Page 21 of Something Like Forever
Ben sniffed, as if hurt. “I guess we don’tfeel the same way about each other.”
“We do!” Tim said, hittingthe turn signal and starting to pull over. “You can drive it allthe time if you want.”
Ben laughed and reached for the wheel,gently guiding the car back to the center of the road. “I justwanted you to say I could.”
“You really can,” Timsaid, even more eager now that he knew Ben wasn’t likely toaccept.
“It’s fine,” Ben assuredhim. “But the next time you’re a passenger in my car…”
“I’m upfor that!” Tim said with a grin. A moment later, he reached over totake Ben’s hand. “This is what I want for Jason, you know? Not justthe sexual stuff, which I definitely donotthink about him doing, but thesimple things too. Going for a drive together, or messing with eachother, like when you moved the car from where I hid it. When we’retogether, everything is fun. Even the boring stuff.”
“It is pretty awesome,”Ben agreed. “What did you think of his reaction to the tickets? Heseemed upset at first.”
“Yeah, he did. But thenyou made him realize he’s being silly. That’ll probably keephappening until he’s up there. Then he’ll realize how good it feelsto be with William and he’ll stay.”
“I hope you’re right,” Bensaid, although if he was truthful, not all of him wanted that. Thelogical part that understood what was best, yes, and most of hisheart too. But not all of it.
* * * * *
Tim pulled up to themansion, the automatic gates clattering shut behind him. He ignoredthe large garage and the paved parking area, instead cruising up tothe entrance. The car windows were down, allowing in the firsttemperate weather of the new year, although the evening was growingchilly. Tim parked and trotted up to the large front doors to lethimself in.
Marcello didn’t have abutler. That had always seemed weird, since the man hired maids andgroundskeepers and called in private chefs like other peopleordered pizzas. Then again, butlers were all about rules andenforcing them, which went against the philosophy of the personliving here. Marcello was more trouble than a teenager, despitebeing manymanydecades beyond that age. He had even managed to get Timarrested recently, although the charges had been dropped, so noharm done.
As Tim closed the doorsbehind him, he chuckled to himself and shook his head. No harmdone? He always let Marcello get away with murder—not literally, asfar as he knew—and that had everything to do with Eric Conroy.Mentor, savior, father figure, and the second greatest love of hislife. Eric had been a lot of things to him, and his death had lefta void in Tim’s life that he thought would never be filled. Nodoubt Marcello felt the same, having lost his dearest friend too.That had given them enough in common to start a relationship oftheir own, and they now shared a longer history than Tim had withEric. That was a strange thought, but not a sad one, since hevalued their friendship like nothing else.
Tim had missed the bigguy. This was Marcello’s second recent trip to Japan. This one hadlasted three weeks, but to Tim, it felt much longer than that. Hepaused in an entryway larger than his master bedroom. He stoodstill long enough to listen for Marcello and heard light musicahead, so that’s the direction Tim went.
He entered the living roomat the rear of the house, the one with tall windows that provided aview of the pool and, farther out, Austin’s sparkling skyline. Thelighting here was low, hidden LEDs providing a warm orange glow.Now that Tim could hear the music better, he recognized it as BarryWhite. What really drew his attention was the voluptuous form onthe couch, draped in a pale green silk robe, the white floralpattern unmistakably Japanese.
“Why, hello there,”Marcello said seductively as he rose gracefully and slinked towardhim.
“Hello yourself,” Timsaid, voice husky, as he too moved forward.
As soon as they were closeenough to touch, they both laughed and threw their arms around eachother.
“I’m so glad you’re back!”Tim enthused.
“No matter how delightfulthe distractions in Japan,” Marcello replied, “my heart belongs inAustin with you. How could I not return?”
Pure flattery, but also the way Marcelloexpressed his affection.
“Come,” the large mansaid, gesturing to the couch. “Join me for a drink.”
“I’m driving,” Timsaid.
“And I’m pouring,”Marcello replied. “I’ll make sure you get home safely.”
“Japanese champagne?” Timasked, eyeing the bottle and glasses curiously.
“Saké,” Marcello said,twisting off the bottle’s cap and pouring. “On previous trips, Idiscovered that while saké is an acquired taste, it isn’t one Inecessarily long for. Then, during my most recent travels, a youngman—my goodness, he was delicious—introduced me to this latesttrend. Sparkling saké! Here, I’m dying to know what youthink.”
Marcello handed him aglass, then sat back on the couch. Tim joined him. After clinkingrims, he took a sip. The drink had a faintly milky taste, but healready liked it more than he did normal saké.
“It’s good!” he said,following up with a braver gulp.
“Everything is better withbubbles, wouldn’t you agree? I dare say I have carbonation to thankfor my bubbly personality. My trip took a turn for the better afterthis little discovery. Not just because of the companionship whichfilled that particular night, although it certainly didn’t hurt.But no, it was this ambassador of drinks which helped bridge anycultural gaps. The sparkling saké flowed like wine, and a number ofvery lucrative deals were made.”
“That’s awesome!” Timsaid, raising his glass again. “Just tell me you aren’t movingthere.”
