Cherish & Blessed (18 page)

“What were you doing before in the car?” Jim asked, wiping his brow against the late-August sun. “Movie stuff?”

Griffin sighed dramatically. “Yeah, movie stuff.”

The script that had brought them together—a retelling of
Carmen’s death and her father’s incredible sense of spirit—was about to go into production, finally, thanks to the deep pockets of Bennett Ames. Griffin had a producer credit now, and Bennett was giving him free rein to make the movie he wanted.

Whether it was because he believed in the project that whole-heartedly or he wanted to soothe things with his wife’s best friend, who knew.

Well, Jim thought he knew.

But Daisy’s pregnancy and Sadie’s birth, not to mention another Broadway show Bennett was producing, refocused Bennett’s attention to family and the New York side of his career, leaving his more far-flung projects to flounder a bit without his guiding hand.

Griffin had never had this much freedom or responsibility, and it was clearly taking its toll.

“That location scout we hired is just a massive fuckup. Lori wants to hire someone else, and I suggested Jules, because you know, she just wants to get out of the assistant side of things, but Lori is all ‘does she have experience’ and I finally said, ‘Gee, the last person had experience and he sucked.’” Griffin ran out of air, sagging against Jim’s shoulder. “So that’s what that was about.”

“Did you really say gee?”

“Yeah.”

“That must’ve gone over well.”

Lori the producer didn’t much like Griffin the producer, and as she’d worked for Bennett for almost ten years, Griffin felt like he was going to lose every battle they fought. Because he was just the writer and Bennett’s wife’s best friend—he wasn’t sure that trumped Lori’s loyal longevity.

“Take the weekend, chill out, and then call her Tuesday,” Jim said gently, taking Griffin’s hand in his. “Okay?”

“I’ll just talk to her Wednesday when I’m in LA,” Griffin sighed, resting his head on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim felt his hackles rise just a smidge. “Wednesday?”

“Yeah, I have meetings for like two days straight.” He huffed out a breath. “And apparently location scouting to reorganize or probably just do myself.”

“You didn’t say anything about next week.”

Griffin lifted off Jim’s shoulder, tilting his head to one side like Jim was speaking in riddles. “I told you next week. Last week.”

“No, you said at some point in September.”

“Well… next week would be some point in September,” Griffin said dryly.

Jim felt his annoyance rising. “So you’re going to LA again and I’m staying home with your dad? You just got back.”

Griffin’s spine went rigid. “You can come with me.”

“I hate LA.”

“Then go to Seattle and spend time with everyone up there. Mimi and Terry and the kids would love to see you,” Griffin said, his voice even, like he was working to keep this from escalating.

Again.

Jim opened his mouth to protest, but Griffin was right. The Ohs were one of the things he actually missed about Seattle—not the work, not the weather, just the Heterosexual Power Cabal and their growing numbers.

Little Jamey was talking already. The last time he and Griffin went out there, for what amounted to a quick post-holiday visit, it struck Jim that time was marching along calculably for their friends in a way that didn’t translate to Jim and Griffin’s current rootless existence. People were getting married and having kids and buying houses, and he was looking for his next hobby. Their next vacation rental.

Life was moving, and he wasn’t sure he understood the direction anymore.

“You’re right. I’ll call them—maybe I can fly with you to LAX and take another flight up to Seattle,” Jim said, the fist in his chest relaxing when Griffin smiled.

M
ATT
AND
Evan got out of the SUV, which was now parked in the circular driveway of the Hampton house. Matt had been here before, weekly and at one point daily for the months it took to get it ready for Bennett, Daisy, and the baby. Evan, though, hadn’t seen it in person, and the jaw drop he was experiencing did not surprise Matt at all.

“Holy shit,” Evan murmured as he stood there, looking up at the enormous brown-shingled sprawl.

Matt pulled their duffels and suit bags out of the backseat, laughing a little at his boyfriend’s amazement. “Not quite like that place we stayed a few summers ago,” he said, walking around the SUV to stand next to Evan.

The little blush to the back of Evan’s neck when Matt reminded him of their weekend was like catnip. He dropped a kiss there, right below the line of Evan’s buzz cut. Those few days had started the ball rolling on a transformative time in their lives.

And man, the sex was fucking amazing.

“I’m guessing the shower stalls are bigger here,” Evan said with a grin. He gave Matt’s butt a smack, then sauntered toward the house.

Matt hoped the walls to the guest suite were properly reinforced, for the delicate sensibilities of his hosts’ sake.

The double doors opened and Bennett stepped onto the porch. He wore perfectly pressed white pants, boat shoes, and a silk button-down he hadn’t actually bothered to button up, showing off a gym-made body. Matt figured they’d fallen into a Calvin Klein perfume ad and felt secretly grateful they’d gone shopping.

And that he’d changed at a rest stop.

“Welcome, welcome! You’re the first to arrive,” Bennett said, his face broken into a wide grin.

They exchanged handshakes before Bennett led them into the foyer. Gleaming hardwood floors, white walls, and colorful paintings awaited them; a long curving staircase led to the second floor. Beyond was an enormous living room full of overstuffed white couches situated around a stone fireplace. Matt knew this was the tip of the iceberg real-estate wise—wait till Evan got a look at the patio and its view.

The place looked like a four-star hotel.

