From the Ashes (27 page)

“Well, that’s good. Because you don’t have a son anymore.” Jesse stood taller as he walked across the entry hall to open the inner door. Cold air breezed in, and a few snowflakes slipped through the mesh of the screen. Jesse crossed his arms against the chill. “Goodbye.”

Evan Smith strode in his direction, hands fisted. His dad wasn’t exactly a tough guy, but Jesse braced for things to get physical. “Don’t even think about it,” he warned.

Tomas stepped up behind his father. “Don’t make me call in a domestic disturbance,” Tomas said in that low, reassuring voice of his.

Jesse watched his father’s face. It was almost comical the way it shifted from anger to surprise. Evan Smith would never in a million years consider himself the type of person who’d have the cops called to his house.

He coughed into his hand, sobering before Jesse’s eyes. “Whatever you say.” Evan stepped in the doorway and opened the screen. “Just don’t come crawling to me when you need money for school. I don’t agree with—”

“I won’t.” Jesse cut off the tirade he’d heard the previous year. “I don’t need anything from you.” It had been so long since he’d gotten any warmth or affection from his father. He didn’t even know if the memories he’d cooked up of playing catch in the yard were real. “Merry Christmas.” He shut the door in his father’s face.

“Power Rangers?” Smiling, Tomas picked up one of the toys on Jesse’s dresser. The room looked like Jesse was still in seventh grade.

“Hey.” Jesse grabbed it out of Tomas’s hand. They were still dressed, but Tomas could tell by the way he pressed in closer that Jesse planned on getting naked as soon as possible. “I always wished these guys had bigger packages.”

Tomas laughed. He toyed with the bottom of Jesse’s shirt, teasing it higher. “You rubbed off to Power Rangers?” Lowering to one knee, he kissed Jesse’s belly.

Jesse’s lower stomach was covered with fine hairs, which got thicker toward the middle. His treasure trail was so light it was almost blond.

“Maybe.” Jesse arched forward, urging Tomas to open his pants. “I used to feel them between the legs though.”

Chuckling, he unbuttoned Jesse slowly and kissed along his waistband before using a single finger to lower his briefs.

“Oh God.” Jesse stepped back to shove his jeans to his ankles and pulled his shirt over his head. He was hard already, his bulge pointing forward from behind the cotton of his underwear. With excited eyes, he looked Tomas over. “You too.”

“Okay, okay.” Tomas smiled.

Jesse smelled like snow and pheromones. Watching Tomas undress, he stroked his dick until the tip poked out through the top of his underwear.

Jesse grabbed him and fell backward, but when Tomas landed on top, the bed creaked loud enough for Jesse’s mother to hear.

“Fuck me,” Jesse whispered. He wrapped his legs around Tomas’s waist, squirming and grabbing Tomas’s ass. With every move, the bed squeaked.

Tomas eased them onto their sides. Jesse’s bed was tiny, only a twin, and they barely fit. “Sh. Be quiet.” He kissed Jesse’s mouth, hoping to mute his answer. Tomas gripped their cocks together. He knew he was doing it too rough for Jesse’s taste, but that was okay, because Jesse breathed heavy, his forehead knitting in a mix of pleasure and pain.

“Quiet, or I won’t let you come,” Tomas teased.

Jesse kissed him, his lips and tongue messy and wet and desperate. He bucked into Tomas’s hand, making the bed squeal.

“Jesus.” Tomas shook his head. “This isn’t going to work.” He peered over the edge at the soft-looking shag carpet. “C’mon.” He scrabbled onto the floor.

Jesse landed with his knees on either side of Tomas’s hips. Reaching behind him, Jesse grabbed Tomas’s cock and pressed it into his crease.

“Mmm…” Tomas closed his eyes and thrust. They’d never fucked this way, with Jesse on top. Though Tomas was hesitant to have full-on sex in Jesse’s mother’s house, he was eager to try something new. “Too bad we didn’t bring any lube.”

“That’s what you think.” Jesse scrambled partway off, to dig something out of his jeans pocket. “I came prepared.” Grinning, he pulled out a little bottle.

