wooden easel.

A little uneasy, I stayed in the doorway, gazing at the painting on that easel. I never knew what to say when she asked my opinion of her work. Valencia had painted a gorgeous and curvy naked woman sprawled over grass, and near that woman stood two men with antlers on their heads. The men looked as though they'd been walking around the forest and then happened to stumble on this naked girl sunbathing or something.

I scratched my head. "It's nice," I said. "Yeah."

Valencia squeezed my arm. _Hard_ , too. "What did I tell you about that word?"

Right.

The other day, she'd explained that "nice" wasn't a word artists enjoyed hearing much at all.

"What do you _see_ , Sebastien? Look closely at the image displayed before you."

I looked at the painting again. It was beautiful. Really grand. She was talented. Probably the most talented painter in town. But what could I say? "I see a young naked woman being ogled by two guys with antlers on their heads."

" _Ogled_? Are you sure?" Valencia walked to her painting and studied it. "Look at their faces. Their expression. Their body posture."

I stared at the two men for a second. "Well, they look a little spooked I guess."

"Because the lady is a goddess, Sebastien. And now that they've seen her naked, they're going to be punished greatly for this and they know it."

I walked over to the painting and took a moment longer to examine it. "The blue you used is really cool. That sky is nice—I mean—clear. You always paint amazing skies."

Valencia smiled. "Thank you. It's so refreshing to have a virgin eye assessing my work. I copied this one from Titian, the Venetian painter. The woman is Danae."

"It's very well-done." I took a step back. "I have to get to work now."

She shooed me. "Yes, yes, go. But don't do the upstairs bathroom or the two guest rooms today. I can manage a little dusting this week."

I turned in the door and raised a brow. "Sure? I have time and I don't mind."

"It's fine. And come see me when you're done. I'll pay you for this week and the next."

"Thank you so much. I really _really_ appreciate it."

"I know you do. That's why it gives me such pleasure to pay you."

She was a cool lady. I wondered what she'd been like as a younger woman. Probably wild and beautiful. Maybe a little like Jack.

In the entrance, I grabbed my bag and pulled my cleaning products out. I always used my own because I had allergic reactions to most common household cleaners. I slipped my yellow rubber gloves on and headed for the ground floor bathroom. I had a routine I liked to stick to: I'd do the bathrooms first, then the dusting of trinkets and electronics, followed by the cleaning and wiping down of the kitchen, and then, I'd move on to the halls and floors, before vacuuming everything. I'd finally finish up with the windows if the customer needed them done.

I'd been cleaning houses for three years, but if anyone asked me how _that_ had happened, I still didn't really know. I'd cleaned a neighbor's house after she'd had a bike accident and Louise had been quick to refer me to another customer. Then time had passed, and though I'd made plans to do something else, the money was pretty good and it was cash, no taxes to pay, so I couldn't see myself working a nine-to-five gig anymore for a little over minimum wage.

On my knees, I scrubbed the bathroom tiles with an old toothbrush—I'd never found another tool as efficient—and my mind wandered. I thought of that blue sky on Valencia's painting. Of her golden Italy she loved to talk about. She'd left her home after the Second World War, but part of her soul had remained behind.

In the city of Florence.

The mere name conjured up beauty and warmth in my mind. Shit, I'd never even been outside of the country. Jack had traveled a lot. He'd even lived in California for a while. But not me. I'd grown up in the east end of Montreal and the furthest I'd gone had been a field trip to Ottawa in elementary school.

I scrubbed harder, my knees hurting under the pressure of my weight against the hard red tiles. But I wasn't going to wear those ridiculous knee pads. No way.

I thought of Jack's suggestion I work naked, and then imagined Valencia's reaction and chuckled out loud.

Somewhere behind me, the phone was ringing. I heard Valencia call out to me from her studio. "Can you get that for me, please?"

I stopped and rose, my knees cracking as I did. In the antique vanity mirror above the sink, I saw my reflection and quickly looked away. Didn't like to see himself in these old clothes. I pulled my gloves off and threw them in the sink.

The phone sat on a table in the hallway. It was one of those white porcelain things straight out of the fifties. I wiped my hand down the front of my jeans, before picking up the heavy receiver. "Hello?"

A man cleared his throat on the line. "Who is this?"

"Sorry, I'm answering the phone for Mrs. Bruni. Who's calling?"

"What are you doing in my grandmother's house?"

I looked down the hall. "Valencia, phone for you," I quickly cried. "She's coming," I then said to the man on the line. "Hold on a sec."

"Hey, who are you?"

But I put the receiver down, next to the phone. Couldn't answer the guy. Couldn't say I was the cleaning person. Technician. Maid. Housekeeper. Or whatever I was supposed to call myself out loud to people.

Valencia came walking down to me. I noticed she never had a spot of paint on her frock or her hands. "Who is it?" she asked.

"Your grandson I think."

"Oh, great." She pressed the receiver to her ear and grinned. She spoke quickly and happily, in Italian.

While I enjoyed the language, I couldn't understand a word she was saying, so I went back to the bathroom and picked up where I'd left.

Moments later, Valencia stood in the bathroom door, looking down at me. "That was my grandson calling from the airport. He's going to visit a friend here for a few days and then he'll come stay with me for a month. Isn't that splendid?"

I was glad to know she'd have family in her home. I sometimes worried about her living alone. They'd been a series of break-ins in this part of the city in the last months. It was all over the news. "Good. That's great," I said.

"Yes, he's going to have his atelier right here, downstairs. He's a painter, like his grandmother. A better one, too. He teaches in Florence, but took a few months off. Says he needs peace and quiet. Well, I told him that this house is so quiet I can hear the dust settling on my furniture." She put a veined hand to her heart. "Amadeo has always been my most cherished grandchild. Of course, his father and I never got along, but now I'm going to have that boy all to myself."

_Amadeo_?

Now that was a name I'd never heard.

The guy was coming here from Florence? Well, then the man was in for a rude awakening. Montreal was pretty gritty in the summer.

"How old is he?" I asked, curious to know more.

"A few years older than you are. Turned thirty last week." Valencia took a step back. "Listen, never mind cleaning tonight. I think I'd enjoy being alone this evening, and besides, I know you're tired from your move, so just go home and be with your dear friend. But make sure you come by next week, same time as usual? I'll be at my niece's, so the alarm will be on. You still remember the code, right?"

"It's 1452. Da Vinci's birth." I stood up. Good. I was getting off early. "Sure, I can come back next Thursday."

"Perfect." She smiled and pressed her hands together. "I'm very happy."

I couldn't help laughing. "I can see that."

"Amadeo's a wonderful boy and I've missed him terribly." She walked away. "Let me get you your salary. Oh, and your coffee."

I gathered my supplies and then washed my hands.

In the entrance, she handed me a white envelope and a small thermos. "Thank you for being such nice company," she said.

"I don't think I understood your painting so well."

"Oh, Sebastien, it's not what you say. It's your presence. Your... _energy_." She fixed my T-shirt collar. "You're such a decent young man. You have that double H working for you."

"Double H?"

"Honest and handsome."

With my free hand, I strapped my bag on. "Well, I'll be back next week. And be careful until then, all right?" I raised the thermos to her. "Thanks, by the way."

"Listen, Sebastien, I put a little more in there." She pointed to the envelope sticking out of my pocket. "For your studies."

A few months ago, I'd made the mistake of telling Valencia about the promise I'd made to my mother. But what kind of man went back to finish his high school degree at age twenty-seven?

Jack swore people did it all the time. He'd even offered to help me out financially if I chose to get my high school diploma.

"I wish you hadn't done that, Valencia," I said, embarrassed. "You already pay me way more than my other customers do."

"Yes, well, I believe in you. I used to teach, remember." She tipped her head, watching me closely. "I have a good instinct about students. And I think you'd make an excellent student. You're meticulous, patient, and have a thirst for knowledge I've rarely encountered."

That was what everyone said. I felt a sting of a blush in my cheek and shrugged. "Thanks," I muttered, deeply touched by her compliment.

I thought the world of this woman and no matter how much I tried to hide it, her opinion of me meant a lot.

Valencia turned away for the hall. "You're welcome for everything. Oh, and don't worry about this old gal." She looked over her shoulder and grinned. "And please, say hello to that beautiful Jack for me."

* * * *

At home, the second I saw Jack's face, I knew he'd had a bad day and that his earlier perky text message had been a front. He was always thinking of my feelings first.

I dropped my bag by the pile of shoes in our entrance and tipped my head. "What's wrong?" I asked, leaving my car keys on the cluttered hall table. I noticed more bills fanned out there.

_Great_. Those bills sure came fast these days. It seemed Jack and I were always playing catch-up with our expenses.

Jack briefly shut his eyes and squared his shoulders. "I had a tough day at work. So I came home and wisely downed a quarter of a bottle of red wine. Now, I've been listening to Spandau Ballet's _Gold_ on repeat, so trust me, I'm glad you're here." He turned away and walked off, giving me a great view of his finest asset.

I watched his cute little ass bouncing in those snazzy black pants he wore. "Let me take a quick shower," I called out to him. "Be right there."

"Okay, Cinderella-man," he answered from the kitchen, out of sight. "I'll set everything up."

After my shower, I threw on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, then joined Jack in the kitchen. It was almost a week after our move, and we were still living out of boxes, but the kitchen was getting along and I enjoyed the light in this room. Of course Jack thought the pistachio green walls were _atrocious_. The color reminded him of his short stay in a San Diego hospital's psychiatric ward at age eighteen. Back then, Jack's first boyfriend—a navy man he'd followed all the way down to California—had ditched him and gone back to his wife.

Jack had a complicated past he didn't discuss with me often.

Through a crack in the curtains, Jack was now staring out of the kitchen window at our neighbor's balcony. "I think it's a gay couple living across from us," he said. Our apartments were face to face, separated by a barren courtyard. "Anyway, they must be country boys or something. Look at all of those empty Pabst Blue Ribbon beers piled up in that corner."

"They could be students. Students drink cheap beer." I pulled him away from the window. "Or they could be like me and not give a shit."

Jack smirked. "Right." He touched my cheek. "But I'm working on refining your tastes, little by little."

"Yeah, you're kind of rubbing off on me."

Jack held my eyes with his. "You mean, rubbing you off."

"Ah. Very funny."

We sat around the table and I immediately grabbed a bunch of bread pieces, then proceeded to dump half of the bowl of pasta into my plate.

Watching me with a frown, Jack gently placed his napkin across his lap and picked up his wine glass. He raised it up. "To us. Goldilocks and her friend the bear."

"So you had a bad day?" I asked with my mouth full. Jack was a great cook. I loved the way everything he made always came out tasting bold. "You wanna talk about it?"

Jack twirled the wine in his glass, staring at the light playing in it. "The usual. Once again, Rosamund spent half of her time in the back store texting that gorilla she calls a boyfriend and every time I tried talking to her about it, she got teary-eyed and told me she was having _personal issues_ she couldn't share with me."

"Maybe she does."

"No, because in order for her to have _personal issues_ she'd have to have an actual human heart, and trust me, I hugged her once and felt nothing beating there. She's as cold as Donald Trump's marble toilet."

What could I say to that?

I just ate some more.

Jack sipped his wine. His plate remained empty.

"Aren't you gonna eat? I thought you were hungry."

"My stomach is tight. Need to loosen it a little more." He drained his glass and poured himself another. "Oh, and later, Nadia, my boss from Toronto, showed up unannounced, and shit, she inspected my whole store, inch by inch. We were in the middle of the afternoon rush, so all I could do, was watch her taking her little notes. I tell you, I was sweating, and every time she turned her recently done face my way, I'd smile like an idiot."

I grabbed another piece of bread and stuffed it in my mouth. "So? What'd she say? She liked the way you set up the store or what?"

Jack set his glass down and finally served himself some pasta. "She said I was the fucking best. That my window displays and floor arrangements were the 'fucking best.'"

"Well, that's good, Jack. It's your first month in charge. So there."

Jack dusted some invisible crumbs off his shirt. "No, see, now her expectations of me are too high. She's gonna keep me on a tight leash from now on. I'm gonna be her little poodle with the magic tricks. The store she uses as an example to all. I'll be despised by all other supervisors."

"You hate them anyway."

Jack chuckled. "You're right." He touched my hand on the table. "How about you? Find any sex toys today? Or some CFO type stuck in a sling in the closet, with an eight ball up his ass?"

"Ah, no." I shook my head at him. "Nothing special. Valencia paid me again, so we have a little extra cash this weekend." I scraped my fork across the last of my noodles, refusing to tell Jack about the study money. I'd have to give that cash to my dad for his Visa bill. "And then I went to my dad's after the game."

"Oh, right. I forgot." But Jack didn't ask about my visit. He knew how much I hated talking about my father's problems.

Or did Jack suspect my father of not liking him?

After all, we'd been friends for five years and my father still refused to invite Jack over to the house. And I never insisted.

"This is really good by the way." I grabbed more bread. "You're such a good cook. I'm lucky. It's nice to have a warm meal waiting for me after work."

Jack was eating slowly with his eyes cast down. "Thank you."

I watched him for a minute, not sure if I should ask what was wrong or not. He was probably thinking of Craig. After a long silence, I cleared my throat. "Hey, are you all right? What's on your mind?"

He looked up at me and his eyes were full of emotion. "I told you not to ask me that."

I didn't like to see him this way. So downhearted. I realized how much I depended on Jack's wisecracks and sassy humor to get me through my own daily crap. "Look," I said, straightening up in my chair, "everything is gonna be okay. Don't worry about it. We're gonna have the greatest summer of our lives."

Jack's eyes glimmered with tears. "What the fuck did I do to deserve Craig treating me like that, huh? He just upped and took off with my money. I was good to him, you know?" He quickly wiped his eyes. "I wish I'd have listened to my gut when I met him and turned the other way."

I hated Craig in that moment. That fucking jerk. Couldn't he have been honest with my best friend about his debts? He'd used Jack. Emptied their shared checking account and left him for a better prospect. Jack didn't know this—but I'd called Craig two weeks ago and given him a piece of my mind. I'd threatened to kick his ass if he ever bothered Jack again. But the money was gone. Jack would never see a dime of it, that I was sure of.

Why was Jack _always_ falling for the wrong guy? Ever since I'd known him, Jack had dated one bad apple after another. Why couldn't he see how amazing he was?

Jack deserved so much more.

"You're gonna be okay," I said softly. "I know it hurts. But you're gonna survive this because you're you. You're Jack Barley."

Jack sniffled. "Like the hearty cereal." He squeezed his chest. "But without the warm milk."

I laughed though I'd heard that joke about his surname a hundred times or more in the last five years. That was actually how Jack introduced himself to people. "Exactly," I said.

We both chuckled a little and then grew quiet again. Jack dropped his fork on his plate, the metal clanking loudly, and then grabbed the bottle of wine standing between us on the table. "Enough of that sappy shit. It's Friday night. Let's go out. You'll wear that white muscle shirt and I'll use you as bait."

"You know I hate the bar scene."

"Honey, we all hate the bar scene."

"So why waste your time and money?"

Jack lolled his head, looking straight at me with those clever blue eyes which always flustered me. "I don't know," he finally said, to my surprise. "Maybe you're right. Are you staying in tonight? Because if you are, I'll stay in with you."

"You'll stay here? On a Friday night?"

"Yeah, why not. I'll get some more wine. We'll hang out. We'll unpack everything. I'm tired of living in an Amazon warehouse. Let's make a night of it."

I just looked at him, still not sure he was serious. Jack not going out on a Friday night? That was a first. He'd been out every Friday night since his break-up.

He picked up my empty plate. "Why don't you go to the store and get us another bottle, a bag of organic popcorn, two Cherry Blossoms, and oh—a bag of green licorice, too."

"What is this, Halloween?" I teased him, but happy about getting this place finally organized, I hurried out.

Jack's wishes were my desires.

* * * *

"That's it. Tomorrow, I'm giving all of my clothes out to the Salvation Army." With a disgusted expression, Jack was staring at his closet. "Look at all this stuff. It's humiliating. Have I no self-control?"

I leaned back on his dresser and decided _not_ to answer that.

Jack had been working retail for years and still spent a good amount of his paycheck on clothes. I didn't think I'd ever seen him wearing the same outfit twice.

Was he insecure about his appearance? He shouldn't have been. He was gorgeous. But Jack didn't fit the typical male beauty ideals out there. He wasn't tall, dark, and dangerous. He didn't have a deep masculine voice or big bulging muscles.

But did he fit my physical ideal?

Yes, except I didn't know how to tell him.

He turned to look at me. "What time is it?"

I yawned and checked my phone. "Almost one."

"Any wine left?"

"Nope."

Jack sighed and gazed around at his bedroom. We'd put everything away tonight. I'd even hung up all of Jack's art frames for him. His walls were covered with them. He was heavy into Basquiat and this painter named Hockney. Jack's bedroom had a cool neo-impressionist poolside feel to it. Or at least that was how Jack described it.

"That's that, right?" he said, his eyes meeting mine.

I rubbed my neck. "Guess so."

"You look like you need to sleep." Jack gathered the empty bottle of wine and our glasses from off the nightstand.

There was so much sexual tension between us, that I was afraid to touch him.

Jack wouldn't look at me. "Let's call it a night," he said.

I moved to the door. "I'll see you in the morning. Try to get some rest, too."

"Yeah. Good night," Jack said, behind me.

Did he want me as much as I wanted him?

In my bedroom, I stripped my clothes off and climbed into bed. I realized I was a little drunk. Jack was a serious wine drinker and could handle alcohol in a way I never could. I shut the light off on my night table, and as soon as I closed my eyes, felt the lull of sleep pulling me under.

But before I could surrender to it, I heard Jack's voice coming from my doorway. "Sebastien Saint-Amour," he said, using my full name in a way that meant business. "I need to talk to you. Right now."

I sat up and turned my light on. "What is it?"

Jack entered the room and started to pace. He seemed about to explode. "How can you just be like, ' _Good night_ '? Like, ' _Hey, I'm gonna crash_.' Like—"

"What? What are you talking about?" Why was I playing dumb again?

He stopped and stared down at me with his arms crossed. "You know _exactly_ what I'm talking about."

"All right. Okay. I'm sorry." Jack was turning into an obsession. That couldn't be good. It scared me how much I was affected by him.

He let out a long breath. "I was folding the goddamn Fall cardigans today—can you believe the head store is already sending me the Fall collection and we're in July?—and anyway, I was just standing there, folding those sweaters, and then that song came on, that song you really like. That Blue Rodeo cowboy song—"

"'Try.'"

"What?"

"The name of the song."

Jack squinted. "Whatever. Anyway, I thought about you...and my heart jumped." He glared at me. "Can you fucking believe that shit? My heart _jumped_. Do you know what that means?"

"Oh, Jack, come on."

"I'll kill you in your sleep before I fall in love with you again."

_Again_?

"What do you mean?" I asked, innocently enough. But then he'd really had said those words to me the other day. I hadn't imagined it.

"Look, Seb, I'm a little vulnerable, okay? I'm getting over a nasty, ugly, break-up, and I'm not feeling my own usual super bitch self, all right?" Jack pointed a finger at me. "And you, you better be good to me."

"I know that. Jack, sit down." I motioned for him to come closer. "Sit down. Come on."

He sat at the very edge of my bed and gave me one of those looks. "I mean it, Seb. Don't play mind games with me. I don't wanna go through it again. I got over you five years ago and I don't wanna have to pick my heart off the floor one more time."

I'd never known he'd had such intense feelings for me back then. Five years ago, Jack had been real quick to bounce back and date other guys after our short summer fling.

I moved over to him. "Look, if it's too heavy for you and you think maybe we should just cool it a little, I'm okay with that."

Jack's features tensed. "Look, never mind me. I'm just...I'm all over the place in my head. I feel like John Travolta at the Oscars. Don't listen to my babbling."

I tipped my head, looking straight at him. Was he being honest with me?

Jack cleared his throat and made a move to rise. But I stopped him and put my hands on his face. "You're a big part of my world," I said, meaning those words. "I hope you know that."

He wouldn't look at me, but leaned his head to mine with his eyes closed. "Sebastien, please stop talking and put your hands on me."

At the sound of those words, I gripped his shirt and threw him back on the bed.

Jack lay under me, breathing heavier now, his eyes smoldering with lust. "Hurt me a little," he groaned. We rolled around on my bed, wrestling like two boys in gym class. I had him naked in no time, and with my heart pounding with excitement, I reached over into my stash of rubbers and lube in the drawer by my bed. When I was ready, Jack turned over on his stomach, and amazed, I stared down at the curve of his beautiful round ass, then bent down to kiss it. I worshiped his creamy little buns.

Jack chuckled. "I love it when you kiss my ass," he said into the mattress.

I slapped his butt hard and he cried out and laughed again. I grabbed his hands on the bed and put my mouth to his reddened ear and nibbled on his ear lobe. That shut him up. I felt him give in, turning on to me. I kissed his neck, his shoulders, slowly making my way down to the small of his smooth back, my hand reaching under him to stroke his cock. Jack moaned and lifted his hips, his ass pushing into my groin, and I fingered him the way I knew he loved, until I could feel the ache in him, that maddening need to be filled up. Lovingly, he whispered my name, and I pushed into him, slowly at first, and then faster and harder. Jack encouraged my deeper thrusts, grabbing my thighs from behind, moaning and raising his hips to my groin, until my stomach was hard pressed to his ass, and I was losing control. I slapped his butt again, and he jerked under me, then I thought I'd made a mistake slapping him, but he whispered, "Again."

I rocked my hips, thrusting slower, and slapped his ass cheek again. The sound of my hand on his skin startled me, but Jack groaned harder, his hips buckled, and I knew he was coming. I hit him again, this time a little harder, and then again, and when he cried out, I came so hard, my body shuddered. I didn't move. I stayed inside him, shaking a little.

Later, I lay half on top of him, my cock softening inside him. God, he felt so damn good. Why did I have to pull out of him?

"Move, Sebastien," he said. "You're crushing me."

I pulled out and went to the bathroom to get rid of the rubber and then hurried back to the bedroom.

But Jack was already slipping his black pants on.

I stopped short in the doorway, not too sure of myself anymore.

"Good night," Jack said softly, passing me in the door. He looked troubled about something. His eyes were dark with emotion.

I didn't have the nerve to stop him from leaving. All I could do was watch him walking away to his room. "Uh, good night."

At the end of the long hallway, Jack paused and turned to look at me.

"Jack?" I asked.

But he shut his door.

* * * *

# Chapter 4

Being as quiet as I could, I crept down the hall to the kitchen.

It was Saturday morning and I didn't want to wake Jack. He worked so hard during the week and needed his rest. But when I walked into the kitchen, I was surprised to see him standing at the window, cup of tea in hand. He turned to look at me, and at the sight of his tense face and troubled expression, I froze up.

"Hey," I said, entering the kitchen, but staying by the table. Something was wrong. Jack looked like he hadn't slept much. His dark hair was unusually ruffled and his eyes were a little glassy, as though maybe he'd cried? "I didn't hear you get up," I sputtered, not knowing what else to say.

Jack put his cup on the cluttered table. He'd been reading the Saturday paper and its pages were fanned over the checkered tablecloth. He pointed to my usual seat. "Can we talk?"

I swallowed hard and sat, suddenly feeling self-conscious about being shirtless and in my boxer shorts. This seemed like the kind of conversation I should have been dressed for. "What's up?"

Jack sat in the chair at my right and didn't say a word.

It was serious. I'd never seen him quite like this before.

He glanced up and locked eyes with me. "Craig was right."

I wasn't sure what he meant, but I waited for more.

"In our last month, Craig kept bringing the subject up, but of course, I always dismissed it." Jack frowned, looking away from me. "And I accused Craig of being paranoid and imaginative." He met my eyes again. "But he was right."

"About?"

"My feelings for you, Sebastien. They've never changed, okay? Since that first night, our first and amazing night five years ago. God, can't you see how good we are together? How perfect our chemistry is?"

A wall went up inside me and I leaned back in my seat. No way.

Couldn't deal with this. Couldn't handle the feelings Jack's words stirred in me.

"Relax," Jack said. "Don't run out the door now."

We were friends. We were living together. Taking our relationship any further meant being a couple and I'd already told him a thousand times—I wasn't couple material. I was terrible at love. Couldn't experience it deep down inside. Something was dead in my heart and it had died the moment my mother, my best friend, had left this world gasping and hurting at the age of forty-three, her blue eyes burning my face as if begging to know why.

Why?

_Why_?

Beautiful things were for other people. I'd watched my mother, the most amazing woman I'd ever known, suffer and die for no reason at all, while monsters still roamed the world. I couldn't believe in love. No. I was a realist. A pragmatic.

Maybe even a _nihilist_ , as Jack had once called me.

But I wanted to believe so badly.

"I see your mind going a million miles a minute," Jack said, after a long silence. "You don't have to be so freaked out. My feelings are under my own governance and not your responsibility at all. Okay?"

"You're on the rebound, Jack. And that's what this is—"

"Don't patronize me, please." Jack sighed. "Look, I know what the deal is with you. I've known it from day one. You pretend you're not capable of being in a relationship, but it's that you can't and _won't_ be in a relationship with _me_ —oh, it doesn't matter. I just got caught up again and I'm gonna untangle myself from you, and everything is gonna be all right." He smiled, but it was fake, I could tell.

"Jack, you're great. You're so much fun. You crack me up. And I love your attitude, your no bullshit approach to life and you—"

"Ever think that maybe there's more to me than that?"

The tension was rising between us. I didn't want this to end badly. "Of course I know there's more to you than wisecracks and witty jokes."

Jack searched my face with those crystal blue eyes of his. "Are you sure? 'Cause it seems to me that you don't know me that well."

Didn't know Jack? Of course I knew him. He was my best friend.

I wouldn't let him off so easy. "Maybe it's 'cause you never show me your true colors," I said. "Every time we get serious, you crack a joke or turn sarcastic on me."

"Because I have to fucking protect myself!" he almost yelled. "Ever think of that? Ever think that maybe I'm scared, huh? Like, fucking terrified."

"Terrified of what?"

"Of the expression on your face right now," he breathed. "Of how traumatized and turned off you look. Of having this stupid, fucking pointless conversation with you again, after I spent the night convincing myself not to." He rubbed his face with both hands and straightened his shoulders. "Okay," he said, for himself it seemed. "I'm sorry I brought it up."

"We shouldn't have had sex," I said, without thinking of the impact my words would have on him.

The blood rushed up into Jack's face and he glared at me. "You're right. And that part is over now. _Over_."

"Just like that? Thanks for being of service, Sebastien, now go fuck yourself?"

"I just admitted to you that I have feelings—" He stopped, shaking his head. "No, never mind. You can't even begin to understand the courage it took for me to sit here and open up to a guy like you."

I knew it would be safer for me to get up and leave the room to cool off for a few hours. Why the hell did he have to drop this on my lap now? After we'd moved in together? "A guy like me?" I asked, getting out of my chair. "What do you mean by that— _a guy like me_? You mean, not as sophisticated or cultivated or clever as you and your friends are?"

Jack jumped out of his chair and we now stood face to face. "I have been at your side, caring for you, trying to understand you—oh, and trust me, that's a great feat in itself—and now you have the nerve to sit there and tell me I'm not good enough for you?"

I was surprised at his words. "I never said that." I frowned, my thoughts muddling. " _Never_. Not one time."

"You don't have to say it." Jack lowered his eyes. "Because if I was good enough for you, we'd have been together a long time ago. You wouldn't have let me date other guys after our first night together. God, Seb, you just let me drift for these last five years. Couldn't you see how much I needed you? How badly I hurt?" Jack stared me down. "Oh, you can laugh with me. Share your most private thoughts with me. Live with me." He took a shaky breath. "You can even fuck me. But you won't _be_ with me. No, you want a lover who can pass under the radar. The unnoticeable gay. The guy you can bring home to your father for an evening of watching the play-offs and guzzling down beers together, like buddies. Real _men_. Like Ryan, your ex. That truck driver who used to bore you to death. Sure, you love the way I walk and talk, but only if it's indoors, always from them— _them_ —those people you don't even know who could judge you for dating a fucking flamer. A fucking effeminate fag who—"

"Stop it. Right now. Stop it. That's not true." But it was. And I was shocked at Jack's insight. All these years, I'd kept him at a distance because I was afraid of what people, especially my father, would think of us being together.

I was trapped now. Confronted.

"Oh, yes it is, Sebastien." He came closer. "It's true. And it's _your_ truth, so why don't you own up to it." Jack bit his lip, his eyes filling up. "You once told me about Robin, remember that? You said that it was never the big tough Batman you wanted. Well, Sebastien, ever think that I'm your sidekick? That I'm your Robin?"

I was breathing hard, my jaw tightening. "Stop trying to corner me, Jack. I'm not gonna bite that bait."

He shut his eyes for a second as though I'd slapped him.

Then I knew I'd hurt him. And it killed me. "Jack, I'm sorry," I whispered, touching his shoulder. "I didn't mean to make you feel so bad."

He shook it off and looked away. "It's all right. Maybe you're right. Who knows how deep the need to punish myself is."

"Jack, I'm a fucking asshole. Jesus, you know that. You know me. I'm scum. I don't love anything. I don't have it in me to feel these things I know you think I should feel."

"You have this immense wall inside of you," Jack said, his voice trembling. "It's like the Great Wall of China. And I've been walking along it for years now, and I don't think there's a way in anymore."

"So stop walking. Stop trying. Just...give up on me."

"Is that what you really want?"

I started to answer, but he stopped me. "No, think about it," he said. "You want me to give up on the idea of us? Are you sure about that? Because I will. I'm capable of it."

At that moment, I wasn't sure I knew Jack so well anymore. There was a look in his eyes I'd never seen before. But I couldn't give him any other answer, but the one my conscience dictated. "I just want us to be friends. Like we used to be. No more sex. No more mixed signals. Just a nice, clean friendship."

Jack exhaled. "Oh, Sebastien, I can't believe you'd walk away from something like this. You're more fucked up than I thought you were." He pressed his open hand against my face. His touch was soothing and warm. "But all right. I'll give you what you ask for. Friendship and nothing else."

I was confused. _He_ confused me. "It almost sounds like a punishment."

"I'm not punishing you," Jack said, stepping back. "Just giving you what you want."

"And you're gonna be okay? You're not gonna be mad at me? Or treat me differently?" Now I was panicked, feeling him slip away. Why was I allowing this to happen? How could I stand here and witness the pain I was causing him?

"No, Sebastien, I won't be angry with you." He picked up my limp hand and brought it to his lips. "But I'm free now and so are you. We don't owe each other anything. We're friends. _Buddies_." He kissed my hand and turned away. "I'm gonna be out this afternoon. Going to spend some time with Rocco and Sam. So, I'll see you later, okay?"

Dazed, I watched him leave the kitchen. "Okay," I said, that great wall closing in on me a little more, until I was imprisoned by my own stupid shame and fear.

* * * *

# Chapter 5

I drained the last of my cold afternoon coffee and put my empty cup in the sink. It was Thursday evening and I had a long night ahead of me I wasn't looking forward to. I had to go grocery shopping for my father, which I hated to do alone. Since moving in with Jack, I'd gotten used to shopping for food with him and Jack always made it fun. But this evening, I'd be on my own in that huge grocery store, lost in those long isles of cans and cans. Then after dinner with my dad, I'd be heading out for a few hours of housecleaning.

I didn't enjoy this routine anymore. I'd always thought of myself as a loner, but these days, being alone for too long made my skin crawl.

I'd imagined that moving to a new neighborhood would set off a series of changes, yet aside from crossing different faces on the street, everything remained the same. I was cut off from people. Couldn't relate to them. Even my soccer buddies avoided talking with me lately. People must have sensed something was off inside, because they looked away from me. At the store. In the street. I was a good looking guy, but I was turning invisible.

And I missed Jack even when he was in the room with me. It was much harder than I'd thought it would be; to live with him and not be allowed to hold him. It wasn't only the sex I missed. I missed his eyes following me around when we were in the same room together. I missed our talks. His long monologues on whatever subject he was reading at the time. Why did he have to cut me off like that? We could have had such a great summer together. But now at night, Jack closed the door to his bedroom, and during the day, he never walked around in his undies anymore. He was acting like we were straight roommates. On top of that, he was always out, either at Rocco's and Sam's or with friends from work, or even on his own, as though our new place was contaminated. I'd barely seen him this week at all. I wanted to ask him about it, but every time I tried, I lost my nerve. I was sure he'd mock me.

