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“Are you going to tell me what has you so down today?” Jack bumped elbows with Dylan. They were standing in the Guggenheim, staring at a Warhol painting. Dylan had been off in space for a good five minutes, not even staring at the painting anymore.
“I’m not down,” Dylan denied.
“Really?” Jack shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. “Because you look like someone just died. Did someone die?”
“No one died.” Dylan shook his head. “You’re right, I’ve been a total bummer today. Let me make it up to you. I’ll grab us something to eat at the food cart outside?”
“Have you seen enough art to appease the great Mr. Leeman?”
“I’ve seen plenty,” Dylan nodded. “Let’s get food.”
Outside of the museum, a vendor was peddling hot soft pretzels. Dylan bought two, handing one over to Jack. “Sorry, I thought it was a hot dog stand. If you’re hungry, we can stop somewhere else.”
“No, that’s okay,” Jack shook his head. “My mom is tired of me eating out all the time anyway.” They perched together on the low wall that flanked the museum entrance. Dylan fully expected someone to tell them to move it along, but no one did, so they stayed and watched passersby while they ate their pretzels.
“So,” Jack spoke up, popping the last piece of warm dough into his mouth, “are you going to tell me what’s up or do I have to guess?”
“It’s nothing,” Dylan insisted.
Jack hummed, tapping his lips with a finger. “Is it that guy?”
“Guy?”
“That Tyler guy we talked about yesterday.”
“Sort of,” Dylan admitted. “He’s become friends with David. He claims he was joking, but he asked him if he’d spy on me.”
“Ah,” Jack nodded, “he took things a little too far, huh?”
“It’s just overwhelming,” Dylan sighed. “I don’t want to deal with it right now.”
“You shouldn’t let him get to you so much.”
“Typically, he wouldn’t. David would shut him down, but I let him in. He’s the first person I ever let into my world. I introduced him to my parents. Do you have any idea the correlation between guys I’ve seen naked and that I’ve willingly introduced to my parents? There is no correlation. Zero. Well, one now.”
“Then maybe you just need to make a bigger habit of it? I volunteer–wait, that came out a wrong.”
Dylan grinned. “You want me to see you naked?”
“Well,” Jack spoke with a thoughtful tone, “eventually. Maybe. If I get to see you too of course. Otherwise, I have gym third period.”
Dylan laughed again, and for the first time in a while, Tyler moved from his forethought. “Maybe you should have kept that information to yourself? I’m going to be tempted now.”
“I wouldn’t have told if I didn’t expect you to file that away for future reference,” Jack assured him.
Dylan wasn’t sure what came over him. He leaned over and pressed his lips to Jack’s. Jack seemed startled for a moment, but it passed quickly. His hands rose to cup Dylan’s face. Dylan’s hand moved to rest on Jack’s thigh and the simple kiss deepened. Jack pulled away first to take a shaky breath.
“That was a surprise.”
“A good one?”
“Very good.”
“Part of me wants to ask if you want to come home with me. Most of me wants to do this whole relationship thing the right way with you.”
“Right way?” Jack asked.
“I want to wait a little longer.”
A brief look of relief seemed to pass Jack’s face. He gave a slight nod. “Okay.”
“Although, I suppose there isn’t any reason not to find somewhere a little more private for making out?”
Jack leaned forward to press a brief kiss to Dylan’s lips, “As nice as that first kiss was, it’s getting late. I should probably get home.”
“Let me text Dakota and we’ll drive you home.” Jack watched Dylan pull out his phone and tap at the screen. After a minute, he pocketed it again and looked up at him. “What’s up for us next?”
“Well, you’ve still got a list of museums, and don’t forget about Rocky Horror. I’ve got a deadline for the newspaper tomorrow. How about Wednesday, we check out the Modern Art Museum?”
“Wednesday my class runs long. Stuart comes in to check on progress,” Dylan said. “You could come to my house for dinner.”
“Dinner at Hughes Castle?”
“We typically eat in the kitchen as a family but, yes, it is in the castle.”
Jack’s mouth dropped open as he pondered the thought. “I would get to eat actual food. In a castle?”
“Well, technically it’s not drafty enough to be a castle. More like an oversized manor. Palace would also be taking it too far.”
“Would it just be us, or would your parents be joining us?”
