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More Than You Know Ch. 01

By: tml_writer



You know how in most stories, when conflict happens and problems arise, the characters always pull through and there's a happy ending?

It doesn't usually happen that way in real life. 

My name is Steven Abernathy. I met the love of my life when I was 19 at the university I attended. He was 21, and already finishing his master's degree in business management. Just like many couples, Adam and I started as friends. He was charming, but quiet and genuine. He had jet-black hair and ice blue eyes that would melt any person he met. We eventually progressed to a relationship, and ended up moving in together two years later, after figuring out that we would be spending the rest of our lives with each other. Seven years after that, we adopted Ana, an orphaned, vivacious seven-year-old whose parents had died in a car accident after immigrating to the United States from South Korea. 

We were the poster picture for family life. We worked, we disciplined and coddled our daughter, we fought, we made up. We lived and loved. Life was good.

Then the separation from fantasy came, in the form of a phone call from our doctor's office.

"Hello?" I inquired, picking up the phone.

"Hello. May I please speak to Mr. Sorensen?"

I looked at my lover, lying in bed next to me. Ana was at school, and we had both somehow managed to get the day off. We took advantage of it, too. He stared at me, his light eyes piercing holes through mine, a smile playing on his face as he watched my hand skim up his sculpted abs and torso, stopping to play with the soft, black hair on his chest.

"He's a little busy right now. May I take a message?"

"Yes, this is Sylvia from Dr. Knott's office. Is this Mr. Abernathy?"

"Yes, it is, Sylvia. How are you?"

"Well, Steven, I was fine until I saw this. We need you and Adam to come in as soon as possible. Today would be ideal. Doc's seen some things that may concern us in Adam's bloodwork."

Usually, it was used to monitor his hypertension and high cholesterol. "Is his LDL that high?"

"Steven, is Adam there, by any chance? I really need to speak to him." I didn't like the tone in Sylvia's voice.

"Sure, Sylvia. Hold on."

I put my thumb over the small microphone. "It's Sylvia at the doctor's office. She wants to speak with you."

Adam gave me a puzzled look, but took the phone.

"Hey, Sylvia. What's going on?" I watched as his features darkened on his face as he paused. "Today? What's the hurry?" Another pause. "How about in two hours? Okay, Sylvia, see you then."

We had no idea what to expect, and were quite mystified that Sylvia couldn't tell us over the phone why it was so pressing. We found out later that she didn't know: she merely had Dr. Knott's orders to make an appointment for that day. The only thing she knew was that it was never good news on the rare occasion that she made this type of call.

We showed up an hour later, and were immediately led to an examination room. We sat down in the small room, quiet tension thickening the air as I gripped Adam's hand in both of mine. Dr. Knott walked in no more than two minutes later. When you don't have to sit for a long time in the waiting room of a doctor's office, you know something is amiss. Every red flag in my mind was going up, but I never expected what was about to come.

"Mr. Sorensen, Mr. Abernathy, I'm sorry to disrupt your day, but I don't feel comfortable putting this off at all. When we took your blood, Mr. Sorensen, we had to do more with it than we thought. Your cholesterol was fine, for a change," he attempted a smile, "but we saw some things that we weren't quite sure about, so we ran more tests. I'm so sorry to have to tell you this." Dr. Knott paused, took a breath, and looked Adam in the eyes. "Mr. Sorensen, you have cancer."

My world stopped. I blinked my eyes a few times, but it still didn't quite register.

"I have made calls to an oncologist, the best in the city for the type of cancer you have."

"What type?" Adam's voice was eerily calm, his eyes clear, the look on his face collected.

"Pancreatic cancer, Adam, and an irregularly aggressive strain at that. I'm so sorry."

We met with the oncologist that day. Adam started chemotherapy and radiation treatment almost immediately. Life was a blur.

In case you aren't familiar with pancreatic cancer, it tends to be one of the most aggressive forms that cancer takes. It is torturous and fast. Fifty percent of victims die within six months. More than 95 percent of those diagnosed die within a few years' time. I'd love to tell you that Adam was one of the very few who lived for years, or one of the even fewer that make it to complete remission.

But like I said in the beginning—this isn't a fairy tale.

While taking care of Ana, working full-time to support our family and the rising costs of what our medical insurance didn't cover, and trying to keep up with life, I had to watch as Adam went through excruciating pain, some days worse than others. Chemo and radiation not only stole his hair, his energy, and most of his appetite, but also took part of his spirit. I watched as he lost weight, his muscles atrophying and withering his limbs to spindles, his face gaunt. I watched as his skin tinted to yellow from the jaundice in his last weeks. 

And all I could do was watch. 

For the first time in my life, I felt what it meant to feel like I had absolutely no control over something; being the control freak that I am, it was horrible. If I could have, I would have done anything to make him better. I helped keep him comfortable, I held him in my arms when he slept, or to try to ease his pain. I kissed him as often as I could. We made love once. He didn't have the energy to do it again, and I had too much guilt from seeing how much it took out of him just that one time. Then I watched as my life disappeared with his.

"Steve, I'm ready," I remember him telling me, as I held his emesis basin in one hand and his hand in my other. I sat at the side of his hospital bed, trying to be strong. "I'm ready to go."

My will to be strong crumbled beneath me. I was done trying not to cry. I couldn't hide my face before Adam saw the tears and heard me sob quietly.

"Steven." 

I continued to look down, my tears completely blocking my vision as they fell into the pink container.

"Steven, look at me," he said quietly. I turned my head and looked at him. "I won't have to deal with any more pain."

His words washed over me. That's all I wanted for him: I wanted him to have everything he deserved, everything he gave me, and that meant not being in agony every single day. The only problem was that I wasn't ready to let go yet. Of all times, what a moment to be selfish and think about myself. 

"Steven, I love you so much," he whispered, smiling as he looked at my face. Smiling that smile that I loved so much. Smiling that smile that he smiled every birthday, every anniversary, every time I came home. The smile that made me fall in love with him, the smile that told me that if he had it to do over, he wouldn't have changed a single thing about his life. It was too much.

"I love you, too, Adam," I half whispered, half sobbed as I worked my body onto the hospital bed. Well, part of me, anyways. I held him in my arms, kissing the top of his now-bald head. "More than I could ever say. I love you so much. Thank you for spending your life with me. I love you. I love you. I love you."

Adam died that night, only eight weeks after his diagnosis. 

When I was at work, my mom and dad would watch Ana, cook, and keep our small house running. I would've completely lost it without them. I cried until I couldn't anymore, until all I could do was feel numb. After about a year, with some help from a saintly therapist and more tears shed than I ever expected, the numbness had faded almost completely away, but there was still the emptiness in our bed, in our house, in my heart. I poured all my love, extra time, and devotion into Ana, raising her the best I could. My parents helped me, too, the most patient, affectionate people alive. However, even though I was alive, I didn't live. I functioned from day to day, just getting by with what I had. 

And now, I walk down my hallway at two in the morning, unable to sleep. I check in on my beautiful fifteen-year-old daughter, sleeping peacefully, and then glance down and across the hallway to where my gorgeous man sleeps in our bed, asking myself how I got here, how I got to happiness again. 

But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Let's rewind about two years, shall we?



I had been having transmission trouble with my BMW, and knew I had to take it to get fixed eventually. Matters were taken out of my hands, however, when on my way to work, my car made it very clear that I needed to get it fixed that day. I loved that car, and just couldn't bring myself to buy a new one quite yet. I arrived at the firm where I worked a bit early, sat down at my desk, and looked up the car repair shops in the area. After deciding on and calling a locally owned small business close enough to my house that I could walk home, I closed my computer and met with my first consult of the day. 

I'm a CPA. Most people would find the job both stressfully tedious and boringly annoying—a paradox, I know—but I really enjoy what I do. I get to work with numbers and people: two of my favorite things. Yes, I'm one of those. I try to own it. I know I'm a geek. I know I'll always be in business, too; after all, the only two certain things in life are death and taxes.

After I got off work, I called home to tell Ana I'd be a few minutes late. My know-it-all eighth grader gave one of her famous sighs as soon as she heard it was me on the phone.

"Dad, I'm trying to do homework."

"What subject?"

"Trig."

"Good, you keep at that," I said, and I knew she could hear me smiling over the phone. She knew I loved math. "I just wanted to let you know I'm going to drop my car off on the way home, so I'll be a few minutes late."

"That's cool." She paused, and I could hear her whispering numbers to herself until she came to an answer. "What's for dinner?" she asked, after I heard the sound of her pencil being dropped onto the table through the phone.

"What do you want? I got chicken boobs out of the freezer this morning—"

"Dad, come on. Boobs?"

"—so whatever you want to do with those. Think about it, and what you want to have with it, and we'll throw it together when I get home, okay?"

" 'Kay."

"Love you."

" 'Kay. Bye."

"Bye," I said, hanging up the phone. She had gotten to that stage where it was no longer acceptable to say "I love you" to me unless it was a dire occasion. It was fine; I knew that she still loved me. It's easy for a father to tell—it existed in all of her non-verbal actions and looks that she thought I didn't see. Ah, the joys of the early teenage years.

I pulled in to the small automobile shop as I was thinking about this. It was maintained very well, with simple, but neat, landscaping and a clean appearance. I parked and got out of my car, loosening my tie as I did. As soon as I walked inside, I was greeted a bit more enthusiastically than I expected by a busty-yet-modestly-dressed blonde.

"Hi, hun! How are you?"

"I'm doing pretty well," I replied. "How about you?"

"Why, I'm just great!" she chirped, snapping her chewing gum. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, I called earlier today with an emergency appointment on a—"

"A white 2000 BMW M3?" she asked, typing in the computer and clicking the mouse vigorously. 

"Yes."

"Sweet ride," she said, finally lowering her voice to a conversational register.

"I enjoy it."

"I bet." With that, she picked up the phone. "Luke, thirty-four is here." She turned to me as she hung up the phone. "He's very particular about keeping his appointments organized."

"I see." The words weren't out of my mouth before he walked in.

"Candi, get twenty-three paid and when you call forty-four, make sure you tell her it's going to be about a week." 

"Twenty-three paid, one week for forty-four. Your wish is my command, sugar," she said, snapping her gum yet again and quickly stabbing numbers on the telephone with her pen.

Luke turned to me, and stared blankly. In hopes of easing an awkward moment, I handed him my keys.

"If anything happens to her—scratches, dents, whatever—make sure you tell me when I come to pick her up. I don't want any surprises when I get home." He seemed taken aback by my forward tone.

"Don't worry," he said, in a voice so smooth it made me want to hear more of it. "Your car is in good hands. You're good to go," he said, taking a piece of paper from Candi—who was chattering away, presumably at "forty-four" on the phone—and handing it to me. "Bring this back. Candi will call when she's done."

I studied him for the first time since he walked in the room. He was a bit taller than me, his face framed by relatively short, yet mussed golden hair and a strong jaw line. His eyes were a light amber, warm and inviting. He was built much more strongly than I was, and I couldn't help but notice the veins that curled up his forearms and disappeared under the plaid, flannel shirtsleeves that he had rolled up. His clothes and face had smears all over them, and his hands were blackened as an occupational expectation. What surprised me, though, is that despite the small beads of sweat on his forehead and the greasy stains everywhere, he smelled good: masculine, but clean. I shook the thought from my head. It had only been six years since the love of my life died, and this man was in no way, shape, or form the kind of guy that fit my usual preferences. And then there was Ana to think about. I couldn't just start dating again—it would affect her just as much as me. 

"Thank you," I said, and walked out the door. Thinking of Ana made me think of dinner, and I needed to get home. I was hungry.

Luke

I wiped my forehead as I stood, knowing that the grease on the back of my hand probably just smeared my face. Candi informed me that appointment number thirty-four had arrived. I liked everything organized for my records, so I had a system to keep everything as I liked. I made my way inside, and spouted some things to Candi before I stopped to look at the man in front of me. 

Scheduler 34 was stunning. You could tell, though, upon first glance, that he didn't think so, even though he did carry himself with poise and self-esteem. He wore a dark grey suit that was fitted perfectly for his trim form, and I guessed him to be just under six feet tall. His loosened black tie complimented his white shirt. His somewhat short, wavy black hair and deep, expressive eyes didn't hurt, either.

When he spoke, although it was soft, like his eyes, it felt like the room froze. The man had a command when he spoke, and damn if it didn't give me goosebumps. That intensity in his voice shone through as he told me to take care of his car. With any luck, soon I'd be taking care of more than his car.

Now wait, where did that come from? 

I watched as he walked out the door. I hadn't dated in about a year. My last date was with a man who was barely five-and-a-half feet tall, skinny as a twig, and had the worst case of Napoleon syndrome I'd ever encountered. Needless to say, we didn't go out again. The one before that was another year before, but it lasted for two months. He was great in bed and had the body of a god, but when I saw him out in public one day, he introduced me to his wife. Oops. Were there warning signs? A few. Should I have picked up on them? Probably. Was I so bedazzled from the memory off all those times my dick was up his ass that the introduction blindsided me? Absolutely.

Lucky in romance, I was not. I just wanted an honest man who wanted a serious relationship. At 35, I wasn't a spring chicken anymore, and I wasn't getting any younger. Was a nice, decent, monogamy-seeking gay man too much to ask for?

"Girl, that man is fine," Candi practically shouted, interrupting my thoughts. Somehow, she dragged 'fine' into an eighteen-syllable word. "And don't tell me that you didn't notice. I saw you staring. You should be glad he handed you those keys right away, otherwise I'm pretty sure you'd still be checking his ass out."

"Now that's not true. I checked his ass out as he left," I corrected, making my way behind the counter, facing Candi and leaning against the wall.

"Sorry, babe. His wife was probably waiting at home."

"No wedding band," I said.

"Did Eric have a wedding band?" Candi asked me. 

"No," I said, mimicking her high inflections and loud volume. "Eric had a tan line where the wedding band should have been." Candi chuckled a bit, then looked at me.

"Rough. That's just rough."

"Tell me about it."

I stepped back into the garage, walking back over to one of the cars, oblivious to the few other men I had working that day. Candi was probably right. He probably had a beautiful wife waiting for him at home. Suddenly, I felt ridiculous, like I would break out into "Holding Out for a Hero" à la Bonnie Tyler at any moment. 

More Than You Know Ch. 02



Ana

Don't get me wrong: I love my dad, but he is so literal all the time. Everything is so planned, practiced, and perfect that it's hard to get anywhere with him. He's the most selfless, giving, and hard-working person you'll meet, though, and he's the only person who I can honestly say is kind to every single person he sees.

Truly, though, I'm not stupid. I could tell that after my other dad died—

Um, yeah, about that. To a lot of people, that sounds really weird, the fact that I have two dads. It's just a part of my life. I don't think anything of it. I don't really remember that much about Pa, though, because he died when I was seven, just months after my adoption was official. I remember his laugh, I remember his face and his hugs, I remember his eyes. But the part that I remember most is how happy he made Dad. There was never a moment when Pa was alive that Dad's eyes weren't shining.

Anyways, getting back to the point: after Pa died, Dad's eyes lost their luster. He smiled, but the smile never made it to his pretty dark brown eyes. It was sad, really. 

I knew, too, that I was a big part of why he didn't try to meet other men. I also knew that part of him was inhibited by his realism: it was hard enough for him to grasp that he had found real, honest-to-goodness love once. For him to really believe he could find it again would be near impossible. Yeah, I know, it's a bit ridiculous, but it makes sense, and that's how he thinks.

