Bound and Determined (36 page)

hours at that point. Jake and Gary lived about eight blocks away, but Sterling

was so busy watching Owen as he drove that he never would have been able to

find his way back.

“What?” Owen said, glancing at him.

“I don't know,” Sterling said honestly. “I was just thinking…you look

different today.”

Owen spared a moment to glance down at himself. He was wearing black

pants and a forest green shirt in a fabric mimicking suede that made Sterling

want to pet him because it felt so touchable. His long overcoat was black too,

hanging open, and a heavy silk scarf patterned in green and silver was around

his neck. “You don't like what I'm wearing?” he asked, sounding surprised but

not particularly offended. “Too much? Jake and Gary are theater people; they

tease the hell out of me if I show up looking like a teacher. One whiff of a tweed

jacket with leather elbow patches and they swear they'll tear my name out of

their little black book.”

“It's not that,” Sterling said. “Wait, there are people who actually have

little black books? I thought those went out of fashion, like, a hundred years

ago.”

Looking like he was stifling a grin, Owen rolled his eyes. “Yes, thanks—

that's exactly what this relationship needs, yet another reminder of the age

discrepancy.”

Sterling laughed. “Uh-huh, and you definitely don't sound like an English

professor. Just see if you can keep from quoting Shakespeare.”

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“Well, if I start looking like I might, distract me,” Owen said as he pulled

the car into the driveway beside a small but immaculately kept house with

modern lines and shut it off.

“How should I do that?” This was fun, Sterling thought. Really different

from how most of their time together had gone, but definitely not in a bad way.

Owen gave him a sidelong glance coupled with a wicked curl of his lips.

“Getting naked is a classic. And don't think I haven't noticed that 'different' still

lacks a definition. If I was in full on teacher mode, I might be about to bring out

my cane, so get ready to placate me, and no, an apple won't come close.”

“What about cheesecake?” Sterling reached into the backseat and tried to

snag the box, but it was too heavy and the paper box too flimsy for it to survive

being picked up that way. He got out of the car and opened the rear door,

leaning in and sliding a hand underneath the box to support it like that. “Are

you
sure
it's okay with them that I'm coming?”

“For the tenth time, yes,” Owen said, shutting his own door, two bottles of

wine tucked under his arm. “If it hadn't been, I'd have stayed at the house with

you, but this will be more fun.”

As if on cue, the front door opened. A tall man with white blond hair stood

in the open doorway. “Well, look who finally decided to turn up!”

Sterling followed a smiling Owen up to the doorway, a polite smile fixed on

his face, but feeling horribly awkward. Any other day and it wouldn't have

mattered so much, but this was Christmas and a formal dinner, and he knew

from watching his mother prepare that an extra guest at the last minute was

about as welcome as an infestation of roaches.

“Gary, if you want me to grovel, I will, but we both know that I've only

missed the first round of cocktails, because I'd have to be six feet under to be

late for one of your meals.”

Owen managed to give Gary a warm hug without dropping the wine he

held, and before Sterling could begin to apologize for being there, he'd been

swept inside the house, divested of cheesecake and coat, and Gary was giving

him a welcoming smile coupled with a swift look up and down.

“Tell me you act. I could use you—”

“For all manner of things, I'm sure, but you promised to behave.” Jake

swept into the hallway and struck a pose theatrical enough to make Sterling

blink and then, when Jake winked at him, grin. Jake, like Gary, was maybe in

his midforties, short and dapper, his dark hair silvered at the temples, his

bright blue eyes sparkling. “Owen, my sweet, I know you told us this young

man's name, but introduce us properly so that he knows we're civilized and

don't bite. Well, not our guests, anyway.”

“That's more Owen's thing anyway, I think,” Gary said, grinning and

batting his eyelashes.

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153

“This is Sterling.” Owen put a hand on Sterling's shoulder. “And this blond

devil is Gary, who I assure you isn't anywhere near as clean-cut as he pretends

to be. And this is Jake, who runs the show.”

“In every sense of the word,” Gary said. “And speaking of the show…”

“I actually have done some acting,” Sterling told him, since he could tell

the conversation was headed back in that direction anyway. “Mostly small

parts, because I got into it late.” There was this whole hierarchy thing that had

gone on in high school drama. Of course, college theater could be a totally

different animal—he hadn't had much free time in which to find out, or maybe

that was just an excuse.

“Well, let me tell you about our little group.” Gary put an arm around his

shoulders and started to guide him toward the kitchen, which smelled

fantastic. “Owen, you don't mind if I borrow him for just a bit, do you?”

Sterling glanced back over his shoulder, not worried that the answer

would be yes, since this wasn't the club and Owen wasn't giving off a single

possessive vibe, but needing the reassurance of a last look because who knew

how long it would be before he got to be alone with Owen again.

“I'll bear up under the loss if Jake gives me something else to nibble on.”

Owen patted his stomach and gave Jake a plaintive look. “We pretty much

skipped breakfast.”

Gary brought Sterling to a halt. “Seriously? No breakfast?”

“Coffee and a muffin,” Sterling offered. “We, uh, we were up late, and we

sort of overslept.”

Gary chuckled and started walking again, taking Sterling with him.

“Mmm-hmm. Occupational hazard with Owen, I bet.”

That made no sense, and Sterling was left wondering just how many

cocktails Gary had had, though his eyes, a startling green that might have

been natural but was probably contacts, were clear enough.

The kitchen was spotless and chaotic all at once, every counter strewn

with pots and spoons and chopping boards, every burner on the stove in use.

