When Gabe hung up his phone, the clock told him it was nearly ten. He’d known an ex-Soviet coder back in the start-up days who told him Russians liked having meetings late because they’d gotten in the habit during the revolution. He hadn’t believed it at the time, but Moscow was exactly ten hours ahead, making it 8:00 p.m. on a Saturday night, and they seemed perfectly willing to talk for another two hours.
Five messages had come in while he talked to the Russians. He ignored them all except for the one from James. James assured him he’d gotten home okay. What’s more, James didn’t sound angry. Certainly if Gabe had been in James’ position, he’d be a little peeved. He would have to think of something to make it up to James. There was another voice in the background of the message, and James talking with someone quickly and quietly. Gabe strained to hear what was being said before James cleared his throat.
“You’re also invited to Dylan’s baseball game tomorrow, if you can make it.”
That startled Gabe, but he supposed it shouldn’t. He’d done Meet the Parents before, but from James’ offhand comments, Dylan seemed like the kind to worry about his father, and inspecting the boyfriend was going to be part of that.
Gabe grinned at that thought. He and James were definitely at boyfriend level, which, while maybe a little fast, felt rather nice. He half listened to the other messages and wondered what he should wear to the game.
On the small wall-mounted television, Ernesto confronted his father over Gabriella’s parentage. Normally the laundromat was aflutter with chatter and gossip at 1:00 p.m. on a Saturday, but Ernesto’s great revelation had been building for weeks, and anyone who couldn’t tune in daily was not about to miss the weekend catch-up.
There was a slight gasp from the women as Gabriella fainted, falling into Ernesto’s strong arms.
James’ attention slipped from the TV as he remembered how Gabe’s arms had felt around him. Gabe had held him tight, and in those moments, James knew he’d breathed easier than ever before. The small panicky voice that commented on every aspect of his life was briefly drowned out by the memory of Gabe’s warm, soothing words.
And he had slept. When Gabe told him to rest, he had melted into that soft bed, and he’d woke feeling better than he could ever remember.
That little panicky voice pointed out that now that Gabe had gotten what he wanted, there were good odds he’d move on. And he certainly had bigger priorities than romancing James. That number had had a lot of zeros. There was no way a person could juggle a number like that and also have a relationship. Certainly the wives of the successful businessmen in the telenovelas never seemed happy.
James frowned to himself as Gabriella emerged from her faint in time to see Ernesto strike his father. Then the credits rolled.
The little voice pointed out that at least he wasn’t a virgin anymore, and maybe he could go out and find a nice schoolteacher or something once Dylan started college in September.
Gabe hit the remote, shifting the music from his sound system to his bedroom. It was the CD James had given him; he’d listened to it five times so far.
He stripped off his shirt and pulled on another. He turned a little, getting a good look at himself in the full-length mirror. He hadn’t put that much thought into what he’d worn to seduce James; he knew what made him look sexy. But meeting Dylan was a whole different ball of wax. He was going to a high school baseball game, so a suit was out. He didn’t want to look too country club, because that wasn’t really who he was. He didn’t want to look like some rich twit who was trying to dress down, but he had a feeling he just might be a rich twit trying to dress down. And while he wanted to look good for James, he didn’t want to look too slutty.
He sighed, picked up his phone, and pressed one on the speed dial. The phone on the other end only rang twice.
“Tam, I’m going to a high school baseball game to meet James’ son. What do I wear?”
There was a moment of silence. “Gabe, you know the rules.”
He sighed. “Are you taking raspberry syrup in your lattes?”
“Yes, I am. And make it a chocolate-cake donut tomorrow.”
“Chocolate cake and raspberry latte. Now tell me how to do something I am sure I used to be able to do on my own.”
“Your boot-cut jeans that are a little faded, the dark gray, long-sleeved polo shirt, and the dark blue, long wool windbreaker, because the fog should be rolling in tonight.”
Gabe yanked a few things out of his closet and held them up to himself. “Thank you, Mother.”
Tamyra snorted. “For that you also owe me lunch. Are you going to be ready to talk about next year’s preliminary development goals Monday morning?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll be ready.”