“Naughty boy.” Tomas gripped Jesse’s cock, making a cuff for him to thrust into. “Get yourself slick so I can fuck you.”

Jesse looked at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. He licked his lips and nodded, then wet his fingers and got his hand behind him. His eyebrows drew together, and his lips opened, and he looked like the most gorgeous thing Tomas had ever seen.

The lights were on. Tomas could see everything. When Jesse was in position, Tomas flexed his hips, driving his cock inside. He didn’t miss a second.

“Fuck. I’m not…” Jesse bounced with abandon, his face filled with such ecstasy it looked like he was flying.

“I got you.” Tomas put an arm around Jesse’s shoulders and a hand on his ass. He smiled, knowing he never would have had the balls to do this a couple months ago.

When Jesse seemed like he couldn’t wait another second, Tomas grabbed his dick and said, “Come for me,
mi amor
.”

Jesse opened his mouth like he was going to scream, so Tomas kissed him. He smiled against Jesse’s lips as Jesse rained on his belly.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jesse chewed on the end of his pen, staring at the problems until the numbers were a blur. Statistics had sucked the first time around, and the course at UW was no easier. If he never saw a P value again, it would be too soon.

A knock sounded at the door, and Maria’s voice called through. “Hey, Jesse. Are you home?”

“Yeah.” With Tomas at the other house helping set up for the Super Bowl, Maria must have known that Jesse was home, but Jesse still shouted back, “I’m here.”

“Can I come in?”

Jesse set aside his worksheet and opened the door. “Hey.”

Maria gave him a big smile, holding out an envelope.

“What’s this?” Jesse took it from her. The cover read
Seattle Animal Shelter
.

“Your pet license, I think.” She looked past him and into the apartment.

Jesse stepped to the side, holding the door open for her. “Awesome.” He pulled out the piece of paper, even though he knew what it said.

From the folds, a piece of metal slipped out to land on the floor. Picking it up, Jesse found a tag engraved with Char’s license number, complete with a little ring to connect it to her collar.

He tucked it in his pocket, pride filling his belly. He couldn’t wait to show it to Tomas.

“Like what you’ve done with the place.” Maria wandered around their living room, touching all the surfaces. She picked up one of the throw pillows. “It’s homey.”

Jesse scratched his nose. It was weird, letting a person look through his stuff, even someone he liked as well as Maria. “Well, y’know, it is home.” He shrugged. “For now.”

“Will you stop that?” Maria threw the pillow at him. “I know you guys won’t want to live here forever, but you don’t have to move out anytime soon.” She gave him a wink so much like her brother’s. “Not until I want to move in.”

“I know.” He busied himself in the kitchen with dishes. Jesse didn’t want to offend Maria, not when her family was so nice to him, but Jesse still hated how he and Tomas played it straight around them.

Tomas said it was a respect thing, but they must have known Tomas and Jesse were a couple—the whole block knew.

“You need to finish up here? The game’s about to start.” Maria came up behind him in the kitchenette, messing with their mugs and arranging them all so they faced the same direction.

Her cleaning was making him insane. “No. I need a break anyway. We can go.”

He didn’t bother putting on a jacket to cross the backyard, just shoved his feet into rainproof clogs and hopped his way through the puddles.

Char and Sushi lifted their heads from their spot on the Perez back porch, but stayed curled up on the polar fleece doggie bed.

“Who are you rooting for?” Maria asked when they’d gotten into the kitchen.

Jesse didn’t want to admit that he had no interest whatsoever in football, so he ignored the question. Turning to Mrs. Perez, he asked, “Is there anything you need help with?”

She gave him a quick once-over as if she didn’t believe his helpfulness could be out of the goodness of his heart. “Yes.” She handed him a spatula. “Stir the vegetables. Make sure they don’t burn.”

“But,
Mami
, the game’s starting.” Maria hovered by the door that led from the kitchen to the living room, peeking around the edge like she was checking the TV.

“I know.” Rosa Perez took off her apron and held it out for Jesse.

“Um…” Jesse blinked. He’d never live it down if he wore an apron on Super Bowl Sunday.

“Mom! Jesse might want to watch the beginning of the game.” Maria put her hands on her hips.