He'd probably tell me I'd asked for this.

But I hadn't _asked_ for it. Jack was the one who'd decided we could only be one or the other: friends or lovers.

Not me. I'd decided nothing.

Yet deep down inside, I knew I'd _pushed_ him to make that decision. This was my own fault. Jack was only trying to protect his heart. It was sad that I was the one he needed protecting from, when really, all I ever wanted was to take care of him.

On my way to the front door, I heard him coming in and my heart started racing again, but I pretended I was busy with flipping through the mail.

Jack shut the door behind him. "Oh, hey," he said, setting his fancy leather bag by the shoe rack I'd built and installed for us this week. He hadn't even said anything about that rack yet. "Are you leaving already?" he asked in a nervous voice.

I wanted to yell that _I missed him._ "Yeah, gotta get some stuff for my dad," I grumbled instead, not looking directly at his beautiful face. "And then I have work. Two houses to do."

"But did you eat anything?" Jack slipped his black leather shoes off. "Well, I guess you're having dinner with your dad."

I walked to the entrance where he stood and picked up my sneakers, being careful not to touch him in the process. I was dressed in my gym pants and ugly blue T-shirt, and there he was, clad in a fine charcoal suit, looking like a window shop mannequin. "Yeah, my father's expecting me," I replied.

Jack passed me, walking away to the kitchen, and as he did, I caught a whiff of his soap. He smelled so good, I wanted to press my nose in his shirt collar. At the kitchen door, he turned to look back at me. "Oh, I put my share of the rent in the envelope. Then I decided it'd be better to hide it somewhere, so I slipped the envelope between pages eight and nine of the Doctor Zhivago book."

"Why eight and nine?"

"August and September."

Those were our birth months. I was August and Jack was September.

"And Doctor Jeevaco?"

" _Zhivago_." Jack's cheeks flushed pink. "Because it's—well, it's a tragic love story."

"Oh." I grabbed my bag, my stomach tightening.

Was Jack really _in love_ with me?

"So, are you gonna be home when I get back?" I asked, utterly confused.

"No...I'm gonna see Amanda's play. It's a little event, 'cause it's amateur theater, but she got the lead female part in _Angels in America_ , so I'm gonna show some support."

"Amanda? Remind me who—"

"My friend from high school. Amanda, _hello_?" Jack laughed. "You've met her a few times. She's playing Harper."

Jack had so many friends. It was hard to keep track. And now it looked like I was just one of them. Lost in the crowd. "Yeah, okay, I remember her. But I don't know the play." I opened the door, yet couldn't leave. I didn't like this at all. We were so formal, almost like strangers. "Well, don't forget we're painting tomorrow night, so, uh, you'll be here, right?"

Jack nodded. "Yes, I'll be here."

I shut the door and stood on the balcony for a moment. Then I realized maybe the question wasn't whether or not Jack was in love with me.

Maybe the real question was, was _I_ in love with him?

* * * *

Across the kitchen table, slumped over his plate, my dad was staring at me. "What's wrong, Sebastien?" He put his fork down. "You're even quieter than usual, and that's saying something."

What was wrong with me?

Nothing.

Nothing was wrong and nothing was right.

I was stuck in neutral, going nowhere.

"You know, Ryan is back. I saw him coming out of his mother's house yesterday." Dad took a sip of his water and watched me closely. "Louise told me Ryan got a job driving locally now. Won't be going down south anymore."

Ryan was my ex-boyfriend, if I could even call him that. We'd dated for a few months five years ago, and then I'd lost touch with him after he'd taken a job with an American trucking company and had started being on the road all year long.

"Is he all right?" I asked, a little curious.

"Oh yeah, he seemed all good. Maybe you should give him a call or something. I'm sure he'd love to hear from you."

Ryan?

No. Didn't think so. Ryan and I had spent our evenings sitting around in his basement, and on some nights, he'd let me blow him. Then we'd have nothing to say to each other. He was a jock. Deep in the closet. In total denial about being gay.

Ryan had asked me to join him down in Florida five years ago, but that was the year I'd met Jack and everything had changed.

"Hey, Dad, you should come by and see our new place sometime." I switched the subject. "It's coming along real nice. I think you'd like it."

"Yeah, sure." But he looked away. "Why not."

So evidently my dad couldn't handle the idea of his son living in the gay village. I'd have to come here for the rest of my life, to visit him.

"Lou was a little bummed out when you didn't show up," Dad said. "Thought maybe you'd make an appearance. It was his birthday, after all."

I'd planned on going to Lou's big day, but on Saturday morning, I'd woken up feeling anxious about the whole thing. I'd called Lou and spoken with him on the phone for a long time. But I couldn't go to my aunt's house. I hadn't seen my relatives in months. Every time I was in the same room as any of my aunts and uncles, they all looked at me as though I had answers to offer them. They knew I'd been at my mother's side when she'd passed away. That I'd been the one holding her as she'd stopped fighting that afternoon, two years ago in October. I couldn't keep reliving that moment just to satisfy their curiosity.

_Two years_.

"Sebastien?"

I glanced up from my plate. "Hm?"

My father pressed his hands together as if in prayer. "You don't seem happy."

"I'm fine." I stared at him. I didn't look a thing like my father. Except maybe for my nose and that cleft in my chin. But he was right—I was my mother's son. Sometimes, I'd catch her watching me in the mirror, behind my own eyes. "Just have a lot on my mind, that's all." I took one last bite of my burger and decided I was done. I rose out of my chair. "I'm gonna clean up and head out, okay?"

"She wouldn't want you to be so sad, Seb. She made me promise to keep an eye on you."

"Funny, 'cause she asked me to keep an eye on _you_." I resented my father in that moment. Something about his glassy brown eyes, tattered robe, and nicotine stained fingers revolted me. I wanted to blot him out of my vision. Why was _he_ here when my mother wasn't? He'd always been the child in their relationship. My mother had nursed my father through so many depressions in their twenty-five years together. I knew he didn't do it on purpose, but my father's lethargy and his lack of lust for life had rubbed off on me, and now I found myself turning into him more and more.

I didn't want that for myself. Was I going to end up like him?

"I have to go," I mumbled, knowing I'd explode and say things I'd regret if I didn't get out of this house. This very house my mother had been so proud of, regardless of how small and cheaply built it was. She'd cleaned this house from top to bottom every week. And now it was a dump. Why couldn't he have honored her, instead of falling to pieces?

"If you don't wanna come here anymore, you don't have to," my father said, reading my thoughts. He frowned, obviously fighting back his own emotions. "I know you hate it. Don't you think I know it?"

He was so broken. I couldn't kick him when he was down. He'd robbed me of that, too. When my mom had died, I'd needed him to be strong for me, so I could rage against her death, cry and mourn her with all of my soul, but from the time of her funeral, I'd been told by everyone in our family that it was _my_ responsibility to make sure their depressive brother—my father—didn't jump off a bridge, as he'd threatened so many times during my mother's short but devastating battle with lung cancer.

Be there for him, Sebastien.

He needs you, Sebastien.

You're all he has, Sebastien.

So I'd swallowed my grief. Had watched my father take my mother's picture down in their bedroom only weeks after she'd died. I'd said nothing after he'd decided to go on sick leave from his job at the post office. I'd taken my responsibilities, financial and moral, but if he asked me for one more inch, one more little thing, I'd snap and never come back here again.

"You're not the only one who lost her, Sebastien."

I could have smashed something. "Look, I have to go, okay? But I'll call you this week." I dug into my jeans for the cash I'd withdrawn earlier. "Here," I said, giving him the fifty. "Hope this helps a little."

"I don't need your money." Dad leaned back in his chair, his angry eyes catching the dim light hanging over the table. "What I need is your respect."

How dare he demand respect from me? "I respect you, Dad," I said like an automaton. "Have I said or done anything to piss you off?"

"No...have I?"

We stared at each other.

"No," I finally said, turning for the kitchen doorway. "I'm just on edge lately, and that's all it is."

I'd made it to the entrance, when I heard him say, "Don't give up on me."

He always knew what to say to keep me coming back.

But not tonight. No, I stepped out of the house and hurried down the front steps, to the driveway. As I did, I caught a glimpse of Ryan's mom sitting in her lighted living room. She was watching TV. Was Ryan with her?

Oh, what did it matter anyway? I didn't want to see Ryan again.

I climbed into my car and turned the engine on. I sat there, staring at the dashboard. Without thinking about it, I took my phone out. Maybe I could tell Jack about my grief. Let him see just how raw my wounds were. Maybe if I let him in a little, we could understand each other.

We could trust each other.

Why did I need Jack so much? This was getting serious. Out of control.

I looked at the phone in my hand.

No, it was a bad idea to call him. Jack was with Amanda, that girl, tonight. Probably having a good time with his cool actor friends.

And I was on my way to clean a stranger's toilet.

* * * *

I parked in front of Valencia's stone house and checked the time on the radio clock. It was almost nine. The last job had taken much longer than planned and now I was running late, but Valencia wasn't home tonight, so she wouldn't notice. I'd get everything done before she returned from her weekly visit to her niece. My stomach was growling and I cursed myself for not eating the rest of that burger at my dad's two hours before.

I grabbed my bag off the passenger seat and stepped out of the car. The porch light was off at Valencia's. She usually left it on after dark. I climbed the four stone steps to her door and glanced up at the light. The bulb was broken. Shattered actually. These houses were old and the electrical wiring needed to be updated. Maybe a jolt of electricity had caused the bulb to burst? I'd have to check her switch panel downstairs. Digging into my bag for the front door key, I heard something behind me.

But before I could understand anything, a man had pressed up against my back. "Open the door," he said close to my ear. He pushed something hard into my side. "Don't say a word. Don't try anything. Just open the door."

My blood rang in my ears as I fumbled through the pockets of my bag, my heart pounding harder and harder.

This was it.

This was faith shoving me down a road I'd never even imagined.

Life was so fragile, was all I could think.

Jack's face flashed through my mind.

Jack, I love you.

Oh, I love you so much.

"Hurry up." The man said, breathing fast close to my ear.

My fingers finally touched something cold. The key. I took it out. I wouldn't talk. I'd do what this guy said and make it out of this alive. I turned the key in the lock and pushed the door open.

"Punch the code in," the guy ordered.

But the alarm hadn't beeped.

Wait, was someone in the house?

"Never mind. Get in." The man pushed me. I couldn't remember if I'd caught a glimpse of his face or not. Was he white? Black? Tall or short? Jesus, how could I not recall these details? I made a slight move to turn around.

But his hard voice stopped me. "You fucking turn around and I'll blow your head off." He sounded a little strange, as though he was trying to make his voice lower than it actually was. How old was this guy?

Then his words hit me. It was a gun he'd pushed into my side. A _gun_. How could this be happening to me?

"All right," the man said, after we were inside. He kept shoving me. "Stand there and face the wall."

I hadn't seen his face.

But I obeyed him. Facing the wall, I heard him walking around nearby, breathing hard, obviously pumped with adrenaline, and then I heard him talking low to someone. On the phone maybe? Seconds later, there was the sound of the back patio door sliding open. "Get in here," the man said to someone walking up to the entrance where we were.

"Well, tie him the fuck up!" another male voice said. This guy sounded more excited. "Here!" He must have thrown something at the man close to me, and I stiffened, ready for anything, but prepared for nothing.

"All right, all right." The man near me grabbed my arm and pushed me up against the wall a little more. "Go, go, go!" he shouted. "It's in the dining room, behind the painting on the left wall, like I told you."

They knew this house. They'd been here before? Okay, so they'd get what they'd come for and leave.

"Don't try anything," the man said, jerking my arms back and pressing my wrists together. "You're a big guy, but I'll shoot you. I'll fucking do it." He didn't sound convinced. He sounded young actually. Scared even. These guys weren't pros.

These two sounded like riled up teenagers.

I heard the sound of tape being ripped and knew both his hands were now busy, so there was no way he could be pointing the gun at me. If I turned around now, I could take him. I could take this guy. But I didn't have the nerve. He taped my wrists together and pushed something cold to my ear. I knew it was the gun. "Be good," he said, and then cackled. It was a nervous laugh.

There was some noise behind me, coming from the dining room. Like a paper tearing. The painting? What was behind that thing anyway? Cash? How did these guys know it was there? My mind raced, and I knew I was thinking about all of these details in order to avoid thinking about what they'd do to me _after_ they'd found what they were looking for.

Jack's face haunted me.

I wanted so badly to see him again.

That was all I wished for, to see his blue eyes again.

God, let me see Jack's face one more time.

I'll love him so long and so good and never let him go.

"Found it!" the other man yelled.

"Shut up! Not so loud!" The man behind me held the back of my neck. "Bring it here and let's go!"

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow, and then a man, a young man, shirtless and wearing ear phones, appeared in the doorway at my left, a few feet away from where I stood. The young man's face was frozen like a picture. He quickly backed up and disappeared, returning to the garage where he'd obviously come from, and my stomach twisted until I tasted bile in my mouth.

Had the thief behind me seen him? If he had, things would escalate.

"Hurry up!" the burglar said, squeezing my neck harder. "Let's go! Let's go!"

I leaned my forehead on the wall, trying to stop the room from turning around me.

Hold on a few more seconds.

"Hey, hey, don't pass out on me now," the man behind me said, loosening his grip on my neck.

Then his partner rushed into the room—I heard his hurried steps and ragged breaths. "Got it. I got it! Let's get outta here."

"What about him?" The man hadn't let go of me. "Do I knock him out or what?"

"Fuck him. Let's just go. He didn't see anything."

My knees were giving out. Something hot was spreading inside my guts, like a fire being fanned under my skin, and I clung to reason, to my senses, waiting, anticipating.

"All right, fuck it then." The man let go of me.

I shut my eyes. Heard the front door being closed.

Seconds later, I opened my eyes a slit, and turned my head a little. The entrance was empty. They were gone. Just like that. They were _gone_. Something hard hit my knees and pain shot up my thighs, then I heard myself groan and realized my legs must have given out from under me and I'd fallen. Adrenaline coursed through me like a shock wave and I struggled to get out of my binding. The tape wouldn't give, and I grunted and yanked, but couldn't manage it. What if they changed their minds and came back to finish me off? Panic overwhelmed me and I jerked and pulled, but nothing worked, so I tried getting to my feet. Fuck it. I'd leave the house tied up.

I managed to rouse myself and looked up in time to catch sight of the young guy I'd seen in the garage doorway, rushing back to me. "Wait, wait, are you okay?" he asked, stopping me from leaving by putting a hand on my arm. "Don't move. Wait. Hold on. Hold on." He ran to the kitchen and while he did, I bolted for the front door, still in the throes of panic, but then he grabbed my arm. "Wait, Sebastien, wait."

The sound of my name struck me like a punch and I teetered, leaning back on the door, gulping for air.

"Oh, _figlio de putana_." The young guy was wide-eyed. "I called the police. I called them."

"Okay," I said, my own voice sounding like it was coming from a distant place.

"You're all right. You're okay." He stared at the scissors in his hand.

"Untie me," I said, my mind clearing up a little.

He turned me around and cut the tape. Unbound, I rubbed my wrists and a rush of acid shot up my throat. I ran to the bathroom and bent over the open toilet, heaving and spitting bile into the white bowl.

I fell back against the porcelain tub.

Goddamn, I'd never been so scared in my life.

The guy now stood in the doorway, watching me with intense brown eyes. He was older than I'd first thought he was. Maybe thirty. His dark brown hair was longish and curled around the ears. He looked like one of those Italian princes in Valencia's paintings. Then it dawned on me who he was. "Amadeo," I said.

"Yeah. Yeah, that's me." He stepped into the bathroom and crouched by me. "Nonna told me a lot about you, Sebastien. Are you okay?"

"Nonna? You mean Valencia." I tried taking a few good breaths. "Yeah, I'm all right."

" _Nonna_ is Italian for grandmother." He looked over his shoulder. "D'you hear that?"

Sirens wailing, approaching.

"Go get them," I said.

In the distance, I heard Amadeo running out of the house and then closed my eyes.

Jack's face flashed behind my lids.

My Jack.

* * * *

# Chapter 6

Thirty minutes later, I sat on a step of Valencia's front porch, dazed and edgy—my bleary eyes fixed to the firetruck parked in front of Valencia's house.

Behind me, cops were talking. It seemed they'd picked up one of the perpetrators a few streets away. The two jerks had been on foot, but one of them had managed to jump a fence and temporarily elude the cops. The cops weren't concerned. The guy who'd held the gun to me—a fake one I'd soon found out—was already sitting in the precinct's interrogation room, spilling his story. They were young thugs. One of them had been Valencia's _student_ last year. She'd given him painting lessons and Amadeo thought maybe the young guy had heard her talking on the phone to her niece about the money behind the painting.

Valencia really needed to start being a little more careful and suspicious of people.

"All right, make sure you get a ride home." A man stepped down the stairs and patted my shoulder over the blanket. He was a first responder named Brock, a big guy with a thick red mustache. He'd insisted I get checked out at the hospital, but I was fine. I was really all right. Just shaken up a bit. We'd had a short conversation a few minutes ago and Brock had helped me get my wits back.

"You're pretty cool-headed, aren't you?" he said now, eying me over.

"Yeah. I guess so." I'd always had an even temper. "My mother used to say I was as easily rattled as a koala in a eucalyptus tree."

He laughed. "Ever think of getting behind the wheel of a firetruck? Or an ambulance maybe?"

"You mean like a paramedic?"

"Like joining up." He leaned in. "Maybe you should consider the program at Ahuntsic College. You got the build. The age. And obviously, you don't lose your head too easy. Think about it. It's a good program. Better than cleaning houses, I bet." Brock squeezed my shoulder and left, confidently walking down to the truck where two other guys dressed in full firefighting gear were waiting, chatting like they were on coffee break. This was business as usual for them. "See you around, Sebastien," Brock called out to me. "Think of tonight as faith kicking you in the balls."

I watched the truck pull away from the curb.

I frowned, mulling over his words. Me, a first responder?

I'd never thought about it. As a teenager, I'd dreamed of joining the army. Then later, it had been the Coast Guard. But that had been a long time ago and that dream was dead it seemed.

Or was it?

"Hey, you." Amadeo sat beside me and gave me a quick pat on the thigh. "How are you feeling? Are you sure you don't want me to take you to the hospital?"

"No, I'm all right." I turned to look at him. Amadeo was an attractive man. He had large hazel eyes that sparkled with intelligence and a pouting little mouth that gave him a childish expression. He was definitely Mediterranean. Not really my type though. "How about you?" I asked.

Amadeo stared at the street. "Quite a welcome I got, huh?" He had a bit of an accent he tried to conceal. It was pretty sexy. "My grandmother is a little upset. She's staying at my cousin's for the night. I'm going to try to convince her to move back to Italy with me."

"I don't think she'd go for that. She really loves this house." Poor Valencia. So trusting and good. She didn't deserve this. "You gonna go be with her tonight?"

"Yes, of course. But first, let me drive you home. We'll take your car." Amadeo rose and peered over my shoulder into the house. "Are you all done?" he asked someone behind me.

I turned to see the three police officers who'd introduced themselves to me earlier, but whose names I'd already forgotten, walking out. "Yeah, we're all done," the older man said. "We just got a call from the station and the young man we have in custody already confessed. Took about five minutes of interrogation. We'll call you as soon as we have anything on the other suspect. Shouldn't be long. We know his accomplice. We have a car on the way to his aunt's house where we have every confidence he'll turn up."

"My grandmother says there wasn't much cash there. Maybe a thousand."

"That's too bad, because that means these two boys just bought themselves some real jail time for less than a grand." The cop looked genuinely sad. "What a stupid thing to do. Anyway, here." He handed Amadeo his card. "In case you need to reach me."

I'd watched a lot of cop movies but this wasn't at all like what I'd seen on TV. It was all so anticlimactic. There was no yellow tape stretched around the premises or detectives running around with blue gloves, dusting the house for prints. I'd given them a report of the events and they'd call me if they needed more information.

I stood up and addressed Amadeo. "I have to make a call. Can you gimme a second?"

"Sure thing."

First, I tried reaching my father, but of course he didn't answer his phone. I hung up and dialed Jack's cell.

After all, it was his soft voice I was dying to hear.

Jack picked up after a few rings. "Hey, Seb," he answered cheerfully. "Are you finally finished with work?" I could hear voices in the background. Girls were laughing. So, he was still with his friends.

How could I say this exactly? "Listen, uh, something happened tonight. Some shit went down at Valencia's house, and uh, I'm all right and all, but there were some guys here—they robbed the place and—"

"What? What do you mean _robbed the place_? You were in the house? Oh my God! Sebastien, are you fucking okay? Are you—where are you?"

"I'm fine. I'm okay." But I was clutching the phone, pacing near my car. There was a lump in my throat and I couldn't talk for a second. I wanted to rush home to him. Needed to hug him. See him.

"What's going on?" Jack asked in a breath. "Are you hurt?"

I stopped pacing and got myself together. Didn't want to upset Jack for no reason. I saw the three cops getting into their patrol cars and Amadeo locking up the house. "I guess they knew I'd be at the house tonight," I said. "Maybe they'd been watching the house for a few weeks. It happened real fast. One of the guys came up behind me as I was opening the door and then his partner came in from behind."

"Wait, they used _you_ to get in?"

"Yeah, yeah. They knew I had the key. The alarm code and everything." I ran my hand across the car hood, hearing my own calm words, understanding how close I'd come to meeting with disaster tonight. Those guys might have been young and inexperienced, but they could have panicked and sliced my throat with a butcher knife all the same. "They tied me up, and uh, I was pressed up against the wall, so I couldn't see anything, but the grandson—Valencia's grandson Amadeo—was in the garage. When he came out, he saw me there and called the cops."

"Wait, he was in the house?"

"Yeah, yeah, and he called the cops. The guys didn't know he'd be in the house tonight. Amadeo just got in from Italy this afternoon. He was in the garage checking out Valencia's Fiat, but had his earphones on and didn't hear a thing."

I didn't know what to say anymore. I was out of fuel.

"Are you at the police station right now?"

"No, because they already picked up one of the guys and he told them everything. He was an ex-student of Valencia's. Can you believe that shit?"

"You're not hurt? You could have internal bleeding. You could have a concussion. You could have—"

"Jack, they didn't hit me. I'm okay. I'm really all right."

Amadeo now stood nearby, waiting. He was dressed in black, his eyes bright in the sheen of the lamppost light. I realized he looked a little like James Dean. He must have been quite the popular guy in his home town of Florence, him being a painter and all.

"Look, Amadeo's gonna drive me home. I guess it's better that way. I'm a little shook up. So, I'll see you later?"

"Yes, I'm coming home right now. I'll be there before you get there." Jack inhaled sharply. "Are you sure you're all right? You sound so calm. _Too_ calm. What if you're in shock?"

"I'm not. I'm absolutely okay." I popped the driver's door open and motioned for Amadeo to get in, then went around to the passenger's side. "Just fix me a stiff drink."

"All right then. Me and Johnny Walker will be waiting for you at home."

"Don't get nervous, okay?" I said softly. "Don't drink too much."

After Jack hung up, I fell back into the passenger seat and looked over at Amadeo. "Thanks, by the way."

Amadeo smiled and shook his head. "What a way to meet, huh?" He extended his hand out to me. "Hi, I'm Amadeo Bruni." He cracked a wide smile.

I shook his hand and he held my fingers inside his a little longer than I'd expected. "I'm Sebastien." I strapped my seat belt on. "Saint-Amour." I hated my last name. It was a surname fit for a poet, not for a guy like me.

"Wow. Saint-Love." He put the car in Drive and glanced my way again. "So, where to, Mr. _Amore Sacro_?"

I cleared my throat, shifting in my seat. "Uh, the gay village."

Amadeo stared at me and cocked a brow. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." I looked away, to the window.

He drove off and we were silent for a while.

It was nice.

Until Amadeo spoke again. "So, was that your boyfriend on the phone. Jack is it? He must be worried out of his mind."

"Jack is my roommate." I shot him a quick look. "Well, my friend, too."

"Oh."

I waited for the next obvious question.

"You straight?" Amadeo finally asked. "You know...'cause the gay village. I mean, not many straight guys—"

"Plenty of straight people live in the gay village. But no, I'm not straight."

"That's what I thought." He looked at me. "I'm gay, too."

_No shit._ I'd guessed that much after I'd caught him checking my ass out while I'd been bent over the toilet in Valencia's house. Only a red-blooded gay man would assess another man's physique in a time of crisis.

"Do you mind if I close my eyes here for a second?" I leaned my head on the glass. "I just need to relax."

Amadeo moved in his seat and turned the radio off. "No problem. I'll nudge you when we come up to Saint-Hubert Street."

"So, you know the way then." I shut my eyes and listened to the tires rolling over the street.

"Of course. This isn't my first time in Montreal." He laughed. "Or the gay district, for that matter."

* * * *

A few apartments down from mine, Amadeo easily squeezed my beat-up Hyundai between two other cars and shut the engine off.

"Good parking skills," I said.

He winked at me. "I'm Italian. Your streets are twice as large."

"Right." I got out of the car and looked up at the living room window. The lights were on. I could almost feel Jack's apprehension and impatience from down here. "Well, do you wanna come up for a glass of water or drink?"

"Absolutely. A quick one."

We mounted the stairs. I could feel Amadeo's eyes on my ass the whole way up. This guy was intense. I wondered what Jack would think of him and for a second, wondered if I'd done the right thing inviting Amadeo up. I pushed the door open and heard Jack dropping something in the kitchen sink, the sound of metal clanking on metal, and then a few seconds later, we were standing face to face in the hall.

Jack was a little flushed. His shirt was undone at the collar and his cheeks were pink. He had a drink in his hand, and the moment I saw the look in his eyes, I knew he was already pretty tipsy. "Hey," I said, wanting to put my arms around him, but stopping myself.

"You look okay," Jack said. He grabbed my chin with his free hand and raised my face up to the hall light. "No bruises." He was slurring his words a bit. "But you're white as chalk. Sit down." He looked over my shoulder at Amadeo. "You must be the grandson. Amadeus, right?"

" _Amadeo_ ," Amadeo corrected him a little uneasily. "Hi, Jack."

I bent to Jack's ear. "Are you drunk?"

Jack went to sit in the armchair, spilling his drink over his fingers as he fell back against the seat. "Sit down, you two." He slammed his glass down and grabbed the Red Label bottle off the coffee table. "Grab some glasses, Sebastien. Let's make a toast to you surviving a violent home intrusion."

"Sorry about this," I muttered, looking over at Amadeo. "I don't know why he's like this."

"He's obviously upset," Amadeo whispered, under a breath so as to avoid Jack hearing. "I should go."

"Sit down, you two," Jack said, smiling wanly.

But I could see he was obviously fighting back wild and intense feelings.

He'd been thinking about me. About what could have happened to me tonight. Jack's face had been the only thing on my mind as the events had unfolded. I remembered how desperately I'd needed to see his blue eyes again.

Looking at his troubled face now, I wanted to give up, something inside me ready to surrender to him.

Amadeo hesitated, then finally walked over to the couch and sat by Jack's chair. "You okay?"

"I'll get us some glasses." I headed for the kitchen. "Jack, can you come here for a second, please?"

"Uh-oh," I heard Jack say somewhere behind me. "I'm in trouble."

When moments later Jack entered the kitchen, I stared at him, giving him a tender look. "Baby, I'm okay," I said, then realized I'd called him _baby_. "I'm all right," I sputtered, embarrassed at my little slip up. "It's over."

A storm blew up in Jack's eyes, but he turned around and fumbled through the cupboard for glasses, obviously trying to keep his feelings under control. "I know that," he said in a strangled voice.

"I'm really all right." I took a step forward, my heart bursting with love for him.

But behind me, in the doorway, Amadeo cleared his throat. "I'm gonna get going. I should be with my _Nonna_."

Feeling feverish, I turned to face Amadeo. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea."

Amadeo looked over my shoulder at Jack, who was still at the sink. "Thanks for the drink offer, but I'll take a rain check on that for now."

Jack turned around and stared at him for a second. "Oh, okay," he said, as though he'd finally seen Amadeo clearly. "Well, thanks for driving Sebastien home. That was very considerate of you."

"No problem." Amadeo was sizing Jack up as though he was on display in a store front. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked him gently. "Sebastien's all right now. That's what matters. Not what _could_ have happened, but what did happen."

Jack nodded. "Yeah, you're right."

"Sebastien, can I have your number?" Amadeo touched my shoulder. "I'd love to see you two again. I'm only here for a month, and it would be great to hang out with you one of these days." He scratched his head. "I mean, if that's okay with you guys."

No, I didn't want to see him again.

But what could I say?

I gave Amadeo my number and watched him punch it into his phone contacts.

Jack didn't say anything, but he was clearly sobering up.

In a hurry to see the Italian painter leave, I walked Amadeo to the front door and opened it for him. "Please tell Valencia I'll be there next week, as usual, and that nothing's changed."

Amadeo kept looking at the end of the hall. "Yeah, of course, I'll tell her. Of course." He wouldn't leave.

Jack came walking back to us. He had a bottle of water in his hand and looked a little better. "Thanks again, Amadeo," he said softly, stopping close to us. "And welcome to Montreal, right?" He chuckled.

Amadeo blushed a little. The man wasn't immune to Jack's dazzling charm. "Hey, come to think of it, Jack, I didn't get _your_ number," he said, taking his phone out.

Jack immediately stepped closer to him.

They exchanged numbers.

I'd brought Amadeo here. I'd brought this Italian painter with the smoldering dark eyes, sensual voice, and goddamn sexy accent, _here_.

Damn it.

"So, what do you do?" Amadeo asked Jack in a low voice.

"I'm the manager at Uomo Nuovo." Jack replied. "It's a men's fashion store downtown."

"Oh, that's great. That's why you're dressed so fantastically."

Jack took a swill of his water, peering into Amadeo's face. I knew that look all too well. That was a _classic_ Jack Barley stare meant to burn you down to the core. "Why, thank you."

I couldn't believe this. Only two hours ago, I'd been assaulted and tied up and now Jack was flirting with this guy?

"It's late," I said, opening the door wider. "And Jack works tomorrow."

"Yes, I work tomorrow," Jack repeated, discreetly mocking me.

Amadeo stiffened and stepped back. "Of course. Yeah, you guys had a big night." He squeezed my shoulder. "Good night, Sebastien. I wish we could have met under different circumstances, but—" He stopped and looked straight at Jack. "I'm so glad we did meet."

I distinctly heard Jack's breath catch in his throat.

Finally, Amadeo left and I gladly shut the door behind him.

"How's he getting home?" Jack asked, walking to the living room window to peer down at Amadeo walking away, I supposed.

"He can handle a subway ride."

"We should have called him a cab." Jack stared out the window, at the street. "He's not from here."

"Oh, please, he's been around the village, trust me."

Jack glanced over at me. "Did he say so?"

I regretted offering up that information. "I don't know," I grumbled. "He mentioned coming here a lot when he visited Montreal." I fell back into the couch and grabbed Jack's glass. I poured myself a drink, _finally_.

"Well, anyway, he seems really nice. Classy, too. And quite intriguing, if I might add." Jack sat by me on the couch and leaned his head on my shoulder.

I caught a whiff of his cologne and swallowed a good gulp of my drink hoping to ease the fire in me.

"You must be so exhausted," Jack said. "I can't believe what happened to you tonight."

I wanted to put my arm around him. Wanted to tell him that I'd thought of him when the guy had pushed the gun in my side. That his face had been the only thing on my mind then. But I couldn't. I couldn't say those things. I'd be playing with Jack's head and I'd promised not to do that anymore.

"Seb?"

"Yeah, what is it?" My voice was husky and I was getting excited from sitting so close to him. I could feel him breathing next to me. After tonight's events, my body was on overload, my nerves dancing under my skin. I wanted to kiss him. Feel his tongue in my mouth. I could almost taste him.

Man, I wanted him so much.

