Winter Oranges

  “Okay.” Only one word, but Jason heard the relief in Dylan’s voice. “If you’re sure.”

  “I am.”

  “I’d still like you to come with me.”

  Jason debated, doing his best to act torn. The lift was sloping down toward the unloading point at the top of the hill, and Jason wanted to time his response just right, so that they’d be out of time for discussion. He waited until half a second before their skis hit the snow to say, “Let me see how I feel tomorrow.”

  They finished the run, Jason out in front again, feeling as spectacular as before. He regretted his promise that they’d stop for a drink, but he also knew Dylan wanted to check in with his agent and let her know he’d be there for the shoot.

  Midway through the first drink, they were spotted by two women who asked for autographs. Dylan couldn’t help but flirt and look for hookups wherever they might present themselves, even though he knew Jason preferred to go unseen. Still, Jason knew right off the bat Dylan would be disappointed in that regard. Both women were married, and although they were clearly thrilled to rub elbows with two pseudo stars, neither was the groupie type, and they graciously excused themselves after finishing their drinks, leaving Dylan and Jason to themselves.

  “We have time for one more run before the lifts close,” Jason said before Dylan could order another drink.

  “One more,” Dylan agreed.

  Jason was glad for the final hill, even if the alcohol had taken its toll on his agility. What had felt like natural grace and talent on the previous slopes turned to sloppiness, and he landed on his ass twice before forcing himself to slow down. It was to Dylan’s credit that he only laughed a little bit.

  Finally, feeling loose-limbed and pleasingly exhausted, Jason climbed into the passenger seat of Dylan’s rental car. They stopped at the first pizza joint they came to and put away a medium, then began the drive home. Muscle fatigue from the slopes combined with a full stomach hit him hard, and Jason found himself nodding off before they’d gone more than a mile. He nestled into the corner where the seat met the door, resting his head on the shoulder belt, trying to figure out why he felt so tired. By the time he remembered he’d had too little sleep over the last two nights, he was waking up in his driveway. “Wha’ happened?” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

  “You fell asleep. And you snore.”

  Jason counted himself lucky he hadn’t been drooling. “So do you.”

  “Yeah, but I’m cute when I do it.”

  “Keep telling yourself that.”

  He dragged himself upstairs and took a long, hot shower, letting the water soothe his tired muscles. He wasn’t in terrible shape, but he wasn’t exactly an athlete either, and he knew he’d be sore in the morning. Still, he felt good.

  He toweled off and ran a comb through his hair, then dressed in underwear, pajama pants, and a T-shirt. He was opening his sock drawer when Dylan spoke from the doorway behind him.

  “You look better. Less like a zombie extra for The Walking Dead, at any rate.”

  Jason laughed without turning around. “I love your backhanded compliments.”

  “I know you do. You going to shave?”

  Jason rubbed his hand over his whiskered cheek. It was true, he’d let it go longer than usual, but he liked having a bit of a beard. It made it harder for people to recognize him. “Wasn’t planning on it.”

  “You might want to reconsider.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “You look like a caveman.”

  Jason laughed. “Maybe I’ll leave it just to annoy you.”

  “You like doing that, don’t you?”

  It was one of those questions that seemed to dare Jason to say how he really felt, and as he pulled on a pair of socks, he debated how he was supposed to answer. No, he didn’t like annoying Dylan. In fact, he’d spent ten years doing everything he could to please him, but this banter was part of their relationship. It was how they kept things casual. “More than anything,” he said at last. “It’s all I live for.”

  “Hmmm.” Dylan wrapped his arms around Jason’s waist from behind. Jason hadn’t even heard him cross the room, and now here he was, solid and warm against Jason’s back. “I like it that way, to tell you the truth. Keeps things interesting.”

  “Then it’s decided: I’m keeping the beard.”

  “Good idea.”

  “You just said I look like a caveman.”

  “You do. It’s sexy as hell.”

  “Do you mean that, or are you trying to use reverse psychology on me so I’ll shave it?”

  “A little bit of both.” Dylan’s embrace turned into a caress, his hand moving up Jason’s stomach. His lips brushed Jason’s ear. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?” he asked, his voice low, his joking tone gone.

  “I do.”

  “You know I love you.”

  “I know.” In his own way, it was probably true.

  “No more excuses, Jason. Come to bed with me. Please.”

  Jason’s heart burst into action. He was glad Dylan couldn’t see his face, because he would have seen his panic. In his determination to convince Dylan he was okay, he’d forgotten this very key factor: with Ben dismissed as pure fantasy, he had no reasonable excuse to not sleep with Dylan. And while logic dictated that he could always say no, it was something he’d never done before. Not in the entire ten years of their “friends with benefits” history. Even when he’d been seeing Andrew, Dylan had been welcomed by them both into their shared bed. How could he possibly act as if he was back to normal if he declined the most normal part of their relationship?

  Whatever he decided, he had to decide fast, too. Any hesitation would put his whole plan in jeopardy.

  “Jase? Are you all right?”