“I put you guys in the blue suite,” Bennett said, leading them upstairs. “Kitchen is fully stocked—if there’s anything you want that isn’t here, just ask.” He chatted a little about the weather and the traffic situation as he led them down a long hallway with tan berber carpet.

The blue suite was just that—a huge bedroom with an impressive four-poster white bed, a seating area that took advantage of the stunning beach view, and a spa-quality bathroom that made Matt want to cry a little.

“How much would it cost to install that shower into our house?” he asked, dropping their bags on the table at the end of the bed.

Bennett chuckled. “Say the word and it’s your Christmas bonus.”

Matt pretended to swoon. “Mr. Ames, you know how I get when you talk all millionaire to me.”

Evan threw a pillow at the back of his head.

Bennett left them to “shower off the road” and went to see if Daisy had awoken from her nap. Matt behaved himself entirely until the door closed, then ambushed his boyfriend, who was currently bending over to put his clothes in the dresser.

Evan bent over? Privacy? No chance of kids seeking money or permission at the door?

An aphrodisiac. And an opportunity not to be passed up.

He made a contented little sound, rubbing his growing erection against the seam of Evan’s incredibly distracting khakis, his hands firmly on Evan’s hips.

Once upon a time, Evan would have blushed or pushed him away, insisting on closed curtains or a double lock on the door. Now? He straightened up and leaned back, pressing into Matt’s embrace.

“Here or in the shower?” he asked, and Matt groaned, letting his hands wander down Evan’s trim torso, then to the tented front of his pants.

“Both,” Matt whispered into the strong curve of Evan’s jaw. “Bend over on the dresser.”

O
NCE
UPON
a time, Evan would have closed the curtains and locked the door—or more likely, put Matt off until it was dark and quiet and they were in bed.

Like a secret to be hidden from the rest of the world lest they know that Evan desperately wanted sex with his boyfriend.

Now?

Now he was leaning his forehead against folded arms, shirt rucked up and pants and underwear discarded as Matt fingered him open with agonizing slowness.

The sun shone through the window, the sounds of the ocean leaked in through the screens of the open windows, and Evan pushed back, moaning. His legs shook a little with the effort to stay still; sometimes they fucked hard and fast, and sometimes Matt liked to play every nerve ending until Evan got desperate.

Until he asked for it.

Evan held back. He breathed harshly into the polished top of the dresser, smelling lemon and wax, biting his tongue when Matt pushed in and then drew his fingers out, gentle, then rough, whispering filthy words that made Evan’s dick ache.

But he didn’t say a word.

“You asked for it,” Matt teased, low and crafty. Those perfect fingers disappeared, and Evan heard something that pulled a moan from his chest: Matt’s knees hitting the faded Persian rug under their feet.

T
HE
“
CAR
”
was indeed a limo.

Jim oversaw the tow truck driver hooking up the piece of shit rental, then grabbed their bags and the pies and all but jumped in the backseat of the gleaming black car. A partition divided them from the driver; the air-conditioning made the interior perfectly cold, just the remedy after all that time in the traffic and then waiting for Bennett’s rescue ride. Jim settled onto the leather seat and let himself relax, feeling his temperature drop to something less “set on fire and left to burn by the side of the road.”

A second later Griffin slid in and slammed the door behind him. He held a Styrofoam cup that rattled when he sat down.

“What’s—” Jim started but Griffin held up a finger. He pressed a little button on the armrest and the speaker crackled to life.

“Hey, Vince, how long before we get to the house?”

“About forty minutes,” the static voice came back.

“Great, we’re gonna take a nap. Just buzz when we’re there,” Griffin said, super casual.

As he pulled his polo over his head, taking his sunglasses with it.

Jim kicked off his shoes, a grin sliding over his face. He’d grown up in the lap of luxury—nice cars, nice house, staff in uniforms, everything money could buy—but better than that was having his boyfriend deep-throat his dick with an icy-cold mouth as they sped down the highway in the back of a limo.

Better than that? Jim’s boyfriend fucking him as the car sat in traffic for an hour.

J
IM
ACTUALLY
did nap, sprawled across the seat in just his chinos, shirt and shoes thrown casually in the corner and Griffin lying on top of him wearing just his shirt.

Jim kept his hands on Griffin’s bare ass, positively proprietary.

The speaker buzzed. Vince the limo driver informed them they were about fifteen minutes from the house.

“Come on, we have to look a little less well fucked,” Griffin said, blinking and squinting—his usual mannerisms, Jim knew, when his contacts began to give him trouble. Jim stroked the side of his face, brushed his thumb over his boyfriend’s mouth.

“What?” Griffin asked, looking down at him. Flustered and rumpled, hair a mess, and in desperate need of his glasses—this was Jim’s favorite look for Griffin. This was the kid with bold ideas and a gentle heart who had stolen his, uprooting his life and giving him a reason to get up in the morning. He might have drifted into middle age waiting for love to find him, but he’d have waited longer for something as perfect as Griffin.

“I love you,” Jim said, smiling when Griffin brightened like a switch had been flipped.

“Big old softy,” Griffin whispered in return. Their mouths met in a gentle kiss, a soft exchange of tongues tenderly curling together.

When they came up for air, Griffin sighed. “We need to figure out more alone time,” he said even as they drew closer to a weekend with a houseful of other people. “After the movie’s done.”