Empty Nests (21 page)

“That’s good to know. I promise I’ll do my best to step carefully with him.”

“Good. I want him to be happy. And if you ever hurt him, I’ll take a baseball bat to your legs, starting with your feet and working up.”

“When I made that threat to my sister’s boyfriend, I said I’d use a tire iron.”

“Was it a serious threat?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re on the same page.” Dylan took the book back. “Drive carefully.”

J
AMES
TURNED
sideways, looking at himself in the mirror. He was thin and not in a flattering way. It was probably the lack of anything resembling muscle definition. He tried sucking his stomach in, but that somehow made it worse.

He heard the front door open and shut, then Dylan coming down the short hall. “Did you threaten him?” he asked when Dylan stopped by his door.

“Only a little.”

“You said you wouldn’t.”

“That was before I found out he’s one-third owner of one of the larger, and still in the black, companies out there. I wanted to make sure he knows you’re not someone who can be played with and set aside.”

James twisted around, hoping a different angle would somehow improve the view. He wanted to scold Dylan, but lately, scolding had a habit of turning into talking, and he wasn’t ready to do that yet. And while he didn’t believe Gabe was playing with him, he also wasn’t expecting Gabe to stick around and grow old with him. James tried sucking in his stomach again.

“You know, I could set you up with an exercise plan.” James gave Dylan a sharp look. “Nothing too hardcore. A bit of stretching, some basic calisthenics?”

“I think that was a lost cause before you were even born.”

“Never too late. I just want you to be happy.”

“I am.” He was, he thought. “But we should both go to bed. It’ll be Monday soon enough.”

G
ABE
DROPPED
a bunch of papers on Nate’s desk. He knew there were a dozen people on this floor whose main purpose seemed to be to move bits of paper around, and it would have taken seconds to e-mail them, but e-mails could be hacked and traced, and low-level employees were prime perpetrators of industrial espionage.

“How’s it going?”

Gabe fell onto Nate’s couch. It was the same one that had made up the entire reception area of their first office. Nate had refused to get rid of it or move into an office much bigger than a couple of cubicles. It was some sort of reverse claustrophobia. He worked better in small, crowded spaces where at least one coffee cup was growing mold.

“Well, we might end up bribing half the
Gosduma
for the permits, but the dollar is still holding up okay against the ruble.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean how’d your special weekend go? Keeping in mind that I will interpret any reasonably positive or even noncomment as ‘you got laid.’”

“It went fine.”

Nate lifted his arms in victory.

“I still don’t see how my love life is your business.”

“I don’t want to see you have a stroke, and sex is a good form of stress relief. Now tell me how things went, because Margaret will want to know.”

“How much detail do you want?”

“Broad strokes. Very broad.”

“We had a nice relaxing dinner on Friday night. Spent a pleasant evening together. Tamyra showed up with papers before eight the next morning. On Sunday evening I went to his son’s baseball game, followed by an interesting dinner where Dylan pointed out exactly who I was and what I did, and also knew who you and Frank were.”

“And your boyfriend didn’t know who you are?”

“I may have completely forgotten to mention what I did,” Gabe mumbled. “It made for a slightly awkward moment.”

“I can see that.”

“He also threatened to break my legs with a baseball bat if I ever hurt his dad.”

“That sounds reasonable. When do Frank and I get to meet him?”

“How about never?”

“Nope. You know the rules.”

Gabe ground his teeth. “Those are old rules, and James is a nice guy.”

“The rules still apply, and you know it.”

Gabe wanted to argue, but the rules about checking over anyone he was seeing seriously were in place for a reason. That reason was named Gregory, and that mess had ended in a two-man intervention, a minor act of violence, and Gabe living with Nate and Margaret for almost three months while he got his head back together.

“Give me a little more time before you two scare him off.”

“If he’s as nice a guy as you say, he won’t get scared off. And if we let the rules slide once, we can work out an excuse for them to slip again and….”