There was a single free parking spot under a sign welcoming Gabe to the Home of the Fighting Cougars. He was running a little late and followed a few other stragglers toward the sports fields. Gabe was not one to get nostalgic for high school. High school was mainly an exercise in survival, but he did envy the youths he saw around him with their nearly boundless energy and ability to simply leap at things. He got to the stands and looked up at the crowd, scanning them, hoping to catch James’ face.
He turned around quickly when he felt a hand touch his shoulder. James was standing behind him dressed in team colors and holding a little pennant flag.
“Hey, you made it.”
Gabe couldn’t control the grin that broke across his face “Got all my homework done early.” He wanted to lean in for at least a kiss on the cheek but wasn’t sure how public displays of affection would be received yet.
James covered the awkward moment by handing him the pennant. He pointed toward a small set of stands near the dugout. “Team families sit over there.”
Gabe didn’t comment on that as he followed James. He was sure he didn’t fall anywhere near the family category yet, but there were two spaces reserved in the front row. The visiting team was finishing their warm-up. He gave his pennant a practice wave as he looked around. There were a couple of glances his way, but they varied between curious and amused. No one seemed particularly hostile.
Dylan was taking practice swings with the bat, and Gabe understood why James was so terrified of him getting some girl knocked up. It looked like he was the team power hitter. In the front row of the stands, a group of girls were making eyes at him. If he was sixteen again, Gabe would have probably been right there with them. There was some cue, and the teams went back to their dugouts. An announcer read out the names of the players. The home crowd cheered at Dylan’s name, and James smiled.
Gabe had never been much of a sports guy. He’d gotten pushed around by too many jocks, but James’ focus was contagious. He was keeping statistics for the game, and with every swing of the bat, he put some odd notation into a column next to a name. Then Dylan came out to bat. There was cheering, and he waved at his groupies. James sighed.
There were a couple of balls, then a strike, then Dylan sent the ball out past second base in a clean arch. It hit the ground and bounced, letting Dylan get to second and one of his teammates get home.
Dylan didn’t make it home himself, as the next batter swung three times and was out.
James started a new column of notation. The fog started to roll in thick and fast by the fifth inning, and Gabe was glad for his windbreaker. James seemed happy overall with the game until the sixth inning. Dylan slid feetfirst into third, and when he got up, even Gabe could see he was putting all his weight on his left foot.
“Shit,” James hissed, leaning forward. “Shit, shit, shit.”
The man sitting behind them leaned between them and put his hand on James’ shoulder. “He’ll be fine, James,” the man said. “He’s just being careful.”
Dylan tapped his right toe on the ground a few times, as if testing it, then balanced out his weight. He turned and gave a nod to his dad. James nodded back before collapsing into himself.
“What’s wrong?” Gabe asked, trying to figure out how a slide into third could warrant that kind of panicked reaction.
James shook his head tightly, not taking his eyes from Dylan. There was a bunt, and Dylan bolted for home but was cleanly tagged out. He hadn’t really stood a chance, but he gave his dad another smile and nod as the teams changed positions.
James leaned closer. “When Dylan was thirteen, he took a bad fall and pretty much shredded his ankle. The doctors wanted to do surgery, but we couldn’t even begin to afford it. We could barely afford the X-rays. Best we could do was wrap it up. He spent a month on crutches, and we did hydrotherapy in the bathtub, but it’s always been a bit funny. If anything keeps him out of the majors, it won’t be a bad day at bat, it’ll be him rolling out of bed one morning and his ankle going out from under him.”
“Is there any way it could be fixed now?” Gabe asked.
“If we could somehow scrape up the money for surgery, it would still mean six weeks in a cast and six months of physical therapy with no guarantee as to strength and mobility once it was all over, plus a risk of nerve damage. So short answer, no.”
Gabe watched as Dylan took his position in the outfield. He’d always made sure that all TechPrim employees had full health coverage for their families. Even if something like reconstructive ankle surgery wasn’t 100 percent covered, it shouldn’t have been completely out of the question. Watching Dylan subtly shift his weight onto his good ankle reminded him that TechPrim was a bit of an odd duck as far as employee benefits went.
