Crossing Borders (12 page)

“Yes,” she repeated. “No drugs.”

“What about booze? What's your prime directive?”

“No booze for me, none for anyone I drive with, no hanging alone with anyone who's been drinking, phone call immediately if I get in any one of those situations. Only drink what I can open fresh for the first time, never put it down until it's finished, never take anything to drink from anyone else ever, period.”

“Good girl, let's go get 'em.” He slipped out of his car and put a reverse-blade sword through his belt. Going as Ruroni Kenshin, the redheaded wandering samurai from the Japanese comic of the same name, was a no-brainer for Tristan, with his thin frame and long red hair.

The traditional hakama pants, which had seven folds—five in the front, and two in the back—were fascinating by themselves. There was a complex way to tie them on, and for that reason alone they appealed to Tristan. He also enjoyed the tunic, with the sleeves he would sometimes tie up with a long sash so he could wash up without getting them dirty. Ultra authentic.

Tristan carried himself a little differently when he wore the costume, and he was sure it was because he'd read the graphic novels at an impressionable age, devouring them on lazy Saturday afternoons with his dad. He still carried the character of the quiet samurai in his heart with what he now realized must have been a crush. The red X on his cheek was made with a Sharpie marker that evening, and all in all, he thought he made a dashing figure.

Apparently, more than one of Lily's girlfriends agreed, and he had to fight the urge to leave before it was strictly okay for him to do it. He moved randomly from room to room, checking out the party-goers inconspicuously, and ascertained that the host's parents were home, even if they were barricaded upstairs while the kids were down. It seemed to him as though the owner of the house had a couple of older kids who were doing the same thing he was, chaperoning, and one in particular appeared to be acting as a bouncer, which would be music to his mother's ears. After an hour or so, he figured Lily was safe enough in this crowd—there may have been a little beer, but none visible, actually, and he didn't smell it on anyone's breath. He knew the kid who was acting as bouncer was vigilant, because they'd discussed the perils of having younger sibs to watch over.

Lily was making ferocious, unsociable eye contact with him, so he smiled at her and nodded his head at the door, indicating that he was leaving, and then he told her that their mom would pick her up at one in the morning, and she'd better be watching for a text and ready to go by then. It was only a brief drive to his own party and Michael from there.

Michael. Just the thought was enough to drive all the breath from his chest.

The dinner party given by Michael's friends was located in a house on pricey Skyline Drive in the part of town his father used to refer to as “haute Fullerton.” The homes up here were beautiful and expansive, with massive windows and lovely views. Some of the older ones had large lots too, with fine backyards for outdoor entertaining, and Tristan had some friends from school in this neighborhood with properties large enough to keep horses. Horse trails wound around the hilly area, making it a kind of urban rural oasis. There was plenty of wildlife in the area too, raccoons and coyotes and other things like snakes that Tristan preferred not to think about too much. He parked his car on the road across from the address Michael had given him.

It was a fine, clear night, and the air was crisp enough that it was smoky from chimney fires. Tristan smelled the damp earth and the spicy scent of some wonderful kind of food as he strode up the cobbled walkway toward a gorgeous home. The entryway soared and a massive pendant light cast unusual shadows on the walls. Tristan knocked and took a deep breath. Michael had invited him here, he reminded himself. Michael wanted him here; he was a guest, not a beggar.

The entry door opened, and he stood facing a man about six inches shorter than he with a surprised expression on his face. “Aren't you a little old to be trick-or-treating?”

“I'm here for Michael Truax. He asked that I meet him here.” Tristan held onto his temper as the man just raised one eyebrow.

“I see…” The man turned around and called out, “My word, Michael, I had no idea you were babysitting tonight.”

Tristan said nothing as he followed the man into his home. Nevertheless, he saw his evening tank before his eyes. He probably should have stayed with the kids at Lily's party; at least they appeared to be having some fun.

“Limit that razor-sharp tongue to politicians, Jeff, and leave my friends alone,” said Michael, his mild tone belied by the warning in his eyes.

“Hey, Sparky.” His warm eyes lit up.

Tristan felt the flush creep up his face. “Hey.”

“This is my friend Jeff,” Michael introduced him to the man who opened the door. “He can be civil; he just has to be reminded sometimes. Come, meet everyone else.” He left their host and took Tristan to the rest of the group, who congregated in the large open kitchen. He took Tristan's hand in his, leading the way to the den area where more people milled around a table set with several attractive desserts. “Hungry?” he asked.

“I ate before my sister's party,” said Tristan looking around. He definitely did not fit in. The room was full of thirty-somethings, all wearing business casual. Michael took him around, introducing him to the other guests, and he believed he'd remember their names about as long as it took them to forget his. Michael, bless him, introduced him as Tristan and not Sparky, and he loved him for it.

