Making Promises (19 page)

“I was putting my cat down,” he said sheepishly, and Mikhail raised his eyebrows to the sweaty curls hanging on his brow.

“I’m sorry?” He was honestly surprised.

“One of my cats—she was really old when I got her from the shelter, but, you know, I got home from work, and poor Judi Dench was looking like shit. Her kidneys had just closed down for no reason, so I had to put her down.” Shane was keeping his face very neutral, and Mikhail had a sudden insight—and he wasn’t used to those. This big strong man with the warm, low voice had loved the damned cat.

“I didn’t want to wait until I got home tonight—that’s not right, you know?”

Mikhail nodded, and his throat worked. “Well, shit,” he said, at a loss. “How can I be angry with you for being late? That’s not fair of you at all.” He turned around and put the towel in the hamper—Anna, his boss, had a cleaning service, and they would be by in the morning to collect the laundry. “I can’t even pout over that.” He glared at Shane, honestly irritated. “You might have at least had the decency to have a flat tire, or to Making Promises

just be an insensitive bastard, but now? You left a message and have a perfectly good explanation, and now I’m fucked. How am I supposed to reject you now?”

To his relief, Shane’s face split into a sweet, good-natured grin.

“You’re not supposed to reject me—you’re supposed to come to dinner with me. That’s the rule.”

Mikhail found himself blushing as he reached for his jacket from the peg above the desk. “That is not necessary, you know. A ride home would be fine.”

“You going to invite me in to watch a movie?” Shane asked brazenly, and now Mikhail was sweating all over again.

“No,” he said, shaking his head and avoiding Shane’s eyes. “I would, you know—because I have not seen
Up
yet, and we bought it already. But my mother… her health is not good. I would have to prepare her for you, so she would be ready for company. It… it takes a while.” He thought painfully of his mother, putting on a nice dress and fixing her turban just so—and then finding out that his companion was a man. She would be disappointed, and he did not think he could bear that.

Shane nodded. “Well, then—you’ll have to come with me to dinner.

Anywhere you want.”

Mikhail sighed. He normally had a great deal of pride, but he had assumed the worst about this nice man, and he felt as though he owed Shane a date at the very least. Besides—he was in charge of meals at home, and he knew for certain that his mother was very tired of his cooking. He allowed himself to reach for a treat—for her, he assured himself.

“Can we get something for my mother?” he asked awkwardly. “She really loves Panda Express, and I think tonight she will be able to keep something down.”

Mikhail liked Shane’s car immensely. It rumbled when it rode and felt substantial when he sat in it. It was also… intimate. None of the coolness of a modern car, just the warmth of the black leather interior and a seat that seemed to put him in very personal space with the big man next to him.

“So you named your cat Judi Dench?” Mikhail asked as Shane turned left onto Sylvan.

“Yeah—I named them all after movie stars.”

Mikhail shrugged. “Well, if they are going to sleep with you anyway, why not, right?”

“Exactly!” Shane said excitedly. He looked Mikhail’s way with a great deal of delight, and Mikhail shrugged again. It made sense to him—

he liked cats. He understood them. If their apartment complex allowed animals, he and his mother would have had many.

Abruptly Shane sobered. “I just didn’t realize this one was as old as she was. She had a real princessy attitude—I liked her. I wasn’t sure if I could keep a cat, you know? But the animal shelter knew I was about full up on dogs, and I couldn’t seem to stop coming around, so they told me they’d start me off with Judi. Her owner was elderly and passed away first, and there was poor old Judi, just waiting for a pleasant place to pass the time. And then I got her, and she seemed to be so lonely when I left for work, and the rest of them sort of made up her family.” Shane had been driving with certainty as he spoke, and Mikhail realized he knew the area well. He stopped talking, though, and Mikhail saw the blush. He was embarrassed, going on about his cat—which was silly, of course.

“Well,” Mikhail said after a moment, feeling graceless, “thank you for coming anyway.” Oh, hell. All of Shane’s honesty deserved a little on his part, right? “I would have been disappointed if you had been unable to make it.”