A crack drew Gabe’s attention back to the game. A ball arched high into the air. Dylan took all of three steps to his left, put his arm up, and the ball dropped neatly into his glove. There were cheers, and Gabe waved his little flag.
It wasn’t a close game at the end. The Cougars made three runs in the seventh, holding the other team at bay. Dylan got one more at-bat in the ninth, getting neatly struck out by the other team’s relief pitcher, but the damage had been done already, and in the end the Cougars were victorious.
Dylan jogged over to the stands while the rest of the team headed toward the gym buildings. He stopped in front of Gabe and held out his hand. “Dylan.”
“Gabe.” Dylan had a good firm shake. “It’s nice to meet you under not completely embarrassing circumstances.”
“Same.” Dylan turned to his father. “I’ll get cleaned up quick, and we can head home.”
“Sure.”
Dylan turned back to Gabe, a slightly suspicious squint in his eyes. “Why don’t you come around for dinner? Dad’s making his famous pork shoulder in mushroom cream sauce over egg pasta.”
Gabe knew he wasn’t being invited to dinner as much as to an interrogation. “That sounds nice.”
James gave an annoyed little huff. “It’s Spam with cream of mushroom soup over noodles.”
“It still sounds nice.” Gabe knew even if it was dog food, the dinner invite was nonnegotiable. Dylan was going to give the guy dating his dad the once-over, one way or another.
A spare chair had been commandeered from Dylan’s room, and three places had been set around the small kitchen table. Gabe watched as James cooked and Dylan helped. There was no clashing of movement and not much conversation. There wasn’t the same underlying power struggle there seemed to be with every other teenager and parent he’d ever encountered. Maybe it was the unusual age difference or the fact that it was just the two of them, but they worked together more like good friends than anything else.
“Anything I can do to help?” Gabe asked as James scooped the noodles and Spam into a serving dish. It smelled fairly good for something that had come out of two cans and a box.
“No, thank you. I think we’ve got it.”
Dylan moved the Spam to the table, placing it next to a bowl of peas. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked.
“Water is fine.” Gabe actually wanted a shot of tequila for a bit of liquid courage. Dylan had been giving him sideways glances since he’d gotten there. Now that the embarrassment of their first encounter was over and done with, Dylan seemed determined to size up the man who was now sleeping with his father.
Dylan filled up two glasses with water. One he put in front of Gabe’s plate, the other got a spoonful of sugar, a dash of salt, and a squeeze of lemon juice from a plastic lemon-shaped bottle. Dylan chugged it. Gabe tried not to cringe.
“It’s basically Gatorade without the food coloring. Got to rehydrate.”
The idea of needing to rehydrate led to a naughty little thought and a mental sigh. He was sure spending the night would be completely out of the question, but he still wanted to get James back into bed as soon as possible. A rather irritating part of his brain pointed out that his longest relationship had started without lots of sex. It was also the relationship that had ended in a nightmare.
Everyone took a seat, with Gabe across from Dylan and James between them. That close, Gabe could smell James. He always smelled clean, with a hint of soap, and Gabe quite liked it. James dished up. There was no grace or any other ceremony. Dylan immediately started inhaling his food, but at his age and size, that wasn’t surprising. He was a little curious as to what percentage of James’ pay went for groceries.
Gabe dug into his meal as well. It was surprisingly good, especially once he’d mixed his peas in the way Dylan had. Dylan took a sip of water and opened his mouth, almost certainly to start the first volley of questions.
Gabe quickly turned to James. “Oh, Frank and Nate are going to want to meet you at some point soon.”
“Really?”
“They like to meet anyone I’ve seen more than three times. They say it’s to protect me from bad relationships, but really, they just like any excuse to give me shit.”
James smiled. “I’m sure I can pencil it in somewhere.”
“Oh, there’s no rush. They’re my best friends, but they are people you can’t unmeet, and they both take great pleasure in sticking their noses into my love life. For a couple of straight guys, they have way too much interest.”
