Authors: Alexa Land
His orgasm and mine went on for a long
time, so that by the time they ebbed, both of us were shaking a bit. Vincent
eased out of me and rolled us onto our sides, cradling me in his arms. We
kissed and caressed each other gently while we caught our breath. After a
while, he flashed me a glorious, unguarded smile and said, “I love you so much,
Trevor.”
“I love you too, Vincent.”
“So move in with me.”
“Okay.”
He looked into my eyes. “Really?”
“Really.”
He smiled again and said, “Well, that
was easy. I was sure you’d have some counterarguments about the need to pace
ourselves.”
“Nope. I’d love to live with you.”
“Well, while you’re being so agreeable,
I have something for you.” He rolled over and took something out of the
nightstand, then gathered me in his arms again.
Vincent picked up my right hand and
slipped an elegant platinum band onto my ring finger. “This is a promise ring.
When you’re ready for it to be something more, we’ll move it to your left hand.
For now, this signifies my promise to always love and protect you, and to marry
you when the time is right.”
“It’s beautiful,” I murmured, holding my
hand up and watching the band sparkle in the sunlight that filtered in between
the white curtains.
“It was my dad’s wedding band,” he said
softly. “I had it resized earlier this week to fit you.”
I fully understood the enormity of this
gift, and I whispered, “Thank you, Vincent. I’ll cherish it, and you, forever.”
He grinned at that and settled in comfortably,
his dark eyes sparkling as he said, “Forever sounds just about perfect.”
“So, really? Someone decided Nana should
have her own cooking show?” Skye asked, settling in beside me on the bleachers
at the back of the big sound stage. In front of us, a lot of people were
bustling around getting things ready on a kitchen set that was meant to look
like it was in someone’s home.
“Yup, after her video reached a million
hits on the internet.” I crossed my legs, and Sam shifted a little in the
carrier that was strapped to my chest. I glanced down at him, but the
three-month-old was sleeping soundly.
Melody rushed up to us, her young
husband in tow. “Oh mah gawd,” she gushed. “You know what this means, don’t
you? You’re friends with an actual TV celebrity, Trev!”
“Well, kind of,” I said, gingerly
sliding my arms out of the straps on the carrier and handing Sam to his mom.
“It’s basic cable and I think it’ll be aired at about eleven o’clock at night,
but sure.”
My cousin had decided to stay in San
Francisco rather than returning to Arizona, in large part because she wanted me
to be involved in Sam’s life. I’d gotten her a job as a hostess during the
lunch shift at Nolan’s, and provided free babysitting while she worked. Slater
was working on getting his license as a tattoo artist. He was remarkably mature
for a nineteen-year-old, and was obviously really trying to be a good husband
and father. Their little family was living in my former apartment, with a bit
of assistance on the rent from me.
Sure, there were still plenty of pangs
of sadness when I was with Sam. I’d fully accepted Melody’s decision though,
and really was proud of her for stepping up. She’d matured so much over the
last three months. Sometimes it seemed like Melody, Slater, and Sam were all
raising each other, and that was kind of awesome.
As for me, I was learning to love my role
as godfather and favorite “uncle.” Even if I wasn’t Sam’s parent, I’d always be
a part of his life. He’d always know I loved him, and that I was there for him.
I took a lot of comfort in that.
Mel and Slater settled in to the left of
Skye, and she asked as she put on the baby carrier, “Where’s Vinnie? He’s going
to miss it! They probably won’t let him in once they start filming!”
“He went backstage to check on Nana, and
probably let himself get roped into helping with a million things.” I grinned
as I said that.
Christopher and Kieran came in, followed
by a half dozen of Nana’s tiny, white-haired, giant-handbag-wielding
girlfriends. “Hi guys,” Christopher said as they took their seats. “Big day for
Nana!”
Hunter and Brian hurried in a minute
later. Brian was still using a cane for balance, but was steadily gaining
confidence with his prostheses. After exchanging greetings and finding some
seats, Hunter exclaimed, “I was sure we were going to be late. We were having
brunch in Hayes Valley, then couldn’t find a cab.”
“They may not start on time anyway,”
Christopher said. “This isn’t going to be broadcast live. Thank God.” He
flashed us a huge smile. Then he added, “And you’re not the last ones, people
are still filtering in. Case in point.” Dante and Charlie had just rushed
through the door. “You’re late!” Christopher called to them.