They were at a stoplight, and Shane turned a grin to him—it was sweet and shining, and Mikhail had to look away. “And now I am done being nice to you,” he said, sticking his lip out and knowing he sounded like a brat but unable to stop. “It is like feeding a cat.” Shane’s quiet laughter let him know that he was fooling nobody.

“Yup,” he said as he took a right onto Sunrise with its little mall and happy lamppost advertising. “It’s too late, Mickey. You’ve already fed me once. I’ll be back for-fucking-ever.”

Mikhail brightened. “So there will be fucking?” He had been half-tempted to give in to Brett’s advances again this past weekend, but two things stopped him. One was that Brett cared too much, and Mikhail didn’t, so it was no longer just a quickie in the tent to relieve tension.

The other was that… well, that potent drug of hope had been surging in his veins. He found now that it paled to sitting in the rumbling darkness with someone who had gone out of his way to be with him.

Shane made a pained noise. “Not immediately,” he said with what sounded like a whimper. “Not tonight, at any rate.”

“Why not?” Mikhail looked around. The car wasn’t roomy, he thought, but he was pretty sure the seats reclined.

Shane pulled into the parking lot of Panda Express and gave Mikhail a look like he knew exactly what Mikhail was thinking. Mikhail was horrified to find himself blushing. He never blushed over sex—
ever
. He was unapologetic. The Ice Man. Right?

“I just thought,” he stammered, wondering where that unsteady voice came from. “You know… you’ve proved yourself. You are not a one-night stand. We can have sex now.”

“Uhm-hum.” Shane nodded and reached out a finger to trace Mikhail’s jaw. That little touch… just a little, and Mikhail felt his hand tremble on the door catch. “I actually missed dinner,” Shane drawled. “I think we should maybe eat food this time out.” And with that he rubbed his thumb in the divot on Mikhail’s chin and then got out of the car.

Mikhail had to sit for a moment and remember to breathe before he got out himself. He made his way to where Shane was waiting patiently for him, and they went into the restaurant together.

A few minutes later Shane asked, “When is your mother going to get better?” when Mikhail was in the middle of a mouthful of broccoli-beef.

Mikhail made an effort to swallow and then looked carefully at his Styrofoam plate as he said, “February or thereabouts, when she dies.” There was silence, and he risked a look up. Shane was looking at him without pity, even as he mouthed, “I’m sorry,” to Mikhail’s unspoken question.

Mikhail shrugged. “So is she. She had great plans to see her grandchildren, you understand.” He surprised Shane badly—he could see that in the wide eyes and the quirk of his lips.

“Was that something you were going to get right on?” he asked, letting Mikhail choose how to answer.

Mikhail sighed. Apparently he was going to be honest and pitiable this night. It made him cranky. He was not comfortable here, but he felt…

indebted
was the word… to the man who had kept a promise when Mikhail had thought the worst of him.

“It is a game we play,” he confessed. From under his brow he eyed the potstickers that Shane had bought for both of them and was not surprised when Shane took two of them and put them on Mikhail’s plate.

“Thank you,” he murmured, dipping them into the hot Szechuan sauce and wishing it was even spicier.

“A game?” The prompt was gentle, and Mikhail finished swallowing before he answered.

“She knows who I am—you cannot be what we have been to each other and not know that. But….” He smiled a little. “I think you may have to be Russian to understand. No one can take care of me like another woman—that is what she thinks. She does not want to leave me alone, so we have a fantasy, you see, where I will find a nice girl—she does not even have to be Russian—and this girl will cook and clean for me and bear me children, and I will not be alone.”

Shane nodded and chewed thoughtfully. He ate a lot, but Mikhail thought he might even have gotten thinner since they’d seen each other last. Mikhail sniffed. Stupid man. There was no need for that.

The silence made Mikhail uncomfortable. “You probably think I am unenlightened for America,” he said with dignity, and Shane’s surprise was gratifying.

