“You’re so easy.” Zach nuzzled into the crook of his neck and kissed him. “I bet if I threw in half a dozen cannoli, you’d be my slave.”
He squeezed Zach’s ass, then slapped it, laughing over Zach’s outraged yelp. “Why don’t you try it and find out?”
A quick glance at the bedside clock revealed the time—seven thirty. Shit. His mother would be landing in little more than an hour, and the place was still a mess. And he still needed to shower, although he liked having Zach’s scent all over him.
Damn. He had it bad.
He smoothed the slightly reddened spot on Zach’s ass where he’d smacked him. “I promise to kiss it and make it better. Let’s take a shower; my mother will be here before you know it.”
Zach scrambled out of the bed and walked toward the bathroom. “Well then, better move it, old man.”
Old man? “Who are you calling old?” He jumped out of bed and raced after a laughing Zach, who shut the door in his face.
Sam wrenched the door open to find Zach had already turned the water on and was getting in the shower. He held his face up to the water, letting it stream over his face and shoulders.
Sam joined him under the flow of water and pushed him up against the tiled wall. “If we had the time, I’d show you how this old man would fuck you until you couldn’t move.”
Droplets of water streaked Zach’s face and hung like tiny teardrops on his dark lashes. He smiled up into Sam’s face. “We’ll just have to do it another time, right?”
Sam kissed him hard, then reached for the shampoo. “Yeah. Hold on to that thought until after my mother leaves.” Since she’d be staying in his apartment, Zach wouldn’t be sleeping over.
“It’ll all work out. I know it.” Zach took some of the gel and began to wash his hair.
An hour and a half later they sat in the clean apartment, listening for the car to drive up. Zach squeezed his hand.
“Don’t worry.”
“I’m almost forty years old; I was a cop for Christ’s sake. I’ve lived through shit most people will never see, and yet…” It was hard to explain even to Zach, who hadn’t told his mother he was gay, not out of fear of rejection but because of her own personal grief. Zach had always been certain of love. “I’m nervous.”
It was embarrassing to open up like this; like cutting open your chest and exposing your guts and your heart. He knew Zach had meant well, but right now Sam could only concentrate on the negative.
Headlights swept through the front windows, and the sound of a car pulling up in front broke through his internal monologue. A car door slammed.
“She’s here.”
Zach took him by the shoulders and kissed him hard. “It’ll be fine.”
“I know.” He kissed Zach back, and together they went to the door. Sam opened it before his mother could knock.
She stood at the base of the steps, smaller than he remembered from his brief visit last year. Her long blonde hair was pulled back, held in place by huge dark sunglasses, and her heavily made-up eyes found his in the glow of the overhead fanlight.
“Sammy.” A tentative smile touched her lips. “Hi.”
Was it possible she was as nervous as him? The thought hadn’t crossed his mind; somehow that made him calmer and all this easier to handle.
“Hi, Mom.” He jogged down the steps to greet her. They didn’t kiss or hug; it wasn’t their way. “Here, come inside. I’ll take your suitcase.”
He hefted it and let her pass in front of him. The heady scent of her perfume drifted in the air. In typical brownstone fashion the stairs were wide and steep, without any railings. On the first step she wobbled a bit, and Zach hurried down to help her.
“Mrs. Stein, I’m Zach. We spoke on the phone.”
With a grateful smile, she took his arm. “Yes, thank you. And thank you again for arranging this for me.” Sam watched her lean on Zach’s arm.
They proceeded into the house, and while Sam put her bag in the bedroom, Zach settled his mother into the club chair with a glass of wine. They’d already put out a platter of cheese, crackers, and hummus before she arrived. He took the glass of wine Zach handed him and sat next to him on the sofa.
“How was your flight?” Small talk for strangers who had little to say to one another.
“Good, thank you. Not even three hours.” She gazed into the depths of her glass of wine. Without taking a sip she placed it on the coffee table and laced her fingers together.
