When the Stars Come Out (14 page)

“Well, yes, there’s that,” said Noah. “Mrs. Levy also thinks I’m

having an affair with Tricia.”

Bart burst into laughter. “Your stepmother? Oh, man, I guess

Desperate Housewives
has nothing on a Park Avenue co-op.”

“Truer than you know, Bart. Truer than you know.”

The doors opened and Noah, once again taking Bart’s hand,

walked quietly down the hall to his father’s apartment. He slid his key into the lock and opened the door, revealing the dark foyer.

Without a word, the men felt their way through the foyer and down

an equally dark corridor, until they reached the guest room.

“You’re sure no one is awake?” asked Bart, his voice hushed, as

Noah closed the door.

Noah wasn’t, but said he was. He flipped the light switch, illumi-

nating a lamp on the nightstand.

Bart unbuttoned one shirt button then stopped.

“It’s just that this seems so
. . .
high school. Don’t get me wrong; I want to be here. But it’s been a long time since I was smuggled

into a boy’s bedroom.”

Noah approached him, an impish smile on his face, and pressed

himself gently against Bart. “But it’s kind of fun, right?”

Bart returned his smile. “Yeah. Kind of.”

Noah unbuttoned Bart’s second button and slid his fingers in-

side the shirt, feeling neatly trimmed hair bristle against his fingers.

“It’s just that . . .”

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“Shhhh.” Noah put a finger to his lips, then, his hand still on

Bart’s chest, leaned up and kissed him.

Bart tilted his head down to meet Noah’s kiss, and his reluctance—

his nervousness, really—began to melt away. Noah’s lips were soft, not demanding, as Bart had feared. Not aggressive, but welcoming.

He felt Noah’s tongue slowly begin to probe inside his mouth,

sliding along his teeth until it plunged deep inside, where Bart met it with his own tongue, first tentatively and then, as their intensity increased, hungrily. His strong hands found Noah’s trim waist, and he guided him gently toward the double bed.

As they kissed, Noah continued unbuttoning the shirt, finally

pulling it back to reveal Bart’s well-defined torso. His chest was solid, and Noah instinctively moved his mouth to one of his small, reddish-brown nipples, slowly rolling his tongue over it until it hardened.

The shirt fell to the floor as they tumbled onto the bed, and

Noah again found Bart’s lips. They laid like that—side by side, kissing deeply—for a few minutes, until Noah broke away. Rising to his knees as the mattress gave slightly beneath his concentrated weight, he arched his back and pulled his own shirt over his head.

“Nice,” said Bart, quietly, as Noah revealed his lean, wiry upper

body.

Noah looked again at Bart’s chest and said, “Obviously one of us

spends more time with the weights than the other.”

Bart looked down, an involuntary reaction to the compliment,

and caught a glimpse of his pectorals. Yes, he had to admit that a decade at the gym had paid off in bulk, but it was the sinewy build of a man like Noah that he found most attractive. He reached over

to him, cupping Noah’s bare shoulder with one hand and pulling

him forward as he said, “This is what I like. Come here.”

The men continued kissing
. . .
touching
. . .
caressing
. . .
their lips alternating between mouth and body, until Noah finally rolled off Bart and said, “Okay, we’re gonna have to do this now or I’m

going to explode all by myself.”

He reached for the top button of Bart’s khakis, already tented

from what was obviously an impressive and rock-hard erection. The

button was popped, the zipper slid down, and then he saw it, de-

fined through Bart’s tight white boxer-briefs. He bent down and

locked his lips on it through the fabric, feeling its warmth.

“Noah, don’t.” Bart pushed his head away.

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93

“What’s wrong?”

“Just take it slow, okay?”

“I can do that,” Noah said, although he wasn’t sure that was the

truth.

He pulled the khakis off Bart’s legs—noting that they were every

bit as muscular and defined as his torso—then, standing at the foot of his bed, took off his jeans, which fell to the floor next to Bart’s shirt. Socks followed, thrown carelessly around the room, landing

wherever they landed. Underwear followed socks
. . .
two pairs of white boxer-briefs—one small, one medium—were tossed to the

floor.