“My parents would probably be there, yes. We try to eat at least one meal together a week. Wednesdays are fairly slow for my Dad, so he can usually get away. Mom is never up to anything particularly important.”
“I’d get to meet Senator and Mrs. Peter Montgomery?”
“If we continue dating, then you would get to do that eventually anyhow so we’d just be preemptive about it.”
“I might fan-boy out a little. That could be a little embarrassing for us both.”
“Okay,” Dylan drew out the word. “Is this a yes or no?”
“Yes, I would love to,” Jack confirmed.
“Good. We can hash out details later?”
Jack nodded in agreement as the black sedan pulled up in front of them.
“Did you boys have a good time?” Dakota wasn’t nearly as refined in the presence of his employer. “No trouble or hanky-panky, right?”
“No, Dakota. Don’t be gross,” Dylan scoffed.
“Are we stopping anywhere else?” Dakota asked, adjusting his sunglasses. “Or are we taking the boy home?”
“The boy has a name,” Dylan reminded him. “I know it was nearly two hours ago that I introduced him to you, Dakota, but you should have some kind of memory retention.”
Dakota grinned at him. “My apologies, Mr. Dylan. Are we taking Mr. Jack home or am I driving all over the borough today?”
“Home, please,” Jack requested, clipping his seatbelt. “And drop the ‘mister’. It’s weird enough when David calls me ‘sir’.”
“You get used to it,” Dylan assured him. “Perks of a rich boyfriend.”
“Well sir, I do believe that is the first time I’ve ever heard that word out of your mouth without a note of disdain,” Dakota whistled.
“Dakota, did David put the directions into the GPS for the bookstore?” Dylan broke in.
“Yes,” Dakota replied.
“Then follow them and shut up. And turn on the radio.”
Dakota chuckled but flicked on the radio and let the music fill the space in the car. In the backseat, Dylan’s fingers found Jack’s in the large space between them but they didn’t talk any more. Within ten minutes, Dakota was pulling up in front of Backslash where a brunette woman was reorganizing the front window display. She looked up as she saw the car park, almost out of habit, but smiled when she saw Jack. She waved and stepped out of the window. The door to the shop opened and she was on the street before Jack could detangle his bag from the seatbelt.
“Hi, you must Dylan.” She leaned down to peer into the back of the car. “I’m Sarah–the Mom.”
“Hi.” Dylan felt a sort of forced smile cross his face. “This is Dakota; he was our driver today.”
“Ma’am.” Dakota gave her a nod.
“Nice to meet you. Come inside for a drink? Maybe a snack?”
“Mom,” Jack hissed, “stop it.”
“No thank you, Mrs. Piper,” Dylan’s smiled turned genuine. “I’m sure my parents are waiting for me to get home by now.”
“All right.” She gave him a slight pouty look. “Maybe next time.”
“Yes, maybe.” Jack coerced her gently away from the door. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow, Dyl.”
“Good night!” He called back as Jack closed the door on them.
It wasn’t until Dakota was speeding back north, toward home that he realized that Jack had used the nickname that only Tyler had ever used on him before.
***
Jack appeared in the classroom doorway shortly before six o’clock. The students had already left for the evening and it was just Stuart and Dylan in the art room. Stuart was contemplating a piece of artwork by one of the students while Dylan was putting things away and wiping down tables.
“Hi, am I early?” Jack knocked softly on the door frame.
Dylan looked up. “Hey. Just a little, but that’s okay. We were done a while ago.”
Stuart’s eyes flicked from the artwork toward Jack. “Ah, you must be Jack Piper. Did you get your article finished? I apologize for not replying to your e-mail as quickly as I normally would have. I’ve been a bit busy with the Foundation.”
“Not a problem, sir,” Jack demurred. “And yes, it was sent to print this morning. It should appear on our website after the issue goes out.”
“Very good. Dylan, remind me to look at that,” Stuart requested.
“I can send you a link when I get home tonight,” Jack offered.
“Good, good,” Stuart nodded, final turning away from the artwork. “Dylan, get Saundra away from the pastels. This is not her medium. Unless she’s plans on being the art world’s version of ipecac.”
“Isn’t that a little harsh, Stuart?” Dylan raised an eyebrow at him.
“No,” Stuart replied coolly.
“You would never say that to her face, and you know it.”
“That’s why I have you. You can put it much more tactfully.”