James flashed a quick look at Dylan. “I do know that feeling.”
Dylan took another sip of water and started again. “Dad says you’re an executive down in the Valley. Which company?”
“TechPrim, right?” James answered for him.
Dylan froze solid, his fork hanging in front of him. “Your name is Gabe, right?” Dylan finally said.
“Last I checked.”
“That would be short for Gabriel, wouldn’t it?”
James gave his son a hard look. “Dylan, don’t be rude.”
Gabe nodded, even as his stomach dropped. “Yes.” He realized that James might not actually be aware of what his position in TechPrim was. He was pretty sure they’d never discussed it. Maybe James didn’t care what he did. That was a nice thought. Or maybe he knew and hadn’t told Dylan.
Dylan ignored his father. “Gabriel Juarez?”
“Yes.”
“I’m guessing Nate and Frank would be Nathan Nesbit and Franklin O’Conner?”
“Yep.”
“Dylan, what are you talking about?” James snapped.
Dylan dropped his fork, then dropped his face into one hand. “Jesus Christ, Dad, he’s not some midrange VP for TechPrim—he’s the CFO and one of the founders.”
James’ head snapped around.
“Gabriel Juarez, Nathan Nesbit, and Franklin O’Conner. Cofounders of TechPrim. The Three Wise Men of Silicon Valley.”
“Wait until you see Techpix. They’ll be calling us the Three Stooges.”
“You never mentioned that.” James was blinking rapidly and looked more than a little startled.
“I thought you knew. I mean, you were at three of my lectures.”
“You never mentioned your title.”
Gabe quickly went over his general presentations and realized his title was nowhere in there since people who came to his lectures already knew exactly who he was. “Well, that’s an ugly mirror to my ego.”
“That does explain why you’re nearly surgically attached to your phone,” James said. Dylan still looked like he was in pain. “TechPrim’s one of the big ones.
“Excuse me.” Dylan’s voice squeaked as he got up from the table. He came back with a laptop that was geriatric by technological standards. He held it up. “TechPrim?”
“Yeah.”
He pulled out his cell phone, which was at least five years old. “TechPrim?”
“Yep.”
He grabbed his father’s cell phone from the kitchen counter. “TechPrim?”
Gabe squinted at it. “Is that an 8A Phantom?”
James grabbed his phone back. “That’s enough. Sit down and finish your dinner.”
Dylan sat and took a couple of bites, but he never took his eyes off Gabe. If anything they were harder than before and downright suspicious, possibly even edging toward hostile. It was a look he’d seen on the other side of a negotiation table but not a kitchen table. But then in a way, he supposed this was a negotiation. He’d been selling people on TechPrim for years. Now he needed to sell himself to Dylan as a partner for his father.
“Your dad tells me you’re going to my alma mater.” He hoped getting Dylan to talk about himself would ease the tension. “What are you planning on majoring in? Other than baseball.”
“Majoring in economics, minor in computer science or math. Looking at business for my master’s.” There was no warming of Dylan’s mood as far as Gabe could tell.
“That’s a heavy load.” If Dylan was the type of kid who read the business section, it explained why Dylan knew exactly who he was.
“I’ll manage. May need a fallback position one day and a bullshit jock degree isn’t going to help.”
Gabe’s phone vibrated in his pocket, the little motor humming just loud enough to hear. He really needed to write a memo about that. People put phones on vibrate so they would be truly silent.
“Russia again?” James asked. He didn’t seem annoyed by the interruption, but was still looking a bit startled.
“Probably. Excuse me just a sec.”
Gabe got up and moved into the living room as quickly as he could, thankful for the brief respite from the interrogation. It was Russia, moving from the panic phase into the “tentative renegotiation to try to get a better deal” phase. Gabe managed to convince them their ideas could be looked at later in the week, once some better data came in from Europe. He hoped it didn’t sound like he was blowing them off.
Gabe took his seat at the table, trying to smile.
“Everything okay?” James asked.
“Just some more predeal jitters. Plus it’s Monday morning there.”