“Oh, he doesn’t care.” Mrs. Perez flicked her hand.

“Why, because he’s gay?”

“I don’t mind,” Jesse mumbled, wishing he could sink into the floor. They never said the g-word around the Perez house. He braced for the inevitable yelling.

Instead, Mrs. Perez spun to stand with fists on her hips, exactly like Maria. “Jesse, do you want to go watch the football?”

Jesse hid his face by stirring the vegetables. “No. Um, not really.”

“See?” Mrs. Perez set her apron next to the sink and strutted past Maria into the living room.

Maria might have been standing there for a while, staring at his back, but Jesse kept his attention on cooking. The peppers and onions browned on one side, so he flipped them over. From the living room, there was a chorus of whoops.

He tried not to feel sad at being left out—after all, Jesse
had
asked what he could do to help—but he was glad when Mrs. Perez came back into the kitchen to relieve him.

“That’s enough.” She urged him out of the way and poured the contents of the pan into a pot, lugging it to the sink to add water.

Her shoulders were tense, and so was her mouth. It seemed like she wanted to say something, so Jesse hung near the door of the kitchen.

“It’s not because you are a gay.” Tutting, she turned on the stove.

“I…um…” He struggled to figure out what to say. “Yeah, I know.”

“You never act like you like football.”

Jesse nodded. That, at least, they could agree on. “Yeah, I don’t. I mean, it’s fun when the other guys get into it, but it’s not my favorite.”

Mrs. Perez stirred ingredients, her arm whipping. “The children think I’m so old-fashioned.”

Given the way she dressed and how she cooked all the time, Jesse had to admit—he did think that about her. Maybe he was wrong.

“We could order pizza.” Jesse patted his back pocket for his wallet. “If you don’t want to worry about cooking. I’ll pay.”

Mrs. Perez pursed her lips, and Jesse could tell that she was fighting not to smile. “Maybe that is a good idea.” She glared at her pots and pans as if they’d failed her. “I should have started this earlier.”

Jesse exhaled in relief. “Yeah. Let’s order in.” He opened the refrigerator, and seeing a box of wine, he poured Mrs. Perez a glass. “Here.” He handed it to her. “Take the day off.”

For a second, she narrowed her eyes at him, but then—to Jesse’s surprise—she pinched his cheek. “
¡Travieso!
”

Grinning, he poured himself his own glass.

The two of them went out into the living room. Tomas shared the couch with his father, a bowl of popcorn between them. Maria and the little boys were cross-legged on the floor, and Diego sat in the recliner they’d brought up from the basement for the game. On the armrest, his wife Elsa perched, half on his lap.

“Hey.” Tomas darted his gaze to his mom, then to Jesse. With a quirk of the lips, he said, “You two are starting early.”

“I can have wine if I want to.” Mrs. Perez flicked her hand in her son’s direction. With an imperious gait, she crossed to a chair and sat down to watch the game.

Eyebrows raised, Tomas pointed at Jesse. “And you. Go easy on that box wine. I don’t want to have to carry you home.”

“Yeah.” Jesse looked around for a chair, wondering where he was supposed to sit. “I’ll be good.”

On screen, the game started back up.

“C’mere.” Tomas waved Jesse over to the couch.

He crossed quickly in front of the TV, earning a scolding from Diego. Before he could cause any more trouble, Jesse sat on the armrest at Tomas’s side.

They weren’t touching, but they were closer than they usually got in front of Tomas’s parents. “Who’s winning?” Jesse’s voice rose to almost a squeak, and he downed half his wine for courage.

“The Forty-Niners.” Tomas stared at Jesse’s hand like he was trying to make a decision. With a quick glance in his mother’s direction, he snapped out his arm fast as a snake and caught Jesse’s fist in his own.

Jesse blinked at the television screen, not seeing the game but unable to look anywhere else. Tomas was holding his hand. In front of everyone. If Jesse saw anyone’s expression, even Tomas’s, he might throw up.

Jesse waited for the sky to drop. Tomas’s grip was tense, but firm. It wasn’t until two commercial breaks later that they relaxed enough to pull their sweaty palms apart.