“When I have I ever struck you as tactful?” Dylan scoffed.
“Hmm, so true,” Stuart sighed. “Still, she has talent. I want to see that, not something that makes me want to vomit.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Dylan told him.
Stuart looked down at his watch, “You boys have plans tonight?”
“We’re going to have dinner with my parents,” Dylan told him.
“Ah,” Stuart nodded. “Moving on from your musician then?”
“Don’t you have dinner plans of your own?” Dylan ignored the question.
“Bah,” Stuart scoffed, “I’m going to the studio to work.”
“Don’t forget to eat.” Dylan hung the cloth he’d been wiping tables with over the edge of the sink to dry. He then tossed the last few random paint brushes into the coffee cans. He ushered Stuart toward the door and flicked off the lights.
The trio chatted as they walked. At the door, they parted, Stuart for his car while Dylan and Jack slid into the sedan where David was back at the wheel.
“Anywhere else before we head home, sir?” David asked.
“Nope,” Dylan shook his head, “just home.”
“Very good.” He waited until both of his passengers were buckled in. He flipped on some light instrumental music to fill the car, but didn’t say much as he drove.
“So...” Jack spoke up after a few minutes of awkward silence had passed. “Stuart knew Tyler?”
“They met once,” Dylan replied off hand. “My parents had a little garden party when I came home to visit over the summer.”
“Oh,” Jack nodded. “I didn’t know that. Is there anything else I should know about this guy?”
“He’s friends with David and Dakota. And Mora.”
“Mora?”
“My cousin, sir,” David replied.
“I think I’ve mentioned her before. Anyway, don’t worry about Tyler,” Dylan assured him. “I haven’t even spoken to him lately.”
Jack bit the inside of his lip, trying not to look concerned, “Okay, if you don’t think it’s important then, it’s not important.”
“It isn’t, I swear,” Dylan promised. “Really, I have no plans of seeing him again. Or talking to him at all, to be honest.”
“I’m not saying that you should stop talking to him. There isn’t any reason you can’t be friends with the guy.”
Dylan’s expression turned to mild surprise, then disbelief. “Right. Because you can just be friends with a dude you spent most of the summer in bed with.”
“Yeah, that sounded stupid the second it left my mouth,” Jack admitted. “But you know what I mean. He’s obviously not a guy that’s just going to disappear.”
“I suppose not. No matter how much I wish he would.”
Jack reached between them and squeezed Dylan’s knee, but didn’t say anything more. David glanced at them in the rearview mirror, but also chose not to speak as the car paused at the gate of Hughes Castle. Jack gave Dylan’s knee another squeeze before shifting in the seat to watch the castle fill the windshield.
“Holy. Shit. I’m walking into Xanadu.”
Dylan laughed. “Xanadu was based on a castle further north.”
“Oh, stop being a know-it-all,” Jack admonished. “You’re killing my buzz.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Dylan raised his hands in defeat, “continue, please.”
“Nope. The moment is ruined now.” Jack leaned back in his seat.
“I’ll drop you off at the front, sirs,” David spoke. “I believe your parents have arranged diner to be in the main dining room.”
“Oh, really?” Dylan groaned. “I told them the kitchen was fine.”
“You know how your mother can be about these things.”
“There are four of us. This is ridiculous.”
“Sorry sir.” David gave him a small smile as the car came to a stop in front of the main steps. “When you are through with dinner, call down to the security office. I’ll see that Mr. Piper gets home.”
“Thank you, David.” Dylan unbuckled his seat belt. He picked up his bag from the floor, then ushered Jack out of the car.
“So, how is this going to go?”
Dylan took a deep breath. “I’ll introduce my parents to you. They’ll tell you to call them by their first names. You can call my dad Peter, but don’t call my mom Martha. I know, it’s confusing. Dinner should be simple. You don’t need to know the difference between a salad fork and a dinner fork.”
“Good to know.”
“We can drop off our bags in my room before we go to the dining room.”
They walked up the steps side by side and stepped into the entrance hall. Dylan paused in expectation of Jack stopping to look around, which he did. His jaw dropped as he turned a circle, trying to take in the whole view.
“You’re here.” Martha appeared at the top of the left-side of the stairs. “Your father and I have been waiting for—”
“Mom, it’s been an hour, tops, since David left to pick us up,” Dylan stared up at her. “Can we drop off our bags? And why are we eating in the dining room? I told you the kitchen was fine.”