“Is this the Buduŝie tehnologii buyout?” Dylan asked.
That was the last comment Gabe was expecting, but he knew he shouldn’t be surprised by it if Dylan was half as ambitious as Gabe thought he might be. “You read the business gossip.”
“When I can.”
“You know what deal he’s working on?” James asked his son.
“Bits and pieces.” Dylan peered at Gabe like he was trying to x-ray his brain. “TechPrim never went public,” Dylan explained, never taking his eyes off Gabe. “They’re not on any stock market anywhere, which has actually given them a bit of a cushion in this economy. They also never took venture capital money, so the three founders still have full ownership and control, hence the Three Wise Men. Since they’re still afloat, they’ve been on a buying spree, scooping up bankrupted companies at fire-sale prices, usually folding them into the main company.”
“And keeping on as many employees as possible with full pay and benefits for dependents. Better to save half of two companies than let both go out of business.” Gabe had been getting a lot of shit in the press about it.
Dylan put up his hands. “I’ve got nothing against that. Some jobs are better than none. But you’ve started buying up random internationals as well—transport companies, mineral processing plants, a small private security company—all in weird places like Romania and Kazakhstan. And according to the gossip columns, you’re about to pick up, for a not-small amount of money, a third-rate Russian technology company that is basically bankrupt, and no one can figure out why. Best guess anyone can come up with is you’re about to go into high-tech weaponry.”
Gabe laughed. “Is that what they’re saying? It explains some of the looks I’ve been getting at the club, but no, no weapons. I’m a make-love-not-war kinda guy.”
“Still doesn’t explain what you’re doing.”
Gabe grinned. He knew the look on Dylan’s face. When he was nineteen, he had won a lunch with some IBM executives. He’d stared at them, trying to somehow bore into their brains with his eyes, that same look on his face. He was suddenly half hoping Dylan wouldn’t get picked up by the majors, just to see him jump into the business world still young and hungry.
“Secret negotiations are secret for a reason. Let’s say if it all goes well, the production costs of all TechPrim hardware should drop 5 to 14 percent and allow us to corner the market on certain emerging carbon-neutral energy technologies, considerably increasing our overall market share and allowing us to move rapidly into other production areas.” Gabe thought for a second. “I just sounded like a completely capitalistic prick there, didn’t I?”
“A little, yeah,” James admitted. Dylan nodded in agreement.
“How about this? I’ve got half a dozen dominoes lined up. If this Russian deal pans out, then in three years we can plunk a flat-screen TV factory down in the middle of Detroit with a solar panel manufacturing plant right next door.”
Dylan tilted his head. “Onshore technology manufacturing jobs?”
“On shore jobs of all kinds. Lots of them, I hope.”
Dylan raised his water glass but still had a suspicious squint. “Here’s to jobs.” Gabe’s phone buzzed again. “Going to get that?”
“No. Just a text, and if it’s a text, then it’s not that important. Probably Tamyra reminding me to do my homework for some meetings tomorrow.”
“By the way,” James chimed in, thankfully changing the subject. “Why do you have ‘Dancing Queen’ as a ringtone?”
“Because Tamyra runs my life. I ignored her calls one time too many, so she hacked into my phone and put in an embarrassing ringtone connected to her number; that way I would answer it quickly. I took it off, and she put in something worse. If I take off ‘Dancing Queen’ she’ll replace it with ‘California Girls’ or ‘Genie in a Bottle.’ ‘Dancing Queen’ is at least arguably a classic of sorts.”
“That’s cold.”
“Could be worse. Frank didn’t scream for mercy until his phone started playing ‘My Heart Will Go On’ in the middle of a corporate meet-and-greet with the San Jose Sharks.” Dylan and James winced. “And before you ask, no, we can’t fire our PAs. They are basically Vice Presidents in Charge of Making Sure Shit Actually Gets Done On Time, Correctly, and By The Right People. A few years back, Nate’s PA caught pneumonia and was out for a week. The company lost nearly half a million dollars due to things she normally took care of not getting done. And Nate is basically just Chief Code Monkey. If Tamyra ever bailed on me, I’d be so very screwed.”