And then—Noah still standing, Bart still reclined on the bed—

they took in each other’s naked bodies. There was nothing left to

hide.

“I think we should get this over with,” whispered Noah, with a

smile.

“Oh, yes. Please . . .”

Noah began to slide open the nightstand drawer, then unhap-

pily remembered that this was no longer his bedroom.

“Shit,” he said, looking around the room and hoping an inspira-

tion would occur to him. “No lube.”

“You didn’t bring any with you?”

“No. It never occurred to me that I’d be having sex. You?”

Bart shrugged. “Same with me.” He thought for a moment, then

added, “Never mind. Come here.”

Noah climbed back onto the bed, entwining himself with Bart.

They kissed, and Noah closed his eyes in deep satisfaction.

“You know,” said Bart, “if this were a movie, it would be the per-

fect moment to fade to black.”

Taking his cue, Noah reached over and turned off the lamp on

the nightstand, and the room went dark.

“Good morning.”

Noah opened his puffy eyes and saw that the sun was, indeed,

up. Meaning it was, indeed, morning. Hiking the comforter to his

neck, he turned to see Tricia in the doorway.

“Sorry,” she said. “I knocked, but you were out like a light.”

His throat was dry. “What time is it?”

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“Eight thirty,” she said. “And if you want breakfast, you’d better get moving.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want kids, because you are
such
a mother.”

“Thank you.” Tricia smiled. “And Bart, if you want breakfast,

you’d better get moving, too.”

Noah panicked, suddenly remembering that he was not just in

the guest room of his father’s apartment; he was in the guest room of his father’s apartment
with a naked man next to him
.

He glanced over, and saw Bart try to disappear under the covers.

“By the way,” Tricia added, looking slightly unhappy and nod-

ding to the pile of clothes and towels on the floor. “If you want that stuff cleaned, throw it in the hamper. I don’t do maid service.”

Noah’s face reddened. He was not only in the guest room of his

father’s apartment with a naked man next to him;
there was also a
pile of towels they had used to clean themselves up lying in the middle of the
floor.
He tried to join Bart in making himself disappear.

When she was gone, the men drew their tired, naked bodies out

of bed and began sorting through the clothes. With the exception

of one of Noah’s socks, which had mysteriously vanished after being tossed blindly the night before, everything was accounted for.

“So how embarrassing is breakfast going to be?” asked Bart, pull-

ing his khakis over those muscular legs. “Maybe I should just go.”

Noah shook his head. “Too late. She knows you slept here, and

I’m sure she knows we had sex, so we might as well face this head

on and get past it.” He picked up one of the clean-up towels they

had used. “Want a souvenir of last night?”

“That,” said Bart, trying to straighten out his now-rumpled shirt,

“is gross.”

Noah grabbed a fresh pair of jeans from the closet. “I just thought you’d want a memento.”

“How about you?”

Noah smiled. “Maybe I’ll smuggle a towel out of here later.”

“No, I meant how about if
you’re
my memento?”

All noise in the world stopped. Noah turned to face Bart, and

saw that he was serious.

He shook his head. “I can’t be your memento, Bart. You’ve got

to get home, and one of these days, I’ll have to get home.”

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95

Bart frowned. “I sort of thought this was more than a trick.”

“It was,” Noah confirmed, as a nervous lump rose in his throat.

In the daylight, sober, his common sense was starting to take over.

“It was a date. We even had dinner first.” He laughed, underscoring his joke, but stopped when he realized that Bart didn’t find it all that funny. “I mean
. . .
look, Bart, we had a great time. If we both lived in New York, things would be different. But if I’m in DC, and you’re out in the Hamptons, I don’t see how it can work. It isn’t

practical.”

“I just thought . . .” Bart’s voice trailed away until he found the right words. “You see, I’m not exactly sexually inexperienced.”

