AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Are you being good?” Jem called after her, but excited screams were the only answer.
Hannah appeared a moment later, tucking chestnut-colored hair behind her ear. “They’re being wonderful. Although nobody mentioned the exploding toy boxes.”
“Just leave it,” Jem said. “We’ll pick up when we get home.”
“They’re not supposed to be having pizza,” Tean said.
Until then, Tean hadn’t known people could share an eye roll over FaceTime.
“Vegetables—” he tried again.
“We did pizza salad,” Hannah said. “And yes, they both ate their salads. And in case you’re wondering—”
“I’m not,” Tean said.
“—they’re much, much easier, and more pleasant, to be around than their foster dads.”
“Thank you for taking care of them,” Jem said. “I’ll Venmo you some money for the pizza.”
“Oh my gosh,” Hannah said. “Do you want to talk to Scipio again?”
They disconnected. Jem kicked off his flip-flops and went down a rabbit hole on TikTok. Tean had trained himself to tune it out, but he was fairly sure, from the bits and pieces that filtered through, it was about animal psychics. Tean checked his email, did a quick scan of his paper, and then, when he realized it was total crap, decided to rip it down to the studs and start from scratch. It would be considerate, he decided, if hotels provided metal trash cans so you could burn things more easily.
“Nope,” Jem said, kissing him on the side of the head as he took the laptop away. “Either we’re going to do something incredibly wicked in this giant bed, without children or dogs or neighbors to distract us—”
“If you’d closed the blinds last time like I asked—”
Laughing, Jem kissed him again, on the mouth this time, a little slower. He leaned back, smiled, and said, “Take a shower, and we’ll go to sleep. I’ll ravish you in the morning.”
It turned out the shower part wasn’t quite so straightforward—getting any hot water required a complicated series of movements, turning the faucets this way and that, that Jem described as “aNintendo Powercode.” But eventually, they got it to work. They got ready for bed, and in the dark, smelling like Santaland soap (peppermint and rosemary, which was weirdly wonderful), with Jem warm around him, Tean should have fallen asleep immediately—they’d had an early flight, a layover, a long drive. But he twisted and squirmed and pushed the blankets down and pulled them back up again.
Finally, with a growl, Jem pulled Tean against him. He nuzzled into Tean’s shoulder, and when he spoke, his voice was muzzy with sleep. “One.”
Tean let out a tiny laugh in spite of himself.
“It’d better be a really good one,” Jem mumbled.
“Do you know if people reused just two feet of holiday ribbon every year, we’d save 38,000 miles of ribbon? That’s enough to tie a bow around the planet.”
Jem’s mouth was rough as he kissed Tean’s shoulder and settled them together a little more comfortably. Tean was at the edge of sleep when, from a great distance, he heard Jem murmur, “With that much ribbon, imagine how many geese you could strangle.”
2
Jem was bored.
It wasn’t anybody’s fault. It wasn’t Tean’s fault—he’d told Jem he didn’t have to come on this trip, although he’d agreed, once Jem pointed it out, that they hadn’t had much time alone lately. It wasn’t Santaland’s fault. God knew they’d tried hard enough to make things interesting. Even something as simple as navigating the resort became, at Santaland, a puzzle to be solved. The building was a maze of hallways that ended abruptly, of unexpected ramps and stairs and doorways where additions had been tacked on with total disregard for the height of the existing floors. It wasn’t even the other conference-goers’ fault; Jem had spent the morning perfecting his animal psychic bit, which was honestly a kick-ass game and one he wished he’d thought of himself. He’d only had one hit—a guy with long, chestnut-colored hair, carrying a Barbra Streisand wig under one arm, who kept asking Jem to contact his puppy but who wouldn’t stay quiet long enough for Jem to actually do anything—he’d mostly talked about his boyfriend, often in explicit detail. Jem still took him for sixty bucks, but it was the principle of the thing.
But for the most part, he watched, and he hung back, and he felt keyed up and on edge. It was a new place, and Jem found that taking a toll on him that he hadn’t expected. There were only so many hours he could spend shambling through the halls before he got bored, and, as the last panels of the day ended, and the halls of the Santaland Resort and Convention Center filled with conference-goers again, Jem realized he had hit his limit.
He had to be good. He was trying, desperately, to be good. For the doc, obviously.
Hearing himself think of his husband by that name made Jem pause for a moment. He hadn’t thought of Tean that way—didn’t think of him that way—for a while now. It was a nickname he used, occasionally. But it wasn’t the way he thought about Tean, not anymore.
Ahead, in one of the lounge areas that broke up the maze of hallways, a man in a washed-out Sonic the Hedgehog tee was looking up and down the hallway. It would be an easy hook; the man was clearly waiting for someone, clearly nervous—the way he dried his hands on his jeans, the restless pacing. Jem even had a golden way in, what with his own Super Mario tee, the one with the original NES graphics. He wouldn’t even have to disguise the first contact. No need to bump into the man. No fumbling for an apology. He could walk straight up to him, point to the Sonic shirt, and give him shit about Sega. Maybe it could be as simple as a free coffee—they’d start talking, end up at one of the resort’s coffee shops, and Jem would realize he’d forgotten his wallet. Bingo, he just got a free coffee. And a cookie—are you sure you don’t mind?
But no. Jem dragged himself away from the mark. No, this trip was about Tean, about how smart he was, about how respected he was, about all his smart, respected friends, and all the smart, respectable things they talked about. Jem had tried to listen to a panel and had (almost) literally been mummified by boredom. So smart he didn’t understand any of it. Which was why it was a good thing—definitely a good thing, totally, unmistakably, clearly a good thing—that Tean had politely, and kindly, and considerately suggested Jem not come to dinner with all his smart friends.
When he glanced back, the guy in the Sonic shirt was bending over to tie his shoes, and his wallet fell out of his pocket.
