The Mating of Michael (10 page)

“Oh. You’re suggesting that you’re… gay?”

Michael barked a laugh. “I am decidedly gay, yes.”

“Well, that’s… lovely for you, but what makes you think that
I’m
gay?” He was trying to buy himself some time while his brain caught up. He was used to guarding himself, always. He didn’t like the idea of a total stranger, a fan, knowing he was gay. The wheelchair was disadvantage enough.

Michael cocked an eyebrow. “You know that scene in
Hellion for Hellfire
where Sabatini is thrown into prison with that gladiator? That’s the sexiest homoerotic scene I’ve ever read.”

James shrugged. “I’m a writer. It’s called imagination. I’m not a seven foot tall Draconian female either.”

Michael gave a bitter huff of a laugh.

“What?”

“Oh my God. You don’t make it easy on a guy, do you? You’ve told me to go away twice. Now you’re telling me you aren’t even interested in men. I guess I should take a hint, huh?” Despite the teasing tone, there was a look of defeat and embarrassment in Michael’s eyes.

And suddenly, James knew that if he agreed with that sentiment, Michael would walk out the door and that would be that. And he didn’t
want
Michael to stop trying. The very fact that Michael was making the effort, wanted to get to know him, was… flattering. Amazing in the most literal sense of the word. It was a gift he didn’t want to refuse. Not this time.

Michael turned for the door. “I’m sorry, James. I promise I won’t go to the pool, and I won’t—”

“Wait.” James shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not good at this sort of thing. And for that, I win the ‘understatement of the year’ award. I’m… sorry if I’ve been a dick. Could we, I don’t know, just get to know each other—as friends? See how that goes? Would that be acceptable to you, Mr. Lamont?”

Michael’s face got a frown, but it was the sort of frown that was good, the way tears could sometimes mean joy. “Yeah,” he said quietly. He took a step closer and squatted down, put his hand on the arm of the chair, not touching James, but very close. “I would love that.”

It was meant as a friendly gesture, or at least James supposed it was. But as he looked down into those big brown eyes, a current went through him that seemed to wake up every longing he tried so hard to bury—for sex, yes, but also just to be with someone, to not be alone.

Fuck it. I’m in trouble
, he thought, and it was frightening but weirdly exhilarating too. And his second thought was that this “let’s be friends” thing was going to last about five seconds if he wasn’t careful. Michael’s eyes were growing heavy-lidded, and he was eying James’s mouth. Jesus Christ, the guy was sex on legs. James had always appreciated attractive men, but he’d never met anyone who was capable of stirring such a strong sexual response in him before.

He used the button to wheel back a few inches, out of harm’s way. “Any interest in getting breakfast?” he asked roughly.

“Yeah.” Michael smiled, standing. “I’m starving.”

T
HEY
WENT
to the local shopping plaza. It was one of the key attractions when James bought the house six years ago. The tiny single-level fixer-upper had been nothing exciting. It was in a neighborhood with boring suburban homes. But the house had wide doorways and was cheap enough that he’d been able to afford a handicap-accessible remodel on the kitchen and bath. And it was located three blocks from a shopping plaza with sidewalks good enough to drive his chair. The plaza had a grocery store with a pharmacy, a barbershop, a Chinese place, and a diner that served a good breakfast and burgers. James liked being able to get to those things without needing a ride. He was desperately committed to his independence.

Michael walked beside him as they made their way there. It felt weird, but only because James was so hyperaware of Michael and they were virtual strangers. Michael didn’t seem at all fazed by the wheelchair.

Once seated, Michael ordered a lone egg and a cup of oatmeal and James ordered his usual ham and eggs.

“I thought you were starved?” James asked as the waitress left.

Michael shrugged. “I’m not a big eater.”

James supposed he shouldn’t be surprised, given how lithe Michael was. He forced his gaze away from that delicately slender torso and waistline.

“Tell me about your job,” James said. “Do you work at a hospital?”

Michael picked up his coffee cup and sipped at it slowly, his eyes drifting around at the other diners. “No, I work for an in-home nursing care company called Happy At Home
.
”

“Oh? And are you happy at Happy At Home?”