“I’m not letting a guest eat in the kitchen!” Martha looked bewildered.
“But intimidating him with the third fanciest dining room in the house isn’t weird at all.”
“Third?” Jack looked back at them.
“We have a ball room that can serve as a banquet hall. In the West wing, there is an old school room that is frequently used as a dining room when we have film people here,” Dylan explained.
“Dinner is already laid out, so it’s too late now,” Martha huffed. “Marcy!”
Marcy, a thin brunette in a simple maid’s uniform appeared at her shoulder almost instantly, “Yes ma’am?”
“Please, take the boy’s bags to Dylan’s room.”
“Of course, ma’am.” She nodded and met Dylan and Jack at the top of the stairs, taking their bags from them. “Anything else?”
“No, thank you, dear.” Martha gave her a soft smile. “Come along, please.” She led them to the left while Marcy disappeared straight ahead. They passed the open kitchen door where a cook was already washing dishes, and into a large white-motif dining room. There was a large oak table and matching chairs and huge windows looked out into the bit of wilderness that surrounded the house. Peter had out his Blackberry was frowning at the screen.
“Peter,” Martha snapped, “what did I tell you? Put away your phone.”
Dylan snickered, tugging Jack toward the opposite side of the table from his parents. Instead of his father taking the usual seat at the head of the table, he was on the right side, with Martha to his left. Dylan and Jack took seats across from them. Slightly fancier than a normal family dinner, the food was placed in serving dishes, and the first servings were already placed on plates. Jack took in the eats. Roast beef, mashed potatoes and gravy, mixed vegetables, and to drink he found both a glass of ice water and a fluted glass filled with a cherry red liquid with bubbles.
“Let’s get the formality out of the way,” Dylan suggested, tucking his cloth napkin over his knee. “Mom, Dad: this is Jack Piper. We go to school together. Yes, we have been on a few dates. Please don’t make a big deal about it. Jack, these are my parents. Yes, they are very wealthy and my father is a senator. I swear to god if you make me listen to a conversation about politics while I eat, I will never go out with you ever again.”
Jack grinned in spite of his nerves. “It’s very nice to meet you both, Mr. and Mrs. Montgomery.”
Almost at the same time, just as Dylan had predicted, “Please, call me Peter” and “Oh, call me Martha” were uttered.
“So, Jack,” Peter picked up his fork, “Dylan hasn’t told us a lot about you. What’s your story?”
“Story, sir?”
“Oh god, don’t call him sir. You sound like David,” Dylan whispered.
“He’s just being polite,” Martha admonished. “Are you native to New York, Jack?”
“No, not at all,” Jack answered. “My dad was in the military, so we moved around a lot from.” He took a bite of his potatoes as he thought. How much should he tell his possible future boyfriend’s parents? “After my dad died, Mom opened a bookstore in Greenwich Village. I work there a few nights a week and on weekends.”
“What about extracurricular activities?”
“I’m Editor-in-Chief for the the CSG student paper and I work on the yearbook. Other than that, I don’t do a lot.”
“You’re a gifted writer then?”
“I’m in the English program,” he confirmed. “I have an eidetic memory, so that’s how I got into CSG, actually. The writing was secondary. I learn differently. And I’m slightly older than my classmates. The bouncing around schools technically put me behind, even though I can memorize a textbook in a few hours.”
“Interesting. Aren’t most eidetics in the sciences?” Peter asked, genuinely curious.
“Some,” Jack nodded, “but I have no interest in science. I’d much rather read a book. Talking about the written word, when you can pull out finite details means we make awesome editors and fact checkers.”
Dinner continued with the adults getting to know a little more about Jack. To his own irritation, Dylan was learning quite a bit about him too. He wasn’t sure why he felt so annoyed that he hadn’t gone out of his way to ask some of these questions that his parents were obviously curious enough to ask. Jack was at ease talking to the adults. He guessed, from growing up on the military bases. Jack had probably been surrounded by grown-ups all the time. In one way, it made Dylan feel sad. He had never asked what it was like for him to grow up like that. Had he had a lot of friends? He moved a lot, so he guessed not. Did he keep in touch with any of them?
“Dinner was great.” Jack felt stuffed after the strawberry cheesecake dessert. “Thank you so much for having me.”