“Remind me to be nice to Tamyra so she’ll let you out of the house.”
“She likes you. I wouldn’t have asked for your number after we had coffee if she hadn’t stood there, wiggling her eyebrows and making not-so-subtle head gestures.”
“I’ll be sure to thank her, then.”
James’ smile was sweet, and for a second, Gabe managed to blank out the fact that they had an audience. He started to reach for James when there was the tiniest bit of throat clearing. Gabe refocused his attention. The interrogation wasn’t over.
By the time the table had been cleared, and James brought out a bowl of chocolate pudding, Gabe had sketched out his family, mainly focusing on his sisters, nieces, and nephews, as well as some details on his last few relationships. Dylan was good, but Gabe had more experience being on the other side of a negotiating table, and Dylan didn’t manage to wring out any information Gabe wasn’t willing to part with, though certainly not for lack of trying.
It was Dylan’s phone that rang next and cut the questioning short. He glanced at the number. “It’s Coach Frasier.”
James gave a quick tilt of the head, and Dylan stepped from the room. Gabe took the opportunity to settle his hand over James’.
“Sorry about the interrogation.”
“Completely to be expected. I’ve got the feeling he’s spent almost as much time worrying about his dad as you’ve spent worrying about him.” James smiled and ducked his head. “And I am sorry I never mentioned my job title.”
“It’s okay,” James answered a little too quickly. “It’s not like I asked. And I figured you had to be pretty high up the food chain.”
“But not at the top?”
“It’s fine.” Again, James’ answer was too quick.
“You know, if I was in your position, I’d be flipping out.”
“Give me a few minutes.”
Dylan finished his call, but Gabe kept his hand on James’, determined to prove he had some balls.
“What did Coach Frasier have to say?” James asked his son, not removing his hand either.
“Nothing much. Practice is going to be short tomorrow, and he wanted to make sure my ankle wasn’t swelling. Plus a nag to get some sleep.”
Gabe glanced at the stuttering clock on the wall and quickly calculated what time he might be arriving home. And he did still need to look over those projections for the next year.
With great pain he slid his hand away. “Actually, I need to get going. I still have documents to read for tomorrow. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. Homework comes first.”
Dylan gave a small amused cough. Gabe was sure he couldn’t begin to calculate how many times James had said those words. He stood and gave James a small kiss. “And dinner was very nice.”
“It’s a specialty.”
Gabe turned to Dylan and held out his hand. “It was nice meeting you again.”
“And you.”
“I’m sure I’ll be seeing you around.”
Dylan’s eyes flashed again, hard and suspicious. “I’m sure you will.”
Gabe gave James another little kiss, gathered up his coat, promised to drive safely, and left.
Gabe was about to open his car door when he heard feet moving quickly across the street. He turned to see Dylan approaching.
“Hey, glad I caught you. I wanted to ask you one more thing before you left.” Dylan was smiling.
“Shoot.”
“Are you enjoying slumming it down here with my dad?”
Gabe jerked as if he’d been struck. “Excuse me?”
“Come on. You’re one of the richest guys on the coast and then some, you fly around the world every other week on the company jet, and you just happen to pick up my plain Jane, scraping-to-stay-above-the-poverty-line dad out of a crowd and not mention who you are?”
“Now just a second—”
“No. Let me show you something.” Dylan handed over a high school yearbook. “Page forty-seven.”
Gabe took the book and opened it to the correct page. There was a picture of a scraggly teenager sitting with his back against a locker, looking half-asleep as he slumped over a book. Wrapped around the teenager’s hand was one end of a baby leash. On the other end of the leash was a toddler, maybe two, reaching for something just out of frame.
