lap. Then he put his arms around his shoulders and kissed him on the lips. “You don’t ever have to say thank you to me for having sex with you,” he said. He kissed him again
and said, “Now take off your shirt.”
“Take off my shirt?”
“Yes,” Jonathan said. “I’m going to pre-soak the stain and put it in the washing
machine for you, because I know you’re never going to do it yourself. And after that, I’m
going to go back to my hotel and get some sleep.” He lifted the shirt and pulled it over
Ed’s head.
“You don’t want to spend the night?” Ed asked. There was a confused expression
on his face.
Jonathan ran his fingertips up and down the back of his neck and said, “We both
got what we wanted tonight.”
“We did?”
Jonathan reached for the handle and opened the Range Rover’s back door. Then
he looked Ed in the eye and said, “I’d rather not talk about spending the night. Not after
you kicked me out the last time we did this and I thought I was going to spend the night.
We had a good time tonight. Let’s not ruin it and get into a fight again.”
Ed’s eyes grew wide and he pressed his palm to his chest. “Ah well,” he said.
Then he looked at Jonathan’s naked body and asked, “Aren’t you going to put your
clothes on to walk back to the house?”
He stepped out of the car and smiled. “There’s no one home, and it’s so dark no
one can see me out here. I’ll get dressed before I leave. Would you get my clothes in the
front seat and bring them in for me?” Then he slowly went to the back door naked, with Ed’s shirt pressed to his chest. There was huge smile on his face; he wiggled his hips on
purpose. He didn’t rush, because he knew Ed was staring at his ass the entire time.
Chapter Six
By the day before Thanksgiving, the old landscaping had been removed and new
plantings had been professionally arranged. They’d worked fast to get it all in before
Thanksgiving. Ed had decided to keep things simple: rows of neatly trimmed, round
boxwoods surrounded the house now, and a few of the original shrubs had been pruned
and saved. He wanted to model everything after his house in East Hampton. The
California landscaper hadn’t been thrilled, but Jonathan had completely agreed.
Ed wasn’t a huge fan of complicated flower gardens; he liked things to look
uncluttered and in Yankee good taste. The house next door had rows of mums flanking
the front walk, and he thought they looked like the buttons on a clown suit. The house
across the street had too many palms and fruit trees; he thought they looked plastic and
garish. Ed didn’t even want garden ornaments or statues. When the landscape designer
cautiously suggested two large urns for both sides of the front door to add texture, Ed
agreed, with the stipulation that the urns would contain two more round boxwoods
instead of flowers. Ed was determined to create a monochromatic look with a limited
plant palette so the house would stand out above everything else in its setting.
And when the landscapers pulled away that day, he stood at the curb with his
arms folded across his chest and smiled. The original architecture that had been hidden
behind overgrown shrubbery for so many years shined in the afternoon sunlight. The terra
cotta roof offered movement and dimension, and the white stucco walls added texture and
light. The iron gate at the arched entrance that led to a small courtyard provided a focal
point from the street. When he looked up at the round tower in the center of the house, it popped forward and anchored everything, connecting the north wing to the south wing
with little effort.
And the new plantings were perfect. Each round boxwood was an exact replica of
the one next to it, and the two in the urns beside the front door were slightly smaller in
scale. For the first time since he’d moved to San Francisco, Ed finally felt like he was
almost home.
But it wasn’t all perfect. It was the day before Thanksgiving; his second
Thanksgiving without Jake. And he was missing him so much his stomach ached. Since
Jake had been gone, the same hollow feeling that invaded his entire body before all major
holidays came back in full force.
To make things worse, he’d agreed to celebrate Thanksgiving with the two guys
who owned the guest house where Lisa and Noah were staying during the construction.
Lisa had become so friendly with them, she’d added them to her Facebook page and her
Twitter account. She text-messaged them all the time and invited them for dinner once a
week. Noah liked them, too. So Ed didn’t have much of a choice. But if it had been up to
him, he would have gone out to dinner, because the thought of spending Thanksgiving
day with a happy gay couple only kept him awake longer each night.
Jonathan was a part of all this, too, and he’d been invited to Thanksgiving dinner
with everyone else. He seemed to be everywhere; Noah never stopped mentioning his
name. Jonathan and Lisa had become new best friends forever. They shopped together on
weekends, took Noah on kid-friendly outings, and did power walks through the park with
Tucker. When Noah came home and ran to tell Ed about their latest excursion, Ed smiled
and listened closely. But he often felt disconnected and out of place. He knew he shouldn’t feel this way. Whenever they went somewhere, they always asked if he wanted
to go with them, but he’d shrug his shoulders and make up an excuse about finishing a
project at the house. Sometimes Noah even begged him to come along. Jonathan would
stand there with a raised eyebrow and his head tilted sideways, waiting for Ed’s answer.
When Ed said no, Noah’s shoulders would sink into his chest and he’d shake his head
and frown.
Ed couldn’t figure Jonathan out for anything. He’d watch him closely while they
shot film clips for the television show. When the camera was turned on, Jonathan didn’t
fake his smiles and he didn’t raise his voice with an exaggerated lilt like some of the
awful hosts he’d watched on home improvement shows. He didn’t try to act and he didn’t
drop his sentences. With Jonathan, it was all natural and simple; he didn’t even wear
makeup. He talked to the camera and explained each step of the renovation as if he were
talking to one person face to face. When there was a problem with something, he knew
how to build the tension and conflict to keep his audience interested. He was young,
handsome, and talented. He could have had any man—or woman; they loved him—he
wanted. Not to even mention the fact that he had some guy, Mike, off in England who
supposedly adored him. So why on Earth did he let Ed do the things he did to him?