The couple hurried over to us
hand-in-hand, and Christopher and Kieran slid down to make room for them. “Hey.
Um, yeah, we couldn’t find parking,” Charlie said, not making eye contact.
“Yeah, right,” Christopher teased, his
southern accent seeping out a bit. “Like y’all weren’t gettin’ busy this
morning, and then ran out the door at the last possible moment.”
Dante shot him a smile. “Of course we
were. Like you newlyweds weren’t!”
“At least we had the sense to stop five
minutes sooner than you did,” Christopher told him, which made Dante chuckle.
Charlie scanned the audience as he
settled in and picked up his husband’s hand. “This is quite a crowd. Nana knows
a lot people.”
“My grandmother’s popular, no doubt
about it,” Dante said. Then he turned to me. “Oh hey, Trevor, before I forget,
can you come in half an hour early tonight? Remmy found some exotic mushrooms
at the farmer’s market this morning, and is all excited about concocting a
special appetizer for tonight’s dinner service.”
“Not a problem,” I said.
Dante’s restaurant had opened three
weeks ago, to rave reviews. Reservations were already booking out two months in
advance. I’d gone in for an interview with Tyler Remmy in August, and was
floored when he hired me as his apprentice three minutes after meeting me. I
was sure that was mostly thanks to Dante’s influence, though Tyler and I really
had a great rapport. The job was challenging and Tyler was fairly demanding.
But he was also a great teacher and a creative genius, and every day I learned
so much from him. I felt incredibly lucky.
Vincent appeared through a door beside
the kitchen set and scanned the crowd. I waved to him, and when he spotted me,
his face lit up. “That’s really cute,” Skye said to me as Vincent headed over.
“He’s so excited to see you, even though it’s only been twenty minutes. I want
a guy that lights up like that when he sees me.”
“I know you’re going to find someone,” I
told him. “Speaking of which, are you still doing that online dating thing?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes. My friend
Zandra thinks we should give it six months before we call it quits, so I’m
sticking with it for her sake. I’ll spare you the horror stories.”
I slid over to make room for Vincent,
and he squeezed in and kissed my cheek before greeting our friends. Dante
called, “You’re still coming for dinner Saturday, right Vinnie? Mikey will be
there, and Johnnie’s driving up from Big Sur. We’re doing a special menu at the
restaurant that night.”
“I’ll be there, as long as you promise
it isn’t another fun-with-fungus theme,” he replied. To me he said, “What is it
with Remmy and mushrooms, anyway?”
I grinned at that. “He’s just going
through a phase right now. And you know, most people like mushrooms. They’re
not creeped out by them the way you are.”
“Then most people are wrong, because
mushrooms are inherently creepy. Have you ever taken the time to really look at
one? So gross.”
“Is it the gills? Is that the part you
object to?”
He shuddered and said, “Just hearing
that is enough to give me the willies.”
Nana burst onto the set with River close
behind her. He’d agreed to be her assistant, in exchange for getting to
shamelessly plug the catering business on TV. He’d been doing well. Skye
stepped in to help him when needed, after I took the full-time job at Dante’s
restaurant. River didn’t really need much help, though. He’d come a long way in
just a few months.
It took several minutes for the crew to
get in place, but eventually they started the cameras. Nana grabbed a huge
chef’s hat from under the counter, plunked it down on her head, and introduced
herself and River. Then she said, “Today, we’re gonna talk about noodles. And
yeah, I know we’re supposed to call it pasta now, but who cares! Now look.” She
grabbed a little package from the counter and shook it at the camera. “I went
to a farmer’s market today and bought this package of ‘artisan pasta.’ It cost
me seven bucks for half a pound. What are you, fucking insane to spend that kind
of money on noodles? You know what’s in here? It’s flour and eggs, people!” She
reached under the counter, pulled out a big bag, and plopped it down on the
counter. A puff of flour jettisoned out the top. “This bag of flour cost about
two bucks. You know how much pasta you could make with this?”
She looked at River, and he stammered.
“Are you asking me? I don’t know. A lot?”
“A lot! That’s the right answer! You
don’t need this farmer’s market bullshit pasta. Also, I’ll bet the crooks who
made this aren’t even farmers. I mean, we’re in the middle of the city, for
fuck’s sake. What are we supposed to think, that someone’s got a pasta farm on
the roof of their building?”
