Four Months Later
AARON IS nervous, but his nerves have nothing on Jackson’s. Jackson is making him dizzy with the tornado impression he’s doing as he tears through the bedroom and bathroom looking for who knows what.
“Is that what you’re going to wear?” asks Jackson, pacing into view. “Should I wear something to match? Does color coordination say we’re trying too hard?”
“I like what you’re wearing right now,” says Aaron. And he’s not just saying that to get Jackson to stop changing his clothes. This is the fifth outfit he’s tried on, and he looks good in it. His fitted gray slacks and his crisp sky-blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up are perfectly fine. In that they make Jackson look hella fine. The last thing he wants is Jackson to put on a green shirt to match the dark green one Aaron’s wearing with his black dress pants.
He puts his hands out and wiggles his fingers. “Come here for a second.”
Jackson shakes his head, frowning mulishly. “We don’t have time for this. We need to be at the restaurant in forty minutes.”
“And you’re still stressing over your clothes. Come here.”
Jackson does the thing he likes to do where he thinks about whether it’s worth arguing with Aaron about telling him to do something, and then he starts forward. Apparently this is one of the times it isn’t worth protesting Aaron being bossy.
He puts his hands in Aaron’s. “What?”
Aaron folds his hands around Jackson’s. He tugs him down for a slow and purposeful kiss. If they didn’t have somewhere to be, he’d skip the conversation and finish this. It’s a lot of effort to pull away, and it takes him a second to remember what he was going to say.
“This isn’t a big deal. Everything is going to be okay. I’ve met all of your family before. The majority of them knew what was going on.”
Jackson frowns. “I know that. But this is the first time you’re meeting my parents as my actual boyfriend. That’s a big deal. Especially with our history.”
“Are you afraid they won’t like me because I’m an escort?” asks Aaron. He’s not going to lie; he’s scared of that very thing. He’s just hiding his fears better than Jackson.
“No,” says Jackson. “They’re not closed-minded. They don’t care about that. Maybe if you were a hooker, they would. But you’re not….”
“You’re getting off topic again.”
“Sorry.” Jackson shakes his head. “I’m not worried about your job. Mom and Dad were pretty disappointed I felt the need to lie to them, and what if they feel like you lied too? They forgave me because I’m their kid and they kind of have to, but you’re not. What if they hold a grudge?”
His eyebrows wing up in surprise. He imagines he must resemble a cartoon character. “I don’t think it’s going to be a problem,” says Aaron slowly. He tries to think of something reassuring to say, words that will properly explain why Aaron knows it won’t be an issue. There’s a crashing sound from the living room. He imagines it’s probably the lamp on the end table. Maxwell’s knocked it over at least seven times since Aaron got here three days ago. “I’m going to go clean up whatever mess he made. You’re going to not change your clothes, and you’re going to do whatever you need to do. We’re going to have a great evening.”
If he says that enough, maybe one of them will start to believe it.
They make it out of the house four minutes after their proposed deadline, and Jackson kindly lets Aaron drive. He’s been in the car with Jackson driving a handful of times and it’s one of the scariest things he’s ever witnessed in his entire life. When Aaron accuses him of being an insane driver, Jackson swears he doesn’t drive like a crazy speed demon. It’s the other people on the road who are the problem, he says. Aaron tells him he’s full of shit and should have been a Formula One driver.
So now Aaron drives. It’s a compromise that keeps everyone happy.
A minor traffic accident on the highway makes them thirteen minutes late to dinner at Bastien’s restaurant.
His heartbeat rockets up a notch as they stand outside the door. He’s not feeling as outwardly calm now that he’s here and they’re late. No one likes people who are late. It’s rude.
Jackson finds his hand long enough to give it a hard squeeze. “Like ripping off a Band- Aid,” says Jackson. “We go in on the count of three.”
His family is waiting for them, and not one of them looks in any way intimidating. Both Anna and Louis stand up to hug him and shake his hand, saying they’re glad to see him again. Things are a little awkward at first, with everyone crowded into the booth and wondering what can and shouldn’t be said. They make polite small talk while sipping at their drinks, and it’s a little stilted. It’s like being at those big dinner meals at their reunion.
It’s Laurence who breaks the tension once the appetizers have all been served—not by Bastien, who’s sitting in the booth eating with them this time. He plucks a tart from one of the various plates.
“So,” he says, “is the escort business better here or in California?”
“Laurence!”
Aaron laughs at the indignant look on Laurence’s face upon hearing the angry chorus of voices.
“What?” asks Laurence. “It’s a valid question.” He looks at Aaron. “Jackson said you’re staying for a while. He said your dogs are even going to be here in like a week or something. That sounds kind of long-term to me. I didn’t think you’d stop working while you’re here.”
There’s another chorus of “Laurence!”
Aaron waves his hand. “It’s a perfectly fine question. I will be working while I’m here, and the business is about the same so far in terms of money and the amount of clients I get. Dates are a little bit different. Lot of charity deals.”
Once he’s shown that the topic is acceptable, he’s flooded with questions, and the elephant in the room is removed. Dinner is much smoother after that, and he can feel Jackson relaxing against him as the night continues on. Whenever he glances over, Jackson has a pleased expression on his face. He’s smiling a lot, laughing.