  And in a heartbeat, Jason came to a single conclusion: he was still acting. This was still a role. And sometimes, that role demanded intimacy. Or, to be more accurate, it demanded the illusion of intimacy. He’d made out with women on camera. He’d feigned intercourse. This was no different, except that his costar was also his audience. But now as ever, the timeless rule of the stage held true.

  The show must go on.

  “I’m fine.” He turned in Dylan’s embrace. “I’m just really glad you’re here.”

  He pulled Dylan to him, letting Dylan kiss him as he had so many times in the past. Jason tilted his head back. He parted his lips and let Dylan in. He paid particular attention to the placement of his hands, to how he needed to move them on Dylan’s body to keep this charade going. And the entire time, his mind churned through the ways he might bring the scene to a close before it reached its obvious culmination. What excuse could he possibly offer?

  He couldn’t think of a single thing.

  Dylan turned them toward the bed, and Jason went, letting himself be led. He let Dylan lower him onto it. He’d always reveled in this before—in the weight of his lover’s body on top of his. In the ways they could move together to maximize their pleasure even when all they were doing was kissing—but now, he thought only of the performance. How must he behave? Yes, he’d acted in sex scenes before, but not with Dylan. Sex with Dylan had always been genuine, his actions guided by desire and passion. He’d certainly never examined their evenings together to see exactly how he behaved so he could mimic it later.

  An unfortunate oversight, but who could have foreseen this predicament?

  He concentrated on Dylan. On the feel of his lover’s lips on his neck, trying to compare their actions to all their other encounters. This was a bit more foreplay than they usually engaged in. He reminded himself to moan. He tugged impatiently at Dylan’s shirt, pulling it off so he could put his hands on Dylan’s bare flesh. Dylan followed suit, removing Jason’s shirt before leaning over to kiss his chest, and still Jason floundered. How could he stop this before it went too far?

  No excuse came to him. Saying he didn’t feel good would be an obvious lie after the day they’d had. Saying he was tired wouldn’t b
e enough. Dylan would laughingly tell him to be as lazy as he wanted. “Just lie back, then,” Dylan would say. “I’ll do all the work.” And he would, too. He wouldn’t mind that one bit.

  Dylan moved slowly down Jason’s stomach, his tongue leaving a cool wet trail around his navel. Jason wished the director would yell, “Cut!” but it wasn’t going to happen. He longed for the phone to ring, or even the doorbell to buzz, but the universe didn’t comply.

  He had to stop this, one way or another.

  He’d have to rely on his supposedly fragile mental state. He’d have to make it about this morning—about the snow globe, and his delusions. The question was, could he use that excuse to stop their sexual activity without making Dylan suspicious? He’d played his role perfectly in the dining room that morning. That combined with the skiing had lulled Dylan into believing everything was back to normal. Could Jason raise the specter of his mental instability now in order to avoid sex without undoing everything he’d accomplished?

  No. He didn’t see how. Saying he was still upset about the globe would undoubtedly lead to Dylan insisting that Jason go with him back to Hollywood. So what other excuse could Jason offer? There was absolutely nothing. And as Dylan began undoing the tie on Jason’s pajama pants, Jason realized his only option was to let this scene play out. It felt horrible. Villainous even, but it was the only possibility. Anything else would make Dylan suspicious. Anything else would increase the odds of Dylan trying to take Jason away with him. And if he had to see this through, that meant—

  “Uhh, Houston,” Dylan said suddenly, interrupting his thoughts. “We have a problem.”

  “What?” Jason asked, hoping he sounded sufficiently breathless and aroused. His fingers were tangled in Dylan’s hair. He was sure he’d been moaning at the right time, moving his hips the way he should. “What’s wrong?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing.”

  “What do you mean? Nothing’s wr—” But then it hit him.

  Shooting a sex scene was always awkward. No matter how many times actors or actresses said, “Oh, it was great. My costar made me feel so safe,” everybody knew it was a lie. Closed set or not, when the film started to roll, there were always an awful lot of people in the bedroom.

  Of course for men, there was the added anxiety of not knowing how their penis would behave. And when it came to popping wood during a sex scene, a man could be either damned if he did or damned if he didn't. The common advice given by men in Hollywood was to apologize to your costar before the scene began by saying, “I’m sorry if I do, and I’m sorry if I don’t.” But as a guy, it was hard to know what to hope for, and even harder to ensure that the desired outcome was achieved. No matter which way the people involved wanted things to go, there was no guarantee the little dude downstairs would cooperate. More often than not, that particular piece of anatomy really did seem to have a mind of its own. That was both Jason’s downfall and his saving grace. Yes, he could act. He could feign interest and desire and arousal. But only up to a point. After that, it was all down to biology.

  And in this case, biology wasn’t on his side.

  Or maybe it was.

  It kind of depended on how he looked at it.

  “I’m sorry,” Jason stammered, not having to feign surprise. “I don’t know what happened. Maybe I just need more time—”

  “Oh, honey,” Dylan sighed. He put his forehead against Jason’s bare stomach. “No. I’m sorry.”

  “You’re sorry? I’