"After you called," Jack said, playing with my fingers, "I don't know what got into me, but I couldn't sit still. Couldn't stop pacing and thinking about what could have happened tonight. And what it would do to me, if—if you weren't here anymore, on this earth with me." He paused. "The whiskey went down like water. I didn't even know I was drunk until you showed up."

I knew what he was saying. What he meant. But I couldn't encourage this conversation. It was too deep. "Well, I'm okay, Jack. So, let's just forget about the rest."

"If something happened to you, I'd die."

I sat up and poured another drink. "Nothing's gonna happen."

"You're not listening. I'm trying to tell you that I realized something important tonight. Something crucial and that's—"

"Would you gimme a break? I'm fucking tired, Jack. My brain is _kaput_. I can't follow you right now."

"Okay. All right." He rose and put his hand on my shoulder. "No, I understand. I'm upset. I had too much to drink. I'm just gonna go to bed then." His face was hard with anger.

His hand was inches away from my grasp and if I touched it, maybe he'd let me pull him close.

I needed him.

But I downed my drink instead. "I'm gonna stay up a little. Then I'll take a shower and go to bed."

Without another word, Jack went to his bedroom and shut the door.

Then I heard his lock turn and wondered...

Was he locking me out?

Or locking himself _in_?

* * * *

# Chapter 7

The next day, I was washing my father's car in his driveway, when I caught sight of Ryan walking across the street to me. Of course I'd known it was only a question of time before Ryan finally summoned the nerve to come say hello, but I wished he'd have picked another day. I'd been up for half of the night, sweating over my sheets, reliving the robbery. I'd tossed and turned, overwhelmed with repressed emotions I couldn't even understand anymore. I'd wanted to wake Jack and climb into his bed, but had fought that need all night.

I'd bottled up everything—I knew this. My grief. My bitterness. My disappointment.

And my feelings for Jack. It was only a matter of time before I came apart. I needed to tell him how I felt before I lost him for good.

But this morning, Jack had left the apartment early for work and I hadn't heard from him since then. He usually sent me a funny text during the day to perk me up.

I hadn't received a word from him today.

Now Ryan stood by the hood of the car waiting for me to notice him, and I kept waxing the trunk as though I hadn't seen him there. Sweat stung my eyes. I was shirtless and my shoulders were beginning to scorch. It was high noon. Not a good time for being cooked by the sun.

Ryan came a little closer to where I stood and cleared his throat. "So, hey, I see your old man hasn't sold this piece of shit yet."

I glanced up and feigned surprise at seeing him there. "Ryan. Hi." I held onto the rag, shifting my weight from foot to foot. Didn't know if I should shake his hand or what. I'd sucked this man's dick, but here we were standing face to face, unsure and estranged.

Ryan hooked his thumbs into his baggy jeans and swayed back a little. He'd gotten bigger around the shoulders. His biceps were bulging out of his Linkin Park T-shirt. "How you been?" he asked, his gentle gray-blue eyes searching mine. "Been a while, huh?"

I was flustered by his presence. So, he still had an effect on me. I hadn't expected that. "You live around here now?" I asked, trying to play it cool. "Heard you got a local job."

"Yeah...I'm renting a little house a few blocks from here. It's nice. Pretty cozy. Well, hey, it's better than living in a truck cabin." He chuckled and looked away, gazing at something far off in the street.

I stared at his profile, the curve of his chin, his Adam's apple moving in his throat. I remembered what it felt like to go down on him and how hard Ryan had always worked at not making a sound when he came.

Back then, he'd made me feel ashamed for loving dick so much. I didn't want to go back there anymore. I'd made a lot of progress in the last years.

It had been Jack who'd helped me come out of the closet with some kind of self-acceptance and a shred of dignity.

"So, Louise told me you're cleaning houses now?"

There was that familiar shame again. "Yeah, but just temporarily." I started scrubbing the hood again, tasting sweat on my lips. "My dad got depressed, so I needed some under-the-table cash real quick to help him out with the bills and stuff."

Ryan moved closer still. "Yeah, I totally get that. But, uh, is it true you live with that guy, that little fag who used to wait tables at Reggie's back when?"

_Fag_.

And what the hell were we?

_Straight_?

I stopped scrubbing and looked straight at him. "Jack Barley, yeah. We share a place."

There was a flicker of surprise in Ryan's eyes. "You're not... _with_ him, are you?"

I wanted to stand up for Jack, but didn't. "No," I said, being a coward, "we're roommates. You know, just sharing that big place and all."

"Yeah, sure?" Ryan squinted. "You always had a thing for that little queen, no?"

My jaw clenched, but still, I didn't defend Jack.

Why?

Ryan's stare moved over my naked chest like a touch. "Been working out, I see."

"No, but cleaning houses is a lot more physical than you might think."

"Oh yeah?" Ryan hesitated and then reached out to squeeze my arm. "Wow. Hard as steel." He quickly looked around at the street and locked eyes with me again. "Come over later?" But he couldn't sustain my stare. "We could hang out. Like the old days."

Yeah. The old days.

That meant sucking his dick while he watched TV.

"We're painting our kitchen tonight," I said, trying to sound tough.

" _We_? You and the blue-eyed twink?" Ryan laughed. "Yeah, you mean, you'll paint while he holds your beer."

I flinched and felt my face get hard. "Yeah. I guess."

Ryan seemed uneasy. "Oh, okay." He backed up again and nodded. "Sure. Maybe we'll get together some other night then."

No way.

I wasn't going backwards anymore.

"Yeah, maybe," I said, only to get him to leave.

Who the hell did Ryan think he was, calling Jack a _little queen_? Jack was tougher than Ryan or I would ever be.

Ryan gave me a puzzled look and raised his chin. "Hey, I'm sorry about your mom, by the way. I know how close you two were." He said those words nonchalantly as though they were an afterthought.

I could have clocked him right then and there. My mother wasn't a pet that had been run over. "Thanks." I rubbed the car hood harder and harder, my hand growing sore.

Finally, he turned and left.

"Fucking asshole," I muttered when he was out of earshot. "Find some other _fag_ to suck your dick."

And for some reason, I laughed at myself.

Because that had been _such_ a Jack Barley thing to say.

* * * *

After I left my dad's place, I met the guys at the Jeanne Mance Park for a soccer game and then went home for a long cool shower. Now, excited at the prospect of seeing Jack again, I quickly jumped into those black jeans he loved on me and hurried out to meet him at the hardware store, as planned.

I waited ten minutes for him in front of the store, searching the crowded sidewalk for his face. Fifteen more minutes passed.

Was I being stood up?

I checked my phone for messages. _Nothing_. I dialed his number, hoping I wouldn't disturb him at work. Maybe Jack was still stuck with one of his highbrow customers.

"Oh my God!" Jack answered my call, shouting into the phone. "I'm so fucking sorry! I just realized we were supposed to meet at the store."

"Well, yeah—where are you? Still at work?" I moved to the side so as not to be in the way of people walking by. I kicked a rock into the street drain, my stomach tightening with dread.

He'd forgotten. He wasn't coming.

"No, I'm not a work," Jack said.

"Oh...I'm outside of the store, waiting for you."

Jack was quiet. "Oh, Sebastien. I'm so sorry," he finally whispered. "I forgot, and like a complete idiot, made other plans."

I stared at the sidewalk crack. "Right. Okay. No, it's okay. Totally. We'll paint tomorrow. No problem."

But _why_ had he forgotten our date? Didn't Jack think of me during the day?

Wasn't he in a hurry to see me anymore?

"So, what are you doing then?" I asked.

Where was he?

I couldn't do this for one more day. Couldn't keep pushing my feelings down.

I fucking loved this man.

I _loved_ him.

"Well," Jack said, "Seb, the thing is, Amadeo called this afternoon and well, uh, he asked if maybe I could pose for him. Like, for a painting."

What?

No.

_What_?

"Pose for him?" I nearly growled.

"It's sort of cool, no? I mean, I've modeled before, but never for a painter. And he sent me a few pictures of his work. He's really talented. I was shocked." Jack was speaking fast, as though he didn't want me to say anything. "But I think Amadeo is in a rut or something. He left Florence in a hurry, sort of left a mess back there he doesn't want to talk about, and now he's been reading up on Titian's later works, those paintings Titian did for King Philip inspired by Aristotle's Rhetoric, and he says he needs me. Needs my _fresh_ face, he called it."

I stood there, frozen and mute, my heart thundering under my shirt. Everything I'd always wanted to say to Jack— _God, for years now_ —was rushing up my throat.

But I'd pushed him away so many times. How could Jack ever trust me again?

"Hello? Seb?" Jack's voice was soft, and his tone, careful. "He's just gonna paint me. It's no big deal. I—I need new experiences, you know that. I've been so down on myself lately, and I think this is exactly what I need." He sighed. "Please don't make it out to be anything more than it is."

"I don't know what it is. So I can't make it out to be anything less or more."

Jack was silent again.

"Look, all right, fine." I sniffed and glanced around, seeing the street again. I'd been so engrossed in our conversation that I'd disconnected myself from the world. "Go. Have him paint you. Whatever. It's fine. It sounds fun actually."

I knew Jack well enough not to cage him in.

"And what are you gonna do tonight?"

Amadeo would make a move on Jack and Jack would let him. Because Jack needed reparation for all of the heartache he'd been through in the last years. Heartache _I'd_ put him through, I knew that now. Amadeo and he would sit around drinking Italian wine, discussing art and books, and then Amadeo would know exactly what to say to make Jack feel beautiful. Wanted. Brilliant. Important.

Unforgettable.

All those things he was to me.

I cared too much what other people thought. Jack had been so right about that.

"Seb? Are you there?"

I blinked, deciding right then and there that I'd start making it up to him. "What color did you want?" I asked in a choked voice. "For the kitchen."

I heard Jack's intake of air. "Uh, maybe a terra cotta orange on the back wall and Aegean Sea blue for the window wall?"

"All right. Sounds nice. These colors exist?"

"Yeah, I checked with the store."

I inhaled deeply and turned back for the store. "Then I'll paint the kitchen. It'll be done when you get home."

"No, we were suppo—"

"Jack, it's cool. Let me do this for you. You deserve that much." I briefly closed my eyes. Saw his face in my mind. What could I say? I had no right to him. I'd turned his love down. _Twice_. "And have fun tonight."

"Thank you, Seb."

"Yeah...no problem. I'll see you later." I hung up and caught sight of my reflection in the glass pane.

I didn't have Amadeo's pretty boy looks, artistic talent, or money for that matter.

There was no way I could ever compete with a man like Amadeo Bruni.

But damn it, no one could ever stop me from trying.

* * * *

Later that evening, I sat up in bed, clicking around on my laptop, with a beer in my free hand. I'd come home from the hardware store with both gallons of paint, but instead of opening them, I'd opened a Budweiser.

I kept thinking of that afternoon Jack and I had spent sheltered in his wonderful apartment while the storm outside had spread its damage. I hadn't been alone with Jack in months, because Craig had never allowed us to really spend some time together, but that afternoon, I'd spontaneously suggested to Jack we move in together. Back then, I'd convinced myself I was only looking to lower my living expenses while helping Jack get back on his feet, but I knew now—oh yes, I did—that I'd lied to myself about the real reasons behind my proposition.

I'd suggested Jack move in with me because I _wanted_ to have him near me every day. Every night.

"Goddamn it," I said, staring at Amadeo's Facebook page. I gulped more beer and read Amadeo's latest post.

Miss you already, my friends. Te amo! Found myself a beautiful Montreal model. Everyone meet Jack, my new muse :-) Gigi, don't worry, I still love you!

I rolled my eyes.

Amadeo had posted a picture of Jack. One he'd probably taken a few minutes ago. With my heart in my mouth, I leaned closer to the screen and gazed at Jack's face, clasping my fingers tightly around the neck of my beer bottle.

His new _muse_?

No fucking way.

I wasn't going to let that happen. What—did this guy think he could simply stroll into our lives, slip between Jack and I, and steal him away from me? Intriguing or not, Amadeo had another thing coming. Jack was my best friend.

No, he was so much more than that.

I finished my beer and blinked. The fog was clearing up inside my head. This was no time for apathy or self-pity. Was I going to sit here and drink myself into a stupor while Mr. Italia moved in on the guy I loved? The guy I'd grown to know as I knew my own heart? What would my mother think of me? What would she say if she could see me sitting here tonight?

She'd tell me to grow a pair. She'd shove me out of the door and straight into Jack's arms.

"All right," I said, allowing myself to feel my mother's presence for the first time since her death. I looked around at my room, trying to summon her face inside my mind. Her beautiful and kind face. "I'm gonna do it. I'm gonna tell him everything, Mom."

I pushed my laptop away, set my empty beer on the night table, then bolted out of my bedroom.

I didn't know how I'd tell Jack or what he'd think of this, but I was going to drive to Valencia's right now and pour my guts out to him.

Would he still want me?

* * * *

Twenty minutes later, I was parked a few doors down from Valencia's stone house, gathering my dwindling courage. I jerked my knee up and down, my hands getting clammier by the second, my nerves faltering. I needed to get out of this car right now, before it was too late and Amadeo made a move on Jack.

I'd quit smoking two years ago, but I was craving a cigarette badly.

There was a light in the basement window. That was probably where Amadeo had set up his studio. His _atelier,_ as Valencia had called it. I could picture what that place looked like.

And Jack was down there.

_Posing_.

Man, I hoped he was dressed or my heart would break.

I stared at that lighted window, chewing on my thumbnail.

I wasn't going to chicken out. I wouldn't be able to live with the regret of losing Jack tonight. I'd let him slip away five years ago, but I wasn't going to let that happen again.

I climbed out of the car, and in a strange daze of mind and soul, walked up the Valencia's door. I rang the bell and then stood stiffly under the new porch light. Through the pane, her dark silhouette moved towards me like in a dream vision.

"Oh, Sebastien," she cried, peering at me through the glass pane. She slid the deadbolt and swung the door open. "I completely forgot you were coming tonight. I thought you said next week."

"No, I'm not supposed to be here. I mean, I'm not here to clean your house." I peeked over her shoulder at the hall. "Sorry for not calling. I just had to come over."

"Well, come in, come in." She moved to let me by. "It's nice to see you. How are you? Not too shaken up by yesterday's crazy events, are you?"

"Nah, I'm fine. You?"

Valencia wore a soft white robe she now pulled tighter around her neck. "I'm all right. I've been through worse. I'm not going to let this get to me."

She'd survived World War Two and moving to a new country with four young kids. She'd lost two husbands.

The woman could deal.

"I'm glad you weren't here though. When it happened." I touched her shoulder. I'd never touched her before. "I'm glad you weren't hurt."

Her eyes livened and she smiled, putting her hand over mine on her shoulder. "Your friend Jack is here." She looked me straight in the eye. "Is that why _you're_ here?"

This old lady was amazing. "Yeah," I said, my gaze straying to the basement door again and again. "I'm not gonna start any trouble or anything. I didn't come here to start a fight."

"Good then." She patted my hand and stepped aside. "My grandson is a little impetuous and somewhat of a brat, but he has a good heart."

"I'm sure he does."

"And all Jack keeps talking about, is you."

"Yeah?" I swallowed the hard knot in my throat.

"Yes, Sebastien." She sighed and looked at the basement door. "Well, shall I tell Amadeo you're here?"

"No."

"It would be better if I did. Jack might not appreciate you barging in on them."

She had a point there. "All right," I conceded.

What would I say?

Had I made a terrible mistake coming here?

Valencia walked to the door, then cracked it open. "Amadeo," she called out. "Please come up for a moment."

My cheeks were scorching hot. What if Jack laughed?

What if he mocked me in front of Amadeo?

Valencia was saying something, but I couldn't focus on her words. I was in a trance, waiting, suspended between two different realities, my feet sinking into the Persian rug.

Then suddenly Amadeo stood before me with a perplexed expression. "Sebastien, hey, what are you doing here? So glad you decided to join us. Jack was just saying we should have invited you"

Behind Amadeo, Jack was walking up to the entrance. "What's going on?" He looked panicked. "Did something happen? Your dad had a heart—"

"No, nothing happened." I could only see him. No one else. Everything was blurry at the corners of my eyes. "I...I wanted to tell you something before, but I forgot and so I came here, 'cause I really need to say this."

Jack furrowed his brow and slowly stepped closer to where I stood. "Are you all right? Do you feel okay?" He touched my forehead. "Oh, you're burning up." He glanced over at Valencia. "He has a fever. I think he's a little out of it."

"I should get him some water." Amadeo squeezed my shoulder. "Sit down, my friend. Let me get you an aspirin."

Valencia laughed and shook her head. "Amadeo, why don't you help me with the coffee instead?" She took Amadeo's elbow and pulled him away. "I'm afraid it's not that kind of a fever, dear."

I was aware of them leaving, but my eyes remained fixed to Jack's concerned face.

"Sebastien?" Jack whispered. "Say something."

"I...I wanna—" But everything was tangled up inside me. My throat was tight. I knew what I wanted to say, yet couldn't make a sound.

"What did you wanna tell me?" Jack touched my hand.

I opened my mouth and let the words flow out. "I—I wanna be with you. I need to be with you."

"What?" Jack's face flushed darker. "What?"

I moved closer to him, until we were eye to eye, our chests almost touching. "I wanna be with you," I repeated, this time, louder. "I don't wanna be scared anymore. Don't wanna fight it anymore." I leaned my forehead to his and closed my eyes. "You're so amazing, Jack. I can't believe the things you make me feel. You started something deep inside me a long time ago and it's all come to a head now. I can't spend one more day pretending we're just friends."

Jack grabbed my face and made me look at him. "Are you really saying this to me?"

"I should have said all this before. Should have said it that night we met."

Jack kissed me so hard, I lost my cool and crushed him against my chest, digging my hands into his back pockets to squeeze his ass. "I'm not gonna let you go again," I said, kissing his neck. "I promise."

"It was always you," he said in my ear. "Always. No one else, Seb. I wasn't gonna do anything with Amadeo tonight. I want you to know that."

I pulled back, still holding him tight, and looked into those cobalt blue eyes of his, feeling sure of myself for the first time in so long.

Behind Jack, Amadeo cleared his throat to call our attention. "Sorry to interrupt, but _Nonna_ was wondering if maybe you'd want some Tiramisu cake or something." He grinned. "You know, to mark this grand event."

Jack cocked a brow, his eyes still fixed to my face. "Tiramisu. Well, I wouldn't mind a slice of that."

I stepped back, scratching my head, a little embarrassed by my show of emotion, but I'd survive. It didn't matter if I'd made a fool of myself or not. I had Jack. "Yeah, why not," I muttered, making eye contact with Amadeo. "Just give us a second?"

Amadeo hesitated and shot Jack a look. "You were right, huh?" He turned away and went back to the kitchen.

"What did he mean by that?" I asked, hooking my finger into Jack's belt to jerk him a little closer.

Jack pressed his hand over my heart. "Oh, when we were downstairs, I told him that I was in love with you and that if he wanted to paint me, he'd have to paint me in love."

I was sure Jack had felt my heart jump under his palm. "Oh yeah?" I said, as though it wasn't a big deal. As though I wasn't seconds away from breaking into a touchdown dance right here in the entrance.

Jack Barley _loved_ me.

Goddamn. It was the best I'd ever felt.

Jack shoved me a little. "And then I told him that you were in love with me, too." He held his breath. "Now tell me, Seb, was I lying to him?"

* * * *

# Chapter 8

Five years earlier

Ryan pulled my hair harder, his belt buckle hitting my forehead.

He grunted and I knew he was coming. Of course he tried to push me off his lap, but I grabbed his thighs and bore down on him. I'd been fantasizing about swallowing his cum for months and I wouldn't let him shove me off anymore. We were alone in the house, hiding out in his basement, and I needed him to relax and trust me a little. But he jerked my head back and shot his load in his hand.

Then he jumped to his feet, and with his pants around his knees, stumbled away.

Bathroom. Running faucet. The usual.

I sat there, with my dick hard as steel and my heart pounding with excitement, feeling a little guilty for pushing him over his limits again. But we'd been "seeing" each other for three months and I was getting impatient with our safe Friday night routine.

I looked around at his bland basement, his _lair_ as Ryan called it, and sighed out loudly. Loud enough for him to hear me through the door. "What's wrong?" he asked, out of sight.

"Nothing." I stared at the bulge in my jeans and shifted in my seat. Ryan wasn't going to reciprocate, I knew that much. No, but if I was lucky tonight, he'd let me jerk off in front of him and maybe I could steal a kiss when the blood raced through my veins.

Seconds later, Ryan came out of the bathroom and then plopped down heavily at my side. His hands smelled like soap. He leaned his head back on the seat. "I gotta leave tomorrow morning. Did I tell you? I don't remember if I did."

I turned my face to look at his. He had such beautiful blue-gray eyes. They were almost silver. But what had drawn me to him, was the way he tried so hard to keep his dignity in a world that refused to give him a hand up. Like me, Ryan hadn't done well in high school. We'd both struggled with our grades. I probably had some form of learning disability that had never been properly diagnosed, and as for Ryan, he was just too practical for school. He wanted to be out there making a living. He yearned so much to leave this neighborhood. And he was on his way of doing just that. He'd gotten a job with an American transport company trucking for them as of—well, _tomorrow_ it seemed.

"No, you didn't say it was tomorrow." I tried to pretend I didn't mind. With Ryan gone, I'd have no one to talk to. No one to touch.

Ryan was the only one who knew I was gay. Without him here, I'd be the last gay man left in the world.

At least, that was what it felt like to me, at that moment.

"Yeah, it was supposed to be next week, but they need me down in Florida on Monday morning." Ryan stared at me, his chest moving slow and steady under his black T-shirt. "And I was thinking...Well, I was thinking that maybe you could meet me down there on my return trip. Sometime in the last week of September."

September. We were in July.

"Uh, you mean down in Tampa?" I asked.

"Yeah, why not."

I swallowed. "I can't. I work."

Ryan's eyes narrowed a little. "I thought you wanted to quit that place anyway."

Yes, I did say that every other day. But it was just my way of getting through the hours, of avoiding the idea that I worked at Walmart, in shipping and receiving.

_Me_.

The guy who'd dreamed of joining the Coast Guard.

"You come down. Take some time to think." Ryan's cheeks colored slightly. "Maybe...we could hang out there. Just live a little." He actually put his hand over mine. "Nobody knows us there."

Did he mean...

"You mean, like out in the open? Like a couple?"

Ryan stiffened and I regretted jumping to conclusions. "I don't know, Sebastien. Maybe. I don't know what I'm saying. But I do know one thing, and that's that I can't fucking go on like this, living the way I do, for much longer."

Ryan had a work permit. What would I do down there anyway? I didn't like the heat that much. And I'd never even seen the ocean, so there wasn't anything for me to miss.

"Seb, look, bottom line is, I wanna make a break. I wanna at least try. Jesus, this duplicity is more than I can take."

"Yeah...okay. I get that."

Could I cut loose from here and take a chance with Ryan to start somewhere new, where we could be ourselves? I was twenty-two years old. Maybe it was time to grow up. But first, I needed to know where I stood. "So, are you saying that—that you see yourself living with me down there? I mean, am I the one you—"

"Yeah, sure. Sure." Ryan sat up, leaning his elbows on his knees. He hadn't even let me finish my sentence. "Why not. We get along. You're real smooth."

He meant, _easy_ , I supposed. Yes, people always said that about me. I was easy to get along with. Quiet. Conciliatory.

Low maintenance. Like a good car.

But none of them had ever bothered paying attention to all those words I was too scared to say. There was a part of me I needed so badly to offer, but where was the taker?

Looking at Ryan now, I knew we'd never make each other happy. We'd only keep each other in check and weather the storm.

"Do you know we've never really kissed?" Why bring this up now? But I couldn't help myself. Something inside me ached to know.

Was I not worth a kiss?

Ryan looked over his shoulder at me. "We've kissed plenty."

"No, not exactly."

There was a coolness about him now. I'd touched a nerve. "So?" he said, shrugging. "I'm not big on kissing."

"In general? Or is it just me?"

"You don't wanna come to Florida. Say you don't wanna come to Florida." Ryan rose and walked up to the mini fridge hooked up in the corner of the room. He plucked a beer out and twisted the cap off.

I pressed my hands together and stared at my knuckles getting white. Why bother? This would only end in a fight if I pushed him any further. I didn't want to hurt him. But he was hurting me. Yes, with every kiss withheld. With every touch refused. He hurt me.

"Let me think about it, okay?" I glanced up at him, already severing myself from him. His life. His plans. His heart. "Maybe you could call me when you're on the road sometime next month and we could talk about it some more."

Ryan took a swill of his beer and nodded. He was obviously relieved. "That sounds reasonable," he said softly. "Yeah. All right."

What was it about me that turned Ryan cold after I touched him?

"Want a beer?"

No, I didn't want a beer. Didn't want to be here one second longer. A dam had broken inside me, and emotions, fresh and clear as moving waters, flooded my heart. I nearly jumped to my feet, but tried to look composed. "No, I should get going. I told my mom I'd swing by the house and help her with cleaning the shed."

Ryan gave me a puzzled look. "Tonight? You're gonna go to your parents' house tonight?"

"They're right across the street. So I figured, might as well." I stuffed my hands down my front pockets. "Well, uh, what time are you leaving tomorrow?"

Ryan moved a little closer to where I stood. "Early. Like five."

"I'll come by around four A.M. or something." I took a step back to the stairs. "I'll knock on your window here." I pointed to the narrow window above the TV set. "We'll have a few beers before you jet."

Ryan was squinting at me, clearly not quite convinced I'd come.

"I'll be here at four," I promised, taking a step to him.

We now stood face to face and he put his hand on my arm. "When are you gonna quit that job of yours? You could go back to school and get into that sports program you wanted to get into."

I stared down at my sneakers. "Soon."

Ryan sighed. "Don't wait too long, okay?"

I had to leave or I'd start feeling lonely and weak soon. "I'll see you later," I said and turned for the stairs.

But he stopped me, holding my arm. "Seb..."

I turned and Ryan grabbed my face, kissing my lips softly.

I kissed him harder, then hurried up the stairs, never looking back.

* * * *

Sitting in my car, smoking another cigarette, I stared at the red neon sign blinking in the bar's tinted window.

Reggie's. Ladies welcome.

Yes, and on every Friday night, _queers_ were welcome too. This was the only bar in the east end that opened its doors to LGBT people on specific nights. Reggie's was an old tavern, a small place with two or three pool tables, an original half-moon wooden bar, complete with tacky all-year-long red Christmas lights strung around the ceiling. The usual patrons of the place were guys I worked with, but when that rainbow flag came up in the window on Friday nights, those guys wouldn't have entered the place, even at gun point.

I'd be pretty safe from being spotted here tonight. At least, I hoped so. But then again, I knew the guys in my soccer team were on to me, and that rumors about my sexuality were spreading faster than I could deny them.

I wasn't sure why I was still in the closet.

I crushed my cigarette in the full ashtray and popped a piece of gum into my mouth. Smoking was a nasty habit I intended on quitting by the end of the month. My mother and I had made a promise to each other. By August, on my birthday, we'd be non-smokers. I was worried about her. She smoked a pack a day and coughed a lot. It was all the stress she was under lately. My dad had lost another job and he'd been moping around the house for weeks now, making her crazy.

I rolled up the car window and chewed on my bottom lip. I hated going out alone. And this was my first time at Reggie's on a Friday night. I'd been too scared to go until tonight.

But after I'd left Ryan's house earlier this evening, I'd helped my mom with some yard work and the cleaning of the shed, and then, without a real thought about it, had gotten in my car and driven to Reggie's.

Here I was.

Finally I climbed out of the car and shut the door, leaning up against it. Three guys and a girl were outside, smoking and talking loudly. One of the guys looked my way. He was tall and thin, with a shaved head. I held his stare for a few seconds and he looked away, saying something to the girl at his side.

I summoned my courage and walked past them. As soon as I pulled the door open, music and voices reached me through the haze of my whirling thoughts. What was I really doing here? What if someone I knew saw me? I gave the crowded room a quick sweep of the eye, seeing a mess of faces, chests, smiles, red lights, hair, eyes, and then everything seemed to blur. I made my way to the bar, glad to find an empty stool at the far end, next to the wall. There was a mirror behind the bar and I stared at the reflection of the room behind me. Guys were dancing together. Some were head to head, talking loudly over the sound of the music. Everyone seemed to be having a good time. I tried not to look too out of place.

They were playing some old Tears for Fears. I hadn't heard this song in a long time.

"Yes?"

I looked up to see the bartender, a good looking black man in a fitted white tee, waiting for my order.

"Uh, just a beer." I moved in my seat, nervous and awkward. "Budweiser."

"We have a special tonight. Two for five." He turned away before I could agree. He was busy. People were piled up all along his bar. I realized just how crowded this place was. I'd never known there were so many gay people around here. The bartender pushed two bottles my way and took my money, then dropped the change in my hand and winked. "Enjoy," he said with a grin. He had vivid brown eyes. "Holler if you need a refill, hon."

His smile made me a little hot around the collar. "Thanks."

But he moved away, so I watched him work for a while, until I got bored and finally dared a look around at the room and the people behind me.

I finished my beer and started on my second one. I might get lucky tonight. But I'd have to be brave and bold. Two things I never were when sober.

Half an hour passed this way, and foggy-minded from the quick beers, I gazed out at the room, detached as though I was watching a play. I caught some guys checking me out, but none of them made my blood pump. I was content to sit at the bar and slowly get drunk. This was better than being in my crummy apartment, watching movies all night.

Then I felt the weight of someone's stare on my face, and curious, looked up to meet the cleverest blue eyes I'd ever seen. The guy raised a thin brow at me and slowly smiled, not showing his teeth. He narrowed his eyes slightly, sizing me up.

Flushed all over from his piercing blue gaze, I stiffened on my bar stool. I clasped my empty beer bottle, and eyed him back, my heart picking up speed. He was _hot_. He was dressed in tight blue jeans that showed off his cute little ass and narrow waist. He looked small but strong. Watching me with a smirk, he ran his fingers through his full and careless black hair. In his free hand, he held an empty tray, and then it dawned on me that he was the waiter here.

How could I have _not_ noticed him working the room?

Now that he was busy taking orders, I stared at his every move with my mouth gaped open.

He was...very _effeminate_. I heard his high-pitched laugh through the music and my face cooled. Disappointed, I turned away to order another beer.

That guy was one of _those_.

I wasn't into gay men who felt the need to put it in everyone's faces. That little waiter was the type of guy who always attracted too much attention everywhere he went, playing with fire by flaunting his lifestyle, and then complaining when he was victimized.

No, I thought, guzzling down more of my new beer, not for me. Not for me at all. Like my father said: everyone was allowed to love who they loved, but you didn't have to brag about it. What happened behind closed doors was nobody else's business.

So why draw attention to yourself?

Guys like that waiter made everyone uneasy with their mannerisms and girlish voices.

I needed a smoke. Needed some air. I grabbed my beer and walked through the mass of people. But as I walked, I felt watched. Was that waiter staring at me again? Did he find me attractive? Was I his type?

Nah, I probably wasn't.

Outside, I found a spot by the side of the building where I could be undisturbed with my confused thoughts. I leaned back on the brick wall and lit up a smoke.

I'd never been with a guy like that waiter. Never dared to. Would he go for a man like me?

I blew a curl of smoke into the hot July air, my cock stretching inside my jeans, just thinking of that waiter's heart-stopping smile. No, he wouldn't go home with me. I was probably too ordinary for him.

But what if I went back in there and walked right up to him and—

A door opened right next to me, and when the gorgeous waiter stepped out, I froze, the last draw of smoke catching in my throat.

I coughed and wheezed, but I was choking.

"Well," the waiter said, smirking, his cheek dimples deepening. "Now that's attractive."

I tried to catch my breath, but I'd really burned my throat with that last puff. I coughed into my elbow, my eyes watering, unable to speak.

Without a word, the guy snapped the cigarette out of my fingers and threw it into a puddle at our left. He went back inside.

Still gasping, I took a few shaky breaths, and slowly my airways relaxed. I could breathe again. I fumbled around for gum in my pocket and then popped the last stick into my mouth.

The door opened again and the waiter came back out with a glass of water. "Here." He handed it to me, his blue eyes catching the light of the lamp post.

