Jeffery even came with a sense of decorum other men didn't seem to have. At the exact moment he climaxed that afternoon on the sofa, he looked into Evan's eyes for a moment, and then his head went all the way back in such a way that Evan watched the muscles in his neck tighten. While he watched his husband finish, he jerked his own erection until he came with a discharge that landed on the side of his face.
Jeffery glanced down at him and smiled. He leaned forward, slowly licked the mess Evan had made on his cheek, and kissed Evan one more time. It was a deep kiss and Evan grabbed the back of his husband's head. He always felt the same way in the end. He didn't want to let go of Jeffery; he didn't want to stop kissing and he didn't want Jeffery to leave his body.
But it ended a moment or two later, and Jeffery stood up and removed the condom. They showered together the same way they'd been showering since the first time they'd made love. Then Evan put on a short black robe and Jeffery went back to the living room to gather his clothes. Evan stood near the dining table and watched him dress. He was as much in love with Jeffery as ever. A problem in their relationship was that there were times he didn't like Jeffery. Another problem was he always felt as if he'd failed. He'd always wanted to be the one man who could tame Jeffery and turn him into the perfect monogamous husband. He'd had to learn the hard way that nothing in life is perfect and it takes time and effort to be happy.
When Jeffery was dressed, he walked over to the dining table and handed Evan the navy tie. "Would you do it? No one can tie a tie they way you can."
Evan smiled and wrapped the tie around Jeffery's neck. He moved slowly and concentrated on making a tight Windsor knot because he knew Jeffery couldn't make a Windsor knot on his own.
When he finished, he adjusted the knot tightly to Jeffery's collar and kissed him on the lips. Jeffery's hand went up the back of his robe and he said, "I'm glad you're home. I have to go now, but I'll call you later this week."
Evan walked him to the door, with Jeffery's hand still up the back of his robe. "Thanks for coming over today. I'm glad your assistant told you I was coming home today." He didn't refer to the assistant as the Werewolf in front of Jeffery.
Jeffery tilted his head sideways and said, "My assistant didn't tell me anything. No one had to tell me you were coming home today. I've been checking in with Havilland since you were admitted."
"You were?" This was news to Evan. This wasn't typical of Jeffery. He tended to delegate every aspect of his busy life, even the most personal things, to his various minions.
"I was seriously worried this time," Jeffery said. "Especially when you had to be hospitalized." Jeffery didn't mention he knew Evan had been raped and beaten. Jeffery also tended to ignore things that bothered him.
"I'm okay now," Evan said. "I've learned my lesson. It's not going to happen again." He knew he should have felt more traumatized about being raped. He knew how serious an issue rape was, and how it was often ignored with men. But he just couldn't remember the act itself or anything else about that night because he'd been unconscious through all of it.
Jeffery hugged him and said, "I have to go. I'll call you. Maybe you should think about moving back home for a while. Kenny would love it, and you can have your own bedroom."
Evan stepped back and looked him in the eyes. "If I ever do move back home I don't want my own bedroom, Jeffery. You know what I want. We've talked about this before and I'm not going to change my mind." They'd been over this a million times since Evan had moved out. Evan wanted them to be a real couple with a traditional marriage. He didn't want an open relationship, he didn't want to do three-ways, and he didn't want a husband who screwed every good-looking young man he came in contact with. And though the open marriage gave Evan his own advantages, he was willing to give all that up forever just to be a family again. It was the one issue where he wouldn't back down.
As always, Jeffery changed the subject. "I'll call," he said. Then he kissed him goodbye, turned, and headed down the hall until he reached the staircase. As he grabbed the banister, he glanced back and sent him a smile.
Evan stood in the doorway and listened until he couldn't hear Jeffery's feet tapping on the stairs anymore. He wondered if he still had time for a short nap before he had to get ready for Kenny's reading. This would be the first time he would be out in public without having a drink and he started to feel a little shaky again. It would have been nice if Jeffery had been able to join him just this one time.
Chapter Four
It always made Evan smile when he tried to explain to people what he did for a living. He wrote historical romance novels, with covers that had women in long flowing gowns and large English manor homes in the background. He'd been doing this since he'd graduated from college, thrilled and grateful to find a niche in an industry known for its constant rejection.