Nana looked at River again and he said,
“Um...no?”
“No! There’s no such thing as a pasta farm.
They must think we’re fucking stupid. Okay, let’s see what we got for our seven
bucks.” She shoved her glasses on her face and glared at the little package.
“Almost no noodles, a fancy label, and a plastic bag tied with a piece of hay.
What the fuck! Why is this tied with hay?”
“I think that’s called raffia, Nana,”
River interjected.
“What the hell’s raffia?”
“I dunno. Fancy hay?”
As Nana continued her rant, Vincent
picked up my left hand and ran his thumb over the platinum band he’d given me.
When Skye noticed this, he leaned in and whispered, “Weren’t you wearing that
ring on your other hand before?” I nodded, and he asked, “Why’d you move it?”
“It used to be a promise ring,” I
whispered with a smile. “But as of yesterday, it became something more.”
Thank you for reading!
Skye takes center stage and
Trevor and Vincent’s relationship continues in
Skye Blue
, the sixth book
in the Firsts and Forever series, available in late summer, 2014. A brief
excerpt from Skye Blue is included at the end of this book. Enjoy!
For more about Alexa Land, please
visit
http://alexalandwrites.blogspot.com/
Books by Alexa Land Include:
Feral
Tinder (The Tinder Chronicles,
Book One)
Hunted (The Tinder Chronicles,
Book Two)
And the Firsts and Forever
Series:
Way Off Plan
All In
In Pieces
Gathering Storm
Salvation
Skye Blue (available late summer,
2014)
Chapter One
“Just do me, Christian.”
“What, right here?”
“Sure, why not?”
“Um, a million reasons?”
“Come on,” I said, “it’ll only take five
minutes.”
“Now I’m insulted.”
“Don’t be! You know what I mean.
You don’t have to buy me dinner first or anything. Just pop on a condom and
relieve me of my virginity.”
“No.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
Christian raised an eyebrow at me. “I’ll
give you three good reasons, Skye. Number one, you’re my best friend and it’s
way too weird. Number two, we’re about ninety seconds from getting arrested out
here. And number three, I really don’t think Trevor would appreciate us getting
down and dirty while he’s sitting two feet away from us.”
Trevor chimed in, “I’ll be scarred for
life if I have to watch you two going at it.”
I sighed and rolled my eyes.
“Fine. I’m telling you though, I’m over this whole virginity thing. Since
you’re shooting me down, Christian, I’m going to have to go with plan B.”
“Do I even want to ask what that is?” he
said.
“I’m going to say yes to the very next
guy that propositions me. And you know what a crap shoot that is, given the
fact that I’ve been participating in the horrors of internet dating so I can be
supportive of my very single friend Zandra. I could easily end up saying yes to
a scary fifty-year-old with super creepy little girl hands.”
“Ew! What, like in his pocket?”
Christian exclaimed.
“Shhh,” Trevor whispered, “keep your
voice down! Do you want the security guards to discover us?”
“No,
not in his pocket
,” I said,
giving Christian a look that said oh-my-God-gross. “I just meant that the guy
could have nasty, tiny, little effeminate hands
at the end of his arms
,
and I’d still say yes to sleeping with him. You’re really twisted, Christian,
to think I meant he was carrying severed girl hands around with him!”
“Hey, you’re the one who said it,”
Christian reminded me. He took a drink from his silver flask and got up from
his crouched position so he could peer through the chain link fence beside us.
He immediately ducked back down behind the bushes, which I took to mean the
coast was most definitely not clear.
“I did not say that! At least, not the
way your demented mind interpreted it.”
“Whatever. I’m not going to devirginize
you while we’re hiding in the bushes. Now can we concentrate on the task at
hand?” Christian said.
“Ugh,
at hand
. That’s all gross
now,” I said. He held out the flask to me and I took a drink before shuddering
dramatically. “Bleh, I hate whiskey. What happened to my idea of carrying a
margarita flask?”
“If you want a margarita flask, you’re
going to have to start carrying your own,” Christian said.
I offered the whiskey to Trevor, who
turned it down with a polite, “No thank you.” I took one more sip (ew!) before
handing it back to its owner, then got up off the ground and assessed the
situation.
