Smoky Mountain Dreams (16 page)

Right now, with his own cock coming to half-mast, he wasn’t
sure he wanted to know. What mattered was that they were here now, and Jesse
was surely going to make him come again. And that? That was pretty damn great.
Better than he’d entirely been sure he could hope for.

Morning came in foggy and too soon. Christopher sipped
his coffee on the back porch, staring into the haze of the woods behind the
house, wondering if the movement he saw just up-slope was a deer or possibly a
bear. There’d been a mama and her cub investigating his neighbor’s trash cans
the other morning. He strained harder for a better look as the shadow passed
from one tree to another. Definitely a bear.

The sound of the door brought his attention around to Jesse,
who looked adorable in his wrinkled clothes from the night before, hair still
wet from the shower, and the smudge of sleepiness still on his face.

“You didn’t join me,” Jesse said, and there was an
early-morning rasp in his voice that made Christopher’s toes curl.

“I figured if I joined you in the shower we’d have sex, and
if we had sex, then I wouldn’t make coffee, and if I didn’t make coffee, then I’d
go into a coma from sex-related exhaustion, and if I went into a coma then I’d
miss my morning rehearsal call, and if I miss my morning rehearsal call, they’d
give my part to some young upstart, and—”

“So, basically one more orgasm with me would’ve resulted in
you losing your job?”

“Yeah, and eventual homelessness and possibly the start of
another World War.”

Jesse laughed softly. “Fair enough.”

“Let me get you a cup,” Christopher said, going inside and
back to the kitchen, while Jesse followed. “There’s cereal and, uh, I really
need to go to the store, so cereal and leftover chili are about all I’ve got on
offer.”

He should have thought ahead. He’d hoped he’d get laid, but
he hadn’t considered feeding someone on the morning after. Usually a guy didn’t
stick around for seconds (or thirds, or fourths, or a surprisingly intense
fifth), so why would he have thought of making sure he had something decent for
breakfast?

“Cereal’s fine. Whatever you’ve got.”

“Chex.” Christopher waved a hand toward the cabinets and the
box on the kitchen table. “Grab a bowl and dig in. Milk’s in the fridge.”

“And don’t put yourself out later either.”

“What do you mean?” Christopher asked, handing a fresh,
steaming cup to Jesse. He regretted that shower decision as he watched Jesse
take a swallow and lick his wet mouth.

“I mean, last night at the restaurant, you said it was our
first date. Will there be another one?”

Christopher felt a weird, warm, unfamiliar glow inside his
chest that felt a lot like glee and wonder combined. “Yes.”

Jesse’s eyes went hot and pleased. Then he turned and opened
the fridge, saying over his shoulder, “Chex is fine next time too.”

Next time. There will be a next time.

“Great.” Trying not to grin like an idiot, Christopher
checked the time on the clock over the sink. “I’ll stock up on it.”

Jesse sat with his bowl and the milk, and smiled widely. “You
do that.”

Maybe, just maybe, there would be many next times.
Christopher took a fast swallow of his coffee, glad when it burned his tongue,
because that kind of thing never happened in dreams. And the prospect of having
another night or
even more
with Jesse felt too good
to be true.

S
INCE
THE UNBELIEVABLE SEX ON
Friday night, he and Jesse had texted back and
forth a lot. First, only an hour after he and Jesse had gone separate ways that
morning, he’d received a text:

Last night was amazing. Can’t stop
thinking about it. Thank you for having me over.

Christopher had replied:

It was great for me too. And you’re
welcome. Want to do it again soon?

That went unanswered for nearly forty-five excruciating
minutes before Jesse’s response came through.

Definitely. Just thinking about seeing
you again has me hard.

Christopher had been in the dressing area putting on makeup,
and he’d instantly popped wood too. He tried to cover it by putting his makeup
bag in his lap, but the disdainful look he’d received from the male ice skater
he was sharing a mirror with made it clear that it hadn’t gone completely
unnoticed.

I’m going on stage in fifteen. Your
last text definitely complicated that for me.

Christopher had grinned at Jesse’s response:

I’m not sorry.

He’d headed for the wings of the stage with his stomach
doing handsprings of joy and a grin the length of Tennessee on his face.

Now it was Saturday evening, and he’d re-read the series of
texts nearly fifty times, which didn’t stop him from reading them again while
eating his dinner. He’d washed his sheets that afternoon and felt a little
regretful that he’d erased the physical evidence of what they’d done the night
before. As he cleaned his plate of rotisserie chicken and potato salad he tried
out several texts, hoping to initiate another conversation, but never got
further than typing them out and erasing them.

He was chewing his last bite, staring at his phone and still
trying to think of something clever to say when it buzzed in his hand.

How did your shows go today? Leave your
fans screaming for more?