Michael’s lips twitched in a smile. “I’m happy. I work with a patient named Marnie Monday through Friday. And sometimes, I fill in elsewhere when someone’s out sick, so I can end up all over the Seattle area.” Michael’s smile grew to something so fondly sweet James decided against putting sugar in his tea. “Marnie is eighty-nine, and she’s a hoot. She used to be a Burlesque dancer in New York. She has all these old postcards and photos and stuff from back in the day. She can be testy at times, but I love her to death.”

“A Burlesque dancer. It must be really entertaining watching her get dressed for bed.”

Michael laughed. “Well, she’s not quite up to her old tricks, but yeah, she’s a character.” Michael told James about Marnie’s outfits and how she loved to watch porn and wanted to hear about his sex life. And then he changed the subject, for which James was grateful. He really didn’t want to hear about Michael’s sex life. It was no doubt robust, and James didn’t think he could deal with the details.

“So what’s your next book?” Michael asked.

James looked around, hoping the waitress would choose that auspicious moment to arrive with their food, but she was nowhere in sight.

“
Tears From the Dragon’s Eye
. It comes out next month.”

Michael’s face lit up. “Hey, yeah. I saw the cover for that one on Amazon. I can’t wait.”

James rubbed his lip with his thumb.

Michael was studying him with those big, brown eyes that seemed to see way too much. “You aren’t happy with how it turned out?”

James shrugged. “The early reviews aren’t exactly gushing. Well, unless your definition of ‘gushing’ includes getting pissed on.” James tried to sound droll, like it was no big deal. But it was. It was a very big deal.

“I’m sorry.” Michael frowned. “That must be so hard, getting reviewed and critiqued all the time. I’m so sensitive. I’d never be able to handle it.”

“A lot of writers are sensitive. But there’s not much you can do about a bad review—at least nothing that doesn’t lead to addiction or arrest.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” Michael said decisively. “I’ve enjoyed every single one of your books. I’ll be the guy waving the five stars around on every book review site out there.”

The waitress brought their plates, and they started eating. It was a great chance to let the subject go. And wow, that was a brilliant fucking idea. But James couldn’t. It nagged at his mind.

“The reviewers are right, as it happens. The book isn’t all that. One reviewer said my recent work was ‘like a faded image of my first few books.’ A malicious little dig, but not, I fear, entirely inaccurate.”

He expected Michael to do the fan thing and protest or offer him placating words, but he didn’t. He took a bite of his oatmeal, and he put the spoon down with finality. “No author has a hit every time. But… why do you think your recent books aren’t as good as your early ones?” Michael’s face was serious and really interested.

James shrugged. “Lack of inspiration? It gets hard to come up with fresh ideas.”
Or maybe I just don’t have it in me anymore.

James was rarely so honest. He didn’t know what possessed him to be now. He reminded himself that he didn’t know Michael, and he shouldn’t be blabbing stuff that could end up on the Internet. But looking at the soft light in Michael’s eyes made it difficult to believe he would ever do that.

Michael picked up his coffee cup and swirled it while he studied James. “Well, an uninspired J.C. Guise is better than ninety-five percent of all science fiction writers out there, so I don’t think you’re in any danger of losing your readership. But… it’s true that your early books were ridiculously brilliant.”

“
Troubadour Turncoat
was born in desperation,” James admitted. “I wrote it when I was eighteen. I had pneumonia that year, and I was sick in bed for months. I was so bored I couldn’t stand myself, so I started to write.”

“Really?” Michael leaned forward with interest.

“It was the only way I could get the fuck out of that room. The things I daydreamed then… It’s hard to conjure up that kind of wonder now.” He forced a laugh. “Maybe I’m just getting old. It happens.”

Wonder. That was it, wasn’t it? Wonder and hope. James had lost that sense of itching anticipation, of
wanting life
. He’d wanted it so badly that year, lying in that bed, thinking he might well die before he’d ever really lived. His imagination had soared with dreams. But the years since had taught him that fantasies don’t happen and the wondrous doesn’t exist and life… life just drags on. Now he couldn’t find his way to having that kind of faith and excitement about the future.