The kitchen's color scheme was deep blue, butter yellow, and black, the long,

curved granite counters like slices of sky. It managed to be both striking and

homey, and the familiar smell of cooking did as much as his hosts' instant

acceptance to make Sterling relax even before a lethal-looking drink was put

into his hand.

“Um, no,” Owen said, appearing at Sterling's elbow and taking the glass

back out of his hand.

“It's Christmas!” Sterling protested. “And you gave me a drink last night.”

“That doesn't change anything; those were entirely different

circumstances, and I said no.” Owen gave him the stern look that meant there

was no point in arguing, and Sterling let it go. It wasn't like he needed a

drink—he was going to relax, have a nice day, and try not to think about where

he should have been today, and it would be fine.

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Jake was watching Owen with a knowing expression. “Just how old
is
this

boy, Owen?”

Sterling's first instinct was to answer, but Owen was the one who'd been

asked and probably wouldn't appreciate Sterling butting in even if the

conversation
was
about him.

“Almost twenty-one,” Owen said. “And I know what you're thinking—yes,

I'm considerably too old for him. But he's very stubborn and refuses to accept

it.”

“Darn right I do,” Sterling said and slipped an arm around Owen's waist.

Owen put an arm around him too and kissed his temple, and Sterling wasn't

sure that anything else really mattered.

“Owen calling someone else stubborn?” Gary shook his head and gave

Sterling an impish grin. “You must be the original immovable object.”

“I'm not really… Well, maybe a little bit.” Sterling shrugged. “I just have a

hard time when people say no if it's something I want.”

Jake had an intrigued look on his face as he walked over to the fridge. “So

doesn't that make things difficult?” He opened the fridge and took out two cans

of soda, Coke and ginger ale, holding them up with an inquiring lift of his

eyebrows.

“Coke, please,” Sterling said, accepting it from him. Owen's arm tightened

in a hug, and then he walked away to scoop up a handful of nuts from a bowl

on the counter, popping them into his mouth one by one, the drink he'd taken

from Sterling discreetly abandoned behind a tall pepper grinder. Sterling

opened the Coke and took a grateful sip, needing the caffeine. “If you mean, do

we argue about stuff, no, not much.”

Owen rolled his eyes but didn't comment. Jake screwed up his face. “Are

you
allowed
to argue with him?”

Sterling felt a blush crawl up over his face. With someone like Alex, he

didn't mind discussing what he did with Owen. Alex was part of that world; he

understood, but this was different. He took an unwisely large gulp of his drink,

swallowed the wrong way, and choked on the mouthful of fizz.

“Did I put my foot in it?” Jake asked with an anxious look at Owen. “Isn't

he one of your, uh, sandwiches?”

“You don't need to use code words around him,” Owen said with more

calm than Sterling would have expected. “And that one's totally ridiculous, by

the way.”

“I told him that,” Gary put in, “but he has delusions of being funny. Or

007.”

“Bond,” Jake said, deadpan. “Jake Bond.”

“Delusion being the key word,” Gary said, grinning.

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155

It had taken Sterling that long to translate “sandwich” into “sub.” “Yes,” he

said finally. “I'm his, um, sandwich. But I'm still allowed to argue. Sometimes.”

He looked at Owen for confirmation.

“It depends on the circumstances,” Owen agreed. “Today, he's just my

boyfriend.”

“Except for the part where you get to decide if he drinks or not.” Gary

pointed this out hesitantly, like he wasn't sure how deep into this he wanted to

get. Sterling couldn't blame him.

“The law says he can't drink. Last night was an exception for medicinal

purposes.” Owen rubbed his hands together. “Now, what can we help with?”

This was clearly an attempt to change the subject, but it turned out to be

an attempt that Jake and Gary both ignored. “So if you're the boyfriend, this is

serious,” Jake said.

“Um,” Sterling said and looked at Owen.

“Come on, sweetheart—you can answer for yourself,” Gary told him. “If

you can't say what you're thinking on Christmas Day, when
can
you?”

“Thanks,” Sterling said, realizing he hadn't told them that yet. “For letting

me tag along. I really appreciate it.”

Gary waved a dismissive hand. “You'd have been invited anyway if we'd

known you existed, and besides”—the look Sterling got was a kind one, making

him wonder just how much Owen had told them—“you're not the only one here

with parents inclined to take certain news badly. We're happy to meet you—

and an extra pair of hands to help clean up later is
always
welcome.”

Looking at the clutter of dishes, Sterling could see why. The rest of the

house, from the little he'd seen, was immaculate, but the kitchen was a mess.

The tantalizing smells wafting around it made up for the tidying up to come,

though.

“Now, are you going to answer the question?” Jake said archly.

“You mean is it serious?” Sterling asked. “Um. I think that depends on

who you ask. It is on my end.” He was a little afraid to look at Owen, not sure

he'd like the expression he'd see.

“But he did refer to you as 'the boyfriend,' even if it's an on-again off-again

sort of thing.” Gary was taking some vegetables that were probably for salad

out of the refrigerator. “He wouldn't use that word unless there was something

serious going on.”

“You could let me answer for myself,” Owen said mildly. “Here, let me take

those. Do you want them cut up?”

“'Cut' is for Philistines,” Jake said. “We want them julienned.”

Grinning at Owen, Sterling said, “I can do that,” and Gary passed him a

cutting board made of stripes of pale and dark wood.

“So what
is
your answer, Owen?” Gary raised an eyebrow and slid a knife

across the countertop toward Sterling.

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“You know, I think you forgot the olives,” Owen said. “You promised me