Christopher snorted.

The shows went well. The audience
seemed to enjoy it, which always makes me happy. But as you know, my biggest
fan wasn’t there. But I got the impression earlier today that he definitely
wanted more.

Jesse replied:

Your impression was absolutely correct.

Christopher hesitated. Would he sound desperate if he asked
when
exactly Jesse wanted more of what Christopher had on
offer? Jesse texted again first.

Tomorrow’s my MIL’s birthday. I’m not
sure what the plan is but there’s no getting out of it.

Christopher’s heart sank despite himself. He had to type out
the next few words three times to get them right since his thumbs still hadn’t
gotten the hang of texting yet.

Fun or bummer?

Three dots appeared, which seemed to indicate Jesse was
responding.

Fun AND bummer because I’d like to see
you and demonstrate just how much your number one fan appreciates your talents.

Christopher grinned and felt his cheeks heat up. He went for
something less flirty than he really felt in his reply.

It’s good you like your in-laws.

He stared at the dots, waiting.

Yeah. They’re cool. Pretty lucky in
that at least.

Christopher sensed the unmentioned lack of luck Jesse must
feel he’d had in his marriage. Dead wives were pretty much the epitome of
shitty luck. Christopher had so many questions about that, but it was way too
early in whatever this was between them to ask. They barely knew each other.

Jesse texted again.

Monday morning I’m slammed with clients
but could get together in the afternoon or evening.

Christopher sighed.

Bummer. I’ve got shows that night.

Jesse’s next text took a while to come through, and
Christopher’s heart raced.

Tuesday night is Will’s basketball
practice. Wednesday is Brigid’s hip-hop dance class but I might be able to have
Amanda or my MIL take her. Little white girls popping and locking makes my head
spin with issues of cultural appropriation anyway.

Was the world conspiring to keep them from having amazing
sex again? It was starting to feel that way.

I’ve got two shows Wednesday night, but
I’ll be free after. The last one is over at 9 pm just like last week. You could
stay over?

Jesse included several frowning emoticons at the end of his
next message.

Very tempting but I can’t be away
overnight two weeks in a row for various reasons, and the kids’ bedtime is
8:30.

Christopher frowned at his phone. He hadn’t realized kids
could be such cock-blockers. The number of children running around at Smoky
Mountain Dreams with siblings close in age seemed to imply otherwise at least.
Another text from Jesse came through as he thought about how to respond.

How about lunch any day this week? I’d
like to hang out if nothing else.

Hell yes, Christopher would take it.

Tuesday for breakfast instead? I could
meet you at your office and eat before heading into SMD. I’ll bring food
.

He waited, drumming his fingers on the table.

Perfect.

It was a busy Sunday morning at Smoky Mountain Dreams,
and Christopher had two hours to kill before his next performance. The crowds
of people moved back and forth between Smoky Show Village and Starlight City,
and Christopher milled around with them. He stopped by Old Country Jack’s pizza
stand to grab a slice and a cola before wandering over to Holly’s crazy-hat
stand to chat with her while he ate.

“I like your hair,” he said around a bite, examining his
friend’s new cut and color. The brunette was gone and replaced with a vibrant
blue he suspected would fade quickly, but was definitely amazing now. It stood
out against her pale skin, making her look like an exceptionally voluptuous
mer-girl of the mountains.

“Thanks. Decided to try something new. Gotta bring it if any
guys are ever gonna notice me.”

“You’re definitely noticeable now.”

Holly whapped him on the arm, and he chuckled and settled
down in the chair next to her register. Kids stopped and tried on hats, their
parents snapping shots of them on their phone before moving along. A few others
looked at the price tags, expressed horror at what they saw there—and really,
what did they expect at a theme park?—before shaking their heads and dragging
their disappointed kids away.

“So?”

“So what?” Christopher said around the last bite of
pepperoni, cheese, and sauce. It wasn’t the best pizza, but it wasn’t the worst
either. It was hot, and that hit the spot in the chilly autumn air.

She leaned closer and whispered with innuendo slutting up
her voice, “How was Mr. Jesse Birch?”

Christopher coughed and took a fast swig of cola. “
What
?”

Holly’s right eyebrow arched, always a dangerous thing. Her
lips twisted with a smile that made Christopher’s palms sweat despite the
morning cold. “Well, I was wondering how the meeting went about your Gran’s
necklace, but
now
I think I want to know a hell of a
lot more than that.”

Christopher made a face and shook his head. “What? I don’t…the
necklace is fine. It’s great. You were right. He makes nice stuff.” He took
another sip of his cola and nodded at a kid who was twisting the fabric horns
on the baseball cap proclaiming the wearer was a Redneck Viking—the title of
one of Melissa Mundy’s hit songs. “He’s gonna rip those off.”