When Jackson isn’t gesturing with his hand, it’s resting on Aaron’s thigh beneath the table, fingers absently rubbing. Things are definitely going to be better than okay.
JACKSON CAN’T believe how well dinner went. He knows he’s saying it over and over again, because Aaron’s got that completely charmed look on his face he gets when Jackson rambles. But he can’t help himself. It just went so well. His mom pulled him aside after dinner to tell him how glad she is that he’s happy and how fantastic Aaron is. And she apologized. That nearly sent him into shock. She said she was sorry for pressuring him about getting back out there. She ruined it a little by insinuating he wouldn’t have met Aaron if she hadn’t been pushy, and despite the many holes in that logic, he lets her have it. Who knows, maybe he wouldn’t have met Aaron if it weren’t for her trying to hook him up with everyone and their mother’s sons and daughters.
He’s so busy thinking about how he was worrying for nothing, he doesn’t realize they’re not going back to his house till they’ve been in the car for at least twenty minutes longer than they needed to be.
“Where are we going?” he asks, breaking off midway through a story from dinner that he was telling like Aaron wasn’t there for it.
“A friend of mine from school has an art studio a little outside the city. He’s letting us borrow it for the night. And don’t worry. James is picking up Maxwell to watch him for the night.”
Jackson furrows his brows in confusion. Aaron’s expression is looking very smug. He’s got something sneaky planned. “Why do we need to borrow his studio when we have a perfectly fine house to sleep in?”
Aaron smiles fondly, side-eyeing him and huffing. “Always with the questions. Have I let you down yet?”
“No,” says Jackson. “But that doesn’t make me want to know what’s going on any less.” If anything, it makes him want to know even more.
Aaron rolls his eyes. “We’ll be there in like ten minutes. You can wait that long. Why don’t you tell me again about how much your mom likes me?”
Jackson hopes his face shows how unimpressed that distraction tactic makes him feel. He cranks up the radio and sings along obnoxiously loud to every song that comes on. Maybe he can make Aaron laugh so hard that he’ll be forced to pull over and gasp out his plan. It’s a long shot, but at least it’s an entertaining attempt.
The “studio” turns out to be a massive garage-like building set in the middle of an acre or so of land. It’s a little sketchy-looking, but Jackson’s seen stranger from artists. He has to grit his teeth to keep from asking questions as Aaron opens the door überslowly because sometimes he likes to be an obnoxious tease. The lights are off inside, and Jackson can’t see a damned thing once Aaron finally lets him through the door.
“Wait here,” says Aaron. His voice echoes in the cavernous space. So do his footsteps.
Jackson waits, and it’s only for a minute at most, but it feels like forever. The lights flicker on slowly, and he stares at the scene before him. There’s a mattress in the middle of the room, with a sheet thrown over it, and buckets of paint on either side.
“Um,” he says. They could just go home and have sex on their bed? He doesn’t get what’s so special about a mattress on an art studio floor. Maybe…. “Is your friend here? ’Cause I’m not really comfortable with us being photographed like that.” Read: it’s not going to happen in a million years.
Aaron makes a horrified face that Jackson can see from across the room. “No, oh my God. Just… check out the bed, yeah? You’ll figure it out.”
He approaches the mattress, and it still looks like just a mattress with white sheets and white pillows on top. They don’t look special in any way. He has to be missing something. He paces around the bed twice before he thinks to look at the paint cans. He squints his eyes and crouches to get a closer look. Glow-in-the-dark paint. He looks from the paint to the bed and finally over to a pleased-looking Aaron.
“I think I’ve got it now.” He can’t help but grin. This is going to be so much fun. He’s heard about people doing this, but he never has. And he’s always wanted to.
Aaron laughs. “About time. Why don’t you open up those cans, and I’ll turn off the lights.”
He starts to pry open the paint cans. “This place has a shower right?” he thinks to ask.
“Yeah, don’t worry.”
“And your friend is totally cool with this?”
“He offered the place right up.”
Well that’s all of Jackson’s doubts assuaged. He pops the last lid off, and not a moment later the room is pitch-black again. He strips while Aaron tries to find his way to the bed in the darkness, and he’s waiting for him on the sheets when he finally makes it. The sound of Aaron removing his clothes is loud in the still air.
It’s even louder when they drag the paint cans closer to the bed.
Aaron lowers down on top of Jackson, kisses from the hinge of his jaw all the way to his lips. “We’re going to make such a mess,” he says, rolling to his back and bringing Jackson with him. His hand flails out toward a paint can. “I’ve got some ideas about what I can draw on you.” He bucks his hips up hard enough to send Jackson bouncing. “You’ll get to see marks from everywhere I touch you.”
Jackson kisses him and reaches for the paint at the same time. If Aaron keeps talking, he’s going to completely forget about the paint and go right for the sex. And he doesn’t want to do that. He has big plans. He’s totally going to write “mine” in big bold letters on Aaron’s back. And he knows the perfect way to get Aaron on his front. He’ll get to that in a minute, though. He’s not quite done with Aaron’s mouth.