It made no sense. Ed and Jonathan were together every day of the week,
sometimes until very late at night. When the contractors were working and the crew was
filming, they treated each other like virtual strangers. Ed would ask a banal question like,
“Do you think you should get a clip of me sanding the door?” and Jonathan would nod
and reply, “I think that would be good, Ed.” And when they were with Lisa and Noah, they behaved like distant friends who
hadn’t seen each other in years. They stood far apart, as if there was always an invisible
person between them, and rarely looked each other in the eye. Noah even asked Ed once,
“Don’t you like Jonathan?” Ed had replied, “Of course I like Jonathan. He’s great. Why
would you ask me that?” Noah tilted his head and lowered his eyebrows. He said,
“Because you always seem to be in a bad mood when he’s around.”
But Ed wasn’t in a bad mood when he was alone with Jonathan, because the sex
continued.
It was always fast and rushed and furtive, with heavy breathing and rapid
heartbeats. Ed wanted to stop, but he couldn’t control himself. And it often happened
more than once in the same day, without a set pattern. There were days when Jonathan
would arrive before the contractors and the crew. He’d say good morning to Ed, then fall
to his knees, pull down Ed’s zipper, and blow him on the back steps and finish him off
with his hand. Later that same day, everyone would break for lunch and Jonathan would
give him a look, then run his tongue across his bottom lip and Ed would be on top of him.
He’d push him up against a door frame, pull down his pants, and nail him to the wall.
They’d both climax fast, and Ed would put his dick away and Jonathan would pull up his
pants and make believe nothing had happened. At the end of every single work day, when
everyone went home, Ed would walk up behind Jonathan, pull down his pants again, and
bang him over the kitchen counter for five minutes. Jonathan never said no. It reached a
point where Ed always carried at least four or five lubricated condoms in his pocket just
to be sure he was prepared. On Thanksgiving, Ed got out of bed slowly. It was after eleven, and he’d been
lying there staring at the ceiling since five. His leg muscles were sore because he’d
fucked Jonathan in a weird position the night before. Jonathan had come back to the
house to see the finished landscaping after dinner. It was well past nine, already dark
outside. When he’d leaned over to get a closer look at the urns next to the front door, Ed
put his hand down the back of his pants and shoved him into a small alcove at the front
entrance. He pulled off all Jonathan’s clothes and threw them over his shoulder down the
front walk. When Jonathan was naked, he pulled down Ed’s zipper and opened his pants.
Then he put his arms around Ed’s shoulders and jumped up and wrapped his legs around
Ed’s waist. Ed’s short pants fell to the ground and he kicked them off his feet, then he
pushed Jonathan against the front door and fucked him there. Jonathan locked his ankles
together at the small of Ed’s back and hung from his shoulders; they kissed and sucked
tongues until they both climaxed. Then Jonathan kissed him goodbye, gathered his
clothes, and drove back to the hotel naked.
Ed had experienced a wild climax that night—it made his knees tremble and his
tongue fall from the side of his mouth. But it hadn’t been easy. He’d had to bend his
knees and rest his weight on his legs to keep his footing. Now the muscles in his shins
were killing him. He’d never fucked anyone in that position, and he hadn’t used those leg
muscles in years.
He was tired that morning, too. There were dark circles under his eyes and he
noticed a few lines at the corners. He’d only slept about two hours the previous night. He
couldn’t stop thinking about spending Thanksgiving with a gay couple who were
practically strangers. This was one of those times he wished he hadn’t rented his house in the Hamptons out for a whole year. They all could have flown back east for the weekend,
and Ed could have visited Jake’s grave.
After coffee, he filled the old tub with hot water and soaked for a long time. He
usually took showers, but he figured the hot water would help his leg muscles. An hour
later, he shaved and dressed. He pulled a white polo shirt and a pair of olive slacks from
his closet. When he passed the table next to his bedroom door, he stared down at a small
drawer containing a new box of condoms. He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow, then
reached into the drawer and pulled a couple out of the box. He shoved them into his back
pocket. He didn’t think he’d need them, but with Jonathan around he couldn’t be sure.
By the time he reached the guest house, it was almost three in the afternoon. They
were supposed to go next door to the main house at three for an early dinner. He took a
deep breath and parked behind Jonathan’s rented car. It wasn’t anything special; just a
gray SUV with a bent California tag. But there was something about it that looked better
than any other car on the road. And when he went into the house and saw Jonathan sitting
in the middle of the living room floor playing a board game with Noah, he smiled for the
first time that day.
Tucker barked and ran to greet him; Noah stopped playing the game and followed
Tucker. While Noah hugged Ed and Tucker dancer around their legs, Jonathan stood up
and smiled. He was wearing tight black pants and a white dress shirt. He crossed the
living room, extended his right hand, and said, “Happy Thanksgiving, Ed.”
Ed grabbed his hand and swallowed back hard. “You, too,” he said. Noah went back to his game, but Jonathan stood there staring at Ed’s chest. He
reached out and touched the left side of his shirt and asked, “Is this the same shirt with
the wine stain?”
