Page 59 of Smoky Mountain Dreams
“I’m twenty-eight,” Christopher said solemnly. “And nice tomeet you, Mr. Jones.”
“No, it’s Frankie-Jones,” the little boy corrected. “Twofirst names with a dash between ‘em. My last name’s Bell. But you can call meFJ or Frankie-Jones. Mr. Bell’s for my dad.”
“Gotcha, FJ.” Christopher’s eyes sparkled. “Looks like agood sleepover.”
“We built forts,” Will volunteered. “And we’re battling forthe castle. Hey! You could be the bad guys. Then we don’t have to fight eachother.”
“Christopher and I are—” Jesse started.
“Actually, that sounds fun,” Christopher said, unbuttoningthe sleeves of his shirt and rolling them up. “Got any more noodles? And maybewe should take this battle somewhere nothing will get broken. Where would thatbe?”‘
Jesse looked over at him, noting the flush in his cheeks andthe glow in his eyes. “You don’t have to—I mean, I didn’t invite you over toentertain my kids.”
“I know. But I like kids. And I haven’t had a good noodlewar in…ever.” He stood and grabbed Will’s blue noodle and jerked it out of hishands. With a playful grin he said, “Game on!”
Will screeched in laughter, taking off toward the stairs,screaming, “Wait, wait! I have to get more swords! Don’t start without me!”
Frankie-Jones settled into a ninja crouch, holding thenoodle-sword in front of him in a defensive posture. Christopher mimicked hisposition, sticking his ass out in a way that made Jesse bite down on his bottomlip to keep from chuckling. They eyeballed each other.
Then Christopher said earnestly, “May the Force be with you.”
Jesse cackled as their noodles slapped against each other incrisp, clean moves. Jesse didn’t move from his position on the couch, stayingout of their way as he sipped his wine, and kept a close eye to make sure Christopher’snearly empty glass wouldn’t be knocked over and the lamps were safe. He stoodwhen Will scrambled down the stairs with two more noodles. “Let’s go out back.”
After everyone grabbed their coats and shoes, they headedtoward the back door onto the deck. From there stairs led them down to thesmall patch of fenced yard carved out of the hillside before the woods andmountain took over. Jesse paused in following them only long enough to yelldown to the basement to Brigid and the girls, “We’re out back if you need us!”
Outside, the light from the basement sliding glass door litup the battlefield. Inside, he could see the brown and gold tones of the movieand the bright heads of the girls as they watched. Jesse motioned toward thenorth side of the house, saying, “The base for Frankie-Jones’s and my team willbe the rocking chairs on the patio. Will and Chris, your base will be thehammock by the basement storage door.”
“What are the rules?” Christopher asked.
“Hitting only with the noodles, no hands, feet, elbows, or knees.”
“How do we win?”
“First team to steal the other team’s base wins.”
“I’m ready,” Christopher said, whapping his noodle on theground for emphasis. “You ready, Will?”
“Ready, Mr. Chris.”
“Cool. Let’s get ‘em.”
Jesse didn’t remember the last time he’d laughed so hard.Darkness and the cold night air rushed all around as they ran and pushed andgrappled, as the kids screeched, and Christopher bellowed and laughed. The kidswere still in their pajamas underneath their coats, but even with their breathpuffing into the night around them, no one seemed cold in the melee, both teamssweating for the victory.
In the end, Jesse and Frankie-Jones stole Will andChristopher’s hammock base, and then there was more wildness as they alltumbled onto it, flipped it, and fell onto the ground, groaning and laughing,and in Frankie-Jones’s case almost crying from hitting his elbow on a stone.Christopher had landed half on Jesse, and there was a split second when gazingup at Christopher’s happy face, shadowed in the darkness and yet lit up withjoy, Jesse had almost grabbed a handful of his hair to pull him down into akiss.
Instead, they’d disentangled themselves, sharing nothingmore than a significant look that held promise for some future time when theirlips could touch.
“It’s all fun and games, until someone gets hurt,” Jessechided as he led the kids up the deck stairs and into the house to ice FJ’sarm.
“That wasawesome,” Christopherenthused, following at Jesse’s heels. He bounced as he walked, almost like apuppy who was ready for more rough-and-tumble play. Jesse wished to God hecould do something about that—something exhausting and fun as hell. Somethinghe knew damn well Christopher wasverygood at, andat which they would both be winners.
Christopher was still talking, and Jesse grinned as helistened. “Seriously, the best andonlynoodle war I’veever had.”
As they walked through the living room, Jesse examinedChristopher. His face was red from the wine, cold, and exertion, and his eyeswere bright. He’d never looked more handsome. Except possibly the first timeJesse ever saw him on stage—the night he’d had to check the name in the programfifteen times. Or maybe the night at Christopher’s house, flushed and sweaty inthe bed, his eyes scrunched with pleasure and his mouth—
No. It wasn’t the time forthoughts like that. He was going to make himself crazy and then not be able todo a damn thing about it—except use his own hand again—for days. And days. God,he needed to make a plan to see Christopher naked again soon. Very soon.Tomorrow.
He helped Frankie-Jones up onto the kitchen bar stool andgrabbed an icepack from the freezer. “It’s fine. Just a bruise. I promise you’lllive.”