“It was a pleasure.” Martha grinned, folding her hands in her lap. “Are you staying for a bit, or do you have to get home?”
“We’re going to hang out in my room for a little while,” Dylan spoke up. “David told me to call when he was ready to go home.”
“All right,” she acquiesced, pushing back her chair. “If I don’t see you before you go, have a good night, Jack.”
“Thank you, you too Mrs. Montgomery.”
“Martha,” she reminded him.
“Erm, Martha,” Jack repeated.
Dylan’s eyes widened slightly. He got up, pushing Jack toward the door gently.
“Holy crap, I think she meant it.” Dylan hissed once they were out of ear shot. “She’s never repeated it before. I think I just died. Am I dead?”
“You’re terrible.” Jack poked him in the side.
“Do you want the tour?” Dylan asked.
“Just a tour of your bedroom maybe?” Jack teased. “I have a feeling I might end up spending a lot of time here. I’ll get around to seeing the rest of it.”
“I like the way you think, Piper.” He linked their fingers together and lead him back toward the stairs, and then down the hallway toward the bedrooms. He opened his bedroom door and led Jack inside. He glanced up at the hidden camera. The little red light was off, so most likely the security team wasn’t watching them He made a little sigh of relief, then let Jack move past him before he closed the door behind them.
“Nice,” Jack stood in the middle, looking around. “Not very you though.”
Since coming home, Dylan’s room hadn’t gone under much of a transformation. It was still very plain and clean. He had considered putting up some art but then wondered if it was pretentious to hang his own work in his bedroom. He thought of commissioning one of the students, or even Stuart, but had decided against it, just in case it showed some kind of favoritism or if Stuart would be offended by the request.
“It’s kind of blah,” Dylan agreed, “but the bed is pretty great.”
“Is it?” Jack slid a look toward the bed. The bedding was new. Rich emerald green in color. Disgustingly high thread count. For Dylan, it was akin to being wrapped in a leafy cloud. He usually had his sleep number set ultra-soft, but lately he had gone firmer. In the morning, he found it difficult to get out of bed.
“Take your shoes off and test it out.”
“Oh no,” Jack’s expression was adamant. “It starts with shoes, but pretty soon you’ll have me completely naked and at your mercy, and you’re the one who decided we were going to take it slow. Doing it right way was the phrase you used.”
Dylan’s mouth turned into a frown. “I don’t know how I feel about this memory thing of yours.”
“It’s pretty handy sometimes,” Jack admitted. “But it’s a burden as well as a curse.”
“I’m sure it is,” Dylan nodded. “How many completely mundane conversations are locked into your head forever?”
“Basically, every conversation I’ve ever had with an adult since I was three,” Jack admitted. “But I get to remember good things too.”
“For example?” Dylan closed the space between them. He ran his hands up Jack’s chest before locking his fingers together behind his neck.
“Like Boy’s Night with my Dad. Meeting my sisters after they were born. The first time I ever heard of you.”
“Heard of me?”
“Uh huh,” Jack nodded. “Mom and I were apartment-slash-shop hunting, right after my Dad’s funeral. I picked up an issue of the Journal. There you were. Being a trouble maker. I was instantly intrigued.”
“Oh?”
“You’ve changed a lot since that article. You’ve grown up.”
“I had to,” Dylan laughed softly. “My Dad was about ready to kick my ass.”
Jack laughed too, “Maybe so, but I can recall the article word-for-word. And of course, I remember the first time I saw you. I talked to you. When we kissed.”
“Flatterer,” Dylan chided.
“Nah,” Jack shook his head, “just hoping for more.”
“You don’t have to ask,” Dylan assured him in a slightly breathless tone, “Just go for it.”
Jack leaned down then, pressing his lips to Dylan’s. His own hands came to rest on Dylan’s hips, pulling him closer. They swayed slightly before parting again. Dylan gave a low whistle.
“So, how’d that hold up to the first one?”
“I’m not sure. I think I need a few more. You know, real scientific experimentation,” Jack mused. “I think I do understand why most people make out horizontal. It’s exhausting standing up without a place to brace yourself.”
Dylan laughed, stepping slightly away from him. “You’re a little dangerous, Jack Piper. You’re going to get me into trouble, aren’t you?”
“I hope so,” Jack agreed. “Or maybe a vice versa.”
“Let’s see what we can do about that.”