“Hmmm.” Michael was watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?” James asked.

“Just making plans,” Michael said neutrally. He scooped up another spoonful of oatmeal.

“Ah. Conquering the universe sorts of plans or getting your laundry done tonight sort of plans?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“How mysterious, Mr. Lamont,” James commented laconically.

Michael gave him a lazy wink and grinned.

O
N
F
RIDAY
,
Michael called James and asked if he was busy Sunday. It wasn’t surprising that James wasn’t, but he surprised himself by admitting it. Michael asked if he’d be up for a car trip with a two-hour drive each way.

“Where did you have in mind?” James asked. The idea of a drive was seductive. It had been at least a year since he’d gotten out of Seattle. But he was leery about getting into a bad situation with the wheelchair, and he especially didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of Michael Lamont.

“Trust me?” Michael asked.

James gave it a moment’s thought. “No, not really.”

Michael gave an offended gasp. “Well, that’s honest. What if I told you that I checked out the place where we’re going and it’s handicap accessible? I think you’ll really,
really
like it.”

James was torn between caution and a strong pull to see Michael again. “It’s not easy being green,” he said, as a way of explaining his hesitation.

“I told you, I’ve got it covered. Double dog dare ya.”

“Bastard. I’m in.”

O
N
S
UNDAY
,
Michael picked James up at 8:00 a.m., and they headed south on I-5.

“It’s supposed to be a nice day,” Michael said. There was a flush of excitement on his cheek. “Seventy-eight and sunny.”

“Yeah, I saw that. In fact, I have weather alerts delivered directly into my skull.”

“Do you now?”

“Yes,” James said seriously. “So how was your week?”

“Hmm. Do you want the recap with or without the bodily fluids?”

“You’re talking about nursing, I hope?”

Michael laughed. “Oh, I wouldn’t bore you with
my
bodily fluids. God forbid.”

“Then with, please. The day is far too pleasant. I could use a little gore.”

“Well, I had to do a morning shift with this older gentleman. Like ninety years old. And I had to change his IV because his vein had collapsed. You with me so far?”

“Fascinating. Pray continue.”

So Michael did, explaining all the places he had to try on the man’s body to find a viable vein. And James found it satisfyingly gross.

“So tell me about the book you’re working on now?” Michael asked, once they had exhausted bodily fluids.

James frowned a bit and looked out the window. “
Star Dance
. It’s the third of the Star trilogy.”

“Oh, yeah!” Michael’s face lit up. “I read the first two. So hit me with some spoilers. What happens when Emeril gets back to his home planet?”

It was a chance to get some feedback from someone who knew the series, and James was more than happy to comply. He explained the ending he had in mind, with Emeril leading a rebellion and becoming sovereign of Abakash.

“It’s a bit predictable,” he admitted. “But I haven’t been able to come up with anything better.”

Michael looked thoughtful, but he didn’t say anything.

“What?” James prompted.

“Nothing. I’m sure it’ll be awesome.”

James sighed. “Speak, outrider, or I will be forced to torment you.”

“Oh?” Michael looked intrigued. “How would that go exactly?”

“The dreaded tickle torture, outlawed in five galaxies.”

Michael gave him a slow, sexy smile. “Oooh, baby. I’m game.”

James felt a flush of arousal. He looked out the window, wishing he could hide the color he felt burning his cheeks. “I’m on to your tricks. You’re trying to distract me. Tell me what you were thinking.”

Michael sighed. “Okay, so this is really random, and I’m not a writer so it probably sucks ass but… I was thinking it would be cool if Emeril was offered the crown of Abakash but he decided instead to give it to Doran and went off to explore the galaxy. My favorite part of
Star Child
was how much Emeril loved traveling, his sense of joy at seeing new worlds. It would be kinda disappointing to think of him stuck in one place with a bunch of paperwork or something. And Doran is perfect for it, all noble and grave. I dunno. I mean, they’re your characters.”

“That doesn’t… entirely reek,” James grudgingly admitted. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more the idea grabbed hold. “Yeah. That could be a nice twist right at the end. Would you seriously be okay if I used it?”