We were at the top of a hill on the
fringes of the Silicon Valley, outside a barbed wire-topped fence. Below us was
a manufacturing facility that produced replacement parts for douchebags that
blew out the engines in their flashy, overpriced jet boats. Sticking out of a
dumpster beside the ugly cinderblock building was my prize, a huge bent and
mangled boat propeller.
I ducked back down and told my friends,
“The security guard is checking the doors. He’ll go around to the back of the
building in another two minutes, and then Operation Upcycle can commence!”
“Are you sure we should be doing this?”
Trevor asked nervously, for about the fiftieth time. He was new to a life of
crime, so his hesitation was understandable.
“We absolutely should.” I once again
explained my reasoning to him. “First of all, it’s in the trash, so we’re not
stealing. Second of all, it’s totally irresponsible for that company not to
recycle. They’re practically environmental terrorists!”
“Well, not quite,” Christian said.
“Close enough. Thirdly, the dudes that
run that company are complete asshats. They could have just
given
me the
propeller when I called and asked them politely for it, and explained that I
wanted to use it in a sculpture that I was making in school. Instead, they hung
up on me! They not only don’t support the arts, they don’t support education,
and they deserve to have that prop stolen from them! Not that this is
stealing.”
“How did you know it was here?” Trevor
asked, popping up quickly, taking a peek at the facility, and ducking down
again in a flawless imitation of a prairie dog (not that that was what he was
going for, but still).
“I saw it when I was making my rounds.”
He raised an eyebrow at me. “What
rounds?”
“A couple times a month, I drive to the
South Bay and do a lap of all these different manufacturers that are located
down here. Some of them are nice, they actually set stuff aside for me to pick
up. Others, like the Doucharium here, not so much.”
“Have you stolen from this place
before?” Trevor asked.
“Again, stolen: not my first choice of
words. But I have conducted routine trash removal services at this facility.”
“How do you get over the barbed wire?”
“I don’t get over it,” I told him, “I
get under it. Right over there.” I pointed to a spot a few yards down the fence
line where someone (possibly me, but I can neither confirm nor deny that) had
dug out enough soil to wriggle beneath the chain link.
“Do you really expect that big propeller
to fit under the fence?” Christian asked.
“Hell no. We’ll have to huck it over.”
“We’ll have to what?”
“Huck it,” I repeated. “As in throw,
pitch, heave, cause to become airborne.”
Christian looked at me over the top of
his sunglasses. It was completely goofy that he was wearing them at eleven
o’clock at night, but my best friend liked to think he was a rock star. “Thank
you for that, Merriam Webster,” he said. “The point I was getting at was that
the prop looks heavy, and no way are you going to be able to throw it over an
eight-foot fence.”
“Well no,
I
couldn’t,” I
confirmed. “But that’s why I brought you and Trevor along. You guys are my
muscle!”
“Oh man,” Trevor said, “if we’re your
muscle, you’re so screwed.”
“It’s a critical mass kind of thing,” I
explained. “While it’s true that you both weigh about a buck-fifty soaking wet,
combined you have the brawn of one big, beefy three-hundred pounder!”
“This is what happens when you go to art
school instead of college,” Christian deadpanned. “That’s the faultiest
application of math and physics I’ve ever heard.”
“Suck it, Steven Tyler. You go to art
school too, you know.”
“Okay, A,” Christian said, giving me
another look, “Steven Tyler is awesome, so that totally fails as an insult. And
B, I’ve always thought of myself as more of a young, gay Keith Richards. Minus
the ability to play any sort of musical instrument.”
“You two might consider keeping it
down,” Trevor whispered. “We’re going to get busted even before we commit
felony breaking and entering.”
“I think this is more of a criminal
trespassing kind of situation,” I corrected as I pushed my overgrown royal blue
bangs out of my eyes. “But that’s still a good point. Be quiet, gay Keith
Richards.”
Christian frowned at that. “Me? You’re
not exactly in stealth mode, Mr. Mathlete.”
I pretended to grasp an invisible knife
that was jutting out of my heart and fell backwards onto the ground.
“Insulting...my...math skills. Ouch! Never...will...recover.”
“Could you two even pretend to focus?”
Trevor said, doing another quick prairie dog impersonation. “The guard went
around the back of the building. Isn’t that what we were waiting for?”
I leapt to my feet and took a look at
the situation, then said, “It is! We only have a few minutes. Move out,
troops!”
I led the way to the gap under the
fence, dropping to the ground and executing a stylin’ barrel roll before
crawling under on my belly, using my knees and elbows to propel myself forward.