“Looks like a working breakfast at the stock exchange,” he remarked to Michael when they were out of earshot. “You fit in here?”

“Yeah, well…” He looked around. “This is actually a group of Orange County investors that I work with sometimes on larger projects. Jeff has been looking into financing a resort in Lake Tahoe, and he wanted to run it past us. It just means handing out a prospectus and a short PowerPoint presentation. Actually, I rather hoped we'd be over it when you got here. The important fact is, I'm not your finance-a-resort-in-Lake-Tahoe kind of guy; the rest is just details and beer snacks.”

“But still”—Tristan grinned—“an investment party. You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”

“You look good, Sparky.” He turned Tristan so he could see the back of the costume. “Very authentic. How goes the revolution?”

“Kyoto is ablaze, and the streets run with blood. The usual,” said Tristan. “Thirsty work.”

“Ah,” said Michael. “What would you like? In your age range they seem to have water and some sodas.”

“Water's fine.”

Michael took Tristan to the huge Sub Zero built-in refrigerator and opened it, surprising him by pulling him behind the door and kissing him hard. “You look edible,” he murmured against Tristan's lips. “Want the tour?”

“Of the fridge?”

“No.” He closed the refrigerator, rolling his eyes. “Jeff, can I show Tristan the house?”

Jeff's eyes were knowing when he said, “Sure, just don't take too long.” He checked his watch. “My presentation's going to be at eleven on the dot. I'm sure we can find a video game or a toy or something for your little friend.”

“Jeff?” said Michael, irritated.

“Oh, all right.” Jeff laughed at his friend's discomfort. “I'm not the one who brought the little ninja boy, though, am I?”

“Hello,” hissed Tristan. “
Samurai
.”

“Here”—Michael handed Tristan a water and shot Jeff a murderous look—“let me show you the view from the game room.”

Michael took his hand again, rubbing it briskly between his own. He led Tristan to an enormous room with a pool table in the middle. It had video games and a jukebox. Tristan couldn't help but feel that Lily's party would have been wonderful in a place like this.

“Sorry about that,” said Michael, jerking his head to indicate their erstwhile host. “He's a prick sometimes. He thinks that it's funny to talk down to people. I used to get it a lot because of the whole cop thing.”

“Please tell me you beat the crap out of him and he stopped.”

“Afraid not. I actually had to earn his respect.” He rubbed small circles on Tristan's back, grinning. “'Course, it wasn't too difficult.”

“I'll bet not. If he's ever seen you naked…”

“He has not!” Michael laughed. “Not that he hasn't tried.”

“Well, then, I should get his respect, because I have,” said Tristan, sliding his arms around Michael's waist. “And as a matter of fact, I haven't been able to get the image out of my head all week.”

“Oh, yeah? Is that the only place it's been?” Michael pulled Tristan closer. “You didn't feel it anywhere else?”

Tristan's cock stiffened in response, and every cell in his body hummed that his lover was near. “What do you think?” he asked, starting to breathe irregularly. “What about you?”

“I hardly ever imagine myself naked; whatever could you mean?” Michael's blue eyes held Tristan's. “As soon as this is over, I'm going to reacquaint you with every horizontal surface in my house.”

“Why limit yourself?”

“Laws of physics,” said Michael against his mouth.

“Oh, laws,” Tristan breathed. “It's just no fun if you can't break them.”

“I did not hear that.” He went serious all of a sudden. “Needed you all week.”

“Me? I forgot all about you,” lied Tristan, pressing his body closer so Michael could feel his throbbing cock.

With a grimace, Michael moved his body out of Tristan's grasp and took Tristan to the garden. There they discovered a fire bowl and a gazebo covered with hundreds of flickering white Christmas lights. The city shimmered in the distance with the lights of a thousand houses as Tristan drank in the view from the outdoor entertaining area.

“Warm enough?” Michael asked him, wrapping both arms around him from behind as they stood looking at the cars snaking along the freeway far below in the distance.

“Mm,” said Tristan, his skin tingling with longing. He licked his lips, turning for another kiss. “Is this normal? I want to crawl inside you…it's like a drug.”

Michael rubbed his face against Tristan's. “What's normal, anyway?”

“I've never felt this way,” said Tristan. “It feels like my heart is going to explode out of my chest.”

“Sparky,” Michael whispered. He fit them together and kissed Tristan till his knees buckled. Tristan thought he heard a whimper in his own throat when Michael pulled away. “Back soon, then we'll blow this gig, okay?”