Page 63 of 12 Gays of Christmas

One eye cracks open. “Are you my present?”

“Maybe.” I laugh as he grabs me and pulls me closer.

“Can I unwrap you?”

“Ugh. I wish.” But I don’t pull away as he kisses my neck and slips a hand under the T-shirt I wore to bed. I might even whine a little.

“He misses you,” he says, pulling my hand to his erection to prove his point.

“Gil, baby, I’d love to celebrate your birthday with just you and me and your poor neglected dick, but my mom will be—”

He puts his hand over my mouth. “Stop. No mentioning my dick and your mom in the same sentence.” I lick his hand, and he drops it. But instead of complaining, he kisses me hard, pushing me on my back and covering me with his body.

“Gil,” I say breathlessly, “we can’t.”

“You and your tongue started it.” Kisses me again, he sucks my tongue into his mouth. Oh God. This boy is a fast learner. He moves to my neck, and I need more.

“Oh yes, babe.” I don’t care about anything right then. Just Gil and how happy he makes me. Especially how happy his dick makes me. “Just like that.”

A banging on the door has us jerking apart, and I end up on the floor with a thud. “Fuck.”

“I’m coming in. Ready or not.” Nat grins as she opens the door.

“We didn’t say come in,” I say, rubbing my elbow as I stand.

“Do you think Mom would have waited for an invitation? No.” She plops on the bed, and Gil scootches over. “Happy birthday, Gil.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

“Get up, boys. We got things to do. Presents to unwrap.”

Once she’s gone, I brush my lips over Gil’s, careful to keep it light. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s cool. I love your family.”

“You say that now.”

By the time we make it downstairs, Mom is giving us the evil mom-eye. But everyone wishes Gil a happy birthday, and I forgive them for putting that smile on his face.

Still, my family can be a bit much, especially for someone who isn’t used to so much togetherness. I can see how much Gil appreciates being included, but I can also see when it gets to the point of being too much. I’ve had to rescue him a few times from my dad and my mom. And my sister when she had him for almost an hour showing off her shrine to Taylor Swift.

But sitting on the floor with Gil, our backs to the couch like Nat and I did when we were kids, and opening presents feels like a gift all on its own. Gil’s mom gives him anything he wants if he asks. He never asks. And I know it’s because he wants things she isn’t capable or willing to give.

My parents bought him presents—birthday and Christmas—because as annoying as they can be they are also kind of wonderful. I bought Gil the director’s cut ofThe Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Sure, it’s streaming somewhere, but Gil likes to be able to hold things in his hands.

And that makes me think of other things he likes to hold and how our time was cut short this morning. A week is going to be torture.

“Whatcha thinking about?” he asks low enough that no one else can hear.

“You’re birthday present. But you have to wait.” I look up through my lashes and bite my lip. His eyes darken.Oh boy.

“Time for stockings,” Mom says, suddenly right there and shoving my stocking in my hand. Her eyes have a hint of warning in them. Oops.

I’ve had the same stocking since I was a kid. It has a teddy bear on it with a red heart. It’s full of the usual. Candy. Gift cards. Socks. But at the bottom is a small box. I pull it out, examine it, and put it on the coffee table. It reminds me of Remi. “Do you think Remi will figure out who likes him?”

“That guy doesn’t like him,” Gil says, sounding a little impatient.

“Maybe it’s not a guy.”

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