“No—not at all.” Shane took a sip of soda, still thoughtful. “I just”—

and now he looked embarrassed—“I just was thinking about mine and Kimmy’s mother. She… she was hardly there, you know? Kimmy talked about rehab and how Mom sent money—it’s all she’s ever done. We wanted attention, Mom put Kimmy in dance, and that’s where she got her attention. Dad wanted perfect little students, and we tried to be just that.

There was no worry—there was no ‘happy fantasy’, unless you were me and Kimmy, in our own rooms, having the happy fantasy that someone gave a shit.”

Shane took another bite and nodded, looking studiously out the window into the Target parking lot across the way. “I’m sorry your mom’s sick, Mickey, but I gotta say, I’m sort of jealous. You’ve got someone in Making Promises

your life who doesn’t want to leave you all alone. That’s a good thing, right?”

Mikhail found that his hands were shaking as he picked up his fork.

(He did not do chopsticks.) He nodded dumbly but didn’t say anything, just chewed and breathed evenly and tried to think about something, anything, but the man sitting across from him and his painful, important perceptions.

“You are right,” he said at last, still looking at his food. “Sometimes empty promises, they are still important. Sometimes the fantasy is as much the love as what is real, yes?” He felt silly. It was… impolitic to talk about emotions like this.

“Exactly,” Shane said, nodding earnestly, and Mikhail turned shiny eyes toward him. His face twisted a little, and he fought to swallow.

“What?” Shane asked, as though he was afraid he’d gotten something wrong.

Mikhail shook his head. How to explain? Kimmy had told him to take her brother seriously. How could Mikhail have a choice in the matter, when everything he said seemed to be spelling out the things in Mikhail’s heart like the voice of God?

“You are right. In fact, you have made me feel better about many things,” he said now, but his voice was not as steady as he would have liked, and Shane blushed.

“I’m sorry. I’m prying… I would imagine you’re ready to go home now.”

“No!” Mikhail actually couldn’t believe he’d said that. He felt as though he’d been tricked somehow from giving just a little of his time to not make this nice man feel bad, to wanting this moment to keep going. It was just like the Faire all over again, he thought wretchedly. It was supposed to be a heartbeat. It was not meant to continue—it just wasn’t.

Nothing good was meant to stay. “I mean,” he continued, blushing, “that is not necessary. My mother will need to eat in an hour or so. There is no need to return until then.”

Mikhail peeked uncertainly at Shane to see how he would take that.

He looked surprised and more than a little pleased. Mikhail nodded, as though something had been decided.

“But maybe we should leave this place. It has no charm at all.” Panda Express was his mother’s favorite food, but it was loud and cold, and the floor was hard, and he could see Shane agreeing with him.

“There’s a Starbucks by the bookstore—feel like coffee?” Shane sounded so eager, and Mikhail looked at him helplessly. It was like the man was Satan himself, come with temptation.
What is the harm? You will
frighten him with your honesty, and then this will be the end. There is
nothing to bind him to you, not even sex.

“A very large mocha, with lots of milk,” Mikhail said, feeling his back straighten with anticipation, and Shane smiled, his warm eyes crinkling at the edges some more.

“I like caramel myself, but it’s a deal.” He retrieved his brown bomber jacket and a rather handsome, handmade scarf from the chair behind him. They cleaned up, stowed the food they’d bought for Ylena in the car, and set off across the parking lot.

“I like the scarf,” Mikhail said, and he was not just making conversation. The bomber jacket looked expensive—an indulgence, and it did not look as though Shane did that much, in spite of the money he had been gifted with. The scarf was something else—it was not perfect. Some of the edges were uneven, and there were one or two places where the ends were not woven in completely. But it was getting chilly—just a little—in the middle of October, and Mikhail envied it.

Shane smiled shyly and touched the mottled brown wool. “It was a gift from Benny, Crick’s little sister. I told her I’d be working the football games, and she told me it got cold and made it for me in about a weekend.