His eyes were even more beautiful up close.

Damn, we were alone.

"Thanks." Turned on, I gulped the water down and then didn't know what to do with the plastic cup.

"Give." The guy took the cup from me and stuffed it into the blue bin near us. "You okay? I thought I'd have to give you mouth-to-mouth." He winked. "Not that I would mind."

My face went hot and I licked my lips, temporarily mute. For a second, I had the urge to shove him up the wall and kiss him hard and deep. But I stood there like a big dumb tree.

"Okay..." The waiter laughed and cocked his head, staring at me. "Let's start with this then." He curtsied. "Hello. I'm Jack. And you are—no, wait, don't say anything." He squinted and pressed his full pink lips together, examining my face. "Matt."

I smiled a little. "Nope."

"Oh, so it does speak." Jack grinned and ducked his head. "Okay, not Matt. Steve?"

"No."

Jack stepped closer and I caught the scent of his cologne. It drew me to him. This guy was magnetic. "Mark?" he asked. "Tom? Wait...Jasper?"

"Jasper?" I chuckled. "Uh, no."

He came closer still. "Then tell me," he whispered, his mouth almost touching mine. "What's your name, handsome?"

Handsome? He thought I was _handsome_?

I couldn't breathe or speak.

Jack pressed his mouth to mine, but though his soft lips fluttered against my own, he didn't kiss me. "Sebastien," he breathed.

The sound of my name sent a shock wave through me. No one had ever said my name that way. No one.

But how could he have guessed my name so quickly?

The door opened and a male voice called Jack's name. Jack rolled his eyes and shrugged, quickly stepping away. He reentered the bar without a glance back at me.

I stood there, alive, sober, enlightened—a man resuscitated from the grave.

Who was this man?

A few minutes later, I walked into the bar again, not knowing what I'd do or say to him, but when I saw Jack in the back, at the last table, sitting on another man's knees, my heart sunk. The lucky guy had his hand on Jack's slender thigh and was yelling something into his ear.

Disappointed and slightly humiliated, I hurried out of Reggie's, confusion and resentment making my jaw click. I dug for my keys in my jeans and set out for my car in the parking lot.

"Hey, wait up!" Jack yelled behind me. "Sebastien! Wait!"

I spun around and faced him. "What?"

Jack slowed down, stopping a few feet from me. We stood on the sidewalk, under the sheen of the street light. "I know your name 'cause I saw you at Walmart last week."

I had to look away.

What a disgrace.

So he'd seen me in that ugly blue uniform. Seen me unloading trucks.

Jack cleared his throat. "You were in the parking lot, on your smoke break. Some girl called your name."

I was exposed. Completely unprepared.

"I bought some Larkspur flowers," Jack said, tossing his chin up as though I'd defy him. "They're July Flowers. Quite lovely. And I was carrying a box of them when I saw you. So, there you have it."

"Do I?" I raised an eyebrow.

Jack laughed and came a little closer. "I thought you'd stick around a little longer tonight. Or at least, until I finished my shift."

"And watch you work the room?"

"Oh that." Jack gave me a grand look fit for theater. "Business, my darling man. Just business. I only wait tables on Friday nights and so I have to make it worth my while. You can't blame a boy for trying to make a buck, right?" He batted his eyelashes.

"Yeah," I said, uneasy.

Jack looked over his shoulder at the bar. "I have to go back in there, but I get off a two." His eyes peered into mine. "And I could be out of here by two-fifteen."

Yes. Yes. Yes.

"Okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, okay," I grunted.

Grinning, Jack walked backwards, his blue eyes fierce with lust. "See you soon then," he said, finally turning away. His walk was indecent. His ass made my cock throb inside my jeans. I was breathless—done for.

Hungry like a lone wolf.

* * * *

# Chapter 9

At two in the morning, I was sitting in my car, parked in the deserted street across from Reggie's.

For months, Ryan had fed me crumbs of love and I was starving for a real night of passion. Something wild and obscene and beautiful—something to shake me out of this dazed state I walked around in all day. I didn't want a quick hand job with my clothes still on. I wanted to know what it was like to lie in bed with someone, naked, curious, warm.

There was no doubt in my mind that Jack was the kind of guy who could teach me how to go all the way. I checked the radio clock. Anytime now, he'd be stepping out. My nerves were drawn so tight, I had trouble sitting still. Where did he live? Was it far from here? Did he live alone? I didn't want to take him to my place. My apartment was terrible. My whole building was. It was all drunks and young thugs. So, we'd go to his place.

I leaned back in my car seat, wired, expelling the air out of my lungs loudly.

Jack came out with a few other people. He immediately looked my way and a smile lit up his face.

What a face this guy had. He was the first real pretty man I'd ever known. I waved at him and watched him hug his friends. He seemed to be very popular with the staff. Jack then crossed the empty street to my car. He yelled some words out to his posse and leaned into my open car window. "Well, it was a fifty-fifty chance, but here you are." He smiled again. He looked a little tired. While I'd been lying in bed, staring up at my ceiling fan, the man had waited tables all night.

"Get in," I said, as calmly as I could manage it.

Jack walked around the front of the car. When I turned the engine on, the headlights flooded his face with light and my heart jumped. He really was breathtaking. He tried the door handle, but I'd forgotten to unlock the door and he couldn't get in. Quickly, I reached over and popped the door open for him. "Sorry," I said, leaning back in my seat.

Jack climbed in and shut the door. As he settled into his seat, his woody cologne filled the air and affected me, though I tried not to show it.

In the bar window, Reggie's sign went off.

The street was now dark and quiet.

The silence between Jack and I was thick with expectations I wasn't sure I could fulfill anymore.

I was inexperienced. What was Jack into? What world would he open up to me?

"I live a few streets away," Jack said quietly. "Just off Ontario Street." He then named his street.

I knew it well. I'd lived in this neighborhood all my life, just off the train tracks. "Do you share your place with somebody?" I asked, slowly driving off. I glanced over at him.

Jack's eyes were fixed to the street and his profile was a little tense. Was he having seconds thoughts about taking me home? "No," he said. "I live alone. Why?"

Then I noticed his hand was on the door handle. He was anxious. I wanted to make him feel safe, but didn't know how. I turned the radio on.

Jack leaned in to fiddle with the radio dial. While he searched for a station, I couldn't keep my eyes off his slender neck, dying to touch him there. "A friend of mine is a D.J.," Jack said, "and he was spinning at a party last year, then went home with a guy he didn't really know. Got beat up. Pretty fucking bad, too. He was in the hospital for three days." Jack looked over at me. "Do you mind if I change the station?"

"No, go ahead." I had to say something about his friend. "Well, there's a lot of animals out there. Some real fucked up guys."

Jack gave me a wide-eyed look.

I'd meant my last comment to be reassuring, but I'd probably only managed to sound creepy. "Is your friend all right? Hope he still does what he loves."

Jack's features relaxed. "Yes," he said, "he still parties."

"Well, good then."

Jack chose a classical music station I didn't even know existed in Montreal. The sound of violins or whatever string instrument those were, vibrated through the car, and I was surprised Jack liked this kind of music. "You listen to this a lot?" I asked, glancing over at him.

"This? You mean, Vivaldi?"

"Uh, yeah."

"I do love me a great Italian composer, but I'm not too deep into the baroque masters. I prefer the later German composers, the romantics, like Wagner, for example. I know they say he was an asshole and an anti-Semite, but I can't help getting a hard-on listening to his _The Valkyrie_. Tell me, have you ever made love to Wagner? I tell you, it's like going to war, like riding alongside Alexander the Great, ready to face King Porus and his giant monster elephants. Imagine you're a foot companion, or a royal page, so you're buck naked, right? Nothing on you but a tunic wrapped loosely around your neck, and the horse under you is like a goddamn machine. You can feel his back trembling against your bare thighs, and your balls shake. Your heart is in your throat, while that music—that music—lifts you higher and higher, until you're in this state of lucid dreaming, and then you raise your javelin, as you hear the barbaric cries thundering across the Hydaspes River." Jack stopped, took a breath. "You surrender yourself to history and future, knowing this moment is the closest you'll ever be to anyone."

I looked at my fingers on the wheel and relaxed my grip. I'd been so enthralled by Jack's voice, by his story, that I'd missed his street.

"That was my street," Jack said, turning the music down.

"Yeah, lemme make a U-turn here."

"Watch out for the cops."

"Where?"

Jack lifted his chin to my side window. "Parked in the vacant lot right there."

"Oh. Didn't see them." I turned on the next street instead.

"Hey, what's your last name?"

I shot him a quick look. "Saint-Amour," I said as formally as I could.

Jack gently tapped my thigh. "Really? Your name is _Saint-Amour_?"

"Yeah."

"It's got a nice ring to it."

I gave him a serious look. "You think?" I laughed a little.

"Sebastien Saint-Amour...Yes, that's the best name I've ever heard. Sebastien Saint-Amour."

"You said 1616, right?" I peered at the apartment building.

"Yes, 1616. That's a double seven there. Seven is a lucky number in numerology. Well, it's also the number of the hermit, the aesthetic, the great thinker. Most philosophers are a seven. What's your birthday?"

I had no idea what he was rambling about. But it interested me nonetheless. "I'm August ninth." I parked the car, knowing I'd have a ticket in the morning, but deciding Jack was well worth a fifty-two dollar fine.

"Ah, of course, you're a nine." Jack unfastened his seat belt. "Nine is the number of compassion. Community. It's the humanist's number. You must have a great big heart."

I didn't know about that. "So, uh, what's yours? I mean, your birthday."

"I'm glad you asked. I'm September eleventh."

"Whoa."

"Yes, I know. It's humbling and a great way for me to stay grounded. Also, eleven is a mystic number and I'm always up for a great mystery, even if it's one involving my own soul."

I was impressed with Jack's intelligence and sensitivity. This guy was waiting tables? He should have been teaching something.

I wanted to kiss him. Really kiss him. But how? I didn't have the nerve.

Jack leaned in close. "Let's go inside...okay?"

A surge of excitement ran up my spine. "Yeah."

As we hurried out of the car and up his crooked front stairs, I couldn't wait to enter Jack's world.

* * * *

"These all yours?" I asked, amazed at the loaded bookshelves in Jack's living room.

It would have taken me a lifetime to read half of these.

Jack's apartment could have been a bookstore.

"Actually," Jack said, standing close to me, "I've trimmed down my collection over the last two years. Used to have a lot more. My parents never gave me anything but books for my birthday and Christmas. So, yeah. Books. Lots of books."

I moved closer to the wall-to-wall bookcase. "Oh, I know this one." I actually had read this book. It was one of the five or six I'd been forced to read during my short high school career. "The Kite Runner, I remember this."

Jack picked the book off the shelf. "Take it. I think I've outgrown it myself. But if you're really open to trying fiction with an eastern twist, you need to give Salman Rushdie a shot." He walked along the large bookcase, scanning the shelves. "Magic realism. Wickedly well written."

I was in over my head here. Magic what? I hadn't expected this kind of talk from a _waiter_. I gazed around at the rest of the small living room. Jack had a nice place. It was amazingly decorated. The furniture was all vintage and the couch and coffee table had those curled legs I'd seen in French movies. He had posters and colorful reproductions of all kinds of art and paintings. I realized how bland my own apartment was, with its white walls and cheap secondhand furniture. I didn't care enough and knew I should have. Where I lived should have spoken for me a little.

Now I felt like a bear at a tea party. "So, uh, are you in school or something?"

" _Moi_? No. My parents are both professors. Mom is art and Dad is history. I was the kid who went to school and then came home for more schooling. I couldn't take it." Jack stopped perusing the bookshelves and stared into my eyes in a way that made my heart pick up speed. "Don't be fooled by all these books, Sebastien," he said, "I'm no scholar. Just lonely and estranged from my family. I read to feel the universality of things." He came closer. "I have no history of my own to trace back. My parents are both so superficial and way too absorbed in accumulating wealth to teach me life, so I've grown up severed from what it is we all come from." He pressed his hand to my heart. "When you've read enough, you start understanding that every book out there created its story out of the same dark matter."

"What is that?" I breathed, mesmerized by Jack's fiery blue stare.

"The four elements of humanity. Love. Lust. Fear. Anger."

"That's it?" I couldn't stop myself from touching a strand of his hair. It was soft. I'd never had the nerve to play with another man's hair. To caress his face. To kiss him gently on the lips. Those were the things I ached for now. The brutal physical lust I'd felt before was leaving me, slowly being replaced by another range of emotions and sensations I wasn't accustomed to.

"Yes, Sebastien, but those four emotions are enough to make and destroy the world seven times over." Jack stood on his toes and kissed my mouth, his lips skimming mine so softly. "I embrace it all. Through books." He kissed me a little harder. "But never in real life." He closed his eyes and sighed, as though he was breathing my scent in. "These moments—they're like a sharp pain, aren't they?"

I didn't know what he meant, but I understood his words somewhere inside me. Yes, it was terrible to feel so much and so intensely for someone I didn't know. To want to hurt him until he screamed my name out, and yet to be so under his spell, I could have sat at Jack's feet and listened to him speak all night.

These complicated feelings paralyzed me. I wanted to stop thinking—wanted to crush my naked body against his and forget the whole ugly thing outside these walls.

"Look at me," Jack said, peering into my face. "Everything you're afraid to ask. I want it."

His words rolled over me like an avalanche and I tumbled a step closer to him, until I had him in my shaky hands, my fingers tearing at his clothes. We kissed deep and fast, pulling each other's hair, our tongues twisting and lacing, and soon I was gasping for a breath, but couldn't tear myself away from him, not even for a second. I pushed him up against the bookcase and grabbed his thighs, lifting him easily off the ground, wrapping his legs around my waist. We already had our pants around our ankles and I nearly fell face forward carrying him to the couch behind us. I lay Jack over the hard cushions, grunting and kissing him all over his face and shoulders. He was hot and fast, always a step ahead of me. I wanted to slow down—didn't want this to happen like a flash flood. I wanted to enjoy the slow rise of the tide and let it wash over him. I wasn't in it to come. I was in it to make _him_ come. Jack must have sensed the change in me, because he took a breath and leaned back on the pillow, lying still under me. His smooth and defined chest heaved with passion, but his blue eyes remained fixed to my face. I felt his pull on me so deep and steady. "I didn't know you were this beautiful," he said quietly. "I'm seeing you now. Yes, you're amazing."

I chuckled a little.

Me, _beautiful_?

"Don't laugh." Jack traced a fingertip down my chest. "After tonight, you're gonna wanna run. But I won't let you. We'll stay friends. Maybe even best friends."

Why was he saying this now? A little annoyed, I looked away for a brief moment.

Jack made me look at him again. "Hey, I talk too much. It's a nasty habit I'm trying to kick."

He moved under me and his hard-on rubbed up against mine, sending a jolt of heat all up my groin. "It's all right," I muttered, my breath coming faster now. "I smoke, you talk." I pressed my body down on his and dug my hand into his hair.

Jack stopped talking. His cheeks flushed darker and he squeezed my ass, offering his mouth again. I kissed him deeply, and he groaned, his hard dick pushing up against my thigh. Jack's skin, so warm and new against my own, made me wild. He was nimble in my arms, letting me kiss him up and down, never pushing my mouth away, never stiffening under my curious hands. I needed to explore his body and Jack offered it to me—and what a body it was—so perfectly made, small, yet powerful and designed for mine. When I pushed his thighs open, Jack guided my finger into him, and I knew what to do because I'd done it to myself over and over with guilt and pleasure, and after a few minutes of him twitching and moaning under me, I was so excited, I thought I'd come. I kissed his stomach, licking his skin there, then went down on him like I'd never gone down on a man before. Jack's cock was smaller than Ryan's and I could take it all in, and this turned me on in a way I hadn't anticipated. Jack grabbed my hair and crunched his stomach, leaning in to me. "Wait, wait," he breathed.

I stopped and looked up at him, at his beautiful excited face.

"I—I—" But Jack was clearly too flustered to speak.

Then I knew what he wanted to say. "Do you wanna...?"

"Yes." Jack leaned in closer. "I mean, if you want to."

Anal sex.

The thought taunted and tortured me all at once.

But it was such a base and dangerous thing to do.

Or was it? I didn't know anymore.

"Hey," Jack said softly. "You're shaking." He sat up and touched my face. "You've never—you've never made love with a guy?"

Made love. A chill ran through me.

No, never.

"Sebastien?" Jack pushed me off gently and we sat face to face, naked under the dim glow of the corner lamp. He was much smaller than me, and yet in that moment, he held all of the power.

I would have done anything he asked me to. I needed him to decide. To take the lead. He was right—I was shaking. Inside and out. I wanted this so badly, but I couldn't let him know.

"Don't move." Jack rose and left the room.

The air felt cool and cruel on my naked skin. I was a man stranded on an island, watching the last ship sail away—everything bottled up inside me like SOS messages no one would ever read.

Then Jack came back. He was at ease, as though being naked was the most natural thing in the world to him. He lined up three things on the table. A lube tube. A condom package. And a piece of paper.

I looked at the paper.

"My last test results. Negative." Jack touched it gently on the table. "Rubber. Lube."

"I really wanna make love to you," was all I could say. It was strange how the words had gunned out of my mouth.

"Then come here." Jack grabbed my face and kissed me. "It's okay. It's all beautiful and magical." He pulled me closer to him. "I'm safe, Sebastien," he whispered, between kisses.

"I've never done this before."

As if he hadn't figured _that_ out by now.

But I needed to say something or I'd crack. Was I going to sob in Jack's arms or make love to him?

Jack reached over for the lube and rubber. With an expert hand, he rolled the condom down my cock. I was so hard, his touch stole a grunt out of me. He rubbed lube all over my sheathed dick, dropped more lube into his cupped hand, and then applied a generous amount on himself. All these preparations only heightened my senses, my awareness of how incredible all this was. When Jack clasped his legs around my waist, I fell on him and into him. I was gentle, entering him slowly, until Jack pressed his mouth to my ear and said, "Don't hold back. You're not hurting me."

We made love for a long time, silently, the sound of his breath in my ear drowning out every other sound. The climax was building inside me, and the way Jack moved under my hips told me he was close to coming, too. I looked into his face, our gazes locking, and let go, coming in a long shiver. Jack's cock spurted hot cum on my stomach and I tried to hold back from making a sound, but the relief was so intense, I whined and moaned as though I'd been hurt. Then I lay on top of him, quivering a few times.

Jack pushed his face into my neck and sighed.

I couldn't stay like this. Had to clean up. Had to get rid of this loaded rubber. Couldn't lie here all sticky and naked and warm. I was dizzy. Needed to get some water. Needed to wash my hands. I was panicked. "Be right back," I sputtered, pulling out of him fast and sitting up.

"Oh, ouch," Jack whined.

But I didn't look back at him. "Where's the bathroom?"

"That door right there."

I guessed he meant the one right in front of me. I spotted my jeans and underwear on the floor and picked them up, then hurried inside the washroom. I shut the door and locked it. I cleaned up with hot water and rubbed my hands hard.

I'd been inside another man's body.

Me.

I pissed and flushed and then slipped my jeans back on.

_Ryan_!

Damn it. I'd forgotten my promise to him. I'd told Ryan I'd meet him at his parents' house at four A.M. How could I have stood him up like that?

I rushed out of the bathroom, trying to remember if Id left my phone at home or in the car. I looked around the living room for my shirt. "Did you see my phone? I don't remember if I left it here somewhere or if it's in my car." My jean pockets were empty.

Jack was getting dressed. He bent to his shirt and then gave me a piercing look. "I don't know where your phone is. Sorry." He ran a quick hand through his dark hair. "Going somewhere?"

"No, I—I just need to...Wait, what time is it?" I glanced around for a clock. The DVD clock read four-thirty. "Fuck," I cursed under a breath. What would Ryan think of my not showing up to say goodbye? Maybe if I hurried, I could still make it to his house on time. "Uh, hey, look, I'm really, really sorry, but I have to go."

"Yeah, I figured that much." Jack tucked his shirt into his pants. "Do you have a girlfriend waiting for you at home or something?"

"What?" But my mind was on Ryan leaving. "No, I don't have a girlfriend," I said. "What makes you think that?"

Jack frowned and tipped his head. "Do you even see me right now?" He moved closer to me and waved a hand in front of my eyes. "Hello? Where are you?"

"What? Nowhere. I mean, here. I'm right here. I just—I promised I'd say goodbye to a friend. He's leaving in a few minutes and—"

"What? Are you kidding me?" Jack stiffened and crossed his arms over his slender chest. "A friend? You mean a lover. You're leaving here to go meet another man?"

I opened my mouth, but not a sound came out.

I'd fucked up.

Jack flew to the front door and yanked it open. The sun was rising. The sky was already pink. "Get out."

"Wait, hold on, I know it sounds bad, but—"

"Who do you think I am, man?" Jack cringed and shook his head. "No, I'm not gonna give you the satisfaction. Not gonna make a scene. Just leave. Go see your friend."

"What's you deal?" I didn't have to take this shit from him. I didn't even know him. He knew nothing of my life. He could pretend to be offended all he wanted to, but we both knew he'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted tonight and I wasn't the first or last guy to give it to him. "Look, I don't need your little drama show here." I grabbed my keys from off the coffee table.

"What did you just say?" This time, Jack's face turned white.

I tried to ignore the hurt in his eyes and walked past him and out the door. "Sorry," I mumbled, hurrying down the front stairs.

Behind me, Jack was silent.

But I could feel him watching me from the door. I walked down to my car and saw the ticket on my windshield.

My stomach twisted, because I remembered how only a few hours ago, I'd told myself that Jack was worth a ticket.

And had he been?

Goddamn it, yes.

And so much more than that.

I looked up at the door. It was closed now.

"I'm such a fucking idiot," I cried, stuffing the ticket back under the wiper and running up the stairs. I knocked and knocked. "Jack, open up. Open up. Please." I glanced around the empty street. "Jack...please." I heard steps. "Jack, I'm sorry. Open the door." I leaned my forehead to his door. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah?" Jack's voice was tense beyond the door. "How _sorry_? Like Scarlet in _Gone with the Wind_ , sorry? Or more like Mr. Albert in _The Color Purple_ , sorry?"

"I don't know those people." I sighed. Waited. "Jack?" I tried again. "Uh, look, I'm sorry like, uh, like, Baggio after he missed his penalty shot in the 1994 soccer world cup final."

"Who?"

"Baggio. You know, 1994, Italy versus Brazil. It was an epic game."

Finally, Jack opened the door and his beautiful face appeared. He smirked. "You really don't know _Gone with the Wind_?"

I shrugged. "No."

Jack pulled me inside. "Then you need to watch the movie."

I walked back into his lovely home, and embarrassed at how badly I'd acted, stuffed my hands down my front pockets. I didn't know what to say or do anymore. "I'm sorry. I freaked out."

"Look, let's not make a big deal out of our _obvious_ gigantic issues, okay?" Jack threw his chin up and gave me a defiant look. "I'll make us some coffee and toast, and then we'll watch _Gone with the Wind_. Now if by the end of this movie, we aren't friends, we'll call it quits and both go our ways." He smiled. "Deal?"

I laughed. "Well," I teased him, grateful for his amazing sense of humor, "just how long is this movie exactly?"

* * * *

An annoying sound pulled me out of my sleep.

Something hard was pushing into my lower back. I was sore all over.

I cracked an eye open, unsure of where I was, and slowly recognized Jack's living room. I was on his couch, lying on the remote and that buzzing sound was my phone ringing somewhere nearby.

I hadn't left it in the car after all. Now where was it?

I searched between the seat cushions and under the couch. There it was. I snatched the phone from off the floor, but I'd missed Ryan's call. I sat dazed and not quite awake, staring at the phone in my hand. I couldn't call Ryan back right now. Maybe later. Yes, much later.

Where was Jack?

I remembered we'd been watching that movie, that long and painfully dramatic movie, and I must have fallen asleep. The clock on the DVD player read eight. So Ryan had called me from the road. Somewhere in New York state.

He was gone. It was over between us.

I'd miss him a little.

I leaned back and peered at the open bedroom door to my left—Jack's room. I saw Jack's cute little bare feet hanging off the side of the bed. I rose and walked to his room, stopping in the doorway. Jack was fast asleep, lying on his stomach, facing me. Man, he truly was a sight to take in. He was completely naked, his gorgeous ass exposed to the sunlight. His skin seemed so warm in the gentle rays and I ached to lie beside him, but couldn't just climb into his bed. I didn't know him well enough. Anyway, I had to go home. I had a shift at Walmart this afternoon. Needed to get some rest and take a shower.

I watched Jack a little longer, not quite ready to leave him yet.

On his window sill, were three pots filled with blue flowers. Were those the wild flowers he'd bought that day he'd first seen me in Walmart's parking lot?

July flowers, he'd said. Larkspur.

I was frozen in his door, watching the morning light get brighter around Jack's body.

We'd had an amazing time together. Throughout the entire first half of the movie, Jack had commented on the costumes, the music, the dialogue, cracking me up with his jokes and clever remarks. But then minutes before the intermission, he'd stopped talking, and I'd turned to see him crying in his sleeve, obviously moved by whatever that selfish little green-eyed woman was blabbering about.

Jack was something else. I'd never known a man so alive and turned on by everything. His mind sped all the time. He had thoughts and opinions on everything. I'd only spent half a night with him, and yet, I knew I wouldn't easily forget him.

But did I want to?

Turning from his bedroom door, I walked back to the living room, searching for a pen and a piece of paper. I didn't want to wake him. But I couldn't leave him without a proper note either.

After I'd found what I was looking for, I scribbled a few sentences on his purple stationary paper.

Jack, thanks for the great night. Call me.

I read my words and ripped up the boring note, then stuffed the pieces into my pocket. Jack deserved a little more warmth. I put the pen to paper again.

Dear Jack, I had an amazing time with you. Would like to see you again soon. Call me...

Tonight maybe?

Sebastien.

xxx

I read and reread the note, debating on those three kisses there.

No, it was fine. It was great like that.

I left the note on the table between our empty coffee cups and walked backwards to the entrance, my eyes on his doorway, part of me hoping Jack would hear me and wake up. I'd take him again. Gentler and better this time. I'd make love to him in the morning sunlight and it would be so much hotter that way.

But he didn't hear me leave and I didn't have the nerve to say his name.

* * * *

# Chapter 10

Saturday evening, after my shift, I walked into my parents' house for our weekly dinner and was glad to smell charred meat in the air. From the entrance, I checked the patio doors in the kitchen and spotted my father out back, cooking steaks on the grill.

"Hey, you," my mother greeted me from the kitchen. She was at the stove and the radio was turned on to her favorite station. All oldies, all the time. She seemed in a good mood. "How was your afternoon, hon?"

My afternoon at work?

Boring. Terrible.

"Great," I lied, as usual, not wanting to worry or upset her. "How you doing?" I slipped my sneakers off and walked into the kitchen.

She shut the burner off and hugged me tight. She was much shorter than I was, but her grip was always surprisingly powerful. "You look good," she said, leaning away to eye me over. She'd seen me _yesterday_. I doubted I'd changed since then. But my mother always looked at me as though she hadn't seen me in years or wanted to imprint my face in her mind forever. "That gorgeous face. You must be breaking hearts at work."

Most of my coworkers were older married men. I wasn't _breaking_ anything on them, except maybe their balls when I agreed to stay late at work after they'd already told our boss no.

My mother grabbed my chin with both hands and kissed my cheek. "Want a beer?"

"Nah, I'm okay." I looked around the small and tidy kitchen. "Can I help?"

"Oh, please, there's nothing to do. I'm just making some plain brown sauce here." She plucked a cigarette out of her pack and lit it, blowing a thin curl of smoke through her nose. She was thirty-eight years old, but sometimes, when she looked at me this way, she seemed so much younger. She'd had me at age sixteen. Had quit school to raise me, while my father, who'd been twenty at the time, had worked two jobs in order to support us. At my age, my mother had had a six-year old boy. That thought floored me for a second.

How the hell had she done it?

She leaned back on the counter, watching me. "Ryan left yesterday, huh?"

"Uh, yeah," I said, walking to the table to pull a chair out. I plopped down into it. I was dead tired. Hadn't slept since leaving Jack's this morning. I'd been too excited. Too wired from my night with him to sleep. I'd thought of Jack all afternoon. "For Florida," I added, fiddling with the cheap table cloth.

My mother smoked and kept her smart brown eyes on me. "That's too bad. He really hated this place, didn't he?"

She was on to me, big time.

"Yeah, he was itching to be on the road."

"And you?" She crushed her stub in the ashtray by the window. She never smoked her cigarettes all the way down. She looked at me again. "You didn't wanna go with him?"

I was a little shocked, but kept my face neutral of emotion. "No...I don't think that would have been a good idea," was all I said. We looked at each other for a long moment, and then I had to avert my eyes. I felt as though she'd read right through me. "So, how's Dad?" I asked, changing the subject. "Any luck with that last interview?"

"Yeah, actually. They're gonna take him back at the post office." She glanced over at the patio doors and her eyes clouded over. She shook a thought off. "Anyway, Stanley, the director, is very aware of your dad's depression and said he'd give him fewer hours. Besides, they have a good program for psychological support and all. So, yeah, he should try it at least."

"Right. Yeah. Okay, that's cool."

She coughed and her face turned red. She couldn't catch her breath for a second.

I leaned forward in my chair. "Mom? You okay?"

She waved my question off. "Yes, yes. Just a touch of the flu or something."

"The end of the month is coming up fast. Remember our promise, right?"

"Oh, baby, this isn't the right time for me. I've been thinking about it, and I really think it would be better if I stopped in winter instead, because when it's cold, I don't have that inclination to go outside to smoke, and I could make a promise not to smoke inside, so that—"

"But, Mom, you're—"

"Sebastien, look, I'm a grown woman and I know what works for me." She picked up her pack and shook it. " _This_ works for me right now. I have a lot on my mind. So, gimme a break, okay?"

She was a stubborn woman. I'd inherited her hard head. I understood her ways. "All right, but I'm gonna hold you to it. No smoking in the house this winter."

She laughed. "Deal."

Inside my pocket, my phone rang and I pulled it out. I didn't know this number, but had a feeling it was Jack. Should I answer him or not? Flushed, I decided to take his call. I answered my phone, but rose and walked away to the living room, where I could be out of my mother's earshot. "Hello?"

"Hi, it's me. It's Jack."

I grinned and my cheeks filled with heat. "Hey. How are you?" I tried to sound cool and collected, but barely managed to keep my voice from jumping.

He'd _called_ me.

And soon, too.

Did he like me? Want to see me again?

Jack let out a nervous laugh. "Oh, by the way, I'm so sorry about leaving you alone on the couch this morning, but I kept falling off of it."

I chuckled and then realized my mother was in the other room and being awfully quiet, too. She was listening, I was sure. "It's okay. I'm sorry I fell asleep during your movie."

"I was surprised you made it to the intermission."

"We can watch it some other time, if you like." What a pathetic attempt at asking him out _that_ had been.

Jack was quiet and then asked, "So, what are you doing tonight?"

"I'm—I'm at my parents' house right now."

"Oh, right. Okay, maybe tomorrow or we cou—"

"No, no, tonight is fine. It's good. Just need to hang out here a little, you know how it is."

"Not really, no. I don't have dinner with my parents. I haven't had dinner with them since I left the house six years ago. Well, except at Christmas and my birthday."

"How old are you?"

"I'm twenty. Twenty-one in September. You?"

"Almost twenty-three. Wait—you're telling me you left your house at fourteen?" I checked the kitchen. My mother was pretending to be busy with her sauce. "Where did you live? How did you earn a living?"

"Uh, let's see, I lived in New Orleans for a time, at the Y there. Then I met a guy and followed him to San Diego. He was a navy man. Married. Three kids under the age of five. Oh, my God, that was so stupid of me!" Jack laughed out loud. "And then, yeah, I did the whole telemarketing thing for a while, until my navy man decided to ditch me in a city I barely knew so he could fly back to his wife, so Jack here had himself a little nervous breakdown _à la_ _One Flew over the Cuckoo's Nest_ , and ended it up in the hospital, where I spent a few weeks in the psych ward chewing pills and watching my cuts heal, and then the crazy in me suddenly dried out like a blood stain on the sheet, and I sold my watch—the one my grandfather had given me on my first communion—and caught a big ol' bus back to Montreal, except, that on the way back, we hit a storm and the bus had to make a turn, so _I_ ended up in Vegas, and well, shit, I stayed there for two weeks and dated this croupier with these really big hairy—"

"Jack." I burst out laughing. "Jack. Please."

