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Isabelle beamed. “You’re good boys.” She chuckled. “Except you’re not boys anymore, are you? You’re both young men.” She shook her head again. “Eighteen. I remember when you were both in second grade, and that seems like five minutes ago.” Isabelle glanced over his shoulder at Ellen. “Are you ready? Because I don’t want to hit traffic.”
“I was ready a half hour ago,” Ellen protested. “I was waiting on you.”
That earned her another narrowed gaze. “You may be twenty-one, young lady, but that does not mean you can speak to your mother like that.”
Keith thought it was time to escape. “Thanks for the sodas,” he said as he made a dive for the door that led down to the basement. He maneuvered the narrow wooden stairs, careful not to drop the bucket. From below came the sound of cheering.
“Has it started?” he demanded as he reached the bottom step. Michael was seated on the familiar old, battered leather couch they’d played on for years, the TV set facing it. On the screen was the stadium, the camera panning around the thousands of people assembled there.
“About to. The first act is a singer I’ve never heard of. Joan Baez.”
Keith grinned. “I bet your mom would know who she is.” He held out the bucket, ice clinking against the bottles. “Sodas.” He joined Michael, placing the bottles on the floor next to the couch.
Michael handed him a sheet of paper. “I wrote down the schedule of who’s playing. It’s a real mix.” His eyes sparkled. “This is going to go down in the history books.”
Keith didn’t care. He liked music, sure, but the real pull of the event was the chance to spend the day with Michael.
Alone, it now seemed.
Oh. Oh.
Michael cocked his head to one side. “What just went through your head?”
“Nothing,” he said quickly.
Michael’s eyebrows shot up. Then he gave a shrug. “Are your folks okay with you staying until the concert ends?”
“Mom said it was fine, as long as I don’t wake everyone when I get home.” He grinned. “She says only this once, though, as it’s a pretty special day.” He perused the list. “I don’t know who some of these guys are, but they’ve got some heavy hitters on here.” He pointed to the afternoon slots. “Simple Minds, Pretenders... Madonna? This is gonna be awesome.”
Michael peered at the staircase. “Has Mom left yet?”
“Not yet.”
He lurched up off the couch. “I’d better say goodbye.” His eyes glinted. “Don’t eat all the goldfish. I know you.”
Keith let out a mock gasp, then laughed when Michael grabbed the box of crackers from the little side table next to the couch. “Wow. That hurts.” He was still laughing when Michael bounded up the stairs, the box rattling.
When Michael had invited him over for the day, all he’d thought about was music and being with him.
Now? He was thinking about something else entirely.
“You hungry yet?”
Keith chuckled. “Are you kidding? We’ve eaten half the box and a bag of chips.” On the screen, Bryan Adams had given way to the Beach Boys who were singing about California girls. Keith was curled up on the couch, his head resting on Michael’s chest.
Michael pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You think this is what it’s like to be married?”
Keith blinked and sat up. “Where did that come from?”
He smiled. “I was just thinking how cozy this was, sitting on the couch, the two of us, watching TV...” His face glowed. “I like the way it feels.”
Keith resumed his previous position. “Me too,” he said with a sigh.
“Of course, we do have the house to ourselves. Mom’ll be gone for hours.”
“Okay,” he enunciated. He shivered when Michael slid his hand down Keith’s back. The light touch felt kinda... sexy.
“You know I went shopping with Mom last weekend?”
