Day stood, showing off his tailored black pants, white shirt, and gold brocade jacket, complete with black bow-tie. “Iwas ready an hour ago, when you told me to be here. So, I’ve been finishing up the Arsenault contract while I wait.”
Jackson grabbed him by the lapels and tugged him closer, kissing him until Day’s toes curled in his overpriced shoes. “Gold star for you. I promise it will reflect nicely in your annual review.”
“As your boyfriend or as your corporate interpreter?” Day murmured, smile smug.
“Both,” Jackson countered, slapping Day’s ass.
Eighteen months had passed since Jackson and Day had crossed paths, but Jackson couldn’t keep his hands off Day. He supposed the same could be said for him. Every day together was a new adventure. Some good, some bad. They had a lot of hurdles after Day’s attack. His panic, his body dysmorphia, his constant feelings of inadequacy. Mama Bev having a mini-stroke, Chloe’s school trying to put her in special education classes. Ruth having another baby, an eleven pound bruiser named Joshua. Day struggling to learn to read. Jackson and Day making it through a year of couples therapy and coming out the other side more in love than ever. Like most things in life, the good and the bad ebbed and flowed.
When Jackson had first floated the idea of Day working for Elite as a corporate interpreter, he’d been furious. It sounded like a made up job somebody gave their boyfriend so they didn’t feel like they were sponging off him. But it turned out corporate interpreters were not only a real thing, they were in demand and also something Jackson desperately needed in Miami where it was a melting pot of people who spoke Spanish, Haitian, Creole, and French, the languages Day just happened to speak. He was also becoming quite fluent in Japanese.
Once Day had figured out how to work around his dyslexia, it turned out that his slow reading didn’t actually slow down him or anybody else. Nobody really cared how Day got his job done, as long as he did it. He’d even started accepting some clients on the side, including Jackson’s gun-running friend, Angel and his wife, Sylvia.
Jackson pulled the car up to the small boutique hotel off of Lincoln Road, tossing the keys to the valet before opening Day’s door and taking his arm. Day’s head was on a swivel, taking in the beveled mirrors everywhere and the sleek black, white, and turquoise color scheme. “This place is neat, very art deco.” Jackson pulled his phone from his pocket, and pressed a few buttons before returning it. Day leaned up against Jackson, voice flirty. “What do you say we skip the party that you already made us late for and get a hotel room, then I make sure you have the merriest of Merry Christmases?”
Jackson chuckled. “I already got us a room for tonight. The honeymoon suite. But we have to make an appearance at this party. We’re throwing it.”
Day stuck his tongue out at Jackson. “You’re no fun.”
Jackson tugged Day into a small dark alcove, kissing him deep, his hands gripping his ass as he whispered, “I’m a lot of fun. If you’re a good boy, I’ll fuck you out on the balcony and you can be as loud as you want. See if you can get us kicked out of yet another establishment.”
“I still maintain that if they don’t want people fucking in the middle of their club, they shouldn’t put a bunch of beds everywhere,” Day said haughtily.
“Pretty soon, we’re not going to be allowed in a single place in Miami,” Jackson laughed, leading them into the restaurant.
“Good thing Florida is a big state,” Day countered.
Jackson nodded to the hostess and pointed to the back to the closed double doors. Day frowned when two servers opened the doors, beckoning them inside. He only made it five feet inside when it happened.
“Happy Birthday!” the people inside roared in unison, blowing on horns and setting off party poppers.
Day stood there, shocked, not sure if he was making the appropriate facial expression or not. His eyes darted from person to person, relieved to see it was all people he knew. Charlie, Linc, and Wyatt. Angel and Sylvia, Shepherd and Elijah, Calder and Robby and their three kids, Daniel, Grace, and Faith. Jackson’s mother and his sisters and their husbands and kids. Connelly and Webster.
“Surprise,” Jackson whispered.
“I thought this was the company Christmas party,” Day muttered, plastering a smile on his face.
“Nope, that’s next week. At work. Come on. I didn’t invite strangers. It’s strictly inner circle. People who wanted to give you a proper birthday party for once in your life.”
Day looked around at the gold accents and the ornate tables with lavish flower arrangements and a throne sitting in the middle of a small stage front and center. “I’m not sitting in that.”
“You’ll sit wherever I tell you, and you’ll smile and be the sweet and gracious boy I know you can be or your birthday spankings will have a slightly heavier hand than last year. Got it?”
“Are you trying to talk me into being good or bad? I honestly can’t tell,” Day said without looking at him.
“Me either. Smile and wave. Say thank you. People are staring.”
Day smiled. He waved. He said, “Thank you!”
After a few minutes of awkwardness, Day relaxed. Jackson was right, these were Day’s people. His adopted family. Charlie plopped a gold crown on his head and dubbed him, “Queen of the Night. You know, like Whitney Houston.”
They ate and talked and drank champagne. Day danced with Jackson’s mom and his nieces. He did the Macarena and the Cupid Shuffle. After a dinner consisting of all the things Jackson had gotten Day the first time they’d gone grocery shopping together, the kitchen rolled out a stunning three-tiered gold cake with a twenty-four scrawled in black as the centerpiece. It was a decadent chocolate fudge cake with cherries inside.
Day frowned at Jackson. “You hate cherries.”
Jackson grinned. “Yeah, but you love them, and I love you.”
Day blushed, shoving him. “Still so corny.”