“I know, I know.” Gabe got up, sure there was something he had to be late for. It was a chronic state these days. “Oh, by the way, according to Dylan, the online rumors are that we’re going into high-tech weapons manufacturing or something.”

Nate laughed. “We would be spectacular hypocrites if we did.”

“Look around. Hypocrisy is one of the few things people expect from corporations these days.”

J
AMES
HAD
one new message on his phone. He hadn’t heard it ring or even vibrate. He knew he should be considering getting a new one, but the alignment of the Lemon Drop really needed to come first. He dialed into his messages.

“Hi, it’s me. I’m guessing your phone is being antisocial again. If that is an 8A Phantom, you should know we recalled that phone for a reason. Anyway I just wanted to say I had a really good time this weekend. It was nice to meet Dylan, and he didn’t threaten me too much. It was also nice to have some time with just the two of us.”

Gabe’s voice dropped lower, and James felt a warm rush.

“Um… according to my schedule, I’ve got pretty much nonstop conference calls between now and whenever hell gets around to freezing over, so I don’t think I’ll be able to make it up your way.”

James tamped down the flare of disappointment. He knew there was no way Gabe could have regular lunch dates with him. He was honestly surprised to even have a phone message. He could only guess as to how much responsibility Gabe had and knew if he was in the same position, he’d be lucky to find time to breathe.

“I was wondering, there’s a hockey game this Saturday….”

“Hockey?” James said silently to himself.

“…and we’ve got this corporate box that doesn’t get nearly that much use, and there’s a game this weekend, and if you don’t like hockey or you’ve got other plans, that’s fine, just thought it might be fun. Oh… I’m being told I have to get off the phone and go somewhere, so I’ll talk to you later. Bye.”

He flipped his phone around. The TechPrim logo embossed on the back in silver had been nearly rubbed away. In truth it was a shitty phone, but the new TechPrim multimedia projection system in the English Department ran like a dream. Half the mail servers were TechPrim, and they’d been chugging along well past their warranty date.

And Gabe wasn’t just a part of the company that made it all happen. He was at the fucking top of it. James had spent half the morning running searches on his… whatever Gabe was. There were hundreds of thousands of pages. Some lauding him as a visionary, others completely trashing him. None of them had helped James sort out the confused feelings that had kept him up half the night.

After skim-reading a tenth article about TechPrim profit projections, James decided it didn’t matter. He had his own priorities and responsibilities, and his current or possible future dating life would not alter those. And if the 300,000 articles were anything to go by, Gabe had a strong set of priorities and responsibilities as well.

He stared at the ceiling over his workstation. Some former manager had managed to lodge sharp pencils into the tile, and they had yet to fall. He’d once gotten on top of his desk to look at them. They were lodged in deep, and James could only guess as to how much anger or frustration had gotten them stuck up there. He’d tossed a few himself but never managed to stick one.

Dave approached, his newly acquired copy of
What to Expect When You’re Expecting
tucked under his arm. James picked up his phone and dialed Gabe, wanting a quick moment to brace himself before Dave asked some new stupid question. He got Gabe’s voice mail.

“Hi. It’s me. Soooo…. Never been to a hockey game, but sounds like fun. Leave me another message about when and where, and I’ll try to get my phone to work on its social skills. Hope you’re having a good day. Bye.”

A
COUPLE
thousand people dressed in black and teal milled around James. Gabe had said to meet him by the VIP entrance, but he hadn’t been there, and the man at the door had been unhelpful. James supposed he didn’t look like the VIP type despite Dylan squeezing him into a smaller, less warm, but according to Dylan, better looking sweater. He spun in another slow circle, then checked his phone. There was a text.

Running about 15 minutes late. Will be there soon. Sorry.

According to his phone, it had been sent seventeen minutes earlier. He stood on his toes, trying to look over a sea of funny foam hats. He saw an arm waving and moved against the crowd, swimming upstream until he found Gabe.

“Sorry I’m late.” Gabe gave him a quick peck on the cheek. He was still in his suit and tie. “I got held up in this thing, and anyway, how are you? You look nice.”