He's the best dad, though.

Other girls tell me about their fathers: they watch TV sports, drink beer, work all the time, sleep when they're not eating and working. That's when I can say that my dad does it all. He works, he cooks, he cleans, he does laundry, he irons, but most importantly, he takes time out of every single day to spend with me—it doesn't matter how busy he is. It can be as simple as having me help him make dinner, or watching a TV show that I want to see, or helping me with my homework, or taking me to the mall . . . you get the idea. Even when Pa was alive, it seemed like Dad poured all the love in the world into me. 

Once I hit ten years old, though, I could start to see things I never saw before. Finally, when I crested into the beginning of my teenage years, I was able to figure it out: my dad was hiding. He is so realistic, but so afraid. Call it my woman's intuition kicking in when I got my period, call it whatever you like, but I could finally see that Dad was horrified. I couldn't tell, though, what scared him more: the chance of falling in love again, or the fear of being alone for the rest of his life.

It was that night, the one where he dropped his precious Beemer off at the shop, that I decided to drop the questions I had been formulating. He walked in, looking as dapper as usual, with a paper in his hand that he set on the counter with his neatly filed bills. 

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I replied, shutting my notebook and textbook. I moved them off the table so we could eat. 

"How was school?"

"You know, eighth grade dramadramadrama, when I'm not at the high school for classes."

"I see. How'd the English test go?"

"She made it sound so much harder than it actually was. I missed one."

"Out of?"

"Eighty-six."

"I suppose that's okay, then," he smiled, taking down a pan from the overhead hangers on the island and putting it on the stove. We worked in silence for a little while, me cutting up zucchini and red peppers while he seared the chicken. Did I mention the food I get at home is usually better than when we go out to eat? Chalk another one up for Dad. I always thank my grandma and grandpa for teaching him how to cook. 

After dinner, I finished up my homework and Dad took care of some stuff he had to do for work. We met back up at eight for a TV show he enjoyed. I would never admit to him that I also liked it, but I have to say, it's an interesting program. After it was done, we sat on the cushy leather sofa, a big bowl of freshly-popped popcorn between us as another show came on. I decided it was better now than later to drop the bomb.

"Dad, why don't you date?"

As I expected, he stopped chewing and looked over to me, the shock clear in his eyes. "Why would you ask that, Ana?"

"Oh, gee, I don't know. I'm living with one of the world's most eligible bachelors, who chooses to shy away from people and attention so that he can blend into the woodwork. All of this, despite the fact that, yes, you can do just about everything—well, except plumbing repairs. I guess I just wonder that since you are so amazing why you don't let anyone else in on a little bit of that amazingness."

"Ana, what spawned this?"

Steven

To say that Ana shocked me that evening would've been an understatement. When I asked her what brought her questioning about, she answered me with the directness that was so like her.

"Dad, I know that to all the world I'm just a thirteen-year-old, but let's put all crap aside and admit that I am not a typical thirteen-year-old girl." As if I didn't know this. Ever since she was younger, she had shown she had an aptitude for relating to people and an intelligence and mental maturity that was rare for people her age. However, just when I felt like I was ready to send her off to one of the Ivy League schools, she'd bring me back to reality by asking me to sign a paper for a field trip.

"Just because I'm young doesn't mean I don't see things. Dad, you're great, and you have so much to offer. I know that guys notice you: what's not to notice? You're an attractive man. So why don't you notice anyone? And why can't you see that they have so many reasons to notice you?"

I sat there, silent for a few moments. I had no idea what to tell her. Before I could even come up with how to start, she asked another very loaded question.

"Is it because of me?"

"Ana, no, it's—"

"Bullshit."

"Ana!"

"What? It's true, a little. Guess what, Dad. I'm not seven anymore. I'm not going to become so attached or so dependent on someone you date that if it doesn't work out, all stability in my life just crumbles and I end up a troubled soul for the rest of my life. I have you for stability. It makes me happy when you're happy, and guess what: I can see that you're not happy."

Did I mention that my daughter is thirteen going on fifty?

"Ana, I'm happy. I'm very happy where I am, and you make me happy."

"I know that, Dad, but you're not truly happy. I think I know why, too. Number one, you're such a loving person that you need someone to bestow that love upon . . . other than me," she said, adding that last part and holding her finger up to cut me off from my interruption. "Number two, I don't think you are able to grasp the idea that someone can love you as much as you love them."

My daughter, the psychologist. Did I miss the moment when a switch was flipped and she suddenly saw the world through her own eyes and gathered her own conclusions? Did that happen on a certain day, or did that just happen gradually over the past few years?

"Ana, I'm happy. I am. You make me so happy. You, daughter, are my pride and joy, and I would do anything for you. You know that. I'm content where I am. I like my life."

"You like it, but you don't love it. And you're not content where you are, Dad. You're safe. You're comfortable. You have security that no one can hurt you and you can't hurt anyone. You have a guarantee that you can't find yourself too in love, and that people can't get close enough to you to love you back. It's like Brinks, only for your soul. Sure, no risks, no failure, but no risks, no love."

I just stared at her. I had no idea what to say, because she was right. She hit the nail right on the head. 

"Just to make things clear, I don't care what anyone says. Those kids and teachers at school that have a problem with your sexuality: they can suck it, because I know that I have the best dad."

"I know you feel that way. You've said that before. I just don't feel like I've reached a point where I'm ready."

That was a lie. I had been ready. I had felt the cold emptiness of being alone between the sheets in my bed, I missed the feeling of kissing someone who I know loves me more than life itself, I missed having fingers threaded between mine. It wasn't that I wasn't ready: it's that I felt guilty for being ready so soon. Ana did what I was now coming to expect: she called my bluff and pretty much read my mind.

"It's been six years!" she practically shouted. "It's okay to be ready. Six years. That's a long time, Dad. He'd want you to find someone that makes you happy. Pa would never want you to be alone or feel guilty, because just like his happiness was the most important thing to you when he was alive, yours was to him." She paused. "I know you're not going to, like, go to work tomorrow a new man, looking for a relationship, seeking out single men or anything like that. That's totally fine. I just want you to give a relationship a chance if it comes along. Mmkay?"

My daughter needed her own TV show. Oprah, Dr. Phil, Maury, move aside.

"Yeah, that sounds fair enough." I took a bite of popcorn before I continued. "Thank you for making yourself heard. I'm glad you feel like you can voice your opinions. Just don't ever forget that you can talk about anything with me."

"I know," she said after sighing dramatically, rolling her eyes. She was back to teenager mode. We sat in silence for a couple of minutes, a Friends rerun playing on the TV. "You're a great guy, Dad. Give it time. It'll happen. Good night."

After she walked up the stairs to go to bed, I sat on the couch, staring straight ahead. For better or for worse, my daughter was clearly able to read me like an open book, and it was only bound to get even more honed as she got older.

Oh, goody.

Ana

Three days later, a Friday, I was sitting in AP biology being admired by my classmates who were two to four years ahead of me, all because they wanted a piece of gum. If you've ever gone to a high school, you know that kids will say just about anything to get a piece of chewing gum. Needless to say, my just-opened pack was gone within thirty seconds.

I took quite a few classes at the high school, because after testing, it was clear that I didn't belong in my grade in any of my classes except history and geography. What can I say? Those two classes aren't worth my full effort: they're boring. If I wanted to sit through six years of learning the same thing over and over again about American history, I'd sign up for it. But there lies the catch in public schooling—classes and courseloads can't be customized. I didn't mind, though: it will give me time as a high school student to take as many transferrable college credits as possible, so when I go to a university, all of my crap courses will be done. That way, I'll be able to dive right in to a schedule that's actually relevant to my major, and maybe even graduate early. Yes, I'm a planner. I think I got that from my dad.

It was the last period of the day, the teacher was done teaching, and everyone was antsy and ready to go. I pulled my cell phone out of my bag to turn it on, and I saw that Dad had called. After the bell rang, I listened to the voice mail.

"Hey, sweetie. I'll be waiting outside today, so don't take the bus. I figure we can walk to pick up my Beemer after we get some ice cream on Second street. See you soon."

I know, I know. If I've said it once, I've said it a million times, but I really do have the best father ever. It's the unexpected stuff that he does that makes him special. He doesn't do it too much, so that he doesn't intrude on my schedule and so he can still surprise me, but he does it enough to let me know he cares. 

I walked out of the five sets of double doors with about 3,000 other high schoolers, but despite the crowd of people, my father stood out. He wore a black suit with fine pin-striping, tailored to fit perfectly, a blue shirt, and a loosened yellow and white tie. Despite the fact that he's just as masculine as every other father, that's the thing about having a gay dad: he dresses so much better.

"How was your day?" he asked as we started walking down the sidewalk.

"Alright. What about you?"

"It was okay. I'm ready some for ice cream," he said, grinning down at me.

"So am I," I smiled back.

We had a delightful time, talking and laughing over ice cream and water before we walked over to the repair shop where Dad's BMW was ready. We walked in, and the distinctive smell of every car shop across the nation mixed with a faint smell of perfume and bubble gum. The source of the latter two was sitting at the counter, cracking her gum while whisking back her platinum blonde hair and offering my father a megawatt smile. Sorry, honey, I wanted to say. He bats for the other team.

"Hello, Mr. Abernathy."

"Hello, Miss . . . Miss . . ."

"Just call me Candi."

"Candi. How are you?"

"I'm great, and so is your M3. She's all fixed up. It was just a minor transmission problem causing all that trouble for you. Let's see: the total is—"

"Don't worry about it." I looked over to the man whose voice interrupted Candi. Oh, my. He was a small piece of perfection. Even though his dark blond hair was messed up, and he was dirty, the man was fine. 

. . . for an old guy.

I looked to my dad's face, which was fixed on the repairman. It was then that I saw a look on Dad's face that I had never seen before: interest. My dad was checking this guy out! I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face.

"Whatever you say, Luke," Candi said, typing in the computer and sliding a piece of paper across the counter. "You're all set to go, Mr. Abernathy."

"Wait, what?" he inquired, looking between Candi and the man.

"Don't worry about it. It was a minor repair. The only reason it took so long was because I had other cars to tend to."

"I can't let you do that—"

"Listen, Mr. Abernathy, it's alright. I do it for people that need it, and just to be nice sometimes. Don't worry about it."

You have to love local business owners. They really are the people who keep the world decent. 

"No," Dad persisted. "I can pay. Save it for someone who needs the break, like you said."

"Is he always this stubborn?" 

I was surprised to see the man looking at me. For once, I actually wasn't invisible to an adult. I liked this guy already. "Actually, no," I answered, smiling. "But he has determination that he pulls out when he needs it. It comes in handy for him when we're arguing about my eight-o'-clock curfew." That made him smile. His teeth were the definition of white. You could tell they weren't bleached, but he took great care of them. He had one dimple on his left cheek when he smiled. I needed to hook him up with Dad. He held out his hand to me as I assessed his face.

"Luke Worthington. Miss Abernathy, your wit exceeds your age."

"And how would you know how old I am?"

"I don't."

"So you're assuming?"

"I think I am, yes."

"So first you assume, and now you think? That can get you in some trouble. You know what they say about assume, don't you?"

"Touché, Miss Abernathy." He smiled those pearly-whites at me again.

"It's Ana, with one 'n'."

"Well, Ana-with-one-'n', how about you use some of that savvy to persuade your father to forget about the cost of this repair."

With that, he walked out. I heard the familiar sound of Dad's Beemer starting, and saw it pull into a parking place outside as Dad conversed with Candi.

"Candi, here," he said, sliding a check across the counter.

"Mr. Aberna—"

"Thank you, Candi. You have a nice day, too," my dad interrupted cheekily, walking out the door. I followed, grinning and shaking my head. My dad certainly wasn't one to let anyone one-up him.

Luke

He truly was a beautiful, beautiful man. He walked in again, looking as dashing as ever, this time with a young girl with him. She was Asian, and judging by her facial features, I guessed Korean. What can I say? I was a classical violinist when I was younger, and at the competitions, you learn very quickly how to identify the different races. It was just one thing that set me apart from many ignorant people who automatically assume that anyone who appears to be of Asian descent is Chinese.

This girl, though, she was a smart one. I guessed her to be in her early teens, but her eloquence and astuteness shattered her young physical appearance. She was clever. It was also obvious that she and her father were very close. 

So what was wrong with him? He was obviously intelligent, had a good job, was seemingly a great father, and was extremely attractive to back it up. The answer was obvious: Candi was right. He had to be straight. 

I can't say I wasn't disappointed. Candi always told me all the good ones are gay or taken. I always shot back at her that all the good ones are straight or taken. Once again, my little motto appeared true. 

I told Candi to drop the charges. There was nothing wrong with his car. I basically just tightened a few things up and it was as good as new. It was obvious he took impeccably good care of it. There was no point in me charging my normal amount, so I just waived the cost all the way. Hey, what can I say? He was gorgeous and his car was truly the definition of "no trouble at all". He kept arguing, though, and didn't let me get away with it. 

That ass. 

I went outside and pulled the car around. I had no idea why he walked out of my shop smiling like the cat that had just caught the canary. "Thank you," he said jovially.

"My pleasure, Mr. Abernathy," I said, my confusion at his smugness coming through on my face, I'm sure.

"Call me Steven," he smiled. I looked at his daughter, the perplexed look still on my visage.

"You'll understand," she mouthed silently to me, pointing to Candi inside the shop, then she spoke aloud. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Worthington."

"You, too, Ana." I watched them get in the car and drive off, then walked back inside. Candi was sitting there, looking at me with an amused look on her face. 

"Why are you looking at me like that?" She spun the computer monitor around to face me. Displayed was the consumer appointment number, the price I had charged—or lack thereof—below that, and the amount paid underneath showing an absurd amount.

That ass. That strong-willed, stubborn ass. The ass with a gorgeous ass.

"He has a daughter," Candi gloated.

"Yes, thank you, I saw that."

"You can say those magical three words anytime now."

"I love you," I replied.

"Yeah, yeah, wrong three word phrase. Try again."

"Forget it. You still don't have concrete evidence. Still no ring. Still no wife. Presumably an adopted child."

"Stop being a sore loser and just say the words," Candi grinned. 

"You were right," I said grudgingly. "Don't get a big head. Lord knows your boobs are big enough for that."

"Yeah, har-dee-har-har. You're so clever. Get back to work!"

"Who owns this place, me or you?" Candi shot me her look of death. I laughed and headed back to the garage.



More Than You Know Ch. 03



Steven

"Come on, Stevie," Erin pleaded. "You never get out anymore. It's okay to spend one night of one weekend out."

"You know I can't. I have Ana—"

"Nope. I've already talked to your mother, and I know that your parents are taking Ana to the cabin for the weekend since she has Monday off of school. Try again."

"I need to work."

"Nope."

"Um," I stammered.

"Forget it. You're coming."

"Erin, I shouldn't."

"And why not? Take a break. For one night in your life, just let yourself unwind a little. You can sit, you can drink, you can dance, you can do whatever you want."

"Erin—"

"Girl," she said, dragging the word out for emphasis, "this is not an option. Meet us at Mid's at nine. Besides, there's someone I want you to meet."

"Aha! I knew you had an ulterior motive." I paused. "Erin, I can't. You know I'm not interested in meeting anyone. No one would want a boring, hard-working gay dad anyways."

"Uh-uh boyfriend. Trust me. This one's different. I'm amazed it took me and Ev so long to figure this one out."