“It’s like fitness boot camp,” I said when I reached the other side and got up
into a crouch, brushing some of the dirt and dried grass off my t-shirt and
jeans. “I should be charging for this.”
“Um, no,” Christian said as he followed
me and momentarily got hung up on the fence, “
we
should be charging
you
.
What’s the going rate for henchmen these days?”
“I believe the politically correct term
is
henchpersons
,” I told him as I came to his aid and untangled the back
of his t-shirt from the chain link.
“You’re insane,” Christian said as he
joined me on the other side.
“You’re both insane,” Trevor told us as
he awkwardly stuffed his head and shoulders under the fence, then ground to a
halt. “Also, this isn’t as easy as it looks. I think I’m stuck.”
“We’ll save you!” I exclaimed, putting
my hands on my hips and puffing my chest out like a pompous superhero. “Grab a
hand, Boy Wonder, and pull!”
Christian crossed his arms over his
chest. “Oh,
I’m
Boy Wonder? Screw that. Clearly I’d be the superhero and
you’d be the weird, blue-haired sidekick.”
“How do you figure?”
“Well, I’m almost a year older than you,
for one thing. Plus, I’m about two inches taller.”
“Oh, like that counts!”
“Um, guys?” Trevor interjected. “How
about if you’re both the Avengers, and you team up to save your stuck
sidekick?”
“Yeah, okay,” Christian said as he took
hold of Trevor’s right hand, “but I call Captain America.”
“You can have him,” I said as I took
hold of Trevor’s left hand. We backed up quickly and dragged our friend out of
the gulley.
As Trevor got to his feet and brushed
himself off, Christian demanded, “What’s wrong with Captain America?”
“Did I say there was anything wrong with
him?”
“It was implied in your ‘you can have
him’ comment.”
I whispered, “And stealth mode begins
now
.”
I pantomimed locking my mouth shut and throwing away the key, then led my dusty
little posse down the hill to the dumpster.
The propeller looked a lot bigger now
that it was up close. It was actually kind of huge. I frowned at that, then
whispered, “I’m going in. Cover me.”
“There goes stealth mode,” Christian
whispered. “And cover you with what?”
“I dunno. Be creative.” I hoisted myself
up over the rim of the dumpster, then lowered myself into it carefully. “Oh
man,” I said as I sunk waist-deep in cardboard, garbage bags, and miscellaneous
detritus, “I just flashed on the trash compactor scene in Star Wars.”
“Because that’s helpful right now,”
Christian said.
I grabbed the prodigious propeller and
attempted to heave it out of the dumpster. After a few moments of grunting and
straining, I gave up and said, “Slight problem. I can’t budge it. One of you
has to come in here and help me. We’ll hoist it up and hand it to whichever one
of you is on the outside.”
Trevor and Christian shot each other
looks, then did a rapid fire best-of-three rock-paper-scissors. Trevor lost (here’s
a tip: don’t make a rock every time), and sighed as he struggled and tried to
climb up into the dumpster. I love my friend, don’t get me wrong, but he’s not
exactly the most athletic kid on the block. Christian gave him a boost, but
definitely erred on the side of overkill and pretty much just chucked Trevor
into the trash.
When my friend’s head emerged from amid
the garbage, he looked at me and said flatly, “Remind me again why I agreed to
help you.”
“Because you’re the world’s nicest
person and a super awesome friend,” I told him with a big smile. He just rolled
his eyes at me. “I’m going to owe you big time after this, Trev.
Big time
.”
“Yeah, you really are,” he said as he
stood up and shook something brown and squishy off the back of his hand. Let’s
just say that was a former banana peel.
“Shit, we’re fucked!” Christian
announced. He then took off like a shot. I’d never seen anyone run that fast. I
rested my arms on the edge of the dumpster and watched him sprint across the
asphalt parking lot. If there’d been an official standing by with a stopwatch,
my best friend would have undoubtedly qualified for the U.S. Olympic track
team. He took the hill like a gazelle, and maybe two seconds later I saw the
fence at the top rattle as he stuffed himself underneath it.
“Wow,” Trevor murmured as he too watched
the retreat. “I had no idea Christian could move that fast.”
“He gets lots of practice running from
the man as a graffiti artist,” I said as I craned my neck and looked to my
right at the two security guards that were running up to the dumpster.