Noah smiled, remembering. “No kidding.”

He was ignored. “But sometimes—not often, but sometimes—

the chemistry is just right. And I thought we had that chemistry.”

“Yeah, but . . .”

“Good conversation
. . .
we clicked . . .” A devilish smile was on his lips and his eyes sparkled. “Not to mention the great sex. I like you, Noah. I really think this could work.”

“
Could
work,” Noah said. “If we lived in the same city
. . .
yeah. It could be perfect. But after knowing each other for less than twenty-four hours, I think it’s premature to say it
will
work. Especially with the geographic obstacles. Washington to the Hamptons
. . .
that’s quite a distance.”

Bart stopped him, a scowl beginning to cross his face. “If I ask

you a question, will you give me an honest answer?”

“Shoot.”

“Are you seeing someone else?”

“No! Not at all. Not since
. . .
well, it’s been a long time. Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Me neither. So why not take a chance?”

“Bart . . .”

“Noah . . .”

Noah shook his head. It was crazy to think that after one date—

and, yes, there had been a date involved, because there
was
dinner, and therefore Bart was not just a trick—and some admittedly fantastic sex, the two men should try to defy all the odds and start a long-distance relationship. Travel five hours every time they wanted to see each other? It was
. . .
crazy.

Still, he knew what Bart was talking about. He hadn’t felt so com-

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fortable with a man in a long time. Maybe even ever. They had

opened up to each other and told each other things Noah was sure

they had barely been able to tell themselves. And would it be such a bad thing to take a chance on an unlikely relationship?

“Let me think about this,” Noah said finally, even as he strongly

suspected that his answer would follow logic, not unrealistic emo-

tionalism.

“If that’s the best answer I’m going to get,” said Bart, buttoning his shirt, “then that’s the answer I’ll have to take.”

When they were dressed, Noah led Bart out of the room. Now,

by light of day, Bart could admire the décor of the Abraham apart-

ment. Even the overly leathered living room drew his seal of ap-

proval as they crossed through it on their shortcut to the dining

room, although he couldn’t let the moment pass without a com-

ment.

“See what happens?” Noah said in response. “I move away for a

few years and they let their fetishes take over.”

In the formal dining room, Tricia sat casually at the table, sip-

ping from a coffee cup. She looked up as she heard them shuffle

into the room.

“Good morning again,” she chirped. “Good to see you again,

Bart.”

His face reddened and he mumbled a good morning.

“Sleep well?”

Noah shot her a look, which she ignored.

The rough makings of a continental breakfast—bagels, a fruit

bowl, miscellaneous pastries—sat on a platter in the middle of the table. Noah helped himself to a bagel, and Bart to some fruit, and, after pouring coffee, they sat.

“How’s the old man this morning?” asked Noah. “Did he get any

sleep?”

“He’s doing better. In fact, you’re going to see for yourself in a few minutes.”

Noah almost gagged on his bagel. “You mean he’s coming out

for breakfast?”

“Did you think he’d be bedridden for the rest of his life?”

Noah felt a twinge of panic at the thought that his father would

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97

indicate, had clearly spent the night. And Tricia picked up on that panic as if she could read his mind.

“I wouldn’t worry about having Bart here,” she said. “He knows.”

Now Noah
did
gag. “He knows?”

“He knows.”

“
How
?”

Tricia reached over and patted his hand. “Your father knows sex

noises when he hears them.”

“Oh Christ,” muttered Bart, wondering if he could possibly get

out of the apartment before Noah’s father made his appearance.

Tricia smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Bart. Noah’s father is very

open minded. In fact, I think he’s happy to know that Noah is get-

ting
something
. We’ve been worried that he’s become too much of a hermit lately.”

Her husband’s son stopped her. “That’s enough, Tricia.”

“What’s the problem, Noah?” She set her coffee cup down. “We’re

all adults. You’re almost as old as me, and if
I’m
allowed to have sex . . .”