"Ev says that every time, Erin," I argued calmly, unconvinced. "Besides, isn't every single one of her flavors of the week Mr. Right?"

"Give her a break. She's being optimistic."

"You of all people should know better. Of course, then again, you're in happily married la-la land with Peter, so nevermind."

"Happily married, yes. La-la land, no. Come on. It's one night out, and we're not setting you up. Just meet the guy."

"Fine. Have it your way. I'll say hello, I'll say goodbye, and then I'll never see him again."

"Oh, shut up," she shot back. "I'll see your pessimistic ass at nine tomorrow evening. You are not spending another Friday holed up in your house watching TV or crunching numbers or whatever it is that you do to try to relax."

"That sounds fine to me, honestly, in a white tee and some comfy shorts."

"Whatever. See you tomorrow."

"Bye, Erin."

I hung up the phone and rubbed my forehead with one of my hands. She was feeling mischievous, per usual. When would my friends see that I really didn't need a man? I was fine on my own.

"Who was that?" Ana asked as she walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. 

"Erin." I looked at her and saw right through her innocence. "Like you weren't listening," I retorted. She just smiled at me.

"Go with them. You'll have fun. Maybe you'll be able to relax enough to check the guy out, like you did Mr. Hunky Mechanic last week." I gaped at my daughter. "Oh, come on, Dad. It was so obvious. Not to him, and definitely not to the airhead desk lady—'cause she thought you were all about her—but to me, it was clear as day."

"Ana," I began.

"It's alright, Dad. It's good to see you looking a little bit. Plus, Dad, for someone your age, he was hot!" Her face became a bit more pensive. "I like him, too. He actually gave me the time of day. He seemed really nice."

"Yeah, well, he can give you the time of day and be nice when he maintains my car. Forget it."

"Oh, come on, Dad, you should've asked him out or something."

"Yes, Ana, let's ask my car repairman out on a date, and just in case he's wondering, I'll reassure him that no, I was never married to a woman, but that yes, I do still have a kid."

"Wow, that's cool, Dad." Ana glared at me. "It must be super convenient to use me as your baggage. 'I've got a kid, and therefore I can't date.' Just don't complain to me that you're so lonely and unhappy while you're searching for things to hide behind just to save yourself from an ounce of vulnerability in your way-too-organized, too-perfect world."

"Ana, don't speak to me in that tone." She met my stare, raising her eyebrows in a 'try-to-tell-me-I'm-wrong' way and I paused. "I'm sorry that it sounds like I'm using you as an excuse. You think that you have all the answers now, but Ana, you are 13 years old. You've never had a child, you haven't been out on your own, and you've never experienced companionate love, especially not like I have."

"So what? I'm young and haven't been in love, so that automatically means that I can't see my dad hide behind his fears? Wrong. You are so frustrating."

"Ana, like you said last week, this isn't just going to magically happen, and it's not going to happen instantly. It's something we have to work on."

"I understand that. But it also means that you actually have to make an effort."

I looked at my daughter's piercing brown eyes that saw through me so easily it was scary. She had a point, and I knew it, but she still had many years to go before she truly understood. And besides, it was my life.

"I know. You need to respect the fact that I might not still be ready, though, sweetie. That, and the fact that Luke Worthington may not be what I'm looking for. Patience is a virtue, daughter of mine."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever," she answered, walking back down the hall to her room. I could tell she was still a bit angry with me, but there wasn't anything I could do: attitudes of a thirteen-year-old girl were something that had to be dissolved on their own.

"Don't forget to feed Luna," she reminded me. Luna, our two-year-old German Shepherd, was a force to be reckoned with when she got hungry, and since Ana usually fed her and walked her, I'd have to write myself a note to remember.

"Okay. Don't forget to pack your toothbrush," I yelled.

"I know," came the response from up the stairs.

"Of course you do," I mumbled to myself, walking over to the kitchen to start dinner.



I stood in my bedroom and looked in the mirror. Well, it wasn't bad. I had picked a nice pair of jeans, a nice V-neck tee, and a blazer that fit me like a glove to wear to Mid's that Friday evening. I looked nice. I had come to terms with the fact that I would never be considered sexy in the hunky, muscle-bound, all-American definition of the word. I had always been trim. My lean swimmer's build had stayed the same. I used to be extremely defined, the definition of ripped (sans the bulkiness, of course), with every muscle making an appearance in any motion I made to employ them. Now, at almost 35, I still had quite a bit of definition, but being a dad and having a job where I sit on my ass for most of the day had taken its toll. I tried to run for an hour and then do some weight training for my core before I went to work every morning, but if I was honest about it, I probably only found the motivation to get up at 4 a.m. about three or four days of the week. Ana and I almost always ate at home, which helped me stay trim: I knew that we ate much more nutritiously than at any restaurant. I had a little less definition in my abs than I would have liked. Aging, I decided, was a bitch. At least my arms, legs, and ass were still good.

I walked down to the kitchen and let Luna out. I grabbed my keys from their hook, but then on second thought, I put them back. I would walk tonight. It was a nice night, and Mid's was only about a half mile away. After saying goodbye to Luna, who was looking at me rather curiously, I stepped outside into the refreshingly cool air and started walking.

"Why am I doing this?" I asked no one in particular as Mid's came into sight. "Why, why, why, why, why am I doing this?"

I stepped inside and was immediately assaulted by the number of people there. I reminded myself that it was Friday night and that this was what normal 20- and 30-somethings who weren't single parents with a full-time job did on the weekends. Mid's was a unique building, almost appearing as if made of glass, and cylindrical in shape when looked upon from the outside. Inside, it was laid out in a circle: the outer wall is all windows with tables in front of them, while the inner wall alternates solid wall and floor to ceiling windows that overlook the lower level, with booth tables mounted on the solid walls. The entry level was a restaurant and bar. There are two staircases that descend about thirty feet, and the lower level is a club, where there was loud music, dancing, lights, and two more bars. Mid's was also reputable for the fact that was both hetero- and homo-friendly. 

"So, can I buy you a drink? It's the least I can do seeing as you overpaid me by a few hundred dollars." I recognized the sexy-as-sin voice immediately. It was deep and it had the slightest hint of a Southern upbringing. I turned around and felt my stomach churn. The man was beautiful. His golden hair was pushed back, the work of those lithe, muscular hands that were holding his glass. He wore a simple black V-neck tee shirt and a pair of faded jeans that fit like a glove, complimented by a pair of comfy-looking boat shoes. His light eyes seemed to glitter as they stared into mine. I attempted to come up with an excuse.

"Uh, well, I'm here with some friends, so, uh, I'll get my own," I stammered. Wow, Steven. Now the man thinks you are an inarticulate, ungrateful, and nervous person. Good.

"Well, how about I walk with you, then?" he asked rhetorically, stepping up beside me as I had started walking. His grin was sexy enough that it should have been illegal in all 50 states. "How's Ana?"

I stared at this man. Who was he? Why was he asking about Ana? And why was there not a second drink in his hand for whatever girlfriend/fiancée/wife was waiting for him back at his seat? Clearly, he was one of the most eligible men in the city—or country, in my opinion.

"She's doing very well. She went with her grandparents out to their beach house this weekend since she doesn't have school on Monday. I could tell she wasn't too keen on going alone, but she didn't say anything, because I think she wanted to give me a weekend to myself." I stopped. I realized how much I had just gone on. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling."

"No, you stayed on topic. It was all about Ana. Besides, I asked, didn't I?" He smiled at me. My heart fluttered. What was happening? When did I turn into a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl who had developed a crush on an unattainable jock? What was wrong with me? I was torn from my thoughts as I saw Erin, Peter, Ev, and Ev's newest boytoy all sitting in a large booth with one side empty.

"Well, this is my stop. Thanks for asking about Ana and walking me over here," I said.

"You're welcome," he replied, but I didn't understand why he was laughing to himself. I slid in the booth and was puzzled when he followed. I scooted a bit farther away, still confused, until—

"Welcome back, Luke. I see you found Steven," Ev smiled. She looked at Erin and they both bared their teeth in Cheshire cat grins so big I thought their faces would break.

Cue my stomach dropping. Cue my bowels feeling like liquid. Cue jitters and nervousness that I hadn't seen the likes of since I caught one of my kitchen cabinets on fire. Did they think this was funny? Had they talked to Ana? Did they think this was some kind of joke?

"Uh, excuse me, Luke," I said as calmly as I could, gesturing that I needed out of the booth. Once I had stood back up, I looked at the rest of them, panning my way from Erin's shining face on the inside of the booth to Ev's laughing visage on the outside. Words failed me at the moment, so I turned and walked away. 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Hey, there, stud, where you going?" I heard Ev's voice call as she caught up with me. I turned around. 

"Do you think this is funny? Do you think that this is some sort of joke that you and Erin and Ana could play on me? Yeah, well, ha ha, my laughs are done." Clearly, she wasn't expecting my uneasiness, or whatever she saw on my face, because her smile dropped and a concerned look overtook her features.

"Hey, Steven, whoa. Slow down. There's no joke here. And Ana? Why would I have talked to Ana?"

"Luke Worthington is my car repairman. We saw him a week ago, and Ana clearly saw how attracted I am to him and devised her own little plan—"

"Steve, I didn't talk to Ana."

"—on how to hook us up or whatever, but how else is a thirteen-year-old girl supposed to do it? With help from my friends, of course." I paused. "Wait, what?"

"I did not talk to Ana," she restated.

"Well then, how . . . what . . ." I stammered.

"First of all, listen to yourself. You sound paranoid enough to go to the crazy house. You thought Ana and I teamed up to play a cruel joke on you. Let's be honest, whenever that happens, it's always a good joke." She grinned at me again, grabbing my hand and shaking it around to get me to loosen up. "Secondly, Luke is one of my best friends. I've known him for about four years now, and we go out all the time. To be honest, I wish I could date him." I just stared at her. "I know what you're thinking," she continued. "Why can't I date him? I've dated enough people, right?" 

I didn't quite know how to respond, so I didn't bite, trying to change the subject. "Erin gave me the impression that you all were sort of setting me up."

"Um, yes? Is that the correct answer?" She looked at me quizzically.

"But it's Luke," I said dumbly.

"Yes. Yes, again."

"I don't know that he's my, uh, type," I said cautiously.

"Why not?!" Ev practically shouted. I was surprised that her eyes didn't bug out of her head. "He's blond, he's gorgeous, he's built, he's successful, he's nice, and I'm pretty sure he's hung. What more do you want?"

"Uh, thanks for that," I smiled, unnerved. "That's not quite what I meant, though."

She walked up to me and looked me in the eye. "Steven, you are an attractive man. Luke would be dumb not to be attracted to you. He is your type. Luke is gay, Steven. He likes it up the ass—or likes putting it up the ass, I'm not sure—"

"Ev," I interrupted, trying not to be amused.

"Yeah, sorry, you already know all those mechanics." She snickered as I rolled my eyes at her pun. "Come on. Let's go back. Just relax. No one's playing a joke on you, no one's saying you need to hook up with him, no one's saying anything. We're having a good time with friends and we're introducing you. Well, we thought we were, anyways." She smiled at me. "Honey, you are wound up tighter than a new spool of thread. This is why we brought you out. Just relax."

"Okay," I relented, walking back to the table with her. Luke had already slid over on the seat, and so I sat down near the end. 

"Everything okay?" Erin asked me, looking a bit concerned. I took a deep breath.

"Yeah," I said. I noticed Luke's eyes studying me, and it was a bit unnerving. 

"C'mon, Steven. I know you just sat down, but let's you and me get something to drink," Erin said, crawling over Pete, Ev's boytoy and Ev before smiling at me.

"Yes, let's," I said. We walked over to the bar, and I ordered a scotch. I downed my first glass quickly at the bar and ordered a second. It was strong, but I wasn't driving and I never had the chance to let go, so I decided to enjoy myself.

"So, what's going on?" Erin asked me.

"I'm anal and neurotic and paranoid, and I thought this was some sort of joke, that you talked to Ana and she told you I had the hots for my mechanic," I said.

"No, no, not at all. I didn't know you were one of his customers. We both know Luke—Ev more than me—and he's such a great guy. I really think you guys will be good friends." She looked at me, and I could tell that she had said 'friends' to put me at ease, but the glow in her eyes undermined the word. I decided I was feeling just as mischievous, and called her out.

" 'Friends', huh?"

"Well, I know I'd like to see you meet someone, and Luke is a great someone to meet, but I'm not going to pressure you. You're like a donkey: the more someone tries to get you to do something, the more you dig in your heels." She smiled and batted her eyelashes at me. "You're such an ass."

I chuckled. "Yeah, yeah, you're so punny. "

We walked back to the table and I slid back in.

"What'd you get, Steve-o?" Peter asked me.

"Scotch," I answered dully. What can I say? I couldn't think of anything original.

"An old man's drink," Ev's perfectly-styled man-of-the-week said to me. I didn't quite know how to respond.

"Yeah, it suits me, I guess, being old man. I go to work, I take care of my daughter, I eat, I sleep. I'm pretty boring."

"You forgot poop," Luke chimed in. I looked at him questioningly, as did everyone else. He smiled and went on. "Well, sorry, if you were really an old man, you would take pride in your pooping." I laughed, as did everyone else from the absurdity (and truth) of the comment.

"No adventure in your life?" Boytoy asked me.

"Oh, leave him alone, Blake," Ev reprimanded. Blake. Of course. The perfect name for a high-maintenance, metrosexual yuppie who thought he was smarter than he actually was. Ev could do so much better, but perhaps I was a bit too judgmental. After all, I was just meeting him for the first time. "Steven, this is Blake."

"It's nice to meet you," I said out of obligation.

"Girl, we need to dance," Erin said.

"Amen to that," Ev answered, taking a drink. I took another sip of my scotch.

"I wasn't talking to you, Ev; I was talking to Steven." We laughed at Erin's blunt honesty.

"So you like to dance?" Luke asked me. His eyes smiled. They were so pretty. A very light brown with flecks the color of his golden hair that you could only see in a certain light. His nose was very straight, except for a small bump at the bridge that said it had been broken a long time ago. And then those lips. They were perfectly bow-shaped, pink, begging to be kissed. "I'll take that as a yes?" he questioned. Oops, caught staring.

"Oh, uh, yeah, sometimes," I finally answered. Damn it, Steven, this was not the time to check him out. He smiled at me again. I watched his eyes wander over my face, then he turned and took another sip of his beer. I took that as my cue to turn away, too, and take a sip of my scotch. When I looked up, everyone was staring at us, grinning. Shit. Well, everyone except Blake.

"Let's go dance, yes?" Erin asked me.

"Peter, do you mind if I steal your wife?"

"Please, by all means, it will save me from dancing. And let's be honest: none of us want to see that," he laughed, gesturing Erin out of the booth. "I'll be keeping an eye on you, though," he said, pointing to the window at the end of the table overlooking the club, then pointing at me and mocking suspicion. "Don't be trying to paw my wife."

"I don't think you have to worry about that," Blake said, just a bit too snidely to be taken as a light-hearted joke. This boy was cruising for a bruising.

"You sure you can still dance, Steven? You are an old man, after all," Ev teased, salvaging the conversation from an awkward moment. 

"Ev, you're just jealous that I'm dancing with Erin and not you," I quipped back, grinning. The four of us walked down the stairs, leaving Luke and Peter in the booth. I secretly wished it was Luke I was going to dance with, but I pushed that thought aside and resolved myself to just have fun.

