And he looked desperately like he wanted to talk about anything but himself.
“I kind of want to date him,” Ross said honestly, wondering what kind of trouble that could get him into. “I was over at his place last night, playing video games too late and ended up sleeping in his guest room.”
As he made to back out, he caught a glimpse of Abner’s suspicious green eyes in the rearview.
“So, no sex.”
“No, sir, we hardly know each other.” Ross swung the car around and turned to face forward.
“So how do you know if he wants to date you back?”
Ross crossed his eyes, trying to make sense of the logic, and failing. “Look, buddy? All I can tell you is that there are many steps between knowing if he wants to date me back and sex.” At least there should have been if you weren’t two horndogs on a hot spring night.
And then he had a terrifying thought.
“Abner… do you go to school with Piper?”
“Yeah, but we only see each other at assemblies because she’s in the second grade and I’m in the fifth.”
“Okay, look. You can’t say anything about dating to her. I mean, you can put in a good word for me, but she might not know about the dating, and that would be a shi—erm, crappy thing to do to her dad.”
“Why?” Abner asked, his tone indicating he very much needed the answer.
“Because who you want to date is a private thing. You can share it with family, but it’s always your business and no one else’s. This would be… I don’t know. Cheating. It’s Tenner’s job to tell his daughter if he wants to date me.”
“Does he?” Abner asked cautiously.
“Vote’s still out.” But Ross realized unhappily that this was going to be a thing. Their families mingled, their kids knew each other, and everybody worked in the same area. Just telling his family might have repercussions for Tenner that Ross had never anticipated, but he wasn’t sure how he could have stopped it. He wouldn’t lie to Des and Pat for the world.
“Well, I’d want to date you if I was a grown-up.”
“And if dating your uncle wasn’t icky,” Ross completed.
“Yeah, that too. I hope you score.”
Ross grunted. He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d done to Patrick to deserve this, but it must have been heinous. “It’s not about scoring,” he said, hoping that if God struck him down as he was driving, the big guy would make sure Abner landed safely. “It’s about establishing a relationship with someone you have a connection with.”
No lightning. Go figure. He must have been telling the truth.
“So you can’t kiss until you have a relationship?” Abner asked, making sure.
“You can’t kiss until you know the person well enough to know they’re going to want to kiss you back,” Ross temporized. There were no clouds, but he still couldn’t discount lightning on a bright spring day.
“When can you score?”
Oh, to hell with this noise. “When you’re eighteen. And a half.”
“Why the half?” Abner asked suspiciously.
“You have to wait until the permit goes through,” Ross said with a perfectly straight face. “Here’s your school, kid. Do I drop you off in front?”
“Yeah, thanks, Uncle Ross. Nobody at home gives me a straight answer.” Abner slid out of the car after it stopped, and Ross banged his head softly against the steering wheel. While he was waiting at the light, he whipped out his phone.
Bad news, Patrick. Your son thinks he’s going to need a permit to get laid.
When he got to work, he saw the response.
That’s fine. Will he need to fill out paperwork with that?
Sure. I told him he had to wait until he was 18 1/2 before the permit went through.
You’re GOOD. I’ll pass it on to Desi. We can keep this going for years.
As Ross got out of his SUV to walk through the solar-paneled parking lot of Green’s Hill Developing, he kept a wary eye out for lightning.
There just had to be something morally wrong about telling a ten-year-old he had to have government approval for sexual activity.
Worse Than Paperwork
“HEY, TEN, how goes the project?”
Tenner looked up from what was turning out to be a surprisingly productive day. He’d expected to be logy and baffled—his weekend had been something of an event—but truth to tell, every time he surfaced from being lost in his work, he found himself sort of reveling in feeling that everything would be okay.
When had he started to think that way?
Everything hadn’t been okay since he’d had to drop out of college baseball to get married. Everything really hadn’t been okay since he’d told Nina he was gay.
But now, after one, uhm, not-so-regrettable incident and a super fun evening that had been mostly PG-rated, he found that everything was… sort of okay.
It just made it easier for him to relax, that was all.
Could have been anybody. One good night with some lube and a good toy would get you the same.
But he knew that was bullshit. One night with some lube and a good toy wouldn’t get him two hours on the couch playing Mario Kart with an adult, or the nice touches to his knee or the careful, masterful kisses.
Gah! Especially the kisses! Dildos were not great kissers. Lubricant was hard on the lips.
Wednesday, Wednesday, Wednesday….
“Tenner?”
“Wednesday!” Tenner blurted, shocked out of his reverie.
“What’s Wednesday?”
Tenner turned around to see Pat had stuck his head into Ten’s cubicle. “Uh, I’m coming to practice with you,” Tenner said, trying to pull his head out of… well, Ross McTierney.
“Oh! Did, uh, Ross invite you? Because when you get to play on my team next season, it would be great if you knew everybody!”
It was the word “uh” that gave him away.
“Did he, uh, say anything to you?” Tenner asked, not sure if he sounded pathetic or dumb. Maybe both.
Pat slid into the cubicle and stuck his hands into his pockets. “Did you bring lunch? I forgot mine. The house was crazy this morning. Do you want to go out for lunch?”
Tenner looked at that forced casual attitude, and his stomach went cold. “Did I do anything wrong?”
Pat shook his head. “No. I suspect you might be doing something very right. But I want to talk about it. Is that okay?”
“He was in the guest room,” Tenner blurted. “You know that, right? I had Piper last night and—”
Pat grabbed his upper arm and hauled him up by it, like he would a recalcitrant three-year-old. “No, Tenner, you’re not in trouble, but I really think we need to go somewhere else for this conversation, okay?”
“My keys—”
“I’ll drive.”
Tenner scrambled for his wallet and work badge even as Pat pulled him out into the hall.
PAT TOOK him to Pat’s favorite Indian food restaurant, which Tenner understood was Pat’s way of making it seem like his paying for the meal wasn’t a favor. It was like baseball. Pat only played baseball with his guys at work—so it was a reward to Pat if they joined him on the field. Pat only ate Indian food when he wanted to talk to someone. He claimed it was his right to pay because his family hated it.