Winter Ball (24 page)

THAT NIGHT
Skip kept the lights off and managed to make it slow. He kissed every inch, sucked on every pleasure point, hit every spot. When Richie begged, he gave, and when Richie demanded, he took. By the time he was done, they were both drenched in sweat, even in the chill of the room, and Richie was lying limply across his stomach.

“Skip?”

“Yeah?”

“Not that I’m complaining about that or anything, but you’ve got the job.”

Skip smiled. “Excellent. It’s gonna be a while before I can apply again anyway.”

Richie rolled off of him and flopped over on his back. “You’ve said that before, but I’m telling you, that thing does not seem to be defective in any way.”

Skip grinned into the darkness. “Well, maybe you’re just a master mechanic, you know that?”

Richie sat up—just sat right up in bed. “You know what?”

“What?” Skip asked, rolling over to one elbow.

“I
am
a master mechanic. I mean, I
am
.”

Skip smiled and rubbed Richie’s stomach, just for fun. “I know. You took all the classes, Richie. I mean, I stayed in the tech department, but you’ve got way more mechanic’s classes under your belt.”

Richie nodded. “Yeah, but I was applying for all those jobs in my sport coat and slacks and shit, and I wanted the job
you
had.”

Skip wrinkled his nose. “The job I have is sort of boring.” He’d been thinking about this ever since playing golf with Carpenter’s friends. “I mean, I’ve been thinking about going back to school, maybe getting a business degree or something. Maybe even….” He smiled shyly, because he’d been talking to Thomas about this during beers. “You know, a real degree, and a teaching certificate.”

Richie looked at him, eyes wide. “Oh, Skip—I think that would be… I mean, not easy, because… you know….”

“Gay. I hear you. But it’s getting easier, right? But that’s not for a while. I’m sorry, I interrupted. Tell me what
you
want. And it’s not to wear a suit or a polo shirt or any shit like that.”

Richie nodded excitedly. “See? You hit it on the head. I think I need to ditch the suit and go get me a real job.”

Five days before Christmas Eve, he went out wearing a nice sweater and jeans. He showed up at Skip’s work just in time to meet Skip and Carpenter as they left the building for lunch. He was so excited he was hopping on his toes. He’d gotten a job managing an auto parts store, making twice as much as he’d made for his father.

Skip picked him up—just scooped him up and whirled him around in front of Tesko. Richie held out his arms and pretended to fly, and just as Carpenter was snapping a picture that he swore he was sending to his parents, a good-looking guy with silver wings in his dark hair wearing a suit that probably cost Skip’s mortgage walked past them.

He paused as Skip let Richie slide down to the touch the ground, though, and Skip caught his gaze and blushed.

“Schipperke!” Mason said, genuine enthusiasm in his voice. “And this must be Richie?”

“Yessir,” Skip said, happy. “Come meet him. Richie, this is Mason—”

“Gentleman Caller,” Richie said dryly, since they’d taken to calling him that before the chance meeting on the golf course. “Pleased to meet you.” He stepped forward to shake hands, though, and Mason smiled at him pleasantly.

“Yeah—it’s good to see you here. Last time we talked, Skip was missing you something fierce.”

Richie’s smile was unguarded, so broad it was almost goofy. “Well, we live together now, so I’m lucky he’s not sick of me.”

Mason inclined his head and met Skip’s eyes gravely. “Good,” he said softly. “You… Richie, you keep hold of this one. He’s a good one.”

Richie nodded. “You think I don’t know that?” Richie looked up at Skip with what Skip could only call adoration, and Skip blushed. “He’s the
best
one.” He smiled at Mason guilelessly. “Which you probably guessed since you kept trying to hit on him.”

Mason laughed. “True story. But now I’ve got no more excuses.”

“Nossir, I don’t suppose you do. This one’s mine. Get your own.”

Carpenter let out a slow guffaw behind them, and Skip blushed. “Uhm, Richie, that’s not necessary. Mason?”

“Yeah, Schipperke?”

“Oh God—I’m going to start yapping when you do that. I was just thinking—I mean, you said your folks were back east this Christmas and it was you and Dane. You, er, you’re both welcome to our place Christmas Eve. We’ve got a bunch of guys from our soccer club, and their girlfriends, and Jefferson’s mother—”

“I did not know she was coming,” Carpenter said, sounding impressed. “Well done, Skipper. Jefferson will love you forever.”

“Yeah, well, he wanted to get out of the house,” Skip said, remembering their brief, intense conversation after the game—and their time at Disneyland, when Jefferson had seemed to need to be free and happy almost as bad as Richie.

“So, party at your place?” Mason said, interrupting wistfully.

It was almost like he needed friends.

Well, Skipper knew the feeling. “Absolutely. Call me after lunch, okay? I’ll give you the address. Dates welcome—it’s a small place, but we’re friendly.”

And Mason Hayes, erstwhile pain in Skip’s ass, became a friend. “Well, it’s good to have friends,” he said, shaking on it. “I’ll get your details after lunch. Now go—you’re going to be late!”

“Yessir!”

They took off at a jog then, and Carpenter kept up. A slicing, soaring wind swooped out of the sky and between the buildings, and Skip, who was in the lead, was just so damned happy that he spread his arms like wings and whooped like a little kid flying down the sidewalk.

As he approached the sandwich place, he looked into the plate glass and saw Richie and Carpenter behind him, arms outstretched too. He laughed as he grabbed the door, and gave them crap for being his flock of loons, but the truth was, he felt like a real Skipper.