Luke

Damn it all to hell in a little red wagon if I didn't stop and stare as soon as I saw Steven Abernathy walk through the door to Mid's. He seemed genuinely tickled that I asked about Ana. What can I say? I was fond of her, but more fond of her father, and she seemed to be the key in opening the lock on his tightly-guarded self. She really was the apple of his eye. 

He was as surprised as I was when he slid in the booth with Ev and Erin. 

Evangeline had come on to me—and not subtly, either—when she first brought her car for a routine oil change. She had tried so hard to get me to ask her out that I had to tell her that she didn't have what I was looking for. She, of course, took that to mean that I thought she was ugly—which was especially hard for her since she knew that she was one of the most gorgeous women most people would ever lay eyes on—at which point I had to explain that she didn't have the correct equipment. She looked at me with a silent 'oh' on her lips and then smiled at me. We had been close friends ever since. 




More Than You Know Ch. 03



Steven left the booth very soon after he had arrived. He looked unsettled, and it alarmed me. I wasn't prepared for the surge of protective energy that welled up within me when I saw that emotion in his expressive chocolate eyes. I was relieved when he came back to see that he had relaxed a bit, and that he was rather jovial. 

Blake, however, was pissing me off. He was arrogant and clearly wasn't comfortable enough with himself to be comfortable around a gay man, let alone two. If it would've been ten years ago, I would've taken him down to the club and made him beg for my cock, turn his discomfort and disdain to desire. But this wasn't back in my rowdy days, though, and the only man I had been interested in for quite some time was sitting next to me; well, next to me until he slid out of the booth to go dance with Erin. 

I watched through the window as Ev, Blake, Erin, and Steven made their way down the stairs to the dance floor, and eventually started dancing. Blake was, unfortunately, a good dancer. Ev and Erin were great dancers. Steven was . . . a bit awkward at first. I kept watching, and not more than a minute later, he had gotten into the song and his body moved like the rhythm. The man flowed, I would give him that. He moved with a grace that most guys don't have, but not femininely. He was definitely still all-man as I watched Erin run her hand down his torso, then make a surprised face and say something to him. Damn it all to hell yet again if I didn't want to be the one running my hand down his torso, or anywhere else he'd let me touch. As the songs changed, so did his dancing. I don't know how long I stared, watching him dance. I ignored Blake and Ev making out (see: eating each others' faces) watching Steven—or leering, rather—half hard in my jeans from my attraction to him. This man was dangerous news to me.

"He's a good catch," Pete said, surprising me, his words loud in the silence of my thoughts.

"Yeah. I see that."

"He's an amazing CPA, he's a great dad, and he was a great husband," Pete said. 

"What?"

"Which part?"

"The husband part. I, uh, I'm not sure what you mean."

"Well, I'll let him tell you the details. He and his partner adopted Ana. Ever since Adam died, he hasn't seen anyone. We were all worried for the first few years, but he devotes himself to his daughter. He seems happy, but we can tell he's lonely."

That was the last thing I was expecting. I had no idea about a partner—neither of the girls had mentioned it. Suddenly, I understood why Steven seemed just a bit flighty and a lot out of practice. He definitely hadn't been subtle while staring into my eyes and at my lips earlier. Of course, then again, neither had I.

"I think you two are good for each other," Pete continued. 

"Just because we're both single and gay doesn't make us compatible." I know I seemed a little rude, but let's be honest: it is a very common mentality.

"C'mon, man, give me a little credit. I'm not that stupid." He took a sip of his water. "He loves Ana. She is the center of his world. He is a father through and through, and not many men or women, let alone single gay men, can be understanding of that. You can. He's a hard worker, and so are you. You're different enough to make things interesting, but you see many things through a similar lens. If nothing else, you'll make splendid friends."

"Splendid? I haven't heard that word in such a long time," I simpered.

"Oh, shut up."

I glanced back down at the dance floor and saw them making their way up the stairs again. 

"We're back," Erin sang, sliding in the booth next to her husband. They kissed chastely and looked back at me. Steven slid in the booth next to me, a new glass of scotch in hand. I was immediately aware of his smell. He had gotten just hot enough to sweat the slightest bit, and I could smell his cologne, scotch, and the unmistakable smell of man, mixing to make a scent that was distinctly Steven. He took off his jacket, setting it on the seat between us, and I watched as his lightly-muscled chest and lean arms flexed through his tee shirt. 

"Have fun?" Peter asked.

"Yes," Steven answered, smiling at Erin. We all chatted for a while, but I wasn't contributing much to the conversation. In fact, there were only certain parts that I even kept up with. I just couldn't help myself from studying Steven. My god, he was handsome: dimples that haunted his face when he smiled appeared, his straight white teeth shining in the light. I wondered what it would feel like to kiss him when he smiled. 

"Earth to Luke," Ev teased. I looked at her with a pretend frown on my face, trying to hide my smile at being caught staring at Steven. 

"Like what you see?" Erin chimed, getting out of the booth to get another drink with Peter and Ev. They were two peas in a pod, Erin and Ev. They walked together to the bar, Pete trailing right behind Erin.

"Ohmygod," breathed Blake as he rolled his eyes. Obviously, Steven had put up with enough of his not-so-subtle hints at intolerance throughout the night.

"Blake, if you're not comfortable enough with yourself and your manhood to be around gay men who are, you need to find a new girlfriend. We are her friends, we aren't going anywhere, and if you plan on sticking around for any period of time, you need to adjust your attitude. The rude comments when we were dancing down in the club and all your insulting looks and comments up here aren't appreciated or welcome."

I was taken aback. The alcohol had brought out Steven's introverted nature throughout the rest of the evening: aside from dancing, he had been fairly withdrawn. Clearly, though, he had a fiery side, too, which apparently appeared without very much warning.

"Hey, listen, sweetheart," Blake spat back, "just because I'm straight and you can't handle that, and just because you feel the need to flaunt your gayness everywhere doesn't make everyone gay. Just stop trying to broadcast it or rub it off on people or whatever the hell it is that you accomplish by swishing around."

Steven seethed silently, his cheeks, ears, and neck turning crimson. Oh, boy, I could tell the man was riled up. I was about to say something to Blake, but Steven steamrolled right through. "In case you haven't noticed, most of my friends are straight, and they don't seem to have any problem with it, nor did my 'gayness' and 'swishiness' rub off on any of them. Maybe if you'd join reality and pull your head out of your ass—"

"Join reality?" Blake sneered. "The reality is that you need some help. Homosexuality is against all that is natural in the human race. I know some therapists. Maybe you should see one." I'd had enough. Clearly Blake had had too much to drink, and was letting his tongue wag a bit too freely.

"Listen here," I piped in.

"What, are you going to defend your fairy now?" Blake jeered. Clearly that statement smothered Steven's temporary explosiveness, and he looked at Blake, a cool calmness setting over his eyes, and stood up. Blake did likewise.

"In case you didn't notice, I came by myself," Steven stated matter-of-factly. "This 'fairy' doesn't need anyone to defend him, but I won't just sit here and tolerate you insulting me. People like you will never see, and I am not staying here to discuss this any further."

"Yeah, staying and duking it out might be too manly, right?" Blake said, pushing Steven backwards.

"Manly, no. Just as stupid as you are, yes." With that, Steven turned and walked away. 

Damn. Classy man.

"Hey, whoa, what's going on here?" Ev asked as she, Erin, and Peter walked back up to the table. "Steven, why are you leaving?" she called to him.

"Ask your homophobic asshole," Steven muttered, gesturing to Blake who was wearing a disgustingly smug look on his face. "I'm sorry, I need to go," he stammered, turning and walking toward the door.

"Stupid queers," Blake muttered, just loud enough to be heard.

"Excuse me?" Ev asked, floored. I lost my temper.

"Do you want to get the shit beaten out of you? Because if you do, keep making comments like that," I told Blake, surprising myself with the calm but edgy tone of my voice. By this time, people had actually come around and started gawking. "I grew up in the South, and I may talk a little slow, but even I'm not so stupid as to keep teasing an angry dog."

"Oh, just shut up and go chase your bitch, rimjob," Blake returned. 

He didn't know what hit him; but then again, neither did I at first. Suddenly, he was on the floor. I looked down at my hand and inadvertently rubbed my knuckles, which hurt. It dawned on me that I had punched the guy—hard, too, if the way his mouth was bleeding was any indicator. Shit. My temper relinquished its power over me as logic took over.

"Oh, fuck," I said. "Ev, I'm sorry," I stammered as I stepped back.

"What's the problem?" the manager asked as he approached us.

"Nothing, sir," Pete offered. "This gentleman was just causing trouble," he continued, gesturing to Blake, still on the floor. "We're just leaving. We apologize for the commotion. We'll take responsibility for any complaints." The manager looked us over and blinked, not happy but not livid, either.

"Oh, come on. How would you do that?" he snarled. I couldn't blame him for being upset. He sighed. It wasn't the first fight he'd seen, and surely wouldn't be the last. He looked back to Blake and then to Peter again. "I appreciate the thought, but just show yourselves out quietly."

"Thank you," Erin said graciously.

I walked behind Steven, and Erin, Peter, and Ev followed us. We stepped out into the cool night and I took a deep breath.

"You just going to leave him in there?" Erin asked Ev.

"Yes," Ev answered. "No one I date gets to insult my friends. What a doucher." She was silent for a moment. "I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?"

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Ev," Pete intercepted. "You hadn't seen him in a situation like this before, so you had no idea how he'd react to you having gay friends."

"That shouldn't even have to be something I have to worry about."

"It shouldn't, sweetie, but as much as we hate it, it is," Erin said calmly. I watched as Steven said good night and walked the opposite way, and the other three walked over to where Peter had parked his car.

"We're over here," he gestured.

"I think I'll walk tonight. Have a good night, y'all," I said as I followed Steven. I caught up to him and lightly touched his arm. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm alright. I shouldn't have lost my cool in there. I probably shouldn't even have said anything. This whole thing wouldn't have happened if I would've just kept my mouth shut." 

"Hey, that's not true. Eventually I would have gotten fed up with it, too. And besides, you were justified in speaking up. He was the one in the wrong, Steven. Don't blame yourself."

"Yeah, well, I'm self-conscious when people tell me I'm swishy, like I'm just as bad as a big queen riding on a giant, rainbow-cloud float in a parade dancing around in a hot pink, leopard-spotted thong, disproving the 'We're the same as everyone else!' statement he shouts."

I chuckled at the picture, then got serious again, seeing the uncertainty in Steven's eyes. "Steven, you're not a swish." He was silent for a minute, and I thought he'd argue the point further, but he didn't.

"Thanks for standing up for me in there. Well, standing up for you, too, I guess." He smiled at me. I felt my stomach churn as I realized that I wanted to see that smile a lot more often. Damn, but it made me happy.

"I was just doing what I saw fit, is all. I probably shouldn't've punched him, though. That was a bit out of line."

"Like you said, he deserved it."

"Yes, but that doesn't make my actions okay." Steven looked at me after I said that, a funny look taking over his expression. 

"Okay, Mr. Worthington. I'm probably just asking this because I'm definitely drunk right now, but you're gay, you're hot, you're sensible. So, why are you single?"

Well, that was the million dollar question, the one I had asked myself every single night for the past decade as I fell asleep alone, or even when I wasn't alone but fell asleep still feeling lonely. 

"I guess I just haven't found the right person yet," I answered. "That's generic, I know. I'm sorry."

We stopped in front of a beautiful two-story house with lovely flowers and a charming feel to it.

"Well, this is me," he said, pulling back into his shy shell. I don't know what he was thinking, I don't know what made me do it, but suddenly he was close, and so I kissed him. Hot damn, Steven Abernathy was kissing me back, and oh, was it good. He tasted like scotch, like peppermint, like himself. I grabbed his face in my hands as his arms wrapped around me and I felt his hands on my back. Suddenly, he stiffened and stopped. I pulled away slowly, my hands drifting down to his shoulders. 

"Oh, god," he said, looking toward the house, then back at me. "Luke, I'm so sorry. That was stupid. I don't know why I did that. Well, yes I do, it's because I'm pretty tipsy right now, and I never could hold my liquor. Oh, god, I'm rambling. Shit. I'm sorry." He looked from me, to the house, to the ground uneasily. Part of me wanted to laugh at his dialogue, but I knew better than that. Instead, I just smiled at him.

"It's really okay," I replied, lifting his chin gently so I could see his eyes. As I looked at him, I thought I saw a flicker of innocent hope in his eyes, but it was darkened so quickly that it made me wonder if I was just reflecting my own hope onto him.

"I better go," he said simply, turning away and heading up the sidewalk.

"Steven, wait," I begged, placing my hand on his shoulder. "Can I take you out sometime?"

"I don't think that's the best idea, Luke," was all he said before he continued toward the house. It was automatic: there was no thinking involved, there was no debate.

He was not interested in me.

Well, shit.

I didn't expect the overwhelming disappointment that I felt at that moment. It was as if my insides were being torn. I had been rejected before—albeit not many times, and mostly from guys who were already taken, but I'd still experienced it (Jesus, now who's doing the rambling?)—and it felt nothing like this. I turned started the long walk back to my house, alone, wondering why I didn't just leave Mid's with Peter and Erin.



More Than You Know Ch. 04



Steven

"Do you want to tell me why you turned Luke down when he asked you out? Would you like to explain to me why the bloody hell there was a beyond-shit-faced-drunk man on my porch waking me up at two in the damn morning with wet eyes, telling me how he'd been rejected before, but never 'like this'? The way I see it, you have a lot of explaining to do to one very, very angry black woman."

I looked into the intense dark brown eyes that stared at me from across the table, eyes any model would give anything to have. But that's not what I was thinking about—my mind was on Luke. He had gotten drunk. I had turned down one of the most sought-after single men around. He had been so interested. Wet eyes, for goodness' sake—after getting pants-shittingly drunk, yes, but still. Damn. I seemed to have a knack for cutting people to the quick. "Ev, I'm sorry."

"I said explain, not offer a half-assed apology," she fired back. Boy, she was a mother hen: when she was mad, she was mad. Her eyes blazed as she took a sip of her latté, clearly still waiting for an answer. I gave her the succinct response that had come to me every time I had asked myself why I had turned him down so quickly.

"I don't deserve him."

She just stared at me. The fire in her eyes died to a kind of puzzlement, then returned to their intensity.

"Oh, my god. You're serious." She rolled her eyes. "Steven, that is such crap."

"It seems like it at first, doesn't it?" I countered. "Think about it, though. He can find younger, he can find fitter, he can find more attractive, he can find a man in better shape."

"Steven—"

"He could find a man who could give him what he wants. He could find someone who isn't so anal and who would make him happy. He could find someone who doesn't worry as much as me, who isn't so structured, who isn't so damn type A. He could find a man who wouldn't disappoint him in bed. He could find a man without so much damn baggage. He could find a man who doesn't have a kid, a man who he doesn't have to share with that child. He could—"

"Shut up!" Ev interrupted, almost shouting. "Do you hear yourself? Honestly! Honey, I can spout bullshit as much as the next person, but this is ridiculous. Cut yourself a break. You are funny, you are intelligent, you are the best dad I've seen in my entire life, and the fact that your daughter is so amazing is a testament to that. You are beautiful, you are genuinely nice, you are sweet, you are absolutely adorable. You are you, Steven. Everyone has baggage, that's what makes us, us! And as for disappointing him in bed: sweetie, don't take this the wrong way, but Adam told me long ago what an animal you are." I blushed. 