James looked down at the too-tight V-necked sweater that had been living quietly in the back of his closet for years. “Um…. Thank you.”

“We should go in.”

Gabe led him back to the VIP entrance and inside the arena. Outside of Dylan’s baseball, James wasn’t much for sports, and he’d never seen a sporting venue that had thick carpeting and people standing around sipping wine.

This is how the other half lives
was James’s thought, quickly followed by a thought pointing out that Gabe was the other half. He was sure five minutes on the Internet would tell him exactly how far into that other half Gabe lived, but he didn’t actually want to know.

When they got to the corporate lounge, he rejigged his opinion as to what qualified as posh. There were deep leather seats and a buffet that was more a line of cooks whipping up custom-ordered tidbits. An impressive bar. He did his best to look unfazed.

“Are you hungry?”

“What?” James had been distracted by one of the chefs flambéing something. “Oh, um… I ate before I left, but if you want to eat…?”

“I’ll order something later. Let’s get our seats.”

When Gabe opened the door with the TechPrim company logo over it, he just expected seats on the other side; instead there was a room possibly nicer than Gabe’s living room, complete with uniformed staff standing by. He changed his estimate from upper half to more likely the upper 2 percent at least.

“We were supposed to be entertaining a group of potential partners out of Australia this weekend, but the whole thing got pushed back a month.”

“And you didn’t want all this to go to waste?”

“Well, it would have been a shame. And their pastry kitchen makes a really amazing chocolate cake.”

James didn’t comment on the very odd idea that a hockey arena had a pastry kitchen. Gabe led them out another door, where there were seats that actually looked down onto the ice. Below them the crowd was a wash of black and teal with occasional splashes of purple.

He was about to take a seat when the suite door opened and two men stepped in, followed by a woman and a couple of teenagers.

“Shit,” Gabe said softly.

“Hey, Uncle Gabe,” the teenaged boy called.

Gabe put on a smile that James could tell was completely forced.

“And what are you all doing here?”

“We’re here for the game,” the taller of the two men replied, grinning from ear to ear.

Gabe made a small noise like he was in pain, then took a deep breath. “James, these are my two oldest, best, and most annoying friends, Frank and Nate. This is Nate’s wife, Margaret, and the two brats are my godchildren, Sarah and Harry. Everyone, this is James Maron.”

James realized this was his turn to meet the family, as it were. He shook everyone’s hand with a polite smile and sharply buried any disappointment that it wouldn’t be just him and Gabe.

“Nice to meet you.”

Frank smiled. “It’s very nice to finally meet you. Gabe’s become almost tolerable since you two met.”

James tried not to flush even as Gabe rolled his eyes.

Music started coming from the direction of the ice.

“Okay.” Margaret herded her children toward the seats, with Frank and Nate following.

“I’m sorry,” Gabe said just loud enough for James to hear. “I thought it would be the two of us.”

“It’s okay. Really.” James found himself sitting between Gabe and Margaret as the game started. He had never even watched a hockey game on TV, but Margaret seemed to be a fan and kept a running commentary as to what was going on, who the players were, and why the Sharks were the good guys and the Kings were the bad guys.

He tried to pay attention, despite Gabe’s hand on his knee, making him wish they were alone. He had no idea when his knee had become an erogenous zone, but a week earlier, he couldn’t have told anyone a single erogenous zone on his body.

The crowd cheered as there was a particularly brutal crash against the boards. James winced but was also, he had to admit, enjoying himself. Very large men crashing into each other at high speeds was tickling something primal. Unfortunately that primal bit also wanted to rip Gabe’s clothes off. By the time a buzzer announced the end of the period, it was becoming a problem.

Everyone else got up and headed back toward the suite. James remained sitting, with Gabe next to him.

Gabe leaned close. “After the game, would you like to come back to my place for some coffee?”

“Yes, yes, I would.” Gabe’s breath on his skin was doing nothing to calm him down, and he did not want to stand in front of Gabe’s friends with wood.