When most people heard he was a published author the first question was always the same: "What's the name of your book?" This was usually followed by, "What's your book about?" These questions made Evan smile even more. Most people didn't read historical romance. They read mainstream fiction, the latest bestselling nonfiction, or whatever else they'd heard or read about in the mainstream media that was trending. Most did not understand there were career writers who focused in genre fiction and catered to a smaller, dedicated group of readers who tended to read up to ten or more novels a week. Evan had learned early in his career it was easier to just say he worked in publishing and leave it at that.
This wasn't totally off base. He did do freelance jobs whenever his agent found something interesting he thought Evan might like. The last freelance piece Evan had done was for a book of essays that examined a popular textbook on romance novels that would be used to teach on a university level. Although these publications were usually more academic than creative, Evan enjoyed the diversion once in a while. Not being creative had its advantages.
He didn't feel creative that evening. He still felt shaky, slightly paranoid, and self-conscious about all the weight he'd lost at Havilland. All of his thirty-inch-waist slacks hung on his hips and he needed a belt to keep them from falling down. Even his jackets and sport coats felt loose in the shoulders. But he didn't want to disappoint his son, so he put on a pair of beige slacks, a white shirt, and a black sport jacket. On his way to the avenue to get a cab, he phoned Cadin and told him not to stop by on his way back to Brooklyn. Cadin offered to drive him uptown to Kenny's school, but he was stuck in traffic on Seventh Avenue South and Evan was already running late as it was.
When the cab pulled up to the school, Evan climbed out and slipped through side door where a group of kids were hanging out next to a brick wall. He kept his head down; he walked directly to the staircase and headed for room 304.
At the top of the stairs, he turned without looking and bumped into a tall kid carrying a gray backpack. He knocked the backpack out of the kid's hands and he stopped to help him pick it up. But when he bent down to help the kid and he said, "I'm so sorry. I'm in a hurry," their eyes met and the kid sent him a seductive glance. He stared at Evan's lips for a moment and said, "No problem at all, dude. You can bump into me anytime." Then he helped Evan stand up and looked him up and down with eyes that made Evan feel as if he'd just stepped out of the shower stark naked.
Evan didn't know what to say. He hadn't been this embarrassed since the time he'd left the men's room in a busy restaurant with a long piece of toilet paper hanging out of the back of his pants. This kid couldn't have been more than seventeen or eighteen years old. When Evan had been seventeen he never would have thought about flirting with a thirty-year-old man. Evan smiled and turned fast. "I'm late. Sorry, again."
"No problem, dude," the kid said. As Evan headed to room 304 he had a feeling the kid stared at him the entire time. He didn't dare look back. He'd done things in his life he wasn't proud of, but he'd never flirted with a minor and he never would.
He slipped into room 304 as quietly as he could and tiptoed to a row of seats at the back of the room. The lights had been lowered and a small group of people sat facing a podium at the front of the room. When he sat down next to a man with dark brown hair and he looked up and saw Kenny reading something he'd written, he pressed his palm to his chest and smiled. For an instant, all his fears and frustrations disappeared and the world was a comfortable place to be again.
Kenny was reading something deep and meaningful, and his expression looked serious in an exaggerated way that came off more delightful and amusing than intense. Oh, it flung Evan right back to his own high school days when he'd been this serious about literary fiction and he'd sworn he could define true literary fiction. Back then, he knew all the answers. In those days he'd considered himself an artist, not a writer. He'd learned a great deal about life and writing and fiction since those days. There truly was nothing more entertaining than an amateur who thought he knew it all.
This reading turned out to be absolutely adorable. Evan smiled even wider when he heard the way Kenny had overwritten his narrative with too many adverbs and adjectives, and how he'd screwed up dialogue tags, making small minor errors all new writers make when they are just starting out. All his characters "grumbled, mumbled, pleaded, and cajoled," when they should have just "said" or "asked." If Kenny was serious about being a writer, he would learn these things in time and he would improve with each thing he wrote. Even though Evan and his son were not biologically related, Evan felt proud to see his son follow in his footsteps. Though Evan would never have said it aloud, he took even more pride in the fact that his son didn't want to be a billionaire Wall Street shark like his other dad. They'd never encouraged Kenny one way or the other. His natural abilities in English were evident from the day he entered school. He started to read full novels before most of the other kids, and it seemed to come naturally to him. And now, ten years later, he was actually writing his own fiction and reading it in front of a roomful of people.