"That's not the point, though. The point is that Luke knows some of that stuff. He can tell, Steven. He's not stupid. He's interested in you." She pointed her finger at me and waved it up and down, pursing her lips. "All of you. He is aware that you have your problems just like he has his. Dating someone and having a relationship is about helping each other with the insecurities, not reinforcing them. 

"He knows you have a daughter, and he is crazy about her, and he's crazy about how crazy you are about her. Being a good dad is so attractive, Steven. But we're getting way beyond ourselves, though: it was just a date, for God's sake! He wasn't asking you to marry him!"

I didn't have anything to say to that. For once, my smart-assed quick wit couldn't think of one damn sarcastic comment to say. She was right.

"Oh, my god. Strike the bells and ring up the chorus. Steven Abernathy is speechless!" Ev practically shouted. We were drawing looks and giggles from some of the other customers in the coffee shop. She looked back at me and smiled, lowering her voice again. "It was just a date."

"You're right," I responded.

"I'm sorry, what?" She gaped at me, dumbfounded.

"You're right. It was just a date. Being myself, I completely overanalyzed things and made a huge deal out of something that really shouldn't be so monumental." She stared at me, surprised, and then smiled.

"Silenced and apologetic, all in the same day. Wow. Good deal." She took a smug sip of her latté. "See, that wasn't so hard. So, now you can go down to his shop and ask him out."

"Now wait just a minute, Ev. I said I made a big deal about something that shouldn't be. You have to remember that this still remains huge for me."

"Ohmigawd, Steven," Ev breathed, clearly done hiding her exasperation. She spoke to me as if I was a toddler, drawing each syllable out. "You are interested; he is interested; it's a date. Go on a date." I just sat and looked at her for a few moments, and she returned my gaze. "A date. One. And if you don't like it, you don't have to go on another. What's the worst that could happen?" 

I actually had an answer to that question. "I could fall hopelessly in love with him, he could realize that he'll never feel the same, and I'll not only be single again, but heartbroken, as well."

"You're a stubborn ass," she said bluntly. "Well, here's this before I leave and get to my errands, because I'm done beating around the bush. You need to decide what's more important to you: staying safely lonely, or taking a risk for happiness. It's totally up to you."

Well, poop. Ev had a gift for putting it into simple words that cut to the quick, didn't she?

Luke

"Luke, you have got to stop acting like a 14-year-old girl," I said to myself as I put the door panel back in place on a faithful customer's Ford. "It's been over a week. He said no. Let go of that dream." Even though I had said something like this to myself many times a day for the past ten days, it still didn't help. What was it about Steven Abernathy that had me so hooked? 

Yes, he was good looking. To be honest, though, I'd had more attractive men in my bed, with abs that belonged in Men's Health and faces better than most models in management agencies. So why was Steven more attractive to me, more enticing than even the hottest hunk?

"Because he's real," I said to myself, twisting a screw into place. I'd also had attractive men who also looked like actual people, though, so it wasn't just that. So what was it? The answer came simply, wrapped up in one word, in one name: Ana.

I'd always had a thing for men with a fatherly way about them, men that I can tell will just make amazing dads some day. Steven, well, he was all that and more. He loved his daughter. He spent time with her. He made sure he was involved in her life. Ana turned out an amazing young woman because of his love and his discipline. He had his life together, his priorities balanced: that's part of being a great father. His being a dad gave him a more mature, selfless disposition that attracted me to the very core, like it was the perfect scenario. He sacrificed himself for Ana and everyone around him.  

I wanted to be the one to give him something, plain and simple.

I pulled the switch on the inside handle of the car door and the window went up without a hitch. I ran my hands through my hair and walked from the garage into the office.

"Candi, call Delores and tell her her Taurus is ready to be picked up," I said as I walked through the door. 

"Already done, sweet-cheeks," she replied, "and I told her about the window and we gossiped about how nice you are for fixing it." She cracked her gum loudly. If there was one thing about Candi that needed to stop, it was the gum popping.

"Must you do that?" I said, feigning irritation.

"If I didn't need to, I wouldn't," she smiled sweetly, batting her seemingly-eighteen-inch-long eyelashes at me.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I said, turning around and walking back out. I glanced sideways to the tall garage doors and saw Steven standing there, hands in his pockets, looking every bit his role as a suburban CPA. This suit was a very light tan, and I usually think tan suits are tacky, but it was clearly rather new, fit like a dream, and set off his dark hair. Clearly, I would be thinking differently about tan suits from now on.

"Hi," he said nervously.

"Hello, Steven," I returned, a bit more coldly than I had originally intended. "What can I do for you?"

"Listen, Luke, I'm sorry. I didn't really know what to make of—" 

"Steven," I interrupted, "if you came here to give me a lame apology or some sort of explanation as to why you turned me down, I'm not staying here to listen. I beg your pardon, but I am at work and have things to do. To be quite honest, I'm not even sure why you showed up now, over a week later, just to explain yourself." Wow, I sounded frigid, which was a feat since my insides were melting.

"It took me ten days to get up the courage to put myself out here like this, so you're going to stand here and listen to me," he practically demanded. There was that inner tiger again. "I was, as usual, overanalyzing things so much it got ridiculous. I'm rambling." He paused. "I didn't come here to explain myself, either. I came here to ask you to dinner."

Well, that wasn't quite what I'd expected; actually, that was not what I'd expected at all. I watched as he kept going, my silent gaze making him uncomfortable.

"I know that you're probably upset with me for declining your offer in the first place, although I have to say that I'm probably flattering myself thinking that you'd still be thinking about it after ten days."

"Steven."

"It took me some time, though, to work things out, and Ana reamed me a new one"

"Steven."

"and so did Ev, to be quite honest."

"Steven." He finally looked at me.

"I'm sorry. I'm uncomfortable and nervous and it's obvious that I haven't done this in over a decade."

"It's fine," I grinned, amused at his nervousness and surprised at his openness. We stood there in silence, waiting. Hey, he hadn't asked yet, and I wasn't going to make this simple for him. The more difficult this was, the more he would see that it was worth it. I know, I'm probably some kind of sadist for that, but oh, well. I stared into his eyes and he looked away, again unsettled by the silence. When his warm brown eyes met mine again, I saw something that I hadn't expected: rejection. Okay, my sadist act was done. I'd ease his discomfort just a bit.

"Well, are you going to ask?"

"Ask what?"

"Me to dinner."

"I already did," he said, looking at me uneasily.

"No, you said you came to ask me to dinner. I'm still waiting."

He glared at me, the unease in his eyes disappearing with a burst of fiery amusement that replaced it.

"No, you know, I think I've changed my mind," he smirked. 

"Have you, now?" I smiled broadly, amused and enjoying myself immensely. He paused.

"Luke, would you like to have dinner with me?" He smiled, but nervousness flashed through his gaze.

"I would love to. How's tomorrow evening?"

"I can't. Ana and I have a tennis date."

"Wednesday?"

"I have to work late."

"Okay," I said. "What about Thursday evening?" 

He was silent for a minute, then answered. "Thursday sounds fantastic." He smiled, his eyes shining. I looked into them, my own smile playing on my lips.

Stop swooning, Luke.

"Good," I said, blinking and glancing away. "How does Letta's sound to you?"

"That sounds fantastic. Can I just meet you there? I leave my office around 6 on Thursdays."

"That works for me," I answered. We exchanged numbers, then stood there awkwardly for a couple of seconds.

"Okay, well, uh, I'll see you then," Steven offered, turning to walk away.

"Hey, Steven."

"Yeah?" he replied, turning to face me.

"Thank you." I smiled. I couldn't help it. The best part was that he smiled back.

"Thank you, Luke."

Thursday wouldn't get here fast enough.

Steven

To say that I was nervous for my date would be the understatement of the century. I had two hours to myself in my office to work on a particularly complicated tax case for a nearby small business and a couple of retirement plans for some locals. Unfortunately, the only numbers I seemed to be able to pay attention to were on the clock.

I finished up just a couple of minutes before six, and I used the restroom to check myself in the mirror: fixing my shirt and hair, loosening my tie, straightening my belt. I walked the two blocks to the restaurant, deciding I could pick my car up after dinner. At Letta's, I checked inside with the hostess and found that Luke hadn't arrived yet. I went back outside and sat on the bench, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath, enjoying the nice weather. Not two minutes had passed before I heard the voice that had started to grace my dreams at night.

"Hey." I opened my eyes and my breath caught. Gone were the jeans, the flannel shirts, the casual shoes, the grease marks. In their place, he had shaved his hair, put on a nice shirt, and wore a pair of gray slacks that fit him perfectly. He looked like a million dollars.

"Hey," I said back as I stood up. "You, uh, you look amazing."

"Thank you," he said, smiling. Oh, that smile. "You look good yourself."

"What happened to your hair?" I asked, smiling and reaching up to feel it. 

"I usually keep my hair this short. I guess I'd just forgotten about it lately."

"So usually no one can tell it's wavy?"

"No. Do you not like it?"

"No, no, no. I really like it. You look amazing. It looked great longer, though, too. You're one of those people who can pull it off either way." Oh, goodness, I realized I was rambling again. "Let's go inside."

He smiled at me warmly. "After you."

I smiled back and we stepped inside. The hostess recognized me from my entrance a few minutes before, and led us to our table. We sat, and I looked at Luke. He was the manifestation of my definition of the word 'attractive'. The mellow lighting in the restaurant made what was left of his golden hair shimmer like real gold, highlighted the angles of his face, accentuated the depth of his eyes.

"Do I have something in my teeth?" he asked, smiling at me.

"What? Oh, no, I'm sorry." I felt so embarrassed. I looked down at my menu, suddenly at a loss of what to say. I glanced up again, only to find his eyes still on me, shining with amusement. 

"Steven?"

I looked up at him.

"Relax. It's okay to look." He smiled that smile again. I couldn't help but smile back at him.

"I'm sorry, I'm really rusty at this," I offered.

"At eating? Talking? It seems to me that you do plenty of both, so I don't think you have anything to worry about." That smile, again.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You know what I mean," I said.

Dinner passed nicely, and I was able to relax quite a bit more after I had a glass of wine. The conversation was good, the back-and-forth natural; nothing was forced, and he didn't even try to kiss me at the end of the evening. It just felt so . . . right.

And that scared the shit out of me.

Luke

"Hey, sexy," Ev greeted in her best come-do-me-hard voice as she let me in to her house, whirling around in a silk camisole barely long enough to fit into the category of 'nightgown'. 

"Uh, Ev, your kitty is about to come out, and I'm not talking about Boots." I gestured to the black-and-white cat hovering in the corner, peering cautiously at me with his yellow eyes.

"I'm trying to turn you on." She pranced over and ran her hand seductively down my chest. "Is it working?"

I tried to keep a straight face to play along, but it was no use. I busted up laughing. She stepped back, feigning offense.

"Sorry, doll. But you know I'd have been yours long before now if two mountains and a molehill were my natural habitat." I wiggled my eyebrows up and down at her. Now it was her that couldn't keep the straight face.

"Oh, my god," she laughed. "Please never—ever—use that analogy ever again." She grabbed a mug from her cupboard, poured some coffee into it, and handed it to me. "So how are you, honey?"

"I can't complain. Things at the garage are running very smoothly, but I'm thinking one of my guys is about to move. I do not want to train another replacement now, just when everything is wonderful. How are you?"

"I'm fine. Fine other than the fact that I have been single for over two weeks now."

"Whoa, honey, sound the alarm. You're going to blink your eyes and be an old maid."

"Shut up."

"Enjoy it. Take a breather for a while. You haven't been single in forever. You really are that girl who needs a boyfriend." That statement got her attention like I knew it would. She raised one of her eyebrows so high I thought it would continue straight up to her hairline.

"Excuse me?" She put her hands on her hips, her eyebrow still up.

"Well, honey, let's look at the facts. You're freaking out when it's been two weeks. Two. One, two. That sounds pretty desperate."

"Oh, fuck you," she smiled. "I'm not desperate, and I'll prove it. I'll be happy as a single woman." She had fallen right into my trap.

"Good. Besides, some of us have waited months to find someone to date, or in Steven's case, over six years."

"Speaking of Saint Steven, how are things going there?" she asked, looking at me lasciviously.

"Oh, come on, we both know better than that. He's just getting back in the game. We're taking it slow."

"How many dates have you been on? And NOT counting the night at Mid's."

"Six." 

She raised her eyebrow at me skeptically.

"How many of those have been just you two?"

"Ev . . ."

"Luke," she interrupted, intent in her voice. She wasn't going to let this drop.

"Two. Ev, he's a dad. It's a package deal. It's not just optional—'tonight I think I won't have a daughter!' "

"Since I didn't know that, smartass. What are your next plans together?"

"Jesus, what is this, Twenty Questions?" She looked at me expectantly as I paused. "I'm going over to his place tonight."

"What are you doing?"

"We're having dinner."

"And?"

"And I don't know. Maybe we'll watch a movie. Ana will be there, Ev, so no boom-boom tonight, if that's what you're getting at." She was silent after this, and seemed to be mulling over the details. What a gossip queen.

"I'm happy for you. You both needed to find someone good."

We both took a sip of our coffee.

"You really like him, don't you?" she asked, looking at me carefully, examining me. I took another sip of coffee and pretended to think about it, but the answer was crystal-clear in my mind from the moment the question came out of her mouth. She wasn't fooled by my mock pensiveness, either.

"Yeah, Ev, I really do."



I rang the doorbell, the bag of groceries in one arm. I was surprised when Ana peeked out, the screen door still locked between us.

"Hey, Ana. How are you?"

"I'm doing just fine."

We stood there, looking at each other.

"Dad's not home from work yet, sorry."

"Oh, well, I had a hunch he'd have a busy day today, which is why I got some stuff for dinner. I figure he'd appreciate it if we cooked for him instead of him having to come home and make something for us." She smiled at me.

"Here's the problem: I'm not allowed to let strangers in." She tried not to smile, but it didn't quite work.

"Well, that's fine by me. How about you take most of what's in this bag, and I'll go around back to the grill, because if you can take care of most of the stuff inside, I can stay outside and take care of the salmon." She smiled even wider.

"Deal. You can cut through here to the back, though, and pick up whatever herbs you need."

"Thanks," I said as she held the screen door open. 

"And don't try anything or else Luna will take you out."

I laughed as I looked to where Luna sat. She watched every move I made very carefully. The few times I had been over before, I had learned that although she was very friendly, she was also extremely intelligent, and took a special devotion to Ana. It made sense, as I had learned that Ana had extensively trained her when they first got her about two years ago. In fact, I'd probably be only marginally surprised if Luna stood on her hind legs and started to help us make dinner.




More Than You Know Ch. 04



I went out to the back deck, lighting the grill so that it could heat up. I seasoned the salmon lightly while I was waiting, then helped Ana by chopping some garlic and onions to throw in the water to boil with the potatoes. I had already put the salmon on the grill and was in the process of snapping green beans when Luna ran to the garage door and sat beside it. Moments later, Steven walked in.

He was loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. His suit jacket hung over his arm, and he ran a hand haphazardly through his hair. He left his shoes by the door and bent down to say hello to Luna. When he came into the kitchen, he finally saw me, and his face lit up. I could get used to this, I thought to myself.

"What's going on?" he queried. "And Ana, what did I tell you about letting strangers in?"

"Sorry, Dad, I already used that joke on him."

"Oh. Of course." The apple doesn't fall far from the tree, I thought as I watched their normal routine unfold.