“That’s my dad, junior year. In eighth grade he took the PSAT, got a perfect score. Senior year SATs he barely cracked 1100. He was too tired to do better. He spent his prom night sitting at home playing Candyland. This place.” He gestured to the building behind them. “He can do better than this. We could still be living with my grandparents, but this place keeps me just inside a good school zone. Hell, he could even upgrade the Lemon Drop to something built this millennium, but he lives like he’s taken a vow of poverty so he can save every cent for me. He has this theory that if I lose my scholarship, he’ll somehow be able to pay for Stanford if he works himself to death. You will not find a better person on Earth than my father, and I will not put up with some rich prick from the Valley screwing with him,” Dylan ended in a snarl.
Gabe stood his ground despite a desire to take three steps back. He knew he didn’t get ice thinner than what he was standing on. “I know how good your father is, and I can assure you I’m not slumming it.”
“You know how good he is?” Dylan’s voice was thick with sarcasm and disdain.
“Yes, I do. Half the reason I’m making an effort and not treating this like a three-night stand is because he has more integrity than damn near anyone I know.”
“And the other half of the reason?”
“I….” Gabe had yet to put it into words, even for himself, how he felt around James, and now he’d have to pick those words very carefully. “He’s stable.” Dylan snorted at him. “I don’t mean like that, I mean… I spend most of my life feeling like I’m juggling knives on a teeter-totter. And since the economy crapped out, it’s felt like I’ve been doing it in the middle of an earthquake as well. Now I’m damn good at it, and I’ve been doing it for a long time, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy or exactly relaxing. When I’m with your father, I feel stable. Grounded. I’m still juggling knives, but it feels like it’s on solid ground, and I’ll be damned if I know why. I can breathe when I’m around him, and maybe it was because he didn’t know what I did. Maybe it’s because he is a good person, and I’m not waiting for him to try to knock me off-balance. I just don’t know.”
“Do you love him?”
Gabe looked Dylan dead in the eye and decided to go with the most radical negotiating tactic he knew. He would tell the truth. “Not yet,” he answered. “I care for him very much. He has already become important to me, and I’d like what we have to continue and get stronger. I had some lousy relationships when I was younger, then one very bad relationship, followed by a string of men who hung around mainly because I was too busy to tell them to leave. I want this to go slowly. Partly because your father is in new waters and partly because I’m in waters I haven’t seen in a long time.” Gabe’s phone rang. He didn’t answer it. He kept his eyes locked with Dylan’s.
“That’s a good answer. I know my father likes you.” Gabe held back a deep sigh of relief. “You make him happy,” Dylan continued. “There have been other men who have shown interest in him, but he’s been oblivious to it. My fifth grade teacher had a flat-out crush on him. Called him in every time I sneezed. He never clued in. Too busy with other things. You are the first person to notice him that he has allowed himself to notice back.”
“That’s good to know. I promise I’ll do my best to step carefully with him.”
“Good. I want him to be happy. And if you ever hurt him, I’ll take a baseball bat to your legs, starting with your feet and working up.”
“When I made that threat to my sister’s boyfriend, I said I’d use a tire iron.”
“Was it a serious threat?”
“Yes.”
“Then we’re on the same page.” Dylan took the book back. “Drive carefully.”
James turned sideways, looking at himself in the mirror. He was thin and not in a flattering way. It was probably the lack of anything resembling muscle definition. He tried sucking his stomach in, but that somehow made it worse.
He heard the front door open and shut, then Dylan coming down the short hall. “Did you threaten him?” he asked when Dylan stopped by his door.
“Only a little.”
“You said you wouldn’t.”
“That was before I found out he’s one-third owner of one of the larger, and still in the black, companies out there. I wanted to make sure he knows you’re not someone who can be played with and set aside.”
James twisted around, hoping a different angle would somehow improve the view. He wanted to scold Dylan, but lately, scolding had a habit of turning into talking, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet. And while he didn’t believe Gabe was playing with him, he also wasn’t expecting Gabe to stick around and grow old with him. James tried sucking in his stomach again.
“You know, I could set you up with an exercise plan.” James gave Dylan a sharp look. “Nothing too hardcore. A bit of stretching, some basic calisthenics?”
“I think that was a lost cause before you were even born.”
“Never too late. I just want you to be happy.”
“I am.” He was, he thought. “But we should both go to bed. It’ll be Monday soon enough.”