"What? I was gonna say _hands_."

"Tell me the rest later, okay?"

"Yes. Sorry."

I closed my eyes for a second. "No, don't be sorry. I—I can't wait to hear the rest. But I have to go now."

"Come by when you can." Jack's voice was soft. "I'll wait for you."

My heart started pounding. I was elated.

Jack Barley.

Yes, I loved his name.

After we hung up, I walked back into the kitchen and found my mother waiting for me with a troubled smile. "I'm worried for you," she said. "That's all I'll say, okay?"

I was shy, feeling the blush in my cheeks. Never thought I'd have this conversation so soon.

"His name is Jack?"

"I thought you wouldn't say anything."

My dad finally came in, sliding the door open. "You guys ready to eat?"

"Roland, give us a minute?"

Dad looked at us both and then stepped back outside, sliding the door behind him. What would he think of me, if he knew I'd spent the night naked on another man's couch?

"Look, Seb," my mother said quietly, after my father had left us, "I had a feeling...about you. But I didn't wanna say anything, because, my God, what if I were wrong and put that idea in your head or confused or—"

"Mom, being gay isn't an idea someone can just put in your head."

"No, I know that. I know that. I didn't mean it that way. You know what I mean, don't you?" She grabbed my hands. "Are you sure?"

I inhaled deeply, ready to take whatever she had to say. "It's the only thing I'm sure of in my life actually."

She nodded to herself, not releasing my hands. "I thought as much." She looked into my eyes. "Okay then. No, it's good. I'm happy. It's good. It's really nice."

But she didn't sound happy at all. I gently pulled my hands out of her cold fingers and stepped back. "We don't have to talk about it. Actually, I'd feel better if we never brought it up again for as long as I live."

"Oh, honey, that's not right. That's not a life."

"Look, please, can we just pretend like we never had this conversation?"

She gave me a heartbreaking look. "Why?"

I shook my head, feeling ashamed and weak and ugly all at once. But I wasn't ashamed of being gay—it was something else. Yet, I didn't know what it could be that caused me to feel so insecure.

"I love you, Sebastien. I don't want you to shut the world out. I don't want you to shut _me_ out." She touched my cheek. "What's he like...this Jack?"

"I don't know. I don't really know him that well."

"Is he like Ryan?"

Her question flustered me and I felt so exposed. "No, he isn't."

My mother sighed. "Good."

What would she think of Jack? Jack was so quirky and witty, I was sure he'd make her laugh, but not my dad. No, my dad wouldn't like him one bit. Wouldn't be able to stand Jack's presence.

Dad knocked on the glass pane and raised a brow. He was getting impatient with us.

"Let's go eat," I muttered, heading for the patio doors. "Mom—look, we'll talk about it some more later." I shot her a quick glance. "Don't tell him. Don't tell Dad."

"Honey, I think he knows."

"I don't care what he thinks he knows. Just don't tell him."

* * * *

Looking up at Jack's apartment, I shut the car door behind me and blew a minty breath into my hand.

I was bursting with excitement. Would it be the same between us? What if it was awkward? When Jack opened the door, should I hug him?

Or kiss him?

I was reminded of the few dates I'd had as a teenager—those strange and terrible moments I'd spent on a girl's front steps, playing the part I'd been groomed for all of my life; the strong and silent guy with the gentle touch.

I wasn't that guy anymore. And I wasn't here to be silent or gentle. I was here for Jack. For authenticity. For his eyes on me. Those eyes that revealed me so easily.

No more games.

I climbed the steps and knocked on his door. I thought I heard voices in his apartment.

Wait—he wasn't alone?

Seconds later, Jack pulled the door open, and as soon as our eyes met, I was jolted through and through with feelings of desire and admiration. His blue stare reflected my own joy at seeing him again. His beaming smile touched me so deeply and sweetly that I couldn't restrain a laugh. "Hey," I whispered, hot all over, my voice cracking a little. "Hi."

"Hey," Jack said in a tender tone. "How are you?" He touched my arm, his fingers lingering there on my skin. "So happy to see you again, Monsieur Saint-Love."

Behind Jack, two guys were sitting on the couch. Who were these two?

Immediately, one of the guys waved at me. "Hi there," he said. He was a stunning blond with dark brown eyes. "Sebastien, right?" The blond looked down at the equally stunning guy sitting on the couch next to him. "Jackie wasn't lying, now, was she, darling?"

"Uh, well—these are my friends," Jack sputtered, turning to me, his cheeks coloring. "This is Sam and his boyfriend Rocco. They were just leaving." Jack gave Sam, the blond, an insistent look. "Right, Samuel?"

Sam winked playfully. "Oh, _Jacqueline_ , don't get so territorial." He came closer to me. His mannerism made me uneasy. His voice and hand gestures were purposely exaggerated as though he was in it to shock me, at whatever cost.

Or was this simply his way?

Standing there in my simple and bland shirt, my face scruffy with a five o'clock shadow, I felt like the odd man out. "Hi," I said, trying to be cool. These guys were so put together and the way they were all staring at me triggered my defense mechanisms. I'd spent my life avoiding guys like them, and now here I was, circled by the lovely sharks.

They were so hot, all three of them. And I knew then that I'd avoided androgynous looking gay men because they turned me on in a way no other men could.

Sam tipped his head, smiling coyly as though he'd read my thoughts. "Hm, so rugged. Honey, you must be a hockey player. No, hold on." He came closer. "No, with those thighs, I say soccer." He pinched my thigh.

I felt like a piece of meat exposed under a bad light in the deli counter. "Yeah," I mumbled, blushing.

Jack slapped Sam's hand hard. "Rocco, take this bitch home before she makes a mess on my floor."

Rocco laughed and stood. He was a tall and athletic looking man with beautiful olive-toned skin. "Jacky, sweetie, ain't no fixing this one. Even our vet won't try."

They were friends? Jack had just called Sam a _bitch_. And Rocco wasn't even affected. Was this how these guys dealt with people's judgment of them? Through self-deprecating humor?

Nonetheless, it made me uncomfortable.

Jack must have sensed it, because his expression changed and he gave Sam a strange look I caught, but couldn't read.

Sam also turned serious. "We should get going," he said, his voice deepening. "Nice to meet you, Sebastien." He shot Rocco a glance and tossed his head at the door. "Come on."

"Thanks for the books," Jack said, leading his friends to the door. They said goodbye and Jack stepped out with them and closed the door behind him.

Alone, I stood in the living room, trying to figure out my mixed emotions. I wasn't like them, yet, I _was_ , in so many ways just like them. I was gay, despite how much I tried to conceal it.

Something about Jack and his friends unnerved me. But why?

Was I ashamed of their behavior? No. I was ashamed of mine. Of my refusal to stand shoulder to shoulder with them, out there in the world.

I heard the door close behind me and turned around to see Jack coming in. He leaned back on the door and stared at me. "I'm not ashamed of them," he breathed, shocking me with his insight into my private thoughts. "Sam and Rocco are amazing people."

I hadn't expected him to be so candid and I was caught off guard. I frowned and stiffened a little. "Yeah, I know, I mean—they seem really fun." I went to the couch and sat, then after a moment, I looked over at him. "Well, come here." I reached out. "Come closer."

Jack walked to the couch, but didn't sit. He stood over me, clearly waiting for my next move.

I couldn't believe how much this man made me feel. The bulge in his black jeans, his narrow waist, those smooth forearms, and small fine hands of his—everything about Jack turned me on in a way I couldn't hide.

Slowly, he slipped his fingers into my hair, sending chills down my spine. He raised my face and traced a fingertip down my nose, pausing over my lips, his eyes never leaving mine. Then he bent to my mouth and kissed me.

I shut my eyes and squeezed Jack's small ass, pushing my face into his groin, my mind sinking back into sweet oblivion. I jerked his belt open and unzipped his jeans, freeing his cock.

Jack pulled my hair harder and let out a groan. Amazed by the way he offered himself to me without shame or expectations, I slid my fingers over the head of his dick, a thrill rushing through me. Slowly, I kissed him there, squeezing his ass harder, and took his cock deep inside my mouth. I went wild, abandoning myself to Jack, to his soothing hands in my hair, his slow and deep thrusting, and finally something inside me broke. I fell through, forgetting my useless ego and pride on the other side.

"Oh, Sebastien," Jack said quietly as though his voice could break the spell he'd put me under. He shivered and started to pull away, but I gripped his thighs, refusing to be separated from him. Jack's buttocks tightened under my hands and I bound him to me as he flooded my mouth and throat with his hot seed.

I leaned back, and excited, swallowed everything down. I couldn't explain it to myself. I looked up at Jack's face and put my hands on his waist, pulling him closer. I needed closeness. Wanted to hold him. When Jack started to get on his knees, I stopped him. "No, it's all right," I said softly. "Later...okay?"

To my surprise, he stood and hurriedly zipped up. "I'll get you some water then," he said, turning away. "Or maybe you want a beer? I know I'm getting wine." He left for the kitchen.

I stared at the kitchen door, confused. Had I done or said something wrong?

A few seconds later, Jack returned with a bottle of red wine and two glasses. He sat by me, and with a tense expression, started uncorking the wine bottle. But the corkscrew seemed a little tricky and he was having trouble with it.

"Hey, lemme try," I offered.

"No, I'm fine, thank you." But still, the cork wouldn't pop out.

"Come on, let me give it a try."

"I said I'm fine." Jack snapped my hand away. "Jeez, I can handle opening a fucking wine bottle."

I stared at him, not knowing how to act or what to say. He was upset. Why?

Then Jack finally managed to yank the cork out. He sighed loudly. "I can't remember how many guys I've taken home in the last year."

I decided it would be safer to be quiet and wait for more.

Jack poured wine into our glasses and stared down into his. "Look, in all honesty, ever since I started waiting tables on Fridays, my apartment's been busier than Grand Central Station." He picked up his glass and raised it. "Here's to hungry little bottoms looking for love in all the wrong places."

I leaned in and tipped my head, trying to meet his eyes. "So, you're saying I'm not your first?" I tried not to smile, hoping to get a reaction out of him.

Jack's expression was priceless. "You're kidding, right?"

I winked. "Yes."

He took a good gulp of the wine and cracked a smile. "Are you always like this? You know—so _chill_. So laid back."

I tasted the wine. I'd never had red wine until now. I was twenty-two years old and this was my first glass. I'd had plenty of beer and all types of whiskeys and rums, but never had had the inclination to drink wine. Always thought wine was for women.

Another ignorant lie my father had tried to make me believe. There had been many of those while I'd been growing up. Little subtle comments or remarks to steer me down "the right path" of manhood.

Jack put his hand on my knee. "So...do you like me?"

I took another sip of the wine, really enjoying the cherry taste it left on my tongue. "Sorry, what?"

"Okay. Never mind." Jack snorted. "My God, when will I ever learn?" He shook his head and drank more heavily, finally emptying his glass. He poured more wine into it, still shaking his head. "Why am I always boarding the same damn train? It takes me to the same place, over and over, and yet, as soon as that big ol' locomotive comes rolling back here, I hop on, and onward we go, engines roaring, until—"

"Am I the train?" I frowned, hoping I'd understood correctly.

Jack's blue eyes warmed and he nodded, holding the glass close to his mouth. "Yes, honey, you're that big bad train come to take me for a ride." He sighed and gave me a sad smile. "But goddamn, you're one beautiful fucking machine."

I was dumbfounded again, so unsure of everything. I drank some more and the wine soothed my nerves. I couldn't understand why Jack was getting so intense. What did he want from me?

"Tell me about yourself, Sebastien." Jack squared his shoulders and set his glass down on the table near us. "Forget what I just said. My psychologist says I have an anxiety disorder and love to ruminate and talk myself into physical existence."

"Okay..."

"Come on," Jack said, squeezing my thigh. "Humor me. Tell me who you are. What you dream of. What makes you tick?"

I thought about it for a moment and quickly drew a blank. I was coasting through the days, waiting. But for what?

"When did you know you were gay?" Jack asked.

I tried to remember.

"Were you young?"

I suddenly recalled that day. "I think—I think it started with a blanket I got for my birthday."

Jack leaned in, all ears. "A blanket? Now, that's one I haven't heard before. Go on." He picked up his glass and grinned, clearly loving this.

I could see that blanket in my mind. I'd been nine or ten years old and my mother had come home with it and proudly spread it over my bed. "It was a Batman and Robin blanket."

"Oh...I see." Jack laughed. "And that Batman sure got your little heart racing, didn't he?"

"Actually," I admitted for the first time in my life, "it was Robin I loved."

Jack's eyes widened a little. "Robin? You mean, ' _Holy Smokes, Batman_ ', Robin?"

Robin's beautiful mouth. Those masked eyes. His creamy thighs. Soft voice. Gentle ways and boyish beauty. I'd sit and daydream about him all afternoon.

"I loved him." I chuckled, embarrassed at my admission.

" _Loved_?"

I looked down at my lap. "Yeah, he was in many ways, my first love. I was so jealous of Batman, I actually drew a short storyboard in which I killed Batman off. In my comic book, Batman dies in a car crash, trapped in his ridiculously pretentious Batmobile, and then Robin is left alone in the mansion and that's when I come in."

Jack seemed enthralled, forgetting to drink. "Right...and?"

I looked up and our eyes met. Jack had Robin's silky dark hair, smooth skin, and pulpy mouth. Even the way Jack sat now, with his legs curled under him—I could almost picture what he'd look like in a mask and skimpy shorts.

"Well, go on."

"Uh, sorry, yeah. So, anyway, I find Batman dead in the ruins of his car and pull him out of the wreckage. Then I rip his costume off and put in on."

"It's not burned or badly damaged by the explosion?"

"Jack, I was ten. I wasn't thinking about the technicalities."

"Right, go on."

"So I put the costume on and go through the mansion's back door."

"Nice. The _back door_. See, that was your subconscious clearly revealing something to you."

"Probably, yeah." I laughed again, feeling loose and at ease in a way I'd never felt around anyone else before. "I climb up the stairs and discover Robin in the master bedroom."

"Let me guess. He's being ravaged by Superman already."

"Ah. No."

"Sebastien?" Jack whispered, leaning in closer.

I stopped. "Yeah?"

"Will you stay here tonight? I mean in my bed?"

I leaned in closer, until our mouths almost touched. "If you want me to."

"What did you do to Robin that night of your dreams?"

"I was ten. We made a tent out of his sheets and told each other scary stories all night."

Jack leaned back and picked up his glass. "Do you wanna hear a scary story? I'll tell you about my last relationship. That'll scare you good."

"You haven't had a lot of luck in love, is what you're saying."

"I just keep falling for straight guys. Married men mostly. Or guys so deep in the closet they don't even know where the handle is."

"Why do you do that?"

"I don't know...my friend Rocco says it's internalized homophobia. I say, I like playing with fire."

"I think maybe those two things are one and the same." I slipped the glass out of Jack's hand and held his fingers tight. "I told my mother that I was gay tonight. She sort of guessed it after she heard me on the phone with you. And I don't know why, but I allowed the conversation to happen."

"Tonight? Like, _tonight_ tonight?"

"Yeah. And she seemed pretty okay with it, too. But my old man, that's gonna be a whole other story."

"Then don't tell him."

"That's what I thought." I chewed on my lip for a moment. "Oh, anyway, I'll figure it out. How'd your parents take it?"

"Well, I was pretty young, so I don't really remember."

"How young?"

"Let's see, the second I was born, I looked around the nursery and started bitching about the clashing colors and then tried to get out of my terrible blue pajamas. I tell you, I clawed so hard, they had to put socks on my hands."

I muffled a laugh and shook my head at him. "You're really bad."

"But I'm so good at it."

I leaned in closer. "Yeah. Yeah, you are."

"You didn't answer my question," Jack said, gazing into my eyes. "Do you like me, Sebastien?"

"Yeah, Jack. I like you a lot."

"You do? Are you sure?"

Why was he so insecure? "Yeah, I'm sure." Uneasy, I reached for my glass and drank a little. "So, aside from waiting tables at Reggie's, what else do you do?"

"I—I work at The Gap."

"Oh. Okay. Do you like it?"

Jack shrugged. "I'm the best salesperson there. I think they're gonna promote me to assistant manager soon."

"Nice. That's great. Twenty-years old and already making your way up. You're pretty ambitious aren't you?"

" _Driven_. It's my Virgo and Aries combination. Earth and Fire signs make for really hardheaded people."

"What is that, astronomy?"

Jack gave me a strange look. "No, _astrology_. I could do your birth chart if you like. You'd find out a lot about yourself."

I drained my glass, feeling the effects of the wine. "Sure, why not."

"Now?"

"No." I laughed. "Not now." Then I thought of where I was in my own life. Jack was two years younger than I was, and yet, he seemed so much more sure of himself. "I don't think I'm gonna be staying at Walmart too much longer. I wanna do something else. Just don't know what yet."

"It's all about keeping your options open."

I stared at him and my heart started to pound. One long look from him and I was flustered.

He must have sensed it, because he pressed his hand against my heart. "Spend the night here with me, Sebastien, and we'll make a tent out of my sheets and then you'll tell me who you are." He put his mouth to my ear. "And I'll tell you all my secrets," he said. "I'll whisper all of them to you, right in here."

I shivered from his voice so soft in my ear. Yes, I wanted to hide out with Jack and let him lead me down into the rabbit hole, into his wonderland.

But part of me knew that this was only a temporary escape, and that soon, I'd have to crawl back out and face reality.

I could never date a man like Jack. No one I knew would ever accept him.

* * * *

# Chapter 11

Three days later, I was at the Jeanne Mance Park, holding my position in center field—my eyes steady on the keeper, ready to block his shot. We were in the last minutes of our soccer game, but thanks to all the extra time the referee had been adding, it was well over our regular ninety minutes of playing time. It was scorching hot out here and sweat poured down my face, stinging my eyes.

And I was wheezing a little.

Damn those cigarettes.

Pablo made a short, but precise pass to Vincent, and I readied myself for the next play, but as I looked over to my left, I caught sight of Jack walking up to the field, near the other team's touch line.

Shocked, I let the ball whisk right over my head.

"Goddamn it, Saint-Amour!" Pablo yelled, running back over the midfield line.

I turned to see the ball fly straight into our net, right between Theo's knees. Theo was the worst goalie we'd ever had, but that goal was on me. I'd been way too distracted.

We'd lost again. This was our fifth loss in the last two weeks.

Through the shouting and high fives of the rival team, I made my way to the sideline, where Jack waited at a safe distance from the action.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him right off, without bothering with _hello_. I wiped my face with the bottom of my T-shirt, my heart still pounding from the exertion. "You shouldn't have come here."

Jack's face tensed and he stepped back a little. "I just—I thought maybe—"

"Sebastien!" someone called out.

I looked over my shoulder at Pablo walking up to me. "What the fuck happened out there?" he shouted. Vincent was right behind him, looking furious. "You let that little faggot pass right by you, man," Vincent said reproachfully.

Faggot.

I shot Jack a quick look. "The sun was in my eyes," I muttered, hoping they'd go away. Hoping they wouldn't start on Jack. "Look, I'm sorry, all right? Anyway, we'll get 'em next time." I was their tallest, most fearless center-back and they couldn't get rid of me so easily. "I'll catch you guys later, okay?"

But Vince and Pablo stood there, eying Jack suspiciously. "Hey," Pablo said, throwing his chin up at Jack. "What's up."

If Jack opened his mouth, they'd know. I couldn't let him speak. "Can you gimme a second here?" I quickly said, cocking a brow at Vince. "I have to talk to this guy for a minute. He's my dad's accountant." The words had popped out of my mouth. Yes, it made sense. Jack looked like a smart, office type of guy, and they'd buy the story. "He's doing my dad's taxes."

Jack's cheeks flushed darker and I saw the indignation flash through his eyes, but thankfully, he didn't say anything.

Pablo and Vince stared at him for a moment, a moment that seemed to last forever, and then finally walked off.

I glared at Jack. "You should have called. You know?"

I was such a coward.

I walked away from the field, motioning for him to follow me. When we were further off, I dug my heels in the ground and shook my head at him. "You know what they're gonna think, right?"

"Oh yes I do. God forbid, right? God forbid they'd think I wasn't your dad's _accountant_ , but the man you had sex with three nights ago."

"Wait a minute. Don't even try to make this about _me_ being uncomfortable with you showing up, at my soccer game, my fucking safe zone without even checking with me first."

Every word I spoke made me even more ashamed of myself. But I couldn't stop.

"No, no, I'm sorry," Jack said, his voice dropping. "You're right. You're absolutely right." He looked over my shoulder. "I don't know what I was thinking. I—I just thought that you'd be happy to—no, never mind." He frowned and I saw the hurt creeping into his face. "I'm really sorry, Sebastien. Truly." He stepped back. "I shouldn't have come here."

I quickly looked around to see if anyone was watching and then followed him. I couldn't stand seeing him so hurt. "Wait. Hold on. Just hold on."

But Jack kept walking. "You know what? I _knew_ it was wrong but I did it anyway. I set myself up for it. I guess I enjoy being rejected and humiliated."

I touched his arm. I wanted to pull him close, but didn't have the courage. "Wait, Jack. Don't leave like this."

Jack stopped and shot me a quick glance.

"I'm sorry," I said, looking at the ground. "It was pretty shitty of me to act like I did." I dared a look up at him. "I get tense. I get insecure."

Jack narrowed his lovely eyes and wet his lips. "Yes, I know...So, did you lose the game because of me?"

"No," I lied. "We lost because we have a goalie who's afraid of the ball and because Pablo and Vince are two drunks who play hungover half of the time."

"But when you saw me," Jack insisted, smiling a little. "That ball went right over your head."

"Yeah. Maybe."

He was right. In his skinny blue jeans, Jack had looked so good walking up to the field that I'd lost my senses for a second.

He was so damn beautiful.

"Those guys," Jack said, after a moment, his expression darkening as he looked back at the field. "Those guys will never let me in. They'd lock me up in a black chamber if only they could and never give up the key."

"They're idiots."

"But they admire you." Jack looked into my eyes. "And they _loathe_ me."

"They don't know you." But he was right. Pablo and Vince, and most of the others, too, they couldn't even be in the same room as a man like Jack.

A man like Jack.

And what did that mean exactly?

I was confused, everything muddled in my mind. How could I find him so extraordinary and yet be so afraid to be seen with him?

"I should go," Jack said. "But do you wanna get together later maybe?"

Somewhere behind me, Pablo called my name and I felt all of their eyes on us. "I don't know," I mumbled, stepping away. "I'm pretty wiped out, Jack. I think maybe I'm gonna go to bed early. I work tomorrow and—"

"Sure, yeah, that makes sense." Jack adjusted his shirt as though he was uncomfortable about his appearance all of a sudden.

I didn't want him to feel insecure. But I couldn't reach out to him now. Not here. Not with them watching me.

"What time to you get off tomorrow?" Jack asked, clearly trying to be brave. "I'm gonna be at Reggie's for nine, but maybe we could have dinner together before?"

Dinner.

The thought of sharing a meal with Jack seemed surreal to me in that moment. Maybe it was all the shouting behind me, the adrenaline of the game still pumping through my veins and that feeling of wanting to be included in a team of men I longed so much to belong to. And yet I didn't even like those guys.

What did I want?

Out or in?

"Sebastien?" Jack queried me with gentle eyes. "Do you even wanna see me again? What's going on? You're acting so different."

How could I keep Jack hanging on this way? I knew I'd never introduce him to anyone in my family. I'd never allow him near my colleagues or team mates. I'd only agree to see him at his house, on certain nights, on my own terms.

I'd do to him what Ryan had done to me.

No, I wouldn't. Jack was too good for that. He wasn't going to be anyone's side dish, not even mine.

"Look, Jack—"

"Oh, God, here it comes," Jack said, his cheeks turning red. "Damn it, let me brace myself for it, please." He threw his shoulders back as though preparing to be punched. "All right. Go. Say it. I can take it."

"I'm just—I'm just all over the place lately, and maybe now's not the right time for me to start something. I mean, maybe—look, I just came out to my mother." I scratched my head, losing track of my thoughts. "I think I bit off more than I could chew."

"Oh, so I'm a little hard to swallow, I guess. Funny, you didn't have trouble swallowing last week."

"Don't get nasty."

"I'm gonna get as nasty as I think is necessary to protect my fucking aching heart!" Jack yelled, stepping up to me. "We spent the night together," he said more softly, "under my sheets, and you told me about all of your shit and I told you things I'd never told anyone before."

"Jack. Jack." I looked over my shoulder again. The guys had scattered. I closed the space between Jack and me, but didn't touch him. "I'll admit it, I'm scared, okay? I'm a coward. I'm not ready for this and I'm just trying to be as honest with you as I can. Because I respect you."

"You respect me? You have a strange definition of respect." Jack's eyes were swimming with tears. "God, I really have a thing for you, Sebastien," he said, his voice cracking.

"Hey, don't." I touched his arm. Couldn't believe I was going to make him cry. Me? I wasn't worth his pain. "Please don't waste a single tear on me. Look, Jack, we don't have to walk away from each other today. We don't have to end it so abruptly, right?"

Jack sniffled and looked away at the mountain.

"We could be friends, couldn't we?" I asked, knowing I didn't even deserve an answer. But if he agreed to be friends with me, I'd keep him in my life for as long as I could.

"Why would you wanna be friends with someone you can't even introduce to people you know? What kind of friendship is that?"

I made a decision right then and there. I could call Jack a friend and would, from this day on, introduce him as such to anyone who asked. That I could do. "If you agree to be friends with me," I said, "I'll never deny that we're friends to anyone, anywhere, including my idiot team mates. And I'll have your back, Jack. I'll stand by you. I won't let anybody talk shit about you."

Jack stared at me, his blue stare searching my face. "You swear it? You'll be there for me? Won't pretend you don't know me if we're out together and happen to bump into one those cave men behind us?"

I knew I'd do right by him in friendship. "I swear." I reached out for his hand. "Let's be friends."

But Jack pulled away. "No, no more touching. That's the number one rule. From now on, you keep your hands to yourself, mister."

That would be tough, but he was right, I couldn't have it both ways. "Deal," I said.

Jack briefly shut his eyes as though he needed a moment to steady himself. He opened his eyes and smiled caustically. "All right," he said, spreading his arms out and curtseying as he'd done on the night we'd first met. "As you wish." He was different somehow, giving me an act. He winked playfully and blew out a loud breath. "Well, as Scarlet said, 'I'll think about that tomorrow'."

There was a distance between us that hadn't been there before, but I was too inadequate to breach that void. "I'll call you later, okay?" I said, in a hurry to get away. "Tonight or something."

Jack's eyes strayed—he was already moving on. "Yeah, sure." Then he looked at me and stole my breath away. "Goodbye, Sebastien."

Paralyzed, I watched him walk down to the sidewalk.

But when I lost sight of Jack Barley in the crowd, I knew I'd made the biggest mistake of my life.

* * * *

# Chapter 12

I hated being at the mall on Saturday afternoons.

Growing up, my mother had dragged me there every weekend, bribing me with a promise of bubble gum ice cream and a visit to the pet shop. Bored out of my mind, I'd follow her around for hours, from store to store, sweating under my coat, which I refused to take off because I was overweight back then and didn't want people to notice me, and all afternoon, I'd sit on benches or under shoe displays, getting grumpier by the hour. Until finally my mother would tire herself out or go over her spending budget—whichever came first—and then exhausted, we'd sit by this indoor fountain I was now staring at, where side by side, we'd lick our ice cream cones with a dazed expression.

Probably the same one I had on my face right now.

Twelve years later, here I was again, sitting by that same everlasting fountain, gazing down at the change flashing at the bottom of its shallow pool of water. Except that this time, I didn't have my bubble ice cream to pacify me. Impatient, I tried to ignore the kids running up and down the steps where I sat.

From where I was, I could see The Gap store and Jack standing behind the cash counter. The store's sliding doors were already closed, but Jack was apparently having a pretty heated conversation with a middle-aged woman who wore a fur coat and seemed to refuse to leave the store.

Who wore _fur_ these days anyway?

Jack had told me he'd close shop at five, but it was almost five thirty and I'd walked around this damn shopping center more than I cared to. Funny how things hadn't changed here since I'd last been, as though the mall had been untouched by the passage of time and the people inside it hadn't left or aged since I'd turn ten.

When one of the sugar-pumped kids stepped on my foot, I decided it would be best for me to leave the fountain before I threw him in there and made a wish.

As I stood, Jack made eye contact with me and gave me an apologetic look. "Sorry," he mouthed.

We were going out for dinner and drinks together this evening and I was looking forward to it. I'd had a rough week at work.

But I'd stick it out at Walmart until November, then after that date, I'd find a better way to make a living. What could I do with my life?

At last, Jack escaped the jaws of retail sale and locked up the store. He joined me by the magazine stand. "Oh, my God," he cried, walking up to me. "That woman must be running a damn puppy mill. Did you see her? Cruella Deville in person. I think her coat was made out of Winter White hamsters." He dropped two kisses on my cheeks. "Hi, how are you, handsome?" But Jack didn't wait for my answer and took my elbow, leading me away. "You know what she wanted? She wanted _moi_ to exchange a shirt she'd obviously worn and put through her machine, and when I refused, she demanded I sniff the shirt as proof that she hadn't worn or washed it." Meanwhile, Jack was dragging me through the crowd of shoppers, never pausing to take a breath. "What do I look like to her? A bloodhound dog? So, when she realized I wasn't going to be sniffing her damn shirt, she turned all Margaret Thatcher on me and began reciting laws and policies, and then—"

"I'm parked in the Sears—"

"Oh, right, right. So anyway, I was about to make an independent and executive decision, which I have recently been awarded the privilege to make, as the newly appointed assistant manager, and hence, Cruella was going to get what she motherfucking wanted, but then she goes and calls me a _little bitch_ , and I was like, 'Excuse me, but'—"

"She called you that? That lady?"

Jack slowed down and raised his chin. "Yes, sir. She sure did." He pushed the doors open and we stepped outside.

The fresh air felt great and my head cleared up a little. "What did you say?"

Jack shrugged. "I gave her the fucking credit note."

I frowned and tipped my head, looking at him. "Why? She insulted you and she was wrong."

"I know that...but if it came down it, Leena wouldn't take my side."

Leena was Jack's boss. She was a conservative woman who bragged about her kids and perfect Christian family life. She'd promoted Jack, but only because no one else was fit for the job. "You shouldn't take people's shit, Jack," I said, though I knew my words were meaningless. Jack didn't have a choice. Everywhere he went, he was judged and misunderstood. "I wish you'd stand up for yourself once and awhile."

Jack cleared his throat and looked away. "I do stand up for myself. But I have to pick my battles, Seb." He sighed and then smiled at me. "You look nice, by the way." He came a little closer and touched the collar of my blue buttoned-up shirt. "Blue makes your brown eyes pop."

Defensively, I looked around the parking lot to make sure no one had seen him touching me. "Thanks."

Jack stuffed his hands down his dark denim pants. "So, where's your car?"

"Down there."

We walked off together in silence.

Though Jack and I had been seeing each other as friends for almost a month now, it could still get a little tense between us at times. We got along great and that was what kept me coming back for more. I truly admired Jack. His sensitivity and grace enriched my life. His refined taste in books, food, and clothes brought a depth to my own culture. I'd never had a friend like him, who instead of bringing me down, _elevated_ me. In the last weeks, as I'd gotten to know Jack better, I'd come to realize how alone he was in the world, despite all of his so-called friends and numerous past lovers. Around his friends, Jack automatically metamorphosed into this bigger-than-life persona he'd created to keep people from getting too close to his true heart.

Somehow, I felt it wasn't like that between him and I. Jack trusted me a little more than he did the others.

And slowly, I was beginning to let down some of my own walls. I'd find myself opening up to Jack. I was drawn to him more and more.

Could he be the man for me?