"Yeah, I let him off the hook because he thought it might be nice for you to come home to dinner instead of having to make it."

"Did he, now?" His eyes, with a mix of smoldering desire and amusement within them, looked in mine. Somehow I managed to keep my cool.

"He did," I said. "So, go get changed so you can be ready for dinner when he says it's ready."

"Only if he stops referring to himself in the third person."

"As soon as you do." 

He smiled at me as he turned, and I chuckled as I finished the mashed potatoes, glancing out of the corner of my eye (or so I thought) to see his amazing ass in his slacks as he walked from the kitchen to the stairs.

"You're staring," Ana said matter-of-factly.

"And what of it, Missy?"

"Missy? What are you, an elderly woman?" Her face looked to mine with an expression that said, 'You are such a dumbass.' in a way that only a 13-year-old can manage.

"And what of it, Missy?" I smiled. She just laughed.

"Yeah, okay. Point for you. It's okay, because I scored like ten points when I first met you." My mind thought back to that day and I chuckled, adding cream cheese and butter to the potatoes. 

"I suppose you have a point. Well, one point is better than zero, although I imagine that I'll be staying there for quite a while."

"Try forever," she corrected. "Geez, Dad's going to kill you if he sees you put any more butter in there."

"He doesn't have to know, though, does he?" I raised my eyebrows at her before I turned and stirred. "Besides, it's my grandmother's recipe, and as soon as y'all taste them, you'll forget about any amount of fat or calories."

"That remains to be seen."

"Yeah, I figured you'd say that."

I got the salmon off the grill, and set it and the mashed potatoes on the table while Ana carried over the lightly steamed beans.

"DAAAAAAD," she called. I jumped, startled. She laughed. "Jumpy, much?"

"Too loud, much?" I shot back, smiling. When she didn't respond, I took matters into my own hands. "I believe that's point numero deux pour moi."

"Oh, shut up," she grumbled, sitting and smirking.

"Ana, are we playing nicely?" Steven's voice asked from behind me. I turned—and stopped breathing. He had changed into a white, short-sleeved henley and a pair of old, faded jeans that were clearly worn to the threads, but also looked extremely soft. Truly, the man could wear anything and it would have been fine by me. Or, he could wear nothing, and that'd be great, too.

"Hey, Luke, remember the conversation we had about staring?" Ana asked me. I closed my eyes as I felt the blush spread up my neck. Thirteen-year-old girls were the perfect antidote for any kind of ego. I looked at her, and she was just smiling. "That's two more for me. One for the catch, and one for making you blush."

How did Steven live with her? She was way too damn smart for her own good.

I sat down at the table and started dishing the salmon onto the plates. Ana was dishing up the mashed potatoes, and Steven was sitting, watching, a grin on his face.

"Okay, moment of truth," Ana said, looking at me, as a fork full of mashed potatoes made its way to her mouth. When she tried it, the smug look disappeared off her face. "Okay. Fine. These really are that good."

"Well, I'm glad they have the approval of a 13-year-old."

"Watch it, mister. I'm a very influential 13-year-old in your life right now, and I'm still not so sure that you have my approval yet."

"Touché."

I don't know why I bothered to argue with her. Clearly, she and Steven were on some other planet of intelligence. The remainder of dinner passed smoothly, and when we were done, I got up and took the dishes.

"Luke, let us," Steven argued, looking to Ana.

"And by us, he means me," Ana said, rolling her eyes.

"I've got it. Besides, Ana will have to unload them from the dishwasher when I'm gone, anyways."

"See, it's not like I'm getting all the way out of it," Ana chirped, sitting back down. Steven gave me something along the lines of a death glare, but I just smiled at him and rinsed the dishes. 

The part that really got to me was how normal this felt. I always thought that two gay man with a child (or children) would feel unnatural, and that it could never fit into my life, ever. Now, I wasn't so sure. I mean, I wasn't planning on moving in, but as I kept being around him and Ana, I became progressively more aware of how much I liked family life.

The phone rang and Ana picked it up. She talked for a couple of minutes, and then walked back into the kitchen.

"Dad, Hui-Zhong is having a sleepover tonight, and I know I didn't ask before, but I really want go." She paused. "And you know her parents."

"Let me talk with one of them."

"Okay," she said, a mix of hope and annoyance in her voice as she handed him the phone. Steven spoke for a moment with the other person, then hung up.

"They said since they're driving to get the pizza, you're right on the way back and that they can swing by to pick you up. Go pack your stuff; they'll be here in about fifteen minutes."

I watched as Ana's face lit up, and felt a funny glow of happiness spread through me.

"Thanks, Dad."

They were perfect. And the fact that I fit in, too, gave me chills.

Steven

Dinner waiting for me when I got home was a lovely surprise. Luke's mashed potatoes were heavenly, but it was no secret that butter makes them that good. For once, though, I didn't care, and I didn't want to know how much was in there. It was delicious comfort food, and I was tired.

Luke made a natural contribution to our home. Ana seemed to really like him, and to be honest, so did I. He wasn't intrusive, but he involved himself. He wasn't overbearing, but wasn't aloof. He added a special dimension that wasn't there without him. It was a perfect fit.

I watched as Ana walked out to the car with her sleeping back and small duffel, then shut the door and turned around. Luke's back was turned to me; he was washing the last of the pans. I liked that he did that. I never put my cookware in the diswasher: it ruins the non-stick coating, and pots and pans are expensive. I walked over quietly as he finished rinsing the last kettle and placed it on the drying rack. I wrapped my arms around his torso and rested my face between his shoulders. When I inhaled, his smell filled my senses, mixed with the smell of dish soap and the spices he had used to cook dinner. I know I surprised him, because he stiffened up a little and put his hands on my arms, looking back at me.

"Well, hey, you," he smiled, relaxing.

"So, I'm sorry I'm such a stick-in-the-mud, but I was just going to watch a movie tonight that I got in the mail the other day. If you'd like to stay, you're more than welcome."

He turned around and looked down at me. God, he was beautiful. His amber eyes sparkled with the smile that lingered on his lips.

"I'd really like that."

For some reason, we just kept looking at each other. The smile faded from his mouth, but didn't leave his eyes.

"Steven, is it okay if I kiss you now?" I chuckled a bit as I continued to look at him.

"I have to say, I'd be really disappointed if you didn't."

His face neared mine and my eyes flickered shut. When his lips touched mine, my stomach churned in that indescribable feeling that everyone who's ever been kissed by someone they care about knows. And damn was he good at it. He tasted of the sweet tea he'd been drinking, and a hint of garlic from dinner, and a taste that was completely him. It was intoxicating. The kiss wasn't too wet or dry, not too chaste or passionate, just the perfect, short-yet-lingering kiss. It left me breathless.

. . . and wanting more.

"Whoa," I whispered after a moment. I didn't mean to, but it just slipped out. He giggled deeply in his throat.

"Whoa is right," he said quietly, smiling down at me. "We may have to conduct a little more research to see if that happens every time."

"I'd be okay with that." I headed over to the refrigerator and grabbed a bottle of club soda, then followed Luke into the family room. He took my club soda and set it on the table, then sprawled out on the sofa as I grabbed the movie. I felt his eyes watch every move I made, and after I had finally put the disc into the player, I turned to him.

"Enjoying the view?"

"More than you know," he replied, a mischievous gleam on his face.

"I'm glad I can be of amusement," I smiled, sitting in front of where he was lying. I pushed the 'play' button on the remote and took a swig of my club soda. As soon as I had set the bottle back on the table, I felt a pair of deliciously strong arms wrap around me and pull me down in front of him so that we spooned.

"Mmm, see, that's much better," he said softly into my ear. Oh, this man was trouble. I felt my stomach flip-flop again as he brushed his lips lightly on the sensitive part of my neck right behind my earlobe.

His body felt wonderful against mine. He was a few inches taller than me, and definitely built more solidly, probably about 40 pounds more. His body was firm and muscular, but not too hard. His arm snaked around mine and his hand came to rest lightly on my own, his fingers lightly brushing against my knuckles.

Somewhere after the first hour of the movie, I took notice that his breathing had shallowed somewhere along the line. I peeked back, and sure enough, he was asleep. I smiled. He was beautiful. The light from the television glinted off of the golden hair on his head and arms, and stubble shadowed his chiseled face. Those light eyes that I enjoyed so much fluttered behind closed eyelids. I hoped he was dreaming of me.

I returned to watching the movie, but before long, I felt drowsy, too. The last thing I remember is thinking how perfectly Luke and I fit together as I threaded my fingers between his.



More Than You Know Ch. 05



Steven

I woke up to fingers lightly caressing my chest and the feeling of Luke's body surrounding mine. As I opened my eyes, the sunlight filtering through the windows made me squint as I stretched. I turned my head and glanced behind me, and Luke's amber eyes were shining with the morning light, a smile teasing his lips, his fingers still dancing on my chest.

"Good morning," he grumbled. I melted inside. With a yawn, I flipped on top of him and snuggled into his chest, giving an appropriate "mmph" in response to his greeting.

"Someone's a morning person," he said sarcastically. I felt the vibrations in his chest and I smiled, too, as his arms wrapped around me.

"Shut up. I get one morning to sleep in and I'm taking it."

"Not if I don't let you."

I glared up at him. He gently ran his fingers through my hair and smiled down at me. God, he was gorgeous. I brought my hands up and put them underneath my chin to rest my head.

"So, why aren't you worried about getting to work?" I asked.

"Because I scheduled myself a day off today."

"A day off? Who gets those?" I said, realizing subconsciously that I was jealous—I hadn't had a day to myself in many, many years.

"Me," he grinned, kissing me on the forehead. "Especially when I'm enjoying a morning in with the most beautiful man in the world."

"Yeah, okay," I said, trying not to smile and lead on that he was able to touch me at the very core with the things he said. He slapped me on the arm.

"I was being serious." He picked his head up again and looked down at me. I scooted up and gave him a quick kiss before rolling off of him and sitting up. Suddenly, his arms had me in an iron grip that wouldn't let me get up.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm getting up," I said simply, giving him a look that probably said 'duh'.

"Not so fast," he said, pulling me back down by my shirt and giving me another kiss. I pulled away.

"Hm-mm," I said, shaking my head. "I have morning breath."

"I don't care, Steven." He kissed me again.

"You are the only person on the planet, I think."

"You don't seem to mind too much." More kissing.

"I wasn't given a choice," I defended, grinning.

"Oh, drop the martyr act, Joan. You could be up in the bathroom brushing your teeth if you wanted. I can't make you do anything you don't want to."

"That is true. Just remember it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

We spent a few more minutes sporadically kissing and relaxing before I finally did get up to use the bathroom. I swished some water in my mouth—I hated the minty taste of toothpaste lingering while I ate, otherwise I would have brushed. I looked in the mirror. My hair was a disaster, my eyes were squinty and tired from just waking up, my clothes were a wrinkled catastrophe, and I had marks from wrinkles in Luke's shirt imprinted on the side of my face. I was a hot mess.

And yet, here was a man in my house—on my couch, no less—respecting my boundaries wholeheartedly, and yet still very clear in the fact that he wanted me. He was a catch, that much was certain: he was way too handsome for a guy like me, and he had an amazing body and a sweet disposition. Still, he wanted me, and had no qualms about showing it—appropriately, of course—even the few times we had been in public or out with Ana.

I looked back in the mirror. It was time for me to start chipping at the walls I had kept around myself. It had barely been a month, but already I trusted Luke. I knew that there would be no other man coming along in the near future who would be nearly as perfect for me as him, even if it didn't last as long as my subconscious was already planning. He had been patient with me, hadn't pushed, had always listened, and still held his own. We were good together, and if it was going to move any farther, I needed to let him in a little.

I hung my hand towel back on the holder and sighed. All this from a glance in the mirror at seven in the morning. I turned out the light and walked back out to the kitchen, finding Luke bent over in front of the refrigerator.

"Wow, help yourself to my food," I said, walking up to him as he stood back up. "You crash on my couch, now you eat my food, what's next?" I ignored the little voice in my head telling me that the answer was him moving in. It really was way too soon for that.

"Well, okay, I guess I'll just leave," he said, pouting his lower lip out to look like a toddler who has just been told to share a toy. I kissed him.

"What do you want? I don't have much, but I can make some eggs or oatmeal."

"How about some oatmeal?"

"It's not instant, so it'll take a few minutes," I warned him. He just smiled.

"That's fine. While you're cooking and I'm helping, you can tell me about Adam."

Well, then. That was ironic timing, what with my mirror revelation and all.

<><>

Luke

To say Steven looked shocked when I mentioned Adam would have been an understatement. I will give him credit for keeping his cool, though.

"Who told you about Adam?" he asked evenly.

"Peter, when we were all at Mid's together."

"How much did he tell you?" He looked at me, and leaned against the counter. "I'm not angry that he told you, don't worry. I just want to know where to start."

"He only told me that you were married," I said.

"Okay." He turned back around to the kettle on the stove and told me about Adam all throughout breakfast. When he told me about Adam's cancer right after Ana's adoption, it was hard for me to listen. I could see that Adam was comfortable enough to tell it without crying, but I could feel the pain emanating from him.

I was touched. Steven didn't give himself nearly enough credit in any of the situations, but what he told me solidified my feelings for him. He was selfless, loving, and caring—a nurturer through and through. He had no idea how amazing he was, either—none whatsoever. I mean, honestly, who is able to balance a successful full-time job, a (full-time) daughter, friends, and family, and not alienate anyone except himself and his own desires? Nowadays, there aren't very many of those people left.

Oh, goodness. This man was getting under my skin and there was nothing I could do about it . . . not that I wanted to.

After he had finished, we passed a few minutes in comfortable silence. Finally, his eyes met mine as he set down his glass after the last sip of orange juice. They were beautiful, dark brown, and so soulful.

"Steven, you are an amazing man." I looked in his eyes until he looked away.

"I'm not quite sure what to say to that," he said, taking our bowls and glasses to the sink. I followed him and wrapped my arms around his torso as he rinsed the dishes.

"How about 'thank you'?" I said, bending down to kiss his neck as he smiled. He turned off the water and turned around, wrapping his arms around my neck.

"You're more amazing," he said to me as I leaned down to kiss him. His phone rang in his pocket just as my tongue had accessed delightful entry in his mouth.

"Sorry," he said, looking up to me with apologetic eyes. "That's probably Ana." We both looked at the screen, and sure enough, it was her.

"Don't be sorry," I told him before he answered. "You're a dad. It happens."

He smiled as he picked up the phone. I watched as he walked back into the living room, his lithe frame gracefully leaning against the arm of the sofa. Even just a few years ago, this wouldn't have worked for me. I would have wanted a faster track for the relationship, a different kind of man to be around. I don't know if it was me aging or if it was just a change in how my life was paced that led me to a greater appreciation for the moments where you can see a person so simply. He curled one leg up as he smiled. His eyes darted back to me for a second and my stomach flipped a bit. He was so damned beautiful.

"Ana says hello," he said, smirking and shaking his head as he walked back into the kitchen to finish the dishes before he went to pick her up from her friend's house.

"Of course she does," I smiled. That girl had a sixth sense.

<><>

Steven

Erin and Peter looked at me from across the table while Luke was in the bathroom. We had agreed on a double date that night at a cozy sushi restaurant in town. Once Ana had found out about it, she had readily made plans with her best friend, Ariel, for a movie night in her family's home theatre. I had seen their house before, and while it was a bit excessive, Ariel's parents were down-to-earth people who weren't afraid to set boundaries, a refreshing change to most of Ana's classmates' parents. Plus, Ariel and Ana were nearly inseparable.