Somehow he’d sailed his team to a really happy place.

SO THEY
had company, and something to celebrate come Christmas Eve. They gave their guests bread baskets (with more bread) and cookies, and it turned out that the fire pit and the outdoor furniture had been a really good idea. The lot of them ended up outside roasting marshmallows, singing Christmas songs quietly into the night. Carpenter crashed on the couch—he was going to visit his family in the morning—but everybody else went home, and Skip and Richie were left whispering in the quiet of their room deep into the night.

“So Jefferson was interesting,” Richie said, eyes alight in the glow from the strings of Christmas lights coming in through the window.

“What was interesting about Jefferson?” Skip asked, yawning.

“He and Mason were
totally
flirting!”

Skip grunted. “Bullshit! Jefferson’s not gay!”

Richie laughed, low and gurgling, probably trying not to wake Carpenter. “Oh yeah, and I’m sure he said the same thing about us for, like,
years
.”

Skip thought about it and chuckled. “Well, yeah. But we
were
gay. We just didn’t know it.”

“We knew it,” Richie said, nodding. “Every time I think about that conversation in the car and how you thought you just didn’t get hard—man, that was a
big
lie. You were just undressing the wrong people with your mind, that’s all.”

Skip’s grin was
not
going away. “Yeah, right. So now I’m a horndog and I won’t leave you alone. You complaining?”

Richie shook his head and buried his face in the comforter, apparently too happy about their sex lives over this past month to even pretend it hadn’t been awesome. “Not complaining,” he said, voice dropping. Then: “So when do we put out Carpenter’s present?”

They’d gotten him brand-new shin guards and pads, because he’d been wearing Skip’s old gear for the whole season. They’d also gotten him a soccer ball with little hamburgers over it, so he could take comfort in the fact that they knew him for his weaknesses and still loved him.

“Give it another half hour,” Skip said. “And let me go—”

“’Cause you’ve got a gift for me you want to put under the tree,” Richie said, nodding.

Skip grunted. “It’s nothing that big.” It wasn’t, really—some books with home improvement ideas, and two tickets to go skiing in February, because home improvement was great but sometimes going someplace fun was good too.

Richie smiled beatifically, like a little kid, and stroked Skip’s cheek with that one knuckle. “It’ll be great. You’re good at gifts. Everybody loved the baskets with the cookies and the bread.”

Skip caught his hand and kissed
all
the knuckles. “Well, it’s fun to give presents. Fun to have someone to give them to.”

Richie sobered. “It’s okay, right? The thing I got for you?” he asked for the umpteenth time. He’d actually talked it over with Skip, because he’d been afraid Skip would be depressed or disappointed or something. “I mean, I know you wanted a dog, but I figured I’d get you… you know, dog trappings, and we could go find a dog at the shelter and sort of fall in love with him.”

He moved so he could rest his head on Skip’s shoulder, and Skip toyed with his recently shorn ringlets. Oh how he hoped Richie would let it grow long again, now that he was starting his job on the twenty-sixth.

“No, that’s fine,” Skip whispered back. His chest was filled with the most delicious sort of contentment, the sort of suffused sweetness that was
definitely
not the marshmallows. “That’s a really good idea.”

“You think?” Richie rolled over and propped his chin up with his fist, regarding Skip intently, and their chattering over Christmas suddenly became very serious. Skip had known—even though Richie hadn’t said a word—that he’d been hoping his father would relent and show up tonight after all. Ike hadn’t shown and Richie hadn’t complained, but it was the sort of hurt Skipper couldn’t take away.

This worry, though.
This
worry, he could definitely manage.

“Yeah,” Skip said decisively. “You know, we can get to know a dog really, really well before we bring him home. Sort of like with us.”

“With us?” In the glow from the Christmas lights out front, Skip could see Richie’s lips twitch.

“Yeah.
We
knew each other really well before we decided to play house, so we’ll do that with a dog.”

Richie squinted at him. “I’m not sure if you’re kidding or not.”

Skip laughed, not sure himself. “It worked out,” he said, eyes twinkling.

“Yeah,” Richie said with some satisfaction. “It did. Merry Christmas, Skip. Here’s to rec league soccer and a brand-new year.”

“And to teammates who play for the other team,” Skip said, knowing he was earning himself a pillow smack in the head.

Richie kissed him instead, and that was even better.

A Tale of the Curious Cookbook

Emmett Gant was planning to tell his father something really important one Sunday morning—but his father passed away first. Now, nearly three years later, Emmett can’t seem to clear up who he should be with—the girl with the apple cheeks and the awesome family, or his snarky neighbor, Keegan, who never sees his family but who makes Emmett really happy just by coming over to chat.

Emmett needs clarity.

Fortunately for Emmett, his best friend’s mom has a cookbook that promises to give Emmett insight and good food, and Emmett is intrigued. After the cookbook follows him home, Emmett and Keegan decide to make the recipe “For Clarity,” and what ensues is both very clear—and a little surprising, especially to Emmett’s girlfriend. Emmett is going to have to think hard about his past and the really important thing he forgot to tell his father if he wants to get the recipe for love just right.

When Teyth was but a child, a cruel prince took over his village, building a great granite tower to rule over the folk. Greedy and capricious, the man will be the bane of Teyth’s existence as an adult, but as a boy, Teyth is too busy escaping his stepfather to worry about his ruler.