"I think you're gonna like this place," Jack said as we approached my car. "It's all vegetarian, but you'll be surprised at how tasty and exciting the food is."

I'd agreed to try one of Jack's favorite restaurants though it was in the gay village. I'd never actually entered any of that area's restaurants or clubs. The idea of being surrounded by other gay men and women, of being visible, of stepping out into plain sight as one of them, had kept me from frequenting the gay district until now.

But Jack was adamant about "shaking the straight out of me" as he'd called it and couldn't believe I'd made it to twenty-two years old without entering a gay bar, aside from Reggie's on Friday.

I'd dressed up for tonight, as best I could, but I was a tad uneasy in this fitted shirt. I wasn't sure about the new cologne either. "I'm open to new things," I muttered, climbing into the car. I reached over and unlocked the door for him.

Jack plopped down into the passenger seat and glanced over at me with a smirk. "Look, I know you're a little nervous about diving into the big gay pool tonight, but I'll be with you and trust me, no twink is getting past this bitch tonight."

"I don't know why you keep insulting each other all the time," I said, pulling my seat belt over my shoulder. "Twink. Bitch. Hungry little bottom." I looked over at him. "I don't know, but it seems pretty harsh to me."

"Thanks for sharing your opinion on something you obviously cannot understand."

My mouth jarred open, but I decided not to say anything. I turned the engine on and backed the car out.

Jack let out a loud breath. "Look, maybe you're right, okay? But it's not your place to tell us how to handle the mind blowing amount of hate and anger which we are subjected to, subtly and often times, _not so subtly_ , every day of our lives. Now, if the self-deprecating humor is going to stop, that change is gonna come from men like me, all right? The healing will certainly _not_ be instigated by some big, rugged, hetero-normative appearing soccer player who hasn't contributed anything to the gay community except an occasional invitation to his bed after a copious amount of alcohol."

It took a few seconds to register Jack's words, but when they hit me, I shot him a hard look. "All right. Nice. That's your opinion of me."

"It's a touchy subject, so don't touch it."

"Fine." I stopped at the red light, my hands getting clammy on the wheel. He was right. _Again_. I was in no position to pass judgment on the way he coped. "I'm sorry," I said.

Jack seemed to tense in his seat. Then he put his hand on my knee. "No, don't be. I'm the one who's sorry. I shouldn't have insulted you."

"You know," I said, "I understand you better than you think. Despite my hetero-normative appearance." I laughed. "Whatever the fuck that means."

Jack chuckled quietly. "I know you do." He livened up again and playfully slapped my thigh. "Hey, did I ever tell you about that time I swam with a gay dolphin in a resort I worked for?"

The light turned green and I drove off, content to listen to Jack's crazy tale, my feelings of anxiety dissipating as he talked and talked.

But being with him, enclosed in my car, out of sight and safe from other people's judgment of us, I wanted to hold his hand. It took a lot of self-restraint not to let Jack know how close I felt to him in this moment and how great he always managed to make me feel, in spite of all my faults.

* * * *

"Oh, come on, Seb!" Jack shouted close to my ear and over the sound of the club music. "Just this song!" He batted his long eyelashes at me and puckered his lips. "Please. _Pretty_ please."

Again, I shook my head and declined. Feeling guilty about my refusal to join in the fun, I took another sip of my flat beer, pretending to be interested in the patterns on the club's back wall.

I wasn't going to dance. No way. The floor was so tightly packed with men that I couldn't imagine making my way through that rowdy crowd of guys.

Of course Jack was getting impatient and antsy at my side. "God, I love this song." He tugged on my belt. "This is torture. I'm like, Jacques De Molay burning in Paris here."

"What?"

Jack danced at my side, swinging his narrow hips, his eyes glimmering with mischievousness. "You know, Jacques De Molay, the last Knight Templar burned at the stake in 1314."

"Oh, right. _Him_. Right." I smirked and looked away at the dance floor again. A short blond guy squeezed in next to me and stepped on my foot. He looked over and smiled apologetically. I quickly looked away. Around me, the club was jumping with people getting crazy on the floor. I found the whole thing funny. A crammed room full of guys moving and sweating to the sound of a woman singing about being a _single lady_? What was the point? "I don't get it," I said loudly, leaning to Jack's ear. "Imagine if aliens came down to us right now and _this_ was the first thing they saw." I chuckled. "Man, they'd be scratching their pointy little heads for sure."

Dancing on, Jack rolled his eyes at me. "Yeah? Well, what if they came down and caught you and your buddies dressed in those bright colors running around a specific terrain, kicking a small white ball around or sometimes even hitting it with your head?"

I wanted to retort but no words came, so I nursed my beer instead.

"That's right, keeping on sucking on that thing." Jack winked and laughed. He slipped the bottle out of my hand and pulled on me. "Ah, come on, Seb, are we gonna stand around here all night?"

"Maybe I should just—" But I was interrupted by two good looking men who surrounded Jack, one of them lifting him off the floor a few inches. Jack spun around and hugged them both and then they all began laughing and talking all at once.

I watched on, trying not to stare. Jack's friends were hot, but Jack was the most beautiful of the three.

"Hi," the dark-eyed one said, looking straight at me. "So, you're the famous Sebastien." He grinned and glanced over at Jack. "Now I see what all the fuss was about and—"

"Oh, shut up!" Jack cried, but he was clearly embarrassed.

Jack had been talking about me to his friends? What had he said?

"Look at you," the shorter friend said, now eying Jack. The friend was dressed in tight blue designer jeans and an impeccable fitted pink tee. His hair was streaked blond, cut in the latest fashion, and he'd plucked his eyebrows real thin. "Girl, you surely didn't get this at The Gap." He laughed as he checked Jack's ass out. Then he locked eyes with me again. "So what's your story, Rocky Balboa?"

"Nothing," I sputtered, my face feeling hot.

Jack's friend finally turned his attention back to Jack. "What are you doing standing here getting fat?" He grabbed Jack's arm and tugged on him. "Let's dance. We're turning a second older every second."

I tried not to smile, but the corner of my lips rose.

Mr. Pink Tee immediately noticed and stepped closer to me. "Think that's funny, Apollo? I'm twenty-three. That's a few years short of the geriatrics' club in this here place."

I laughed quietly, but didn't say a word.

"Oh, the strong and silent type. Me likey."

Jack slapped his hand off. "Keep your grabby mitts to yourself." He laughed, but his eyes flashed at his friend in quiet warning.

They joked and teased each other a little more, and then started for the dance floor. Squeezed in between his friends, Jack looked over his shoulder at me. "Be right back!" he yelled.

Good, he'd gotten what he wanted.

I watched him dance for a while. Of course Jack was a great dancer. He didn't simply swing his hips or throw his hands up. No, he actually had _moves_. I envied him. Wished I could trade places with him for one night. To have his body. His carelessness. His intelligence and grace. His lovely loudmouthed friends.

Even Jack's flamboyance, I'd have taken over this _rock_ in my stomach—this useless and heavy weight I carried everywhere.

My self-important masculinity.

After a few songs, I realized I'd lost Jack in the crowd again. He was in here amongst the glistening bodies, having fun. I could have walked around looking for him, but then what? No, I'd leave him to the boys and make my way back home.

Head down, I walked through the club and then out the front door. Outside, there was still a line of guys waiting to get in. All were ready for the night, dressed to conquer.

Feeling out of place, I made my way west and across the city's heart. My apartment was only a forty-five-minute walk away and I welcomed it. It would help clear my thoughts.

Inside my pocket, my phone buzzed. Jack was calling me.

"Hey, what's up?" I answered him, stepping down onto the street which was closed to traffic in the summer. A group of American tourists walked past me, singing and laughing. They were here for Pride Week, spending their money and enjoying Montreal's free spirited people.

"Where are you?" Jack asked.

"Outside, heading home."

"What? Why?" There was the sound of muffled music and voices in the background. He was probably in a bathroom stall. "I came back to the bar and you were gone. I looked everywhere for you."

"Oh, sorry." I slowed down. "I just thought—"

"I can't believe you just left. I mean, what the hell, Seb? You didn't even say goodbye."

"Hey, don't get mad. I didn't think you'd notice. I'm sorry. I was getting tired and since you were with your—"

"But I was gonna come back. I wasn't gonna leave you there very long. And I thought maybe you'd join us...eventually." Jack sighed. "Okay, never mind."

I frowned. "Are you angry?"

"No."

"Well—I'll call you tomorrow or something." I picked up the pace, walking towards downtown. "Have a great night, okay?"

But Jack didn't say anything.

"Are you there?" I asked, feeling the tension on the line. "Hello?"

"Yeah, I'm here." He sighed. "But you're not," he grumbled, almost inaudibly, but I caught it. In the background, the voices grew louder and then I heard a bang. Someone laughed and Jack screamed, "Get out of here!" But he was laughing, too. Evidently his friends had discovered him. "Look," he said, over all that noise, "I have to go, 'cause these two won't leave me _alone_ , but do you think you'll be awake for a while longer?" Jack yelped as though he'd been pinched. "Stop it!" he screamed and laughed louder. "Get off me, bitch!"

"I don't know...why?" I asked, annoyed with all of the yelling.

"Because maybe I could swing by after."

I walked a little faster. "My place?"

"Yeah, why not?" There was another loud bang in the background and Jack raised his voice. "I could spend the night."

I knew what that meant. "The thing is, Jack, I'm gonna go straight to bed," I lied, wanting to do the right thing by him.

He was horny.

_I_ was horny.

If he came over, we'd end up sleeping together again and I'd lose him for good this time. I'd promised to be a friend to Jack and that meant keeping my greedy hands off his sexy body so as to protect his heart until he was completely over his feelings for me. "But we could hang out tomorrow," I added.

"So you don't want me to come over tonight?"

I briefly shut my eyes, an image of his face flashing through my mind. "It's better if you don't."

"For you? Or for me?"

"Come on, Jack. You know what I mean. We're doing so good as friends. Why complicate things again?"

"Well, that's very rational of you, thanks. Mr. Emanuel Kant himself."

"Who? Wait, never mind. Where are you exactly?"

"In a stall...So, you're saying you don't want me over tonight? Are you sure?"

"Yes," I said, thinking I was being the better man.

"Suit yourself." Jack hung up on me before I even had a chance to reply.

I bit my lip and looked down at my phone. I stuffed it back in my pocket and kept walking. I'd done the right thing. Tomorrow morning, when Jack woke, he'd be sober and clear minded—grateful I'd turned him down.

But even as I congratulated myself on being so reasonable, my heart throbbed with feelings of insecurity which threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn't stop myself from imagining Jack leaving the club with another man tonight and taking that lucky man home and into his bed.

That very bed where _I_ could have slept tonight, if only I'd have the courage to follow my true nature.

What could I do about it?

After all was said and done, the truth was, I wasn't strong enough to be Jack's man.

* * * *

It was close to midnight when my phone rang.

Surprised, I answered my mother. "What's wrong?" I asked, sitting up in bed. I hadn't been asleep. I'd spent the last hour staring up at the ceiling, wrestling with my inner demons.

"Shit," my mom said, "I didn't even think of the time. Is it midnight already? I was just watching TV and this commercial came on and it reminded me of you so I just had to pick up the phone. Were you sleeping?"

I rubbed my eyes and reached for my pack of cigarettes on the nightstand. "No, I was reading," I lied. The last book I'd read had been in grade nine. I put a cigarette to my lip. Funny how every time I was on the phone with my mother, I had the urge to smoke. It was something we did together. "What was the commercial?"

I heard the flick of her lighter. "It was a recruiting ad." She blew smoke into the phone. "You know, for the Canadian Armed Forces and such. There was this young man—I don't know—he just reminded me of you. Something about his eyes. And I was thinking about how you used to talk about joining the army or was it the police? Shit, I can't remember. But anyway, I feel bad about not letting you get into the cadets when you asked me."

"Mom, that was a long time ago. I was eleven years old. Don't worry about it." I blew curls of smoke up at the ceiling fan. The army would never take me now. I was out of shape. Smoking and drinking way too much.

"I know it was a long time ago, but I think that, maybe, well, that maybe if I'd let you join up back then, you wouldn't be working such a crap job and maybe the army would have paid for your studies and then you could have been an officer or something. I can imagine you in that sharp uniform, looking all spiff and all."

I tapped my ashes into the empty beer bottle by my bed. "Yeah, right. Or I could have ended up shot dead in the desert somewhere."

My mother let out a long breath. "True. But do you regret it? I mean, not following that dream because of me? I shouldn't have let my own fears dictate your choices. I should have trusted you to make your own decisions."

What was up with my mother? She wasn't the sentimental type, but she sounded pretty emotional. "I don't even think about it, Mom. Don't worry about it."

"Sebastien, you're gonna be twenty-three years old soon, and granted, that's still really young, but it's also the perfect time to start thinking about your future."

"It's Saturday night. I'm not gonna be making any important decisions in the next hours, trust me."

"I know...but I just want you to think ahead. To envision what kind of man you'd like to be. The type of life you'd enjoy living. Oh, Seb, I was so young when I had you and I never got a chance to think anything through. For years, it only felt like I was surviving, never living. And I don't want that for my son. My beautiful, goodhearted, and hardworking son."

I put my cigarette out and leaned back against my pillow, mulling her words over.

She was quiet for a few seconds. "You're gay," she finally said. "And that means you've already set out for a different path than mine. Or your father's."

"Not really, no," I said a little defensively. "I still have to pay my bills and file my taxes, unless you know something I don't know. Has the government exempted us gay guys from our civic and social responsibilities and decided to award us lifelong financial assistance?"

Man, Jack was really rubbing off on me.

My mother chuckled softly. "No."

"Well, see, in that case, looks like I'm heading down that great big road right along Dad and you—next stop, Working Poor City, population three-hundred million."

"You're funny."

"Thank you." I smiled. "Look, Mom, don't worry about me, okay? I'm just figuring things out right now. I might go back to school. Get those missing credits and all."

"For your high school diploma?"

"Yeah, maybe."

"Oh, Sebastien, that would be so great!" She coughed. "Please. Please, do that. Promise me you'll do it. You're so smart. Don't settle for anything else. I know I didn't give you such a good example, but I was too young to handle it all and I—"

"What? Hey, what are you talking about?" I sat up and fiddled with the corner of my sheet. "You raised me good and fine." I wanted to say more. I wanted to tell her that she was the bravest woman I'd ever known. That I'd always looked up to her. That every time I wondered what the right thing to do was, I only had to ask myself what she would do.

But I said none of those things.

"You and me have a special bond, don't we, Sebastien?" I heard her lighter again. "I guess we sort of think the same. Maybe that's why I know you'll be happy in life. Because, in the end sometimes happiness is like that box at the bottom of a long, long page of terms and conditions. You know, the one no one ever gets to. You either have to be real persevering or curious to scroll down so far, but those of us who do read the whole damn thing—well, shit, there it is. Happiness in full bold letters just waiting to be checked."

I nodded to myself, understanding her words as though I'd spoken them myself.

Happiness. Yes, I'd check off that box eventually.

"Your dad loves you," she said, out of the blue. "So much. But you intimate him. You're so grounded and easily pleased, that's what it is. It makes him feel inadequate."

I never enjoyed discussing my father. He was who he was. "Yeah, I know," I said, lying back again.

"He needs your approval more than you need his."

"I approve of him." I cracked a sardonic grin.

She laughed out loud. "Okay, let's drop the subject." She coughed again. This time louder and for a longer time.

"Winter is coming," I reminded her. "Remember your promise."

"Winter is in six months."

"Start mentally preparing then." I sighed. "Mom, I don't want you to get sick, okay? That's the bottom line here. Okay?"

She was quiet.

"'Cause, uh—I love you."

"Aw, baby. I know how hard it is for you to say those three words." She laughed again then turned serious. "Can I ask you something? Have you ever said those wonderful words to someone?" She cleared her throat. "To another man, I mean."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because." I scratched my head, feeling strange. "I don't know."

"And this Jack—"

"He's just a friend."

"Oh, I thought you said that you were seeing each other."

"No...it didn't work out. That part didn't work out." I looked at window. Jack was out there somewhere. Alone?

"That's too bad."

"It's all right. It's better this way."

"Oh." She seemed to hesitate. "So, uh, what's your type? What kind of guys turn your head?"

"Mom, please. There's no way we're having this conversation." I laughed nervously and reached over for another cigarette. I lit up and exhaled the smoke through my nostrils, slowly, thinking of Jack's smile and quirky laugh.

"Ah, come on, Seb, I'm dying to know. Just give me an idea. _Please_?"

"I don't know." I sucked on my cigarette and watched the night outside my window. "This is weird." I chuckled again. But I wanted to tell her. Needed to share this part of me with her. Because who I was drawn to spoke of who I was.

"All right," she said. "Let me make it easier for you, okay? Just tell me this—Batman or Robin?"

Her question rattled me. How could she know?

I was speechless for a second.

"I say Robin," she answered for me. "Am I wrong?"

I was blushing. Why was I so embarrassed about this? Why was I so ashamed?

"Sebastien?"

"Do you think it's messed up?" I asked, something inside me craving absolution and peace.

"That you're gay? Or that you're attracted to men who act like women?"

My jaw tightened. "They don't act like women."

"I didn't mean anything bad by that. But you can't tell me they act like men."

"And what does that mean? To act like a man?" I shook my head, tapping my cigarette on the edge of the ashtray. She was so straight. Lived in her impermeable straight world. How could she understand? But I had to _make_ her understand. "Mom, women don't have the exclusivity on gentleness, beauty, flamboyance, even heels or make-up. All that stuff is up for grabs. Same way men don't own the rights on strength and army boots or—"

"A tall glass of beer."

Relieved, I smiled a little. "Right."

"Okay. No, I get it. Okay. Food for thought." She paused. "Is that why it didn't work out with Jack?" she asked after a few seconds. "He was too rough and tough for you?"

"No, not exactly. He's the opposite of that."

"So he's your type then?"

"Oh yeah." My heart fluttered and I squirmed, hoping I wouldn't get a boner while I was on the phone with my mother. "He's _exactly_ my type."

"Then I don't understand."

I blinked, everything clearing up in my mind. What was I doing sitting here? I checked the clock. Jack was probably still at the club. I could jump in my car, go back there, and surprise him. We'd come back here, to my place, and spend the weekend in my bed making tents out of sheets and then Jack would tell me more of his stories. "Mom, I think I messed up and I gotta go make something right. Can I call you tomorrow?"

"Is this about Jack?"

"Yeah. Yeah," I said, throwing the sheets off and grabbing my jeans. "If you hadn't called—wow, you totally saved me."

She laughed. "Well, what are mothers for, right?"

I zipped up and fumbled through my drawer for a clean shirt. "Talk to you soon, okay? I have to go."

After we'd hung up, I snatched my car keys off the coffee table, hurried out of the apartment and down to my car. Then I thought I should let him know I was coming.

I dialed Jack's number, and chewing on my thumbnail, sat in the car, shrouded in silence, listening to my heart pound.

After five rings, Jack picked up. "Hello," he answered in a low voice. "Sebastien? What's wrong?"

There was no music or noise in the background. Was Jack home already?

"Are you still at the club?" I asked, sitting up straight, my free hand clutching the wheel. The key was in the ignition but I hadn't started the engine.

"Where are you?" Jack asked.

Then I heard a male voice saying something softly somewhere behind Jack. My stomach lurched. "I'm in bed," I lied. "You?"

"Uh, I'm home." Jack must have put his hand over the phone, because I heard him saying something to that man in a muffled voice.

"Alone?" I had to ask.

But I knew the answer. Of course he wasn't alone.

My jaw clicked and I jerked the key out of the starter. "Grand Central Station," I said, under my breath.

"What?"

"Never mind."

"Why did you call, Seb?"

I closed my eyes and leaned my head back on the seat, defeated and hurt. But I had no right to be angry. I had no claim to him. "I just wanted to make sure you were all right."

"Is that all?" Jack's voice was soft and his tone was careful. "Are you okay? You sound a little strange."

Jack couldn't be alone for more than two weeks. It was lover after lover with him.

And now it looked as though I'd been just one of them.

A one-night-stand.

On the line, the stranger in the background said something again and Jack sighed. "Look, I have to go, but are we still on for hanging out tomorrow?"

"Sure." I flipped the phone shut before he could say anything else.

Slowly, I stepped out of the car, and with my heart in my shoes, climbed the stairs up to my door, and entered my quiet apartment.

Still in my clothes, I crawled into bed and turned on my side, facing an empty pillow.

For a long time, I gazed at the slim white finger of light touching the hardwood floor in my bedroom. But when the light blurred, the room going under water right before my eyes, I realized I was sobbing.

Hot and salty, the tears poured down my face, and I never bothered wiping them.

* * * *

# Chapter 13

Present day

Lying in Sebastien's bed, I listened to Seb's slow and even breathing.

This must have been how Emperor Hadrian had felt about Antinous, his young lover. After Antinous had been killed in Egypt, Hadrian, distraught and insane with grief, had declared the beautiful slave a god and ordered a city be built in Antinous's name.

If _I_ ever traveled again, this time, I'd visit the city of Sebastopol on the Black Sea, and there, I'd honor my own god—my Sebastien.

Every time I said his name, even to myself, my heart went savage with possessiveness and desire.

Oh, I had it bad for this man.

In bed, Sebastien was still sound asleep at my side, unaware of my hungry gaze roaming all over him. The scent of our mixed sweat still lingered on his skin and the soft morning light revealed all of the details of his handsome face.

Every inch of him seemed designed to keep me running to him like a fool.

From the moment I'd first seen Sebastien, in that depressing Walmart parking lot five years ago, smoking his cigarette with that intense look he always had when he thought no one was watching him, I'd known he'd make me suffer, but that the highs would be worth every low.

I inched myself closer to him now, until his resting cock grazed my naked thigh. I didn't want him to wake up just yet. What if he took back the words he'd spoken to me yesterday?

Last night, Sebastien had showed up at Valencia's house and finally admitted I was the one he wanted.

Would he be quick to leave again, as he'd done five years ago? How long would _this_ moment of bliss last?

I let the air out of my lungs and touched a strand of his hair.

Well, I'd take what I could get for now. The last few weeks of us living together had been torture. I'd tried my best to keep him out my head and bed, but the nights had been so cruel.

Sebastien mumbled a word and then slowly opened his eyes. When he did, I was amazed at the beauty of his quiet stare. Something about him always soothed my fragile nerves. In the light, his brown eyes were streaked with amber and speckled with tiny spots of green. My breath caught in my throat, but of course, I hid it well. "Good morning," I said, smirking to keep my emotions under control. I couldn't let him know how moved I was by his eyes or he'd be embarrassed. I'd learned to keep a certain distance with him in the last five years. Seb didn't deal well with raw emotion, so I'd gotten used to dressing my feelings up with humor or wit.

"Were you watching me sleep?" he asked in that rich voice I adored.

"Hell no," I quickly replied. "I was counting your freckles."

"Liar."

It was getting harder and harder to maintain my facade. I wanted so badly to push my face in his shoulder and give up the fight. Tell him I'd _die_ if he changed his mind about us again.

"You all right?" Seb asked, watching me closely.

I felt a little twitch in my cheek and hoped he hadn't caught it. "I'm fantastic."

Sebastien had never looked at me for so long and so intensely.

"What?" I asked defensively, protecting my glass ego.

He leaned his forehead to mine and sighed out. "You're so fucking beautiful, that's what."

The blood pounded through my veins and up into my face.

"Oh, I made you blush," Seb teased, smiling. "I made the great and unflusterable Jack Barley blush."

I couldn't help joking. "You also invented a word. _Unflusterable_?" I hated myself for not allowing this moment between us to unfold. Why did I always resort to humor whenever things got serious between us?

"But you did blush."

I sat up, letting the sheet fall away from my chest. "Guess I did."

Sebastien touched the small of my back. "Hey, where do you think you're going?"

I looked over my shoulder. "Aren't you hungry?"

"Come here," he said, pulling me close. "I only want one thing right now, and that's you."

I hesitated. We'd made love all night and I'd actually stayed in Sebastien's bed afterward. That had been a first for me. But I was feeling insecure, exposed in the sunlight—unable to sustain Seb's honest eyes. This was too real. Too unscripted and spontaneous. "I need a shower. A cup of tea." I freed myself of his arms—those strong arms I could have lived in—and smirked again. "I probably smell like the bottom of Nero's underwear drawer."

"Nero...hm." Sebastien caressed my back. "And who was he again?"

I loved Seb's curiosity. His unquenchable thirst for knowledge thrilled me. All _I_ ever did was store information, hoarding bits and parts of it around my overcrowded brain in hopes of protecting myself against subtle attacks on my character, as though every detail I extracted from the world could serve as a weapon.

But Sebastien cared. He searched the world and its history for meaning.

"Nero was a Roman emperor," I explained, lying back against Seb's broad chest. I adored the patch of soft hair between his pecs and all those little scars he'd earned on the soccer field. "Nero was the last in the Julio-Claudian dynasty and history tells us Nero was a madman with a violent temper and an insatiable sexual appetite who lived in complete and abject debauchery."

Sebastien chuckled and his chest shook against my cheek. "I see."

"There's this book called _The Satyricon_ —"

"Wait a minute. You couldn't smell like his underwear drawer. They didn't wear underwear back then."

I looked up and caught the pleasure on Seb's face. "You've been paying attention, haven't you?" I rested my head on his heart again, listening to its strong and steady beat.

For a while we were quiet, Sebastien running his fingers through my hair. My own heart beat so hard, I thought he'd ask me about it. I couldn't seem to relax. Thoughts whirled around my head and I shut my eyes, forcing myself to enjoy the moment. To live in the present.

After a few minutes, Sebastien kissed my head and squeezed me tight. "Relax, Jack," he said with a smile in his voice.

I exhaled forcefully. "Sorry."

"What's wrong? Look at me."

I froze. Held him tight. If I told him about my fears, it would only cause him to run away again. Not knowing how to stop this conversation from getting too sentimental, I resorted to what I did best and slowly moved my hand up his thigh, until my fingertips grazed the head of his cock. Wanting to be close to him again, I suckled on his neck, while I caressed his dick. I was still sore from last night, but wanted him inside me again. The need for it came over me hot and deep, and I went down on him, taking his hardening cock into my mouth. I'd bring Seb to the edge and then straddle him. No more rubbers. We were both safe. I wanted his cum inside me.

Sebastien sighed and dug his fingers into my hair, spreading his thighs open. His hard stomach trembled and I looked up to catch him staring down at me. His eyes were full of heat and lust. Sometimes when he looked at me this way, I'd suddenly and fully enter my body, slipping deep into my limbs.

Then I'd actually exist for one true moment.

Sebastien always brought me back to myself.

"Oh—oh, Jack," he moaned, his fingers clutching the sheet. "That feels so good."

I slid my hands up his chest, straddling Seb's thighs. I kissed him hard and deep, our tongues lacing, while I carefully inched his cock inside me. Burning with excitement, I nibbled on Sebastien's full lips, licking his tongue, as he pushed harder and deeper into my clenching muscles. The pleasure grew so acute, I thought I'd burst out laughing from the release. My nerve endings were electrified and I had to bear down in order to hold back from screaming out. It had taken years to master the art of great anal sex and for me to come without any other stimulation, which rarely happened, but it was happening now—oh yes now. I squeezed my thighs hard against Sebastien's hips, and he gripped my waist, digging his strong fingers into my sides until it hurt. I felt him coming inside me and grabbed his chest, clenching my ass harder. "Oh Jesus," I cried out, spurting semen all over his stomach. I pushed my face into his armpit and breathed him in.

Sebastien stroked the back of my neck, his chest heaving against mine. I could hear his heart pounding. "You came and I didn't even touch you."

I chuckled a little. "You touched me plenty."

"No, I mean— _you know_."

I snuggled against his shoulder, touching the shallow cleft in his chin. "It was the right combination of things, I guess."

"Yeah? Like what?"

I looked up at him. "You'd have to try it to understand."

He swallowed hard and shrugged.

I pinched his nipple gently. "No, I get it," I teased him. "That would be too _gay_ , right? God forbid you'd enjoy a cock up your ass."

But to my surprise, Sebastien didn't retort or roll his eyes at me.

I leaned my head on my hand, resting on my elbow, and watched his expression closely. "I'm just playing with you," I said.

His eyes met mine. "You know, it's not like I haven't thought about it."

I resisted the urge to make a stupid joke and gave him a serious look instead. "Of course you have." I put my hand between his thighs. "Everyone does at one time or another."

Sebastien slipped his hand into my hair, sending a small shock of emotion through my body. "Jack, I need to know something."

My heart broke into an uneven rhythm. "What?"

He released my neck and lay back against the pillow. He was staring up at the ceiling fan with a strange expression.

I couldn't keep myself together. "What is it?" I asked again, this time in a panicked tone.

He was going to tell me he'd made a mistake. That he'd changed his mind about this.

Sebastien turned his face and looked straight at me. "What are you doing wasting your time with a guy like me?"

For a second, I wasn't quite sure I'd understood his question, but when I finally did, I frowned. "What?"

"Come on, Jack. Really. What is a guy like you doing with a man like me? I don't even have my high school diploma, I don't read, I don't know anything about anything, and I clean houses for a living. I'm broke. Not a penny to my name. And the only decent things about me are the things _you_ taught me. I don't have anything to offer you. No bright future ahead. No—"

"Oh my God, Seb, you're breaking my heart." I sat up and stared down into his wonderful and kind face. "To hear you talking about yourself in that way. It's a fucking _sin_ , Seb. Don't." I bent to him, kissing his nose, his lips. "Don't, baby. Don't say those awful things. I love you. I love you so much."

But Seb looked away. "Why?"

"Why? Did Peter Doyle ask Whitman _why_? Did Frank Merlo ask Tennessee Williams why? Did Lord Alfred ask Oscar Wilde—"

"No, Jack. No stories. Just gimme the truth."

The heartbreaking look on Seb's face rendered me mute for a second.

No, no more stories. He was right.

Seb needed me to be real for once. "Because you're—because you're so—" But the words wouldn't come. I was speechless.

"You don't even know," Sebastien said, and sighed heavily.

"Yes. Yes, I _do_ know." I lay back again and turned on my side to face him. "All of my life, Seb, I've felt like there was a tear inside of me. Something keeping my heart and head from meeting in the middle. And most of the time, I walk around feeling like a hot air balloon, full of air, never quite anchored, stuck in my head, locked inside of my rationality, always intellectualizing everything, but you, Sebastien, you ground me. You pull me back into my body. Oh, it feels so fucking amazing to mend that tear inside—to be me, Seb. _Me_." I took a shaky breath and went on. "You accept life. All of it. The suffering, too. I see that in you. You have the ability to suffer, yet remain kind and hopeful. There isn't anything bitter inside you. And when you look at me, when you really _look_ at me, it doesn't matter if my parents stopped loving me a long time ago or if the only contribution I ever make, is to run a fancy clothing store, because you give me this amazing strength I never knew I had." I stopped, surprised at my own words. I'd never opened myself up this way and now felt as though the bed had turned into a raft, and the bedroom floor, a tumultuous sea. I was in that a Delacroix painting, _The Sea of Galilee_.

I opened my mouth, in a hurry to crack a joke.

But Sebastien stopped me. "No, no wisecracks."

I stared at him, trying not to cry, but my eyes filled with tears anyway. I'd held on to my pride for so long, I wasn't sure I knew how to let my guard down anymore.

"Oh, Jack," Seb whispered, running his finger across my wet eyelid. "I don't think I've ever seen you shed a tear before."

"Yeah, well, in the last hour, you've made me blush, come, and cry." I smirked. "You should be proud of yourself."

Seb leaned in and dropped a kiss on my forehead. "Unfortunately, as much as I'd love to stay in bed with you all day, I have to head out now." He sat up.

I missed his arms already. "You work today?"

"Yeah. Two houses as usual. But it'll be quick. I promise." He untangled his long legs from the sheets and got out of bed. "I'll be home in a few hours and we'll pick up where we left off, okay?"

I studied his gorgeous naked body and winked. "Okay."

"You'll be here, right?" Sebastien grabbed some clean underwear—those gray boxers I'd burn if only he let me—and a pair of jeans out of his closet.