"I see things have been going well," Erin said. "What's it been, a little over three months?"

I thought about it for a second. "Yeah, I guess it has." I couldn't help the smile that appeared on my face. While the past month had made Luke and I discover that we definitely had our share of differences, it was also clear that we were good together. Even when it was hard, it was easy, and while that sounds contradictory, it's the only way to describe it.

"Look at you. You finally met someone who could cheer up your cynical ass," Peter grinned, taking a swig of his beer.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," I grumbled, the smile still playing at my lips.

"Sshhh, quiet, here he comes," Peter said audibly as Luke sat down next to me. Erin attempted to shoot him a chastising sideways glance, but the look in her eyes came out amused and in love instead.

"Oh, god, what, are we in third grade again?" Luke asked, smiling. He and Peter got along very well, yet another thing that made me crazy about him.

"Third grade? He's still stuck in kindergarten," Erin answered.

"I'm not surprised."

"Oh, like you have any room to talk," I said to Luke.

"Me? Little ol' me?" He put his hand on his chest and batted his eyelashes. I couldn't help but smile at his expression. "What were you saying about little ol' me, anyhow?"

"Just how naturally charming you clearly are," Peter said, gesturing to Luke's southern-old-lady stance.

"But of course," he said. "How do you think I bagged this one?" He leaned over, put his arm around me, and kissed my temple. Even when he was being such an idiot, it was hard not to swoon. "Was'n'it my natch-rull charm, puddin'?"

"Oh, get over yourself, you big lunk," I grinned, pushing him back into his chair. "I'm just after your fortune."

"Oh, darlin', you are going to be really disappointed, then," he said in his normal voice, a bit of the Southern accent still holding on.

"I don't believe that for a second," I said, returning his smoldering gaze.

"Oh, my sweet Mary, Jesus, and Joseph, if I have to listen to this any more, I think I'm going to throw up," Erin exclaimed.

"What's the matter, honey? After all, I have all the treasure you need," Peter oozed, smiling and raising his eyebrow suggestively.

"What is with you boys tonight? Steven, next time we get sushi, we're going alone," she smirked.

The rest of the meal went splendidly, including the ride home. The only problem was with me—for some reason, Luke had turned me on throughout the whole meal. I know he hadn't meant to, and nothing he did was overtly sexual, I just couldn't take it anymore. It had been over three months, and what we'd done physically up to this point stopped at kissing and some groping. I was appreciative of the space he'd given me, but seeing our relationship progress as it had, I was ready. Scratch that, I was more than ready.

I was gagging for it. For him.

He had just planned on coming in for a cup of coffee before heading home, I know, but as soon as he shut the door behind him, I practically pounced on him. He didn't miss a beat, though, and soon our tongues were fighting wonderfully as he walked me backwards against the wall.

"Wow, Tiger, what's gotten into you?" He sounded surprised at my dominance, and I smiled before my want overtook me again.

"Luke, I want you," I said, reaching for him. He grabbed my hands and looked into my eyes, bringing his face down so that it was nearly touching mine.

"Now, when you say 'want me', do you mean my fortune?" he inquired softly, his drawl again coming out to play.

"If that's how you want to refer to your assets," I replied, removing one hand from his and sliding it slowly down his torso as I spoke, "then yes, I want the whole damn estate."

"Okay, but just to be clear," he tilted my head up and looked into my eyes fervently, "you're okay with this? You want this, right?"

"I want you," I said simply. "And I want you tonight, any way you'll have me."

With that, the kissing and walking resumed, and I think it must have taken us fifteen minutes to traverse the distance to my bedroom, just because we were feeling and touching and undressing along the way. By the time we got to the bed, we were both shirtless, his pants were undone, and I was in heaven. The dusky light in the sky from the setting sun filtered through the large glass door and windows in my room, making the golden hair that dusted his chest and stomach gleam, and highlighted his beefy musculature to a tee. I was hooked. I backed him up against the bed and pushed him down, leaning atop him to grab his crotch and taste his skin, kissing my way from his neck to the middle of his chest to one perfectly-formed nipple. He moaned, giving me even more incentive, knowing that he was enjoying this as much as I was.

"Oh, god, Steven," he said as I grasped his manhood while gently biting the other nipple. I stroked him up and down as I kissed my way past his navel and to the base of his penis, his curls there the same deep blond as on his head. I peeled his pants, underwear, shoes and socks off in no time at all, greedy to see him completely nude.

He was beautiful, perfectly proportioned, his thighs thick and powerful like his upper body, dusted with the same golden hair as everywhere else except his upper arms, shoulders, and back. Dear lord, I had my own personal Adonis, and he was in my bed, arms sprawled out and legs slightly spread. His dick was just as pretty, about seven inches, uncut, and of a mouth-watering thickness. While I occasionally enjoyed topping, I had to feel him inside me tonight. I kneeled by the bed and kissed my way up his length, then swallowed him and played with his balls. I let my full oral abilities loose, and he seemed to enjoy himself. I experimentally ran my tongue and fingers further down, approaching his rosebud, and when he reacted positively, I rubbed a finger around it and massaged while I sucked him.

"Steven, stop, or I'm going to come," he gasped, as if that was incentive for me to stop. I let my spit-slick finger penetrate him just enough to get to his prostate, and he lost it. I've always loved swallowing, and this time was no exception. As he came down from his orgasm, he sat up, grabbed me, pulled me onto the bed, and kissed me while removing my pants.

"Steven, what do you want tonight?" he asked me between kisses as his hands roamed over my chest, my stomach, my cock.

"Every now and again, I really like giving," I told him, just to gauge his reaction. He smiled, seemingly unfazed, so I continued. "But tonight, I'd really like to feel you inside me."

"I think that can be arranged. We need to give little Luke a chance to take a breather first—after all, I'm not 20 anymore—but I think I'll have you begging for it by the time he's ready. How's that?" he asked.

I answered by kissing him again as he ran his hand up and down my length, my precum making it slick, and then sticky. He moved down on the bed on all fours, looking up at me as he took me in his mouth. I could see in his eyes how turned on he was, and at the same time how much I meant to him. He lifted my legs up and worked his way down, licking at my ass. I had always loved getting rimmed, and it made me glad that I had prepared and cleaned before I left for dinner earlier. I lost myself in the pleasure, my hard cock leaking against my stomach as his tongue penetrated me. He grabbed the lube from beside me (when did he find that?) and circled it around my hole with his finger. When he slid his middle finger in completely, I cried out. I couldn't help it—it had been years since someone other than myself had done this, and I had forgotten how amazing it felt with someone you care about. I squirmed in pleasure as he patiently took a lot of time to get me ready, sucking me all the while.

"Condoms?" he asked, three fingers still moving inside me.

"Second drawer," I managed, lost in pleasure as he administered his talent on my ass. He kept his fingers inside me while grabbing a condom from my nightstand with the other hand.

"You feel so good," he told me, kissing me deeply as he gave me the condom to open. I rolled it down his shaft as he kept fingering me, then took the lube and rubbed it over both his dick and mine. He moved into place, grabbing one of my many pillows to put under my lower back before wiggling into place and kissing me. I wrapped my legs around him as he slid slowly into me.

As much as I'd like to say there was no pain, it had been many years, and so even with as well as he had prepared me, there was the burning that goes along with the stretching of those muscles. But after a minute, it had lessened to an ache that I found incredibly pleasurable.

"Move, Luke," I said, writhing against him. He leaned down, his arms beside my shoulders, and framed my face with his hands, kissing me senseless as he rocked his hips, sliding inside me both gently and deeply. He moved one arm, and before I knew it, I felt his hand circling me and jerking me off in time to his thrusts.

It occurred to me that he was so focused on my pleasure, and me on his, that we were a perfect match. He was so caring, so gentle, and yet so powerful, and I felt safe, and cared for, and able to enjoy what I was feeling. The sounds of sex mixed with our heavy breathing and moaning already had me turned on, along with the feel of his muscular arms and back under my hands, but his ministrations on my cock and this newly-realized comfort with him sent me over the edge, especially as he changed the angle of his thrusting to glide his dick over my prostate with every move he made.

"Come for me, baby," he said between kisses.

"I'm already there," I smiled, then kissed him as I felt the waves of my orgasm overtake me. I felt him convulse as he moaned into my mouth just seconds later, his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy.

When we finally both unwound, he rested his weight on top of me, and my arms circled around him to rub his back slowly.

"You are so beautiful, Steven," he said, looking at me groggily.

I kissed him gently in reply, squeezing him even more into me, greedy for all the contact with his body as he lay atop me.

"Thank you," I said. "That was—you are—amazing," I said a bit later, just looking into his eyes. He rolled to his side, and we lay facing one another, the tenderness I felt for him bubbling its way up and making my stomach flip.

"I love you, Steven," he said simply, quietly, and sincerely, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me closer, his eye contact never breaking. He must have seen my surprise and the fact that I was at a loss for words, because he went on. "You are everything I've been looking for, and I love every moment I spend with you, but this, tonight, this just sealed the deal for me. I—this—" He was clearly struggling, so I intervened, my soul soaring by his effort at expressing his emotions and making himself vulnerable.

"I love you, too, Luke. You don't have to explain, even though I appreciate you bearing all for me. I was just surprised, is all."

I kissed him and he pulled me even closer, my head buried in the crook of his neck. His smell, which had become comforting to me over the past months, was the last thing I noticed before I dozed off.




More Than You Know Ch. 05



<><>

Luke

The morning sun drifted through the windows since we had forgotten to pull the shades last night. I glanced at the clock mere inches from my face. 6:07. Crap. I needed to think about getting up.

I glanced over at Steven's sleeping form, wondering if he was already late. The peaceful look on his face as he slept, though, kept me from waking him up just a moment more. I looked at his half-exposed back, the gentle, masculine curves of the structure and musculature there. He was gorgeous, the dark hair and relatively fair skin, starting to tan with the start of summer. While he didn't have the body of a gym rat, he took care of himself and had a raw beauty that made me crazy.

We had woken up and made love again earlier in the morning, the second time being much different than the first. Everything went wrong that could have: the lube cap popped off and spilled everywhere, we bumped heads, knocked teeth once while kissing, he got a leg cramp, and as a grand finale I slipped off the bed near the end, and pulling out left a bit of a mess. It was probably what we deserved for doing it without turning any form of light on. Even though in any of my previous relationships this would have bothered (horrified) me, it didn't. Afterwards, we both fell on the bed, laughing our asses off and kissing before changing the messy sheets and finally settling down to return to sleep.

Sex with Steven wasn't technically the hottest I'd ever had. It wasn't the fastest, the longest, and we didn't always move together and in sync. What it was, however, was the best and the most meaningful sex I'd had in my entire life. Even with all of the problems of our second take last night, I felt connected to him, a fulfillment in our mutual pleasure that meant so much more than a cramp, lube stains, or my bruised knee. Never before had I felt this spark before from physicality, but Steven brought it full on every time he kissed me, with every moan or whimper, or even just by looking into my eyes. Before, it had always been sex. It just felt like more than that now.

Even something I'd never been keen on before I now enjoyed, but just because it was him—cuddling while going to sleep. Most men I've bedded I've sent packing afterwards, or I've left their place immediately. The few times one of us was too drunk or too tired to leave, I still always needed my space. But Steven curling up to me, or vice versa, felt like it was the icing on the cake—not technically necessary, but what cake is finished without it, and who wants cake without the frosting? It was a good thing I enjoyed it, too: even in his sleep, he held onto me, arm flung over me or both arms wrapped around me the whole night.

I brushed my fingertips lightly over his nose, enjoying the way it wrinkled and he squinted his eyes open.

"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," I grinned.

"You're an asshole." He turned to look at the alarm clock, then sat straight up. "Shit! I have to be in at 7. Why would you just let me sleep?"

"Because you're so peaceful and cute," I offered. He smiled a little as he dashed from the bed to the bathroom.

"I really wish I could be mad at you right now, but I suppose it's my fault for forgetting to set the alarm." I heard the shower turn on, and then his head and a shoulder peeked from the doorway. "Although, you did keep me pretty distracted. Want to join me? We don't have time for thirds, but we can save water."

"Nah, you go ahead. I'm going to enjoy staying in bed," I yawned as I sprawled out. He disappeared in the bathroom grumbling before I got up and walked in.

"Okay, you convinced me," I said, peeling back the shower curtain. He had his head down in the flow of the water, rivulets cascading down his back and over his perfectly shaped, just-hairy-enough ass and down his legs. He turned, squeegee-ing his hair back with his hands, sending more water over him.

"Oh, I'm sorry, sir, but that offer just expired and is no longer valid."

"I'm going to expire you," I said, reaching for him as he laughed, grabbed the shampoo, and whisked the shower curtain shut.



More Than You Know Ch. 06



Steven

I had been having a good day at work until the phone call came.

"Steven Abernathy?"

"Yes, that's me."

"My name is Dr. Reilly. I'm calling from Northside Hospital and also on behalf of the Northside Police Department. Are you the son of Walter and Ida Abernathy?"

"Yes." I felt my stomach drop. 

"Sir, I'm sorry to inform you that both of your parents were admitted to the hospital a few minutes ago." A million thoughts dashed through my head but I took a breath and kept listening. "A semi blew a tire out on the highway, but one of the cars avoiding shrapnel caused a collision, and then the cars around them collided. Your parents were in one of the cars."

"What? Are they okay? How are they?" This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening. This can't be happening.

"Your father is in stable condition. We are working on scheduling him for surgery: his hip was broken. Your mother is in surgery right now. Her left tibia was shattered. They both have minor lacerations and bruising and will be sore, but they listed you as both their POA and their closest living relative." There was a pause. I couldn't talk. "I don't know your family situation, sir, or where you live if it is outside of Northside, but your parents will need your care and help. They both have long journeys of rehabilitation ahead of them, but because they are in such good shape and only in their 60s, I believe they will make splendid recoveries."

"Thank you, Dr. Reilly. I will be there in about six hours."

I canceled the rest of my appointments for that day and the next and hurried home.

"Ana," I called when I got there. "Get your suitcase. We have to go."

"Um, where?"

"Grandma and Grandpa were in a bad accident, honey." Her eyes widened and the look of panic and sadness overtook her face.

"Ohmigawd. Are they okay?"

"They're doing alright right now but we have to go."

Twenty minutes later, we were on the road.

When we got to the hospital, both of my parents were out of surgery, but so hopped up on painkillers that they slept the entire time. I filled out a ton of paperwork, talked to their doctor, surgeon, and got recommendations for physical therapy. Unfortunately, all of the facilities that offered the best care were near Northside, and none near my home. I also talked to the lawyer and insurance people about the semantics of the seven-car accident. 

Mostly, though, I thought about where this left me, and what I needed to do, and the answer was clear.

Luke

I was so in love with Steven.

I had become a regular fixture at the Abernathy household, so much so that I even had a toothbrush, a drawer of clothes and one of my coveralls for work, and even my own scrubby-puff-thing in the shower. I loved being around. I loved seeing Steven and Ana. I loved the feel of family around. I loved everything about it.

We had been dating for almost six months, and even though it was a short amount of time, I knew that Steven was it for me. He was who I loved waking up next to in the morning, who I couldn't wait to go to bed with at night, and who I couldn't imagine not being in my life after having made him a part of it.

Unfortunately, though, sometimes life has other plans.

