Page 49 of Fly

“Sure.” He cocked an expressive brow. “Those things that roll under cars are good.”

“Wow, you are so weird.” I stole a kiss, then another, and then one more.

“You are so beautiful.”

“Pfft. I have sleepy gunk in my eyes and my breath reeks of the fish pâté on those little crackers that they served last night.”

“I love salmon breath.”

“Such a freak.”

“You love me though,” I teased, placing my hand to his bare chest to feel the warmth of his skin. “How do you feel about turkey and stuffing?”

“Uhm… okay, I guess. Is that what we’re having for breakfast?”

“No, no, I’m just… okay, hear me out.” I bolstered my head in my hand as he moved to lie on his side to better see me. “I’d like to take you to Thanksgiving dinner at Kirby’s.” His eyes went wide with fear. “No, don’t worry. We don’t have to make it into something. We can just be there as friends. He knows you’re renting the pool house and that we’re buddies. Shared jock mentality and proximity and all that. I go to his place in Baltimore every year. He’s pretty much all the family that I have so if I could share that day with you it would be extra special. But if it makes you feel too uncomfortable then don’t give it another thought.”

He took a long time to mull it over. Which was good. Leaping into something could be⁠—

“Okay.”

“Oh. Are you sure? You can take today to think about it. Thanksgiving isn’t until next Thursday, so we have plenty of time to let Joy know to set another plate.”

He shook his head. “No, I’m sure. I want to get to know the people in your life better. I need to push on the boundaries a little. To test the water. If Kirby and Joy were to guess about us would they be cool?”

“Oh, hell yeah, totally cool. They’re both huge allies and know that I’m bisexual. Never had any issue with any guys that I dated so if they guessed they’d be totally okay.” I gave his left pectoral a squeeze. Firm. Yummy.

“Then sure, yeah, let’s eat that stuffing with them. Should we bring anything? I don’t know much about your Thanksgiving. We do a smaller gathering on December sixth for celebrating Finland’s independence day but other than that…”

“I usually just bring some cold duck for the adults and a bottle of bubbly grape juice for the twins. You’re going to love their boys!” I kissed him loudly. “Thank you for being so… perfectly you. I’ll text Kirby as soon as I make love to you.”

“I have morning skate at nine,” he softly reminded me then flung the covers aside to expose all that firm, pale skin. Double yummy.

“What happens if you’re late?” I slithered over top of him, rubbing our now stiffening cocks together.

“Bag skates.” He grabbed my ass to keep me pinned to him, his hips rolling.

“Sounds terrible. I’ll be quick.”

“Hmm, no, take your time.”

So, I did. He was quite late. Coach was not impressed. Bag skates ensued. He assured me it was fine and that I could rub the soreness from his overworked thighs when he got home.

Which I also did because I’m just that kind of guy. The kind who’s crazy in love.

My mother used to say that hindsight is twenty-twenty.

In retrospect bringing Jari into a small suburban house with two three-year-old boys might not have been the best thing to do. After being here for an hour Jari looked shellshocked. An emotion Archie and Max did tend to bring out in old people at the grocery store, their daycare providers, the neighbor across the street, and their pediatrician. They were twin dervishes who glommed onto people they liked like barnacles. Jari had made the mistake of bringing the boys storybooks as a gift. He also gifted Joy with Lindt chocolates and Kirby with rich pastries from a local bakery. Thoughtful gifts from a lovely man.

“Okay, so if someone can peel the boys off Jari we can sit down to eat. Shit! I forgot the cranberry sauce. Kirby, get the boys into their boosters. Cam, can you start carving the turkey?” Joy shouted over her shoulder as she raced back into the kitchen.

“Huh?” Kirby gasped, lifting one lad to his seat as the other tried to dig so far into his nose that he was about to poke his brain. Jari sat in his seat, wide-eyed, as I pulled the finger out of Archie’s nose then wiped it off with my sleeve. “I’m sorry. Who is carving the turkey? That job belongs to the man of the house. Which is me. Maxwell, please stop trying to help. It’s not helping.”

“Someone is fragile,” I stage-whispered to Jari who cracked a smile. Kirby scowled then flung a dinner roll at my head. It bounced off my temple to the floor where the family dog, Woof, a mix breed beagle/poodle/something with a curly tail, pounced on it. “Let me get the boys seated. You carve,” I said to Kirby after plunking Archie into his booster.

“No! Don’t let him anywhere near that electric carving knife!” Joy said, reappearing from the kitchen with a platter holding six logs of jellied cranberry. Six. Six logs. “The last time he tried to carve a roast he cut through the table and ruined my great-grandmother’s beloved wooden meat trencher.”

“Well, if great granny Gerturde wasn’t serving her guests pork roast on a wooden dish like we were dining with Vikings in some hall in Finland that wouldn’t have happened.”