His round and firm ass taunted me. "I'll clean up the apartment," I said, "and do a load of laundry, then I'll even fix dinner for you." I knelt, letting the sheet slide off my thighs. "How's that sound?"

"It sounds generous and great. Hey, I'm gonna take a shower and—" Then Sebastien turned around and at the sight of me kneeling there naked, his face flushed darker. "Wow," he muttered, his eyes moving all over my body. "Damn, you are smoking hot." He hurried back to me and grabbed my face, crushing my mouth with a hot kiss. "But I really have to go." He backed away to the door, grinning. "You better be _exactly_ in that position when I get back." He laughed and left the room.

When I heard the shower running, I looked around at his messy bedroom. Funny how untidy his room was for a guy who cleaned houses for a living. I wished Seb didn't have to do that anymore. I wished he'd go back to school, as he'd promised his mother before she passed away, but I couldn't bring up the subject with him without causing him pain. I didn't want to hurt his pride.

Sebastien rarely talked about his mother to me. I'd never met Mary-Anne because he'd always refused to introduce me to his parents while his mother had been alive. I'd only met Seb's father months after her death and _that_ evening hadn't gone well at all. His father didn't like me.

That was fine by me. I didn't think much of the man, but kept my opinion to myself. Didn't appreciate the way he manipulated Seb into giving him money or fixing his meals. If he'd had been more supportive of his son, I wouldn't have minded so much, but every time Sebastien returned from his father's house, it always took a while before his smile made an appearance.

I looked down at the soiled sheets. Time to clean up. I stripped the bed and dumped the sheets in the hamper. I'd wash up in the kitchen while Seb was in the shower.

At the kitchen sink, I ran the hot water and cleaned myself up with a dish rag and then threw it in the washer. Naked, I walked back to my bedroom, crossing paths with Sebastien on the way. Upon seeing me, he slowed down, but I kept walking. At my bedroom door, I finally turned to look at him and winked playfully.

He stood in his doorway, shaking his head. "Tease," he said.

"See you later," I said, slowly closing my door. I took a deep breath and bravely added, "I love you."

Sebastien hesitated, and for a second, I thought maybe he'd say the words, those words he'd never said to me, but he turned away for the entrance instead. "See you soon," he called out, out of view.

I shut my bedroom door and leaned my head on it, trying not to sigh out too loudly. Then I heard the front door being shut and locked. He was gone.

Feeling anxious and happy all at once, I stared at my closet. Well, I'd get dressed and get busy with my usual Saturday afternoon cleaning marathon.

On the nightstand, my cell phone vibrated. I walked over to it and checked the screen. It was Sebastien. He'd sent me a text.

Had he forgotten something?

I clicked on his message, reading his simple sentence. Overwhelmed with a rush of emotion, I pressed my hand to my mouth.

Sebastien had sent me eight simple words, but I knew those eight words would be the best and most important words I'd ever read from this moment on.

With tears in my eyes, I read them again.

Jack...

You are the love of my life.

* * * *

# Chapter 14

Amanda sat by me on the couch and squeezed my knee. " _So,_ Rocco just told me that you and Sebastien are seeing each other?" She grabbed my shoulder and shook me hard. "Is that true? Oh my God! Like, _really_?"

Whenever I needed my friends to know something about me but didn't feel like calling anyone, I'd only have to tell Rocco and _voilà_ —mission accomplished. In a matter of hours, everyone in our tight circle knew. Rocco was our permanent news-feed.

I leaned back against the seat. "Yes, we are," I said, the very words thrilling me.

Sebastien and I were officially a couple. He'd actually been the one to mention it first. Two nights ago, Sebastien had asked me if he could now think of me as his boyfriend. Seb was such a romantic, I could hardly keep my pants on around him.

"What are you two talking about?" Sam asked, walking back into the living and plopping down next to me. "Let me guess. Could it be—let's see, Sebastien _a.k.a_. Augustus the Great?" He laughed and picked up the bottle of wine on the coffee table.

It was Thursday night, and as usual, Amanda and I had gathered in Sam and Rocco's luxurious condo in the Quartier des Spectables to celebrate the fact that we'd all survived another Thursday evening working retail during the month of August, when stores were dead and bosses were turning the heat on us for better sales. We all worked in the same industry, however, in the last two years, Sam and Rocco had managed the impossible and had scrounged up enough of their pooled money in order to buy a little import/export shop downtown. They were owners now, as opposed to us poor fools still jumping through hoops for our bosses.

But then again, Sam and Rocco worked harder than any of us ever did, and lately I could see how the stress of running their own business was affecting their relationship. I worried for them. Sam and Rocco had been together for twelve years and were my rock. Whenever I was in need of solace and comfort, their home was where I ran to. They were my family.

"Here," Sam said, offering me a glass of red wine. "All jokes aside, I'm happy for you, _Jacqueline_." He chuckled and sipped his wine, his dark eyes peering into mine. "You've been after that chunky hunk of love for half a decade, so congratulations, my little pixie. You and your fairy dust have done the impossible."

Ever since I'd told Sam about Sebastien and I being in love, Sam had been throwing these little poisonous arrows at me. And I knew why.

My friend loved me dearly and was concerned for my well-being. After all, Sam had been the one I ran to after Sebastien had humiliated me in front of his soccer buddies on that terrible day I still didn't like to recall. That afternoon, I'd shown up at Seb's soccer game only to have him reject me. Devastated, I'd held my pain in and left Sebastien with my head help up high.

But the moment Sam had opened his front door to me, I'd collapsed and sobbed in his arms like a hurt child. Sam and Rocco had taken me in for a few days and tended to my invisible wounds. Sam had encouraged me to see other guys. To forget about Sebastien.

And I'd tried. God only knows I had.

Thinking of Sebastien's kiss, I smiled to myself. I took a gulp of my wine and set my glass down, giving Sam a tender look. "He's changed, Sam. He's working hard on himself. But self-acceptance takes time. You know that. You've been there, too."

"Yes, I have. You're right. But, Jack, why isn't he here tonight?"

I cleared my throat. "He—it's his birthday tomorrow and his dad wanted him to come over for dinner this evening."

Amanda touched my knee. "Are you telling me Sebastien went to his father's to fix his own birthday dinner?" She scoffed. "Wow. How generous of his old man."

All my friends knew how much Sebastien did for his father with little support or help in return.

I sighed out. "Look, guys, I'm on this, okay? Seb is my life project, you understand? I will gently and carefully help him see just how incredible he is and how much more he deserves out of life, but I will do this in my own way, in my own time." I raised a brow. "Rome wasn't built in a day, my friends."

Sam smiled. "He _is_ quite a masterpiece; I'll give you that much." He turned his glass inside his hands. "But you've known him for five years and I think we've been in the same room together less than four times."

"He's shy."

"No, he doesn't like us." Sam leaned back and glanced over at Amanda. "He's obviously uncomfortable around Rocco and me."

"He's intimated." I knew this conversation was well overdue, but I didn't feel like having it tonight. "Sebastien is insecure about his—his education. And he's embarrassed about what he does for a living." There, I'd said it.

Sam frowned. "Really?"

"Well, yeah, Sam. _Really_." I was surprised Sam hadn't figured Seb out. "Sebastien feels like he has nothing interesting to say, and the way you and Rocco flirt with him—it terrifies him." I laughed a little.

"He's scared of _us_? You mean to tell me that big ol' hunk of meat with the arms the size of—"

"See? He probably feels like a slab of ham around two alley dogs when you two zero in on him."

"I can't believe he'd be scared of us two little fags. Guys like him used to beat the shit out of me in high school. I still have the scar on the back of my head to prove it."

"Seb wouldn't hurt a fly. And he's a _fag,_ too, remember?" I flinched and corrected myself. "I mean he's gay. Just like you and me. And I think it's even tougher for him sometimes, because people assume he's straight. He's always coming out of the closet."

Rocco walked out of the kitchen and set a plate of cheese and crackers on the table. He then pulled up a chair and sat by Sam. He had circles under his eyes, but still flashed a killer smile. "Dig in, bitches," he said, pushing on the plate.

Immediately, Sam leaned in to kiss Rocco on the cheek. Those two still had a lot of affection for each other. "Thanks, love," Sam said, grabbing a handful of crackers. "I'll take care of the next round of snacks." He stared at the crackers in his hand. "Oh, whole wheat and fennel. Fancy."

"Yeah, well, they were expensive, too, so enjoy them slowly." Rocco served himself a glass of wine. He smiled and raised his drink to me. "Hey, cheers, lover boy." Rocco's beautiful brown eyes were always so full of mischief and warmth. He was much calmer than Sam and had a cooler head.

"We were discussing Jack's victory."

Rocco laughed. "Patience and persistence seemed to have paid off for you."

"Yes," I said, grinning.

"Well, you seem happy, Jack." Rocco looked at Sam. "Doesn't he?"

Sam put his arm around my neck and squeezed me hard. "And what about that painter—what's his name—Amadeus or something. The one you posed for. Whatever happened to him?"

"Nothing. We still exchange a few words here and there, but he's going back to Italy next week."

Sam released me and shot Rocco a quick glance. "But he does have a thing for you, doesn't he?"

That was true. A few days ago, Amadeo had sent me another flirty text to which I hadn't replied. The next day, he'd admitted to making a mistake and had asked if we could please pretend he'd never sent that text. Amadeo was getting over another man, his lover of three years, and was probably confused. He knew my heart belonged to Sebastien, yet he couldn't seem to stop himself from trying to get me in bed.

It was flattering, but regardless of Amadeo's good looks and fortune, I found him quite superficial. "So what if he does?" I asked.

Sam widened his eyes. "Wait a second. The man is a gifted artist, has an apartment in _Florence_ , has money coming out of golden Mediterranean ass—"

"Yeah, well, I've had enough Amadeos to last me a lifetime, Sam. I'm done with men like him." I looked Sam straight in the eye. "I'm in love with Seb. Completely and madly. Okay?"

Sam hesitated. "So no more jumping from train to train?"

"Nope. No more. I'm settling in for the long ride this time. Going all the way with him, if he lets me."

Would Sebastien give us a real chance this time around? I could see myself living with him for the rest of my days.

The doorbell rang and Sam looked over the couch at the front door. "That must be Doreen from upstairs. She probably wants to borrow another one of our DVDs." He stood and walked away. "That woman sure loves her gay porn."

Rocco gave Sam a perplexed look and shook his head, laughing gently. Then his eyes grew big as he stared at the entrance behind me.

I turned my head.

My heart stopped, and started again.

Looking both bashful and terrified, Sebastien stood in the entrance. He scratched his head. "Hope I'm not intruding."

"No, no, come on in," Sam said, shutting the door behind them. "So great to see you." He gave Rocco a wide-eyed look. "Isn't it, babe?" He pulled Sebastien in and nearly shoved him forward.

I rose and tentatively took a step towards Seb. "How was your birthday dinner with your father?" I wanted so badly to kiss him or at least hug him, but I wasn't too sure how he'd react.

He'd come here.

For _me_.

"Sit down." Sam pointed to the couch. "Want a glass of wine?"

Sebastien was dressed in that blue shirt he only wore when he needed to make a good impression on someone. He always looked so stiff in that shirt, but the fact that he'd worn it to come _here_ tonight, made my heart ache with love for him. He sat on the couch and said hello to Amanda, then looked around at everyone. "Nice place you got here."

Although he'd driven me here many times in the last year, he'd never come up.

Sam motioned for me to sit by Seb on the couch and then Rocco and Sam shared the armchair, with Sam sitting on Rocco's knee.

We all started talking and the wine flowed, making for an easy but chaotic conversation. Sam's humor and Amanda's talent for bringing people together worked magic on us. Of course Seb didn't say much, just a few simple words here and there, but as time passed and the evening progressed, we all relaxed and enjoyed each other's company. Even Rocco joined in on the fun, telling stories of Sam and his earlier years, drawing laughs from all—his poker-faced boyfriend included.

I hadn't seen my dear friends this happy in a long time.

Feeling bold, I slowly reached for Sebastien's hand, and at the touch of my fingers on his, Seb turned to look at me, then gently put his arm around my shoulder, pulling me close against him. He kissed my head, and for a moment, I didn't move, drowning in the scent of his shirt.

I looked up to catch Sam watching us with a content expression on his face.

"So Sebastien, Jack tells us that tomorrow is your birthday," Rocco said. "What do you two plan on doing?"

Tomorrow being Friday, Sebastien worked all day and part of the evening. Then some of his soccer buddies were taking him out for drinks. Of course, I would have loved to celebrate his twenty-seventh birthday with a beautiful dinner at home, but it was his day and he could do as he pleased with it. I hadn't pushed my plans on him.

"Seb has an evening planned with some friends so we're not going to be—"

"Actually," Sebastien cut me off, "I told the guys we'd do that another time."

Nestled under his arm, I turned my face up to his. "Oh...what are you doing then?"

"Well, uh, I—I made some reservations at that place, that fancy tofu place you took me to five years ago. Would you like that?"

Sam laughed. "Would Jack _like_ that? Hm, I don't know. Would Marie Antoinette have liked to have a little more bread to pass around town?"

Seb frowned, the reference probably going over his head. "Right."

"You know, ' _Let them eat cake_ '." Sam pretended to slash his throat. "Okay, never mind."

"No, no, I get it," Sebastien said. "She was that queen who got her head chopped off. Jack told me about her. It was during the French Revolution. Down with the monarchy and all that stuff." Seb looked down at me. "But actually, didn't you say that she never really said those words? That it was that French philosopher Rousseau who made it up?"

Sam's mouth dropped open. "Wow." He raised a thin brow at me. "Isn't _he_ your apt pupil."

So Seb did listen to my ramblings and musings after all. I knew I was beaming with pride. "You're right," I told him. "It was in Rousseau's _Confessions_."

"Well, how fascinating," Rocco said, yawning. He never enjoyed these literary discussions. "But you all need to get out of my house now. Us _bourgeoisie_ folk have to be up tomorrow at six A.M. Not like you peasants care."

Still laughing and joking, we all hugged and said our goodbyes, promising to get together again next week. This time Sebastien would come with me.

At the door, Sam pulled me close. "I get it," he said into my ear. "You're like Rodin, chipping away at that slab of marble, the only one knowing what marvelous revelations await under all that brawn."

I put my hands on Sam's pretty face. "Thank you for being so fantastic tonight."

" _Girl_ , we're all we have."

"And it's more than enough." I turned away, joining Sebastien out on the front porch. It was a warm and pleasant night, the indigo blue sky protecting a thin crescent moon.

What a summer we were having.

I had a strong presentiment these would the best days of our lives.

Sebastien took a long breath, gazing up at the purple shadows rolling across the sky.

Was he thinking the same thing?

After the front door was locked behind us, without a word, Seb turned to me, closing the space between our bodies.

Under the August stars, he kissed me slow and deep. Then he leaned away, still holding my face in his hand. "You know what the best feeling in the world is?"

I didn't answer, holding my breath.

"Being in love with your best friend." Sebastien rubbed my hair back. "Nothing can beat that."

"Hm, well, you know what beats that?"

"What?"

"Hearing your best friend say the words _I love you_." I smirked a little. "That's the shit right there."

"Yeah? You think?"

I shoved him. "Stop teasing me."

Sebastien laughed and then quieted down.

We stared at each other.

"I love you, Jack," he finally said all in one breath.

I grinned. "Like I said, that's the shit right there."

* * * *

# Chapter 15

Tuesday night, I walked into our quiet apartment and gladly slammed the door behind me. Removing my tie, I congratulated myself on not having committed first degree murder that day.

I'd made it through another week of managing Uomo Nuevo without climbing on top of the front counter to deliver a delirious speech on social justice and how all of us were participating in the deterioration of some desperate child's life somewhere in the world by fueling this relentless capitalist economy with our ridiculous needs to keep up with what the megalomaniacs up on the hill were wearing this month.

God, my clients—all white and rich—were so _entitled_.

In the living room, I threw my jacket on the chair and went straight to the shelf where we kept our booze. I needed a drink the way my customers needed a reality check.

Problem was, I was terrific at running that store. And Seb and I needed the money. My salary was twice Sebastien's and with the way he kept giving his father half of his earnings, we'd be out on our asses if I quit my job now.

And then there was that whole Craig episode to consider. What an idiot I'd been opening a shared checking account with that guy. Had I even loved him? No, I'd only been trying to convince myself that I could forget Sebastien by moving in with Craig and that big ol' suitcase full of issues Craig dragged from relationship to relationship.

As Sam and Rocco had said, I'd been lucky Craig had stopped at our savings account and hadn't run off with my credit cards, too.

I could have hired a lawyer, as everyone had urged me to do, but frankly, I didn't care enough to spend money and time on getting even with the narcissistic man.

I poured myself a glass of red wine, resisting the whiskey—for _now_ —and fell back in the armchair. Slowly, I drank the rich Australian wine, gazing out of our huge living room window, content to watch the last of the sun's rays burst through the clouds. This evening, the sky was as mesmerizing as any Da Vinci painting. Nature's own _sfumato_ technique—heavens smoky and blurred with tender blues and royal purples. I sat transfixed with this beauty, and for the first time in my life, found reality more wonderful and inspiring than art.

That was Sebastien's gift to me.

He'd always been my own omen of happiness.

My augury of love.

I rested my head against the seat of the chair, aware of the deep change occurring in my soul.

I loved living here. Would do whatever it took to keep this place. Sebastien and I would make a life together and I'd cherish him in our youth, but when the passage of time began to erode our bodies and weaken our libidos, I'd offer him devotion and tolerance. I'd be his foot companion, the one to follow him down the long and uncertain road to self-realization.

I'd teach Sebastien history, but he'd be my future.

My phone buzzed and I quickly pulled it out of my pocket. Sebastien was working this evening and I hadn't heard from him in the last hours. I missed his smooth, quiet voice. Couldn't wait to hug him. To shut the door behind us and forget about the world for the weekend.

But it wasn't Seb calling.

"Hey," I answered Amadeo, setting my glass on the coffee table. "What's up?"

"Just calling to see how my favorite Montrealer is doing."

Amadeo was a charmer, but his charm was a little like peanut butter—a tablespoon was just enough. "Ah, I see," I said. "Well, I'm fine. And you? All packed for the great return?"

"Not at all. And you're not getting rid of me so easily. You still owe me one sitting. Come on, Jack, I want to finish your painting and offer it to you and Sebastien."

Posing for Amadeo had been a mistake. If I'd learned one thing about myself in the last years, was that I still had some unresolved self-esteem issues and no matter how strong I liked to think my will was, I still had trouble keeping my pants on around men who catered to my vanity or spent the night giving me compliments. I had to stay away from men like Amadeo for a while. "I'm afraid you'll just have to use that wonderful imagination of yours and finish the painting without me. You know Sebastien wouldn't like the idea at all." I frowned and added. "It would hurt him, actually."

Amadeo was unusually silent. "Wow," he finally said, "you really are in love with him."

I couldn't help a grin. "Yes."

"I envy you. I don't even think I believe in love anymore."

"Amadeo, you're Italian for fuck's sake—a Florentine. Romance and love were born in Italy. You go back to that beautiful town of yours and open yourself up to its wondrous history. Allow your ancestors to live through you again, through your doings, and damn it, boy, create, Amadeo, _create_. That's the love you need. You're an artist. Be an artist. Elevate your soul through your readings and musing. And walk—walk every day. You have to pay attention to the details Nature paints for you. You're so caught up in these twenty-first century trivialities. You want a second renaissance? Then _be_ the new renaissance."

Amadeo wasn't saying anything.

I wondered if I'd gotten carried away again. "Hello, are—"

"Come with me," he breathed on the line like a promise and a dare all at once. "Come with me, Jack. Be my muse. I'll show you all of the history you crave. I'll drive you around Italy, the south of France—I'll take you through Homer's Greece and Titian's Venice, and we'll see it all together. I'll paint you and only you, and you'll help me reconnect with the beauty I lost along the way."

I sat, dumfounded and shocked, part of me being called forward by his voice as Ulysses had been by those vixen sirens during his odyssey.

I'd dreamed of this. Of experiencing the world I'd only witnessed through books and in paintings. Of quitting my pointless job. Of calling my parents up to tell them they wouldn't have to _pretend_ to be interested in my life anymore because I'd be living across the ocean from now on.

Free and taken care of.

"Jack, I know I'm not the one you love, but I'm making you a proposition you owe it to yourself to consider seriously. Sebastien is a warm and caring man and I'm sure he could make you very happy, but Jack, for how long? You are such a brilliant and unique man, why should you settle for living a mediocre life surrounded by ordinary things and people, when you could have all of Europe as your new backyard?" Amadeo took a shaky breath. "I wouldn't expect anything of you. I'm offering you a chance to leave your average existence for a year or two, because I believe we're kindred spirits."

I rubbed my eyes, everything clearing up in my mind. Never. I'd never leave Sebastien. For anything or anyone. "Oh, Amadeo, I wouldn't last a day without him. It wouldn't matter how beautiful you could paint my world, because I'd be blind to it. Do you understand? He, Sebastien, gives me something more precious than beauty and art."

"What is that?" Amadeo asked softly.

" _Lucidity_. To see and accept my life as it is. It's a remarkable feeling. No dazzling promises. Only the simple joy of being alive and loved for who I really am."

"Well, then, in other words, it's _arrivedici_ , Amadeo?"

I chuckled a little. "But I'm deeply touched and flattered by your mind blowing offer. You've done wonders for my ego, I'll tell you that much."

"Take care of yourself, Jack. And remember me once in a while, okay?"

I nodded and felt a pang of regret at turning him down. "It was a pleasure knowing you, _Signore_ Bruni."

Finally, Amadeo laughed. "You and Sebastien have a home in Florence, please remember that."

"Oh, I will, trust me." I laughed again. "Well," I said, more seriously, "this is goodbye."

" _Ciao_ , Jack."

"Oh, wait, is Sebastien at your place?"

"Actually, no, he left almost an hour ago, why?"

I was confused. "Did he? Oh."

"Yeah, he left here early. Said he was on his way home."

My heart started to pound. "An hour ago? But he hasn't shown up yet."

"Maybe he went for a drive or something."

I stared at the entrance, my chest tightening. "He didn't call or anything. He usually calls me when he finishes his last house."

"I don't know what to tell you."

The front door opened and I jumped to my feet. "He's here," I said, "give me a call on your last day, okay?" I hung up on Amadeo before he even had a chance to reply. "Hey, you." I walked up to Seb. "I was just on the—"

"I need—I need to be alone for a few hours, okay?" Sebastien put his hands on my face and kissed my forehead. "I love you. Don't worry. Just—I need time to think." He leaned back and started to turn away.

But I put my hand on his arm. "Seb, wait. You know how bad I get when I don't know what's going on in your head. My anxiety is gonna shoot up and I'm gonna be a nervous wreck and drink too much and—"

"Baby, baby, it's all right. It's okay." He turned and looked at me. His eyes were full of grief. My heart broke for him. "This is not about us. I swear to you. Okay?"

"No. Tell me." I grabbed his hands. "I can't sit in that chair and wait for—"

"Valencia gave me a check for ten thousand dollars." Seb was choked up and trying to hold back the tears. "All right? For my studies. For me to go back to school." He shook his head and backed up a little more. "I can't—I can't talk about this right now. Please, Jack."

Valencia, that wonderful, amazing woman. Oh, this changed everything. Finally, Seb would be able to make good on his promise to his mother.

Then I realized that was what he was so upset about. This generous offer must have opened all of those wounds he didn't know how to tend to. How to heal.

I decided to give him what he needed.

Time to think.

"Okay," I said, putting my arms around him. "I understand." I squeezed him hard and pressed my lips to his ear. "I'll make us some dinner and we can talk about it when you're ready."

Sebastien's cheeks were red and I could see how hard he was fighting to keep himself together long enough to make it to his room. "Thanks," he muttered, turning away again.

"But, Seb," I called out, "I want you to know, that whatever you decide, I'll accept it fully and without judging you."

Sebastien shut his door without a word to me, but when I heard his muffled sobs, it took everything I had to leave him alone with his suffering.

To love him meant trusting in his strength.

* * * *

With the phone pressed to my ear, I tiptoed back to Sebastien's bedroom and gently cracked the door open. "That's what I thought," I said to Sam, on the phone. "He's out cold." I crept away to the living room and walked back to the dark window to stare at the moon.

"Are you staying away from the wine and whiskey?" Sam asked.

"Yeah, I'm having some herbal tea instead." I'd stopped at my third wine glass. I was proud of that. "I should let you go, right? I mean, we've been on the phone for an hour. Rocco's gonna get impatient."

"Honey, he's locked himself up in our office to do some book keeping. Once in a while, I hear him curse in Castillian Spanish and then I know it's time for another piece of almond chocolate."

"You guys work so hard. It must be tough." I needed to know if Sam and Rocco would make it through this rough patch as a couple. I counted on them to. "If you ever need any help with the store, I could take over on Sundays or Saturdays and give you two a break."

"Oh, Sister Jackie, that's so sweet of you." Sam blew out a strong breath. "But you already work long hours during the week and I couldn't ask you to sacrifice your weekends for us two greedy over-achievers."

"You're not greedy." I decided it was time to let Sam know how much he meant to me. We were always dancing around the subject, but deep down inside, we were extremely fond of each other. "Samuel, I'm proud of you," I whispered, using his full name for the first time since high school. We'd met in grade eight biology class and what fun we'd had with those lessons on procreation back then. Yes, we'd been the queers. The fags. The _sissies_. But Sam and I had had each other to get through the heterosexual shit storm high school had been. "And I'm here for you," I added, a little shyly. "Whatever you need. I'm here. Okay?"

I waited for the joke. The cutting remark.

But Sam surprised me. "I know that, Jack," he said. "I've always known it."

My throat tightened a little, but I kept myself together. "I love you," I said, meaning it. "I really do, Sam."

"I love you, too, bitch." Sam laughed. "And remember—it's _his_ life, all right? It's Sebastien's money to spend. But you're a couple now and that also means you have some kind of say in this, too. It's finding that line between _his_ and _yours_ that's the tricky part."

That was sound advice from a man who knew his stuff. "Thanks, Sam."

"And, you know, if all else fails; make love."

* * * *

Footsteps in the hall pulled me out of my sleep.

I sat up, a little dazed, and glanced around the living room. I must have dozed off on the couch while reading.

Sebastien sat in the armchair on my right and clasped his huge hands on his knees. He looked rested from his evening nap, but his eyes were a tad swollen and he seemed not to know what to say first. "You were sleeping, too," he said, his voice like a receding tide. He gestured to the book in my lap. "What are you reading?"

I was impatient to know what he was feeling or thinking about Valencia's offer, but I'd have to hold my horses. I put the heavy book on the table between us. "Doctor Faustus by Thomas Mann."

"What's it about?"

I gazed into Sebastien's beautiful brown eyes, fighting the urge to throw myself at his feet and tell him how much I worshiped the ground he walked on. He had everything one needed to succeed, but until he forgave himself for wanting to live after his sweet mother had died in such pain, he'd remain paralyzed. "It's—uh, a Faustian tale," I explained the book awkwardly. "Thomas Mann was a German writer who wrote his own take on Marlowe's play sometime after the second war. It's a grandiose fictional biography of a music composer who trades his soul to the Devil in order to write the most unbelievable symphony, and in his creation, live forever." I touched the book's jacket. "It's also an examination of Germany's descent into Hell."

"You mean the Holocaust."

"Well, yes—the pursuit of this false aesthetic perfection at all costs, until the visionary realizes he's eliminated everything he deemed unfit of his philosophical creation and then looks around to find he's left with only Death."

"Death," Sebastien echoed the word softly with his eyes cast down.

It gave me the chills. We needed to talk about his mother's passing, but part of me wanted to run. "Can I say a few words to you? Difficult things you might not like to hear?"

Sebastien slowly exhaled. "I'm counting on you to."

His reaction surprised me and I moved closer to him, until our knees touched. "What I need to tell you is—" But I stopped, too afraid I'd upset him.

"No, Jack, don't hold back. Tell me. I need to hear it."

"Okay." I sat up straight. "Well, I think you're afraid that by letting go of your pain, you'll dishonor your mother." My heart thundered, but I pressed on. "That not being angry anymore would mean not keeping her alive inside."

The expression on Seb's face told me I'd spoken the truth. His eyes shone with emotion. "She could have chosen not to have me," he said, in a husky voice. "She was _sixteen years_ old. She could have made that choice. But instead, she sacrificed her best years to raise me. She gave me everything I needed and so much more." He paused, clearly hurting under his strong facade. "She was always putting everybody else first. She tired herself out and I didn't even know it. All of her struggles were happening right before my eyes, but I didn't even see it 'cause I was too fucking selfish, too caught up in my own stupid problems and—"

"Wait, Seb, wait." I had to stop him. "You were still coming of age. You couldn't really support her then, but you _would_ have, as you matured and the years passed. Now, just because you didn't get the chance to be a pillar for your mother, that doesn't mean she didn't know she was raising one." I tried to meet his eyes. "Look at me, Seb, please. You're holding a grudge against something that will _never_ give you reparation. Something that will never ask your forgiveness. You're holding a grudge against Death itself and staking your life up against it. You can never win this fight. Do you understand?"

He nodded, but kept quiet.

"It's your moon in Taurus," I said, nervous and resorting to birth charts to get my message across. "All that stubbornness. You can't let go. And then with your rising Libra demanding justice, mixed in with your Mercury in Cancer—you're deep in that sea of secret emotions which causes you to feel her departure, over and over again."

He raised his face. "I feel crushed. Can't breathe. Can't move forward."

At the sight of the sadness in his stare, my eyes filled with tears. "Oh, baby, I'm so sorry," I whispered. "So sorry you lost your mom. That one person who loved you for who you were. Who always knew what you were feeling without you having to explain yourself. Who set you above all others. Who thought of you first thing in the morning and went to sleep dreaming of what you could become. I'm sorry you were robbed of that, Seb, but if you let me, I promise to honor the immense love your mother had for you by _always_ doing right by it." I picked up his hand. "You know—I talk to her sometimes. I call her by her name, Mary-Anne, and ask her to watch over us, over our home. I feel like I know her, and I hope—I hope that she would have loved me as her son, too."

Sebastien burst into tears and hid his face inside his hands.

I threw my arms around him and held him tight. "I know, I know," I said over and over into his hair. "I know." I rocked him until finally his heaving sobs quieted down.

After a few minutes, Sebastien leaned back, his face wet with tears and snot.

"I'll get you a Kleenex." I hurried to the bathroom. Inside, I grabbed a few tissues, but then realized I was shaking all over. I tried taking a few deep breaths and rushed back to him. "Here," I said, handing him the Kleenex and sitting down again.

Sebastien blew his nose loudly and let out a long and heavy breath. He cracked a weak smile. "So, you've been on astro dot com again, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have. And _by the way_ , we're extremely compatible. It's my Fire Moon against your Fire Sun."

Sebastien laughed and his face lit up. "So, that's good, right?"

"Oh, yeah, we are smoking hot."

His smile slowly disappeared and I watched all of the different feelings he struggled with, move across his face like shadows.

"Are you going to finish that high school diploma, Seb?" I held my breath, hanging on. "Give yourself a chance?"

He looked away at the window.

"You could get into Ahuntsic College one year from now and in three years, you'd be a paramedic. Think about that. Think about it long and hard."

"I'd have to get in shape first. And finish my grade ten math." Seb wrung his hands. "And I'm missing my grade ten history, too. But, you could help me with that, right? The history part. And maybe I could try eating vegetarian like you do—I mean—only for a while."

I grin split my face. "I'll tutor you and fix you veggie meals in exchange for sex."

"I'd have to cut back on my working hours," he said, not responding to my stupid joke. "'And there's my old man to consider in all of this. I already looked at the costs involved with the program and there's a lot of shit I need to buy so—"

" _So_ your father will have to take his responsibilities and seek counseling. We can support him with that."

Seb chewed on his lip.

"Maybe getting your life in order will be the greatest gift you could ever offer your father."

"Yeah," Seb said in a quiet voice. "I need to talk to him."

"I'll be there if you want me to be."

"At my old man's?"

I swallowed hard. "Yeah, why not?" I asked, uncertain. "I'm your boyfriend, right?"

Seb squinted at me and then chuckled. "Yes, Jack, that you are."

"Then we go there as a couple, a _team_ , and explain our plans for our future together." I cringed a little. "It would be the mature thing to do."

For a long time, Sebastien didn't say a word. "And what about you, Jack?" he asked, after a while.

I hadn't expected him to turn the tables on me. "I don't know." I stood and walked over to the wine bottle I'd left opened on the shelf. "I guess I'll be your support system while you're in school and then maybe once you're set up with your new career, I'll see what my options are." With my back to him, I poured the last of the wine into two glasses. "I'm all right where I am for now." I felt Seb's eyes on me and turned to meet his intense stare. "What?" I asked, offering him the glass. "Taking care of you is the noblest thing I could ever do."

"No, it's not right."

"Oh, stop it." I winked at him and sat on his lap. "Shut up and drink your wine."

"Jack, Valencia's money isn't gonna last us very long and if I'm school full time, that's gonna be a strain on you."

I gently knocked my glass to his. "I don't give a shit."

"Jack, you—"

"Hey, listen to me. I'm in this for the long run and you'll have plenty time to make it up to me. But Sebastien, by investing in you, I'm investing in me. In my _own_ happiness." I winked. "See? It's all selfishness on my part."

"Yeah, right."

"Say yes. Come on, say yes."

"My mother used to say that happiness was like that little box at the end of a long, long list of terms and conditions. That box no one but the curious or really persevering ever get to check."

"Yeah? Well, how about it then?"

Sebastien inhaled deeply. Then slowly, he ran the tip of his finger over my heart, drawing an invisible X there.

"Check," he said, stealing my breath away.

* * * *

# Chapter 16

Sebastien stepped back into the kitchen and slid the patio door shut behind him. "Do you wanna bail? We can go. Right now. Just the say the word and we're out of here."

We'd been at his father's place for less than fifteen minutes, but I was already losing my cool. A few minutes ago, I'd made up a fake phone call in order to catch a break from his father's underhanded jabs at me. The man was obviously mortified by my presence in his house and the more I tried to act straight— _God, why was I doing that?_ —the more high-pitched my voice sounded to me and the more my mannerisms seemed out of my control.

Why was I doing this to myself again? Why was I trying to act butch for a man I barely respected?

Seb peered through the dirty glass door at his father who was on the deck. "All right, let's go," he said, walking past me on his way to the entrance. "This was a bad idea."

But I put my hand on his shoulder. "No, no, it's okay. It's all right. I can do this. He's your father and we came here for a reason. I told you I'd support you and I will." I squared my shoulders and looked around the dimly lit kitchen. "Just tell me where he keeps his booze."

"He doesn't drink. He smokes pot."

"Great. An evening with your father— _sober_." I glanced over at the patio door, catching sight of Roland at the grill, charring steaks. "I hope there's salad, 'cause the steaks look like something those gals at the Whistle Cafe served the cops at the end of the _Fried Green Tomatoes_ movie."

"Baby," Seb said, taking my face in his hands and giving me a serious look. "You don't have to take his shit."

For the first time since I'd known Sebastien, I pulled away from him.

No, I couldn't stand up to his father. Didn't have that courage. I only wanted Roland to give me a chance. I loved his son more than anything in the world, couldn't he see that? _I_ was the one who was going to support Sebastien while he was in school. Wasn't that enough to deserve a shred of Roland's respect?

"Talk to me." Seb frowned, his features tensing. "Don't pull away from me."

"What do you want me to say?" I snapped. "I don't know why he doesn't like me. I don't know if it's my voice, the way I talk, or my walk. Or is it something in my face? Hands? _What_? What is it about me that disgusts straight men so much?"

"No, that's not it. You're wrong, Jack. You don't disgust them. No." Seb grabbed my shoulders. "You _scare_ them. That's what you do. You scare them right down to their bone marrow. You challenge everything they think they know about themselves. You put up a mirror to their face and demand they look at a part of themselves they can't and won't acknowledge."

"And what is that part exactly?" I asked, still shaken.

"I don't know...but it's something beautiful."

I crossed my arms and looked at the patio door again. "I'm sick of trying to pass under everybody's fucking radar. It takes a lot out of me and for what?"

"Come on, let's go outside and tell my dad I'm going back to school and he's going back to work. Or therapy. Or both."

A little reluctantly, I agreed to step into the ring again. We'd get this over with quickly and go home. Then I'd make love to Roland's son all night and there was nothing he could do or say to take that away from me.

Outside, Roland was sitting at the table, preparing what appeared to be a joint. "Everything all right?" he asked Sebastien without a look at me. "You guys hungry or what?"

"You gonna smoke that now?"

Roland cocked a brow, staring up at Sebastien. "Thought maybe Jack would enjoy a little taste."

"I'm good thanks. It makes me all paranoid and then I start feeling like Dumbo at the circus." I shot Sebastien a quick glance. This was beyond awkward. "Or something," I added, sticking my hands down my pockets to avoid moving them.

"Dad, listen, we came to—"

"Sit down at least." Roland motioned to the two empty chairs across from his. "The steaks are overcooked, but Seb, you don't mind, do you?"

"No, it's fine." Sebastien pulled out a chair for me and then sat at my side, covering my hand with his on the table in plain view of his father. "But like I told you on the phone before, Jack doesn't eat meat."

"No, it's fine," I quickly said. "I'll just have some of this potato salad or something." I cleared my throat and tried to relax, but not having a glass of wine within reach was making it almost impossible for me to stay calm.

"Why don't you eat meat?" Roland asked, sticking the joint in the front pocket of his washed out blue shirt. "Is it some kind of an ethical choice?"

"Yes, it is. Also, my system doesn't digest it." I hoped he wasn't going to crack a stupid joke about _eating sausages_ or the gloves were coming off for this round.

But Roland only stared at me for a moment, and then shrugged. "I can respect that."

I heard Seb's sharp intake of air. Apparently, he was as shocked as I was.

"So what's this big thing you wanna tell me?" Roland stood and walked over to the grill where steaks the color of tar were awaiting. "You two getting married?"

I looked over at Sebastien and widened my eyes. " _What_?" I mouthed discreetly.

"Uh, no, Dad," Seb muttered, frowning.

Roland returned to the table with Seb and his plate. "Oh, thank God," he said, clearly relieved. Then he looked at me with a semblance of an apologetic smile on his scrubby face. "Sorry. No offense, Jack."

I could only sit there with my mouth hanging open. I wasn't big on the idea of marriage, but now I'd have to marry his son only to spite him.

Sebastien leaned back in his chair. "Dad." He voice was shaking slightly. "Could you maybe find it in your heart to show Jack a little more respect?" He shot his father a mean look. "Okay?"

I knew how difficult this was for Sebastien. I was so proud of him.

"What did I say?" Roland asked, blushing a little. "I didn't mean anything bad by it."

"You've been rude to him ever since he walked in and—"

"Baby, it's all right." I squeezed Seb's hand, letting him know there was no need to take this any further. Sebastien defending me had been enough. Finally, I took a real breath and looked off in the distance, my stare roaming over the neglected garden. This yard was in dire need of attention, but the gardener was gone, never to return.

I thought of Mary-Anne. How would she feel about her house falling apart?

"It's too bad about the yard," I said, without looking at Seb or Roland. "You could have lovely clematis or irises growing all along there. Right by that fence. And over there, by the shed, a little patch of beach pea flowers would look fabulous. Wild flowers are easy to care for, but really lift the spirit with their delicate beauty." I looked over at them and ran a hand through my hair. "Or you can let the weeds have it all."

Sebastien's eyes glimmered with affection. "I like wild flowers myself," he said, only for me.

"I don't mind the weeds." Roland coughed and stabbed his steak with his fork. "What's the news, Seb? Are you gonna tell me or what?"

Sebastien was serving me a mountain of potato salad. "I'm going back to school, that's the news. Starting next week, on September fifth." He cleared his throat and moved his fork around the potatoes I'd have to pretend to be eating for the next five minutes. "That's what I wanted to tell you. Gonna get my missing credits and hopefully get into a paramedic program next year."

"You mean—like an ambulance driver or something?" Roland looked up from his plate. "But what about money. How are you gonna pay for—"

"Jack and I have got that covered."

Roland's face darkened as he gave me a quick look. "Oh, okay. That's nice of you, Jack. But what about—uh—well, my—health related bills and all?"

"We'll be helping you out with those, too," I said, glaring at him a little. Put that in your pipe and smoke it.

"On one condition, Dad," Sebastien added, as we'd previously discussed. "Jack and I will cover your medical bills for a while, but you have to go back to therapy...or rehab."

"I see." Roland's jaw hardened.

"Dad, that's the deal. We're already stretched real thin as it is, with me going to school and all, but I do have some money available for you if you should agree to get help and get your life on track."

I stared at my salad, my heart beating in my ears. This was the moment of truth. Would Roland accept our help or would he tell us to go to hell?

"So what do you say, Dad?" Sebastien's voice was weak. "Don't you think maybe it's time?"

"Time for what exactly?" Roland dropped his fork and pulled the joint out of his pocket. "Hope you don't mind, but I'm gonna light up."

Seb spread his hands over the table, obviously trying to keep his head. "Sure, if you need it so much."

"Oh, I think I do. And I think I've earned the right." Roland raised his chin at me. "Was this _your_ idea? You think Sebastien should be around dying people, day in day out? After what he's been through?"

"Why are you asking him?" Seb said. "I'm right here. And it was _my_ idea. _I_ wanna be a first responder. That's what I wanna do with my life."

"All right. All right." Roland lit his joint and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes for a moment. "Fine. Go back to school." He held the smoke in and then slowly let it out through his nose.

I couldn't help thinking of how unfair it was that he was smoking after his wife had died of lung cancer.

Sebastien looked at me with hurt creeping into his eyes. "It's pointless. Let's just go." He made a move to get out of his seat.

But Roland raised his hand and coughed. "Hold up. Hold on one second." He stared Seb down. "You come here, full of good cheer and charitable offers, hoping this is gonna be an open and shut case—put the old man in therapy and pay him off to get him to agree—but there's a little problem with your scenario, and that's that I don't wanna go to no shrink, thank you very much. I've seen enough shrinks to last me a life time." He sucked on his joint again. "No, not for me," he said, coughing. "No way. No more. You want me to accept you as you are? Well, little boy, that goes both ways. Who are you to tell me I need therapy because I wanna sit in my own house, the house I lived in with your mother, God rest her soul, and smoke pot all day?" His eyes blazed with anger as he watched us through the smoke.

"But—but you're miserable," Sebastien muttered. "You could get sick and—"

"And that's my right. My God given right."

I could see Sebastien was at a loss of words and knew I had to step up and say something. "How can you do this to him?" I asked all in one breath. "Your son watched his mother die. How can you say these things to him? What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with _me_? You're asking me what's wrong with _me_?" Roland scoffed. "And I wasn't talking to you anyway—"

"You fucking shit," Seb said, his face blanching. He jumped to his feet and the chair was knocked back. He teetered for a second, as though he wasn't sure what he'd do next.

"Let's go," I said, touching Sebastien's arm gently. "Come on now. Let's go."

"You come to my house and call me a _shit_?" Roland slowly rose out of his chair and leaned his hands on the table. "After what I did for you? I gave up my youth for you, Sebastien! My goddamn life! And you never even thanked me once. _Ever_. You and your mother were always teaming up against me. Do you think she's the only one who raised you? I put a fucking roof over your head. I worked jobs I hated so that you and your mother could go shopping on Saturdays and have your little afternoons of ice cream and petting animals and so that—"

"Thank you!" Sebastien shouted at the top of his voice. "Thank you so much. Okay? _Okay_? Thank you, Dad. Thank you for everything." He was livid, the vein in his forehead throbbing. "Thank you," he whispered now, his lips trembling. "Do you want me down on my knees? Would that make you feel like the big man? Huh?"

"You always thought you were better than me," Roland shouted back. "Coming here every week to fix me dinner and give me sermons on my finances. Telling me how to act with my own nephew, what to buy him for his birthday. Who the hell do you think you are, Sebastien?"

"I don't know, Dad. You tell me."

I caressed Seb's arm, desperate to stop this confrontation before it destroyed them both and ruined any chance at reconciliation. "Can—can I get a glass of water?"

Sebastien finally looked at me. "You okay?"

"I feel a little dizzy. I think I need a drink of water."

"Yeah, sure," Seb said, obviously regaining his wits. "Yeah." He slid the door open and went inside.

When Seb was out of sight, I didn't hesitate for one second and locked eyes with Roland. "Do you wanna lose your son forever?"

Defeated and clearly overwhelmed, Roland sat slumped over in his chair, his eyes glassy and full of pain.

"When he comes back out here, you're going to apologize to him and tell him that you're going to consider our offer very carefully." The words were coming fast and easy. "Because if you don't, you'll regret it for the rest of your life. Please do it for him, Roland. Please don't hurt him more than you already have. You both deserve a break. Mary-Anne would be so heartbroken to see you two tearing each other apart like this."

"I know. I know. I just don't understand him." Roland wiped his eyes. "Damn it. I let myself go again. I know that."

Sebastien stepped out with a glass of water. He looked so deeply wounded and confused. "Here," he said, in a broken voice. "Drink. You'll feel better—"

"Sebastien, come here," Roland said, but his head was bowed and he couldn't seem to meet Seb's eyes. He reached his hands out. "Just come here, son. Just come here. I'm sorry, Seb. So sorry."

I quickly rose and left them, slipping into the house.

When I looked back through the glass door, I saw them standing face to face, and then hesitantly, Roland pulled Sebastien into his arms and broke down.

"Alleluia," I sighed out and fell back into a kitchen chair, my nerves dancing under my skin. "Thank you, Mary-Anne." I gazed around at the room. "Now if you could send a glass of wine my way, preferably red, I'd greatly appreciate it."

Minutes passed and then Sebastien stepped into the kitchen. He looked upset, but calmer.

I stood. "Is everything okay between you and your dad?"

"A little better, yeah." Seb gently touched a strand of my hair. "I'm sorry you had to witness all that."

"It's all right. Next week you'll meet my parents, Professors Diane and Seamus Barley, and we'll be even."

"Your dad's name is Seamus? Whoa." Seb laughed quietly and his face brightened. "Okay then. Deal." He sighed, looking back at the darkening sky. Roland sat in the garden, lost in its weeds, smoking his joint. "My dad says he wants to get help," Sebastien said. "Says he knew this night was coming."

"We'll get him help. We won't let him drift. I promise."

"You know you're amazing, right? You're one in a million, Jack."

"So now I'm a Guns N' Roses song," I teased him. "One with terrible lyrics, I might add."

"Let's go home." Sebastien took my hand and led me to the front door. "I can't wait to lie down naked with you under your sheets."

"Oh, that sounds divine. But aren't you going to say goodbye?"

"No...I think he's having a conversation with my mom."

I looked over at the patio door. Roland was standing with his head turned up to the sky. "Yes, I think you're right," I whispered. "He's in good hands then."

We stepped out and slowly walked down to Seb's beat-up Hyundai I'd grown to love. Inside the car, I pulled the seat belt over my shoulder and let out a long breath, leaning back against the worn headrest. The scent of Sebastien's cleaning products was all over the car. I couldn't wait for the day he'd retire that big bag full of soap and cleaners. Someday, he'd be in uniform, standing over a stretcher, speaking quietly to some poor soul in great need of reassurance, and I was certain Seb's presence could soothe anyone's fears.

It would be a tough job, but Sebastien was born to do it. After all, a man named _Saint-Amour_ was bound to end up saving lives.

He'd already saved mine without even knowing it.

But then again, maybe I'd saved his life first.

* * * *

I turned the shower off and stepped out into the steamy bathroom, then grabbed a towel on the rack.

I dried myself off quickly, eager to join Sebastien in his bedroom which we were now officially sharing. I slipped my underwear on and walked down the hall to his room.

I found him sitting up in bed, shirtless, wearing only his tattered blue jeans—my beefcake dream come true. He was uncorking a bottle of wine. "Feel better now?" he asked and sniffed the air. "Oh, you naughty man. You used that soap I love. The one that makes me wild."

"Yes, and you can use it, too. Instead of that Irish Spring crap."

"Don't even try to pretend you don't go nuts over the smell of that Irish Spring on me. I've seen you smelling my clothes."

He'd caught me. "Actually, every time I walk through the soap isle at the drugstore, I have to stop and sniff a bar, and then I get so turned on, I have to spend another five minutes in the feminine hygiene section just to regain a decent composure."

Sebastien laughed. "Ah-ha, I knew it."

I crawled into bed, sitting close to him against the pillows, and picked up my empty glass, offering it to him. " _Feed me, Seymour_ ," I joked, watching him fill my cup.

"You know that getting in shape also means cutting back on the booze, right?"

I pouted. "Yeah, I know," I begrudgingly admitted. He was right. It was time for me to go back to my evenings of swimming laps. I pinched the little pouch of fat I'd recently acquired to my great dismay. "I'm going to be twenty-five years old in two weeks. It's all downhill from there."

Sebastien shook his head at me. "Stop it," he said, his eyes dancing on my face. "You look great." He leaned in and pressed his lips to my neck, kissing me tenderly. "And besides, I love a little more meat on you."

His hair was so soft against my chin, I had to dive my fingers into it. Seb looked up, and when our eyes met, my pulse started racing, my body responding to the loving look in his eyes. We were so good here, hiding out together in his bed. I'd hungered for this intimacy with him for so long. Had been so lonely without Sebastien to call my own. Then again, all that waiting and yearning had taught me a lot, and I'd grown up in the last five years. Yes, I'd made my fair share of mistakes with other men, but I didn't regret those failed love affairs because I'd learned so much about myself.

Pain had transformed my life—it had been the motor of change behind everything I'd done. Because I couldn't have Sebastien, I'd worked harder and striven towards other goals. Now I realized I'd accomplished a lot for a man my age.

Overcome with a rush of emotions I couldn't disguise, I looked into Seb's eyes, his stare piercing through every protective layer around my heart. I tried to look away, but couldn't. He had me in his power. Sebastien grabbed the nape of my neck and pulled me closer to him, pressing his full lips to mine. His huge but gentle hand on my side thrilled me, and I felt myself being pulled down deeper and deeper into the heat of his body, until I was lying under the weight of him, our kiss turning wild. Sebastien's hands were everywhere on my chest and thighs, his palms burning my skin. I pulled his hair, and slid my free hand down the small of his back, clutching his rock-hard ass, the energy between us quickly reaching an intensity my body could barely sustain. Rubbing up against me, Seb groaned, his gorged cock stretching against my bare stomach. I pressed him harder and harder, reaching down into my underwear to free my own cock. Leaning on his hands and looking down into my eyes, Seb rocked his hips, grinding our erections together, moving slow, then faster, the friction of his skin on mine sending shock waves of pleasure through me. Sebastien's fingers circled our cocks to squeeze our shafts together. He stroked us both at the same time, the rhythm of his hand getting more and more feverish, and I crunched my stomach, grabbing his neck, lost in this moment of symbiosis with him I'd craved for so long. Then Seb's hips buckled and he grunted my name over and over. I gripped his hand on our cocks and squeezed his fingers harder, our cum shooting and mixing together all over our hands. Seb nearly fell on me and I pulled him close.

"Holy Smokes, Batman," I said in his hair.

Sebastien laughed. "Cute. Very cute." His heart pounded against my shoulder. A tremor went through him and then he sighed. We didn't move for a while, until he looked up at me again, his brown eyes full of warmth. "I'm so happy with you. The happiest I've ever been in my life."

I smiled, letting the love I felt for him shine through my eyes.

"I'll do good by you, Jack Barley." Seb rested his head on my shoulder again and placed his hand over my chest. "And I'm sorry it took so long for me to see what was right before my eyes."

"You were worth the wait."

"And you were worth that ticket."

I frowned. "What? What ticket?"

Sebastien chuckled a little and the bristles on his chin scratched my skin. "Uh, the ticket—well, it was that night, that night we first met. See, I knew when I parked my car in your street, that I'd get a ticket. Remember, I was pretty broke in those days. But I decided you were worth it."

"Fifty-two dollars. Well, that's about four cents for every bone in my body."

"All right, all right. _Anyway_ , the point is, we had that fight—that argument—remember?"

"Yes, you wanted to leave to see Mr. Moosehead off to Florida."

"But I _didn't_ go. Right? Because when I saw that ticket on my windshield—" Seb stopped, obviously struggling with words he couldn't seem to say.

"What?" I encouraged him gently. "What is it?"

"That night, Jack, that night was the night I fell in love with you. I know that now. I remember standing over the note I'd left you and walking backwards to the door, wanting so much to stay, but too chicken-shit to say your name. And then I hurt you. All these years, baby, I hurt you." He held me tighter. "I'm sorry, Jack. For every night you had to spend alone. For every moment of doubt and pain I caused you. But mostly, for all of those times my own stupid shame kept me away from you. _You_ , my best friend. The one who was always looking out for me."

His words cut me up inside.

"Well," I said, resorting to humor to hide my feelings, "you now have a lifetime to make it up to me."

"I do. And I will." He skimmed my lips with a fingertip. "Tell me a story, Jack. Tell me about one of those great love stories you've read about."

I caressed his hair and thought about all of the wonderful books I'd read through the years, while I waited for my own love story to begin. "I could tell you about Achilles and his lover Patrocles. When Patrocles was killed during the siege on Troy, Achilles built him a funeral pyre worthy of any god."

"Did that happen for real?"

"No, it's a legend. It's from a poem by Homer, over twenty-five hundred years old." I breathed deeply and slowly, feeling the lull of sleep taking me under. "Or I could tell you about Da Vinci and his young muse Giacomo Caprotti, his dear little Salai—"

" _Salai_?"

"It means little demon. Salai lived with Da Vinci and is believed to have inspired Da Vinci's John the Baptist painting. The young man was breathtakingly beautiful. Do you know the painting?"

"No...I don't."

"Oh, I'll show it to you tomorrow," I murmured. "I have a book about it somewhere." My eyelids were getting heavier. "My favorite story though, the one I've told you many times before, is the one about Alexander the Great and his noble lover Hephaiston. I guess it's because they were lifelong friends first. They never left each other's side. They fought wars together."

"Yeah, well, all those guys have nothing on us." Seb kissed my shoulder and reached over to shut the light off on the nightstand. "Tell you what, maybe you should put pen to paper and add another love story to the stream of time." He pulled the sheets over our sticky bodies and wrapped his arm around me. "I bet you'd be good at it. I bet you have that talent."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, sure. Jack Barley, world famous author. It's got a nice ring to it."

"Are you serious?"

"Don't tell me you haven't thought about it. With all the books you read. All the stuff you know. It's the next logical step. You should write your own."

I lay there, electrified at the thought. "I could, couldn't I?"

"Yes, baby, you could."

I imagined myself sitting by the living room window, while Seb was in school, typing away. "And what would I call this love story of ours?"

In the darkness, Seb brushed my hair back and kissed my nose. "I don't know," he said. "But how about: 'A little ditty about Jack and Sebastien'."

"Why a little ditty?"

"Because, baby, a ditty is a simple little song no one ever thinks much about. But somehow, once you've heard it, you know you'll never be able to get it out of your head." Sebastien nestled himself in the crook of my arm. "Like you, Jack," he said, with a smile in his voice. "Just like you."

* * * *

# Epilogue

Eight months later

By the bench near the field, I gulped some water, catching my breath.

What a game that had been. We'd destroyed those guys. They'd left with their heads hung low.

"My man, Saint-Amour." Vince came running over to me with a grin splitting his face. "What happened to you this winter?" he cried, shaking my shoulders. "You're on fire." He bent down a little, wheezing. "We could hardly keep up with you out there."

It was true. I was at the top of my form. In better shape than I'd ever been.

"I've been working out a little and eating better," I said, setting the bottle down on the bench. I wiped my face with a towel. "I'm feeling pretty decent."

Thanks to Jack's support and his diligence about preparing healthy meals, I'd lost twenty pounds of fat and gained in muscle mass.

"How's school going by the way?" Vince asked.

"I have two more exams and then I graduate." I laughed a little, feeling really good about that. It had been the toughest winter of my life, and the battle wasn't over yet, but I was a little over the passing mark in math and that was good enough for me. With Jack's help, I'd nailed my last history exam, scoring a big fat ninety-two percent. I'd never gotten over ninety in anything in my life. But Jack had a system of rewards that worked _very well_ for me. History had never been so exciting.

"When do you find out about getting into your program?" Vince drank some water. "Should be pretty soon, right?"

"This week," I said, my stomach twisting at the thought. I _had_ to get in. Had to. But was I too old? Were my grades good enough? I'd included letters of recommendation. And Jack had helped me with the application, making sure everything was in order.

"Well, I wish you the best of luck, man." Vince squeezed my arm. "I'll see you next Wednesday." He winked and headed off.

I grabbed my bag and checked my cell phone. I'd missed a call from my father. I sat on the bench and dialed his number.

"So?" he answered. "Any news from the college?"

My old man was driving me crazy, calling every day with the same question. "No, Dad, not yet. But soon."

"Where are you?"

"On the mountain. I had a game." I watched Pablo and Theo kicking the ball around on the field. "How are you?"

"Pretty good. Pretty good. Hey, you and Jack are still coming on Sunday, right?"

"Of course."

"Uh, well—Louise will be there, too. If you don't mind. She fixes a great lasagna and I thought maybe it'd be nice to invite her."

So Jack had been right. My father was seeing his neighbor Louise.

It hurt a little, but my dad was still young and couldn't be alone for the rest of his life. I had no right to ask that of him. "Okay...that sounds all right," I said. He'd made a real effort to get to know Jack in the last months and the two of them were slowly and carefully trying to find some kind of common ground.

"Are you sure it's okay if Louise comes?" he asked in a hesitant tone.

"Yeah, Dad. I'm sure. It'll be nice."

"She's gonna love Jack." He laughed. "She's really into gardening and stuff. Maybe he can give her some ideas about my yard here."

That, Jack could do.

"Seb, I might go back to work."

I sat up, widening my eyes. "Yeah? Really? When? Where?"

"I—I'm not sure yet. But Louise—well, she thinks I could do it. She's gonna help me with that."

I bit my lip, feeling a little choked up. I was under a lot of pressure lately and my nerves were raw. Jack insisted it was my _hetero-normative_ shell cracking.

Whatever that meant.

"I'm proud of you, Dad," I said, in a husky voice. "For how hard you worked on yourself this year."

He was quiet. "I couldn't have done it without you," he finally said. "And without Jack. How is he by the way?"

I smiled. "He's—you know. _Jack_."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna head home, Dad. Jack took the day off today and I really—" But I stopped, a little embarrassed.

"Wanna be with him."

I nodded. "Yeah."

"That's nice. Okay, go. I'll talk to you tomorrow."

We hung up and I took a moment to breathe in the sweet spring air. The April sun warmed my face and I thought of the summer to come, of all of the amazing days ahead. Those hot nights I'd spend with Jack.

Then I felt someone watching me from afar, and looked to my left, seeing Jack walking straight across the soccer field. He marched right through Pablo and Theo's game, disturbing their foot play, not giving them a second glance. He was dressed in his skinny white jeans and fitted black T-shirt. He looked so good, the blood started pounding through me.

Flushed, I rose and started walking his way.

We met by the side line, both of us stopping at once. "Hey," I breathed.

The sun was in Jack's blue eyes and he tipped his head, clearly aware of the reaction he was getting out of me. "Well, hello there."

I swallowed hard and moved a little closer to him.

Jack licked his lips and narrowed his eyes. "You wanna kiss me, don't you? You wanna kiss me so bad."

"Oh, yes." I looked over his shoulder at the guys who were still showing off their fancy steps on the field.

Jack raised a brow. "Then kiss me."

"Yeah?"

"Yes."

"Okay. Here I go." I leaned in and kissed him gently on the lips. Behind us, someone whistled, but I leaned back and stood proud, my face feeling hot.

"I can't believe you actually kissed me," Jack said, laughing and glancing over his shoulder. "Oh, hello there, boys," he shouted out to Theo and Pablo. "I'm his father's accountant. I'm just giving Seb his tax return."

"Stop it." I shook my head at him, holding back a laugh. "Hey, what's in the bag?"

Jack touched the strap of the backpack he carried on his left shoulder. "A bottle of wine Valencia gave us." His voice was shaky. "I went over there this afternoon and she gave me a bottle of wine."

"Wow. That's nice of her." Lately Jack and Valencia were spending a lot of time together, to my delight. They discussed literature and art, and Jack had found a surrogate grandmother in Valencia. She simply adored him, and her presence in his life seemed to repair his heart. "How is she doing these days?"

"Good. Yeah. Really good." Jack was nervous. Or excited. I couldn't tell which it was. "The bottle she gave me...it's a 1948 _Giacomo Conterno Monfortino_."

"Whoa, 1948? That's insane. How much is a bottle of wine like that worth nowadays?"

Jack seemed not to be able to contain himself. "Probably over a thousand dollars," he breathed. "She brought it with her from Italy when she sailed for Canada." He slowly unhooked the bag off his shoulder and unzipped it. "I went there this afternoon because I was totally freaking out over the envelope you received and I couldn't open it by myself and I didn't want you to open it because what if it was a rejection and it would crush you, so I drove your car to Valencia's—"

"Wait—you drove my car? You don't even have your license—"

"Yeah, that's not the point." Jack pulled a manila envelope out of the bag. "Valencia is an Aquarius and Aquarius people usually bring me luck or good news, so I thought she and I should open the envelope together since she's paying for your schooling. And we did." He stopped, winded. "Then she gave me a bottle of wine she's been saving for a special occasion." He shoved the envelope in my hands and nodded, his eyes filling with tears. "Read."

My heart beat so hard I thought it was going to burst right through my chest. I tried to slip the paper out of the envelope, but my hands were full of thumbs and I had to take a moment to calm down. "Is this what I think it is?"

"Yes!" Jack yelled, shoving me. "You got in, Seb!"

"I got in?"

"You got in," Jack whispered.

"I got in."

We stared at each other and said nothing.

Yet in our silence hid a million words.

We'd done this together. He and I.

I reached out and pulled Jack into my arms, binding his head to my heart with my free hand. I held him and the letter for a long time, unafraid and unashamed.

Then quietly, we picked up our bags and walked across the field, hand in hand, ignoring Theo and Pablo's gaping mouths.

We walked down to the street, in silence and in perfect harmony.

"Are you parked around here?" I finally asked.

"No, I left the car at home and took the subway here. Didn't trust myself to drive."

I cracked a smile and slowed down, pulling him away to a quiet spot near the bus stop. "What do you wanna do now?"

"Go home and make love."

I smiled. "You got it."

"Aren't you gonna call your dad?"

"I will tonight. I just wanna enjoy this little moment of serenity with you."

"We won't open this bottle. It's too generous of Valencia."

"You're right. We'll share it with her instead. She'd love that. We could go there on Saturday and fix her dinner."

"Yes."

Our words were quiet and our step was light. We walked on, through the crowd, fingers laced tightly, our feet keeping time with our hearts.

"Hey, I wrote today," Jack said, after a while. "After I came home from the pool."

I glanced over at him, at that face I loved more than anything in the world. "Really?"

"Yes, instead of hitting the bottle, I sat at my desk and hit the keyboard keys." He scoffed. "It was kind of a high in itself. Hm, this writing thing could do wonders for my liver."

We turned on Rachel Street, passing the lovely Mission Santa Cruz. "Wow—so how does it start?"

"It all begins in a Walmart parking lot," he said softly.

I shot him a look and smiled. "Ah, I see. And is there a sexy waiter buying Larkspur flowers?"

"In July."

"So, it's like a summer love story."

"You could say that."

I stopped Jack and took his face inside my hands, staring into the cleverest blue eyes I'd ever seen and ever would again.

"Except this time," I whispered, "their summer fling lasts forever."

THE END* * * *

ABOUT MEL BOSSA

Mel Bossa is a Lambda Literary Award finalist and author of numerous novels featuring LGBT characters. She lives in Montreal's gay village with the love of her life and their three kids. As a bisexual Franco-Italian feminist raised in a patriarchal family, duality is her middle name. She's felt like the Other for a great part of her life and finds peace in dreaming up worlds where grace wins over fear.

For more information, visit melbossa.wordpress.com.

ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC

JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!