He walked in that night, after having spent three days in Northside with his parents. His eyes were tired, and seemed like he may have cried. He was rumpled, for lack of a better word. And he just looked at me. I knew immediately that something was very wrong, and that he hadn't been just visiting his parents like he had dismissively told me on the phone a couple of days earlier.

"Luke," was all he said before he stopped, taking a deep breath, clearly willing himself not to cry. Goddamn, but I hated that look. I would do anything to make him smile, but this sadness just made me want to crawl out of my skin. I walked over and put my arms around him. He did likewise, and buried one side of his face into my chest.

"Baby, what happened?"

"My parents were in a bad accident. They're both okay, but they have lots of rehab and PT ahead of them."

"Oh, Steven, I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," he said.

"Sorry for what?" I looked at him incredulously. What could he possibly be apologizing for?

He backed up, looked me in the eye, and shook his head.

"I'm moving."

"Well, okay, I can help with that. How long will you be there?"

"A long time, Luke. It might have to be permanent. I'm not sure yet."

"That's okay," I said, trying to sound optimistic. "I'll come visit, and when you come home I'll see you, and—"

"No, Luke," he pushed back a bit more. "I'm so sorry." Tears filled his eyes and I could feel my stomach drop and my world crumble before he even said the words that followed. "I can't. I just can't. I have so much to deal with there. I'll still be working, and the rest of my time has to be devoted to my parents. And Ana. And figuring out all the semantics, like how Ana's going to school next year because I'm not going to transfer her for a year or two if it's not permanent.

"I just . . . I can't do it all, Luke, and you're the only part in this that . . . well . . . they are my parents, and I have to work in order to support me and Ana, and them too, probably, and Ana is my daughter—" I decided to cut him off. I knew what he was saying, and it hurt, but it made sense: I was the only part of the equation that could be dropped.

"I understand," I tried, but my voice betrayed me a bit, wavering.

"Please don't hate me," he said, the tears finally brimming over his eyes and down to his cheek before I wiped them off with my thumbs.

"Steven, I will never hate you," I said, enfolding him once again in my arms. "I love you so much."

"Please don't. It's already so hard leaving you and my home."

"I don't understand why you're doing this," I blurted out, unable to stop it.

"I just can't do this, Luke. I can't spend emotional energy just pining after someone a few hundred miles away who I will see maybe once a month and still devote my life to my family. Not to mention not knowing if I will ever come back or if there will be anything here if I do for us. It's just logical."

And that was Steven. He was logical. He was caring, he was selfless, he was an amazing man, but he was so damn logical and analytical all the time. And as much as I felt my heart shatter, and as all of my angry and sad and conflicted emotions welled up within me, over everything else, I knew I'd let him go, because it was what he needed to give the best to his family.

"Thank you," was all I could say before my voice gave out completely. I hugged him one more time and kissed his head, inhaling the smell of his shampoo and that addictive scent that was so distinctly, comfortingly him. "I love you," I whispered as I turned around.

"Luke," he said as I approached the door. I turned around and tried not to break down at the sight I saw—him grappling to keep his emotions in check while holding the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Steven?"

"I love you, too."

And just like that, with those words, the tears that had been absent from my eyes blurred my vision as I turned back around and shut the door behind me.

Steven

I missed Luke every day. Every morning I woke up, he wasn't there to give me his warm smile, and at night, I was cold without his presence in the bed, despite the heat of the summer raging outside. I know Ana and my parents saw that something was different, and I'm sure Ana realized what it was, but I soon learned that my parents didn't quite realize the gravity of the situation. 

Two weeks after moving quite a bit of stuff from my house to Northside, I sat with my parents at the dinner table after Ana had gone to bed and enjoyed their liveliness despite their current state of being. The doctors and therapists were very impressed with the motivation both of my parents had, and though their bodies weren't healing as quickly as someone half their age, their bones were healing at a nice pace. Most of their bruising was gone, and what wasn't, was no longer sore, but just yellow and green and unsightly. They had smiles on their faces through it all, though, and that meant the world to me. They had both tearfully expressed their gratitude in me "sacrificing my life" to relocate for several months.

That particular evening two weeks in, however, I did not see the question that came out of nowhere from my mother.

"So, Steven, when do we get to meet Luke?"

I felt my face flush and I felt the tingling that happens in my eyes just before they fill with tears, but I willed it away. It didn't matter, though: the look on my face gave it away.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry."

"Don't be sorry. I did what was best for me." My parents looked at each other quickly before a pregnant pause. My dad spoke soon enough, though.

"Don't take this the wrong way, Stevie, but did you really do what was best for you, or did you do what was best for us and what worked the best with the situation?"

"It was the best for me and us, Dad. I can't handle the extra emotional energy."

"Like the heartbreak you're feeling but channeling into every other aspect of our lives right now?" My mother raised her eyebrows as she pointedly asked this.

"Listen, guys, just don't, okay? Just. Don't. This is hard enough for me as it is, and if I had to do it over again, I would do exactly what I did. You're my family and I will always be there, especially after how you were there for me after Adam."

"We know that," my dad said. 

"I know. You're my family," I repeated. "And Luke was, well . . . he was . . ."

"And he was, too," Mom finished for me.

"I can't do this right now, okay? I made my decision, and I know that this is what is best for all of us right now." I knew that I hadn't allowed myself enough time for grief, or to get the emotions out of my system, but there hadn't been time for that.

"Steven, it's what's best for us, not you."

"What's best for you is what's best for me, Ma."

I think they saw that there wasn't a way they could win the battle, so they backed down. The rest of the evening was spent in relative silence, the discomfort of it masked by the TV. 



A week later, I was maintaining my mom's flower beds in the front yard and taking a break from work. The numbers filled my head, but my thoughts were scattered. Being outside in the flowers and the sandy soil quieted the conflicting voices and the emotions that threatened to bubble up at any moment. My parents were in town for their rehab, and the physical therapist had reassured me, after a week of me watching everything that happened there scrupulously, that I was fine to go home during the few hours they were there most days. At first, this seemed like too much training for them, but I realized that they had time for long breaks and stretching, as well as getting to know other people there in fun group activities, like card games to the ever-stereotypical bingo day, to just talking and sharing which trails were best to walk or hike and which pools had the most senior-friendly environment. 

I was also relieved that I had worked out Ana's living situation for when the school year began in a few weeks. Ariel's parents had welcomed her any time she wanted to be there, and I graciously thanked them, but made for her semi-permanent residence with Pete and Erin. It was far from ideal, but she would visit on the weekends. There was a very convenient bus route between Northside and home, and the fare was something I wasn't worried about. The bus ride would also give Ana time for homework and a bit of unwinding. She was being a trooper about the whole situation, and for that, I was grateful. She actually almost seemed excited about it. I had definitely been giving her a bit more freedom because of it. Northside was a very safe place, and the near-beach community gave her a wealth of activities to choose from—shops, small strip malls, and her favorite: ice cream parlors. She had gone just down the street to our neighborhood's shopping block about a half-hour before I heard a car come up the driveway.

I got up and headed around the side to see who it was, then stopped in my tracks as Luke's solid frame turned around to face me. To say I was shocked would do the feeling no justice. However, I vaguely noticed the tingling in my stomach as a small smile curled his lips.

"Steven."

"Luke, what are you doing here? We talked about this when I left—"

"No, you talked and I listened."

"I—" 

"Well, now it's your turn to listen to me. I've been a mess. I sobbed myself to sleep for a week after you left, and Steven, I do not cry—it's just not how I'm wired. I tried to give you space and to leave you alone, which is the only reason it took this long for me to come. I went through the motions and I focused on just getting my life as I knew it back together, but I realized yesterday that you and Ana are my life, and I'm not just going to let you run away from it."

"Luke, we're 300 miles away," I offered, feeling my resistance melting as tears filled my eyes.

"Not anymore," he said, opening his car door and letting me see the bag in the back seat. "The rest of my stuff is in the trunk. I didn't know if you'd want me here or have room for me, but I sure as hell thought I'd try. I haven't taken time off from the shop in years, so I'm taking a few months now. I left my next-in-command in charge of the place, and he'll be fine. I love you, Steven, and damn it all to hell in a little red wagon if I let you get away just because you think you have to do this alone. You're always there for your family, but who's there for you? 

"You became my family somewhere along the way, and I want to be the one who supports you, who you can turn to when you need anything. You need someone like that, someone who can throw your damned logic out the fuckin' window every now and then and just be there so you don't have to always think and tear things apart to itty-bitty tiny pieces to examine and analyze and over-think. And I know I can do that job."

I just stood there, looking at him, not bothering with the tears that I'm sure were leaving streaks on my sunblocked, sandy, dirty face.

"You left your job, and your house—everything—just to come be with me here?"

"My everything is right here, not there."

Well, shit. I couldn't help it when I started to cry. It had been the first time since the night I last saw him. It just came, minute upon minute of wracking sobs and tears galore. He came over and embraced me, and it felt so good to just be able to let everything out in the arms of someone who loved me, and to know that he'd be right there for that any time I needed him. 

Fuck me, this was intense.

"Thank you," I managed, sniffling into his chest. His white button-up now had streaks from dirt, sweat, tears, and—oh, geez—snot.

"No thanks needed," he said, looking down and kissing me gently. "Because I know you'd do it for me, too, if our roles had been switched."

I don't know how long we stood in the driveway just with our arms wrapped around each other, gently swaying in the warm summer breeze. It must've been a while, because when I moved, my legs were just a bit stiff.

"Let's get your stuff inside," I told him. He took a small step back, moved his hands to my shoulders, then brushed some dirt and tears from my cheek with his thumb.

"I love you, Steven," he said before kissing me gently. 

My phone chirped in my pocket, and I took it out to see a text message from Ana, saying that she had run into a friend at a shop, and that they were going to sit by the beach and catch up. I replied quickly, then kissed Luke again and grabbed his toiletry and garment bags while he hoisted out his large duffle.

"That Ana?"

"Yup. She's at the beach with a friend."

"And your parents?"

"They're at therapy for a while longer. Hey, Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too, you know."

"I know."

He dropped his duffel by the bed, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me for all I was worth. I started unbuttoning his shirt.

"What about Ana?"

"I told her to text whenever she finished up so I would know that she was headed home. And my parents won't be done for another hour-and-a-half."

"Thank god."

He kissed me again, practically tearing my sleeveless shirt off and whisked my shorts off, until we were both naked and making out on my bed.

"You are so sexy, Luke," I told him, taking in his mussed hair and his muscular golden figure underneath me.

"Steven, I need you in me," he said, handing me a condom and a bottle of lube that he had brought with him.

"Someone came rather prepared. Knew that I couldn't resist, did you?" I smiled between kisses.

"No, I just always try to stay optimistic, Mr. Realist," he said, pausing every couple of words to gasp and grunt as I worked lube into his ass with a couple of fingers. He quickly rolled the condom down my length and said, "I'm ready, just go."

I obliged, and sank into his tight warmth as he arched up beneath me. For such a "manly" man, Luke was surprisingly vocal as we made love, which was a turn-on for me that I didn't know about before. He moaned his release below me just before I emptied myself into the condom up his ass. He pulled me down to him, spreading his cum between us, and kissed me before I just rested my head in the crook of his neck.

"I love you," I said quietly, kissing his collarbone.

"I love you," he said, kissing the top of my head in response. 

I glanced at the clock, and after noticing me, he did, too.

"Well, we only took about 20 minutes. I suppose we have time for another round before we shower and unpack my stuff, huh?"

I slapped his chest lightly. "You horndog."

"Only for you," he said, looking down at me and giving me a peck on my nose. "Come on, let's go get a quick shower and see if you can resist me."

I laughed as we got up. He grabbed my hand and pulled me behind him to the bathroom, smiling all the way. And everything felt right, complete, like I had a support system even while I was trying to support everyone else.



I took a sip of my beer as my mom showed Luke all of the pictures she had in albums. They laughed and talked, with Ana looking over their shoulders and adding her two cents whenever she felt the compulsion. My dad looked from me to them and smiled.

"He seems like a good guy," he said. I could see from his eyes that this statement was something of an approval.

"He's the best, Dad."

Ana had been completely surprised to come back to find Luke in the house, as were my parents. When I picked them up from physical therapy, I told them he would be there, and my mom got very excited, and my dad just smiled knowingly. When they met him, they took to him instantly. We all had a great dinner together, and then my mom pulled out the photo albums as we relaxed.

Luke looked over at me, first smiling widely, then the smile fading to a very whimsical look, tinged with sympathy. Then I heard my mom speak simply, no extra words necessary.

"That's Adam."

I walked over, and saw that they had my favorite picture of myself and Adam: it was after our small "wedding" get-together, during our housewarming party in our first apartment. Adam was touching my arm, and we were almost facing each other, angled out just a bit, but both of us had our heads turned to the camera. I was smiling somewhat normally, but Adam had a shit-eating grin on his face. There was just something about the picture that made it special to all who knew him.

I looked to Luke. There was a touch of uncertainty in his face, and I knew that he didn't really know what to say. As he got up, I thought I saw guilt, but I didn't understand why. He excused himself to get another drink and I followed him to my parents' kitchen.




More Than You Know Ch. 06



"You okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I just, I don't know how I feel. I understand how much you both felt and went through, but I feel guilty." Ah, there was the guilt I had seen painted on his face moments before.

"Guilty?"

"I felt a little jealous, seeing you with him. And even worse, I almost felt glad that he, well, you know, because otherwise I wouldn't have ever gotten to meet you. It just made it more real that I'm sharing my life with you, someone who has already shared their life with someone else."

"Whoa, let's back up from the crazy-speak here. You don't have to feel guilty. Adam's death happened. There are no what-ifs anymore. It happened, and it happened for many reasons, and while I'll always remember him, I know that he would want me to be happy, and to be with you. He would love us together. Adam was perfect for me at that point in my life, before everything happened. You, you're perfect for me now, because all of that did happen. 

"I love you, Luke. Just because I had Adam before doesn't mean you're sharing me with him. You get all of me. I've had years to put myself together, and along the lines of what I said before, Adam wouldn't want me to stay in the past and never share myself again. But you, you are the only one I want to share myself with until I kick the bucket."

I saw the tears in his eyes threatening to spill over, but they didn't. He merely enfolded me in his arms.

"Thank you."

"Thank you, Luke. I tried to run away, but you were the one who saw the senselessness." I stepped back and looked into his eyes. "See? You're perfect for me."

"You two get lost?" Ana shouted from the family room.

"No, we're just discussing punishments for your smart mouth," I shot back quickly. Luke grinned, and we went back to the family room hand-in-hand.



My parents made a relatively quick recovery. Before I knew it, I was back home, Luke was back to work, and Ana was in school. Last year, Luke put his house up for sale and moved in with Ana and me. It sold within the first couple of months. My parents adored him, and our friends were ecstatic about our 'marriage'. Ana and Luke have become incredibly close, and just the other day started referring to him as "Dad". 

It hasn't always been easy. Having a new member in a household is always an adjustment, but made easier by the fact that Luke was almost a permanent fixture before he moved in. It helps to know, too, that even when things get a bit hairy, Luke is always there for me, and I'm always there for him.

And now, I walk down my hallway at two in the morning, unable to sleep. I check in on my beautiful fifteen-year-old daughter, sleeping peacefully, and then glance down and across the hallway to where my gorgeous man sleeps in our bed. I realize how blessed I am, and that somehow, things have worked out to the way they are supposed to be.

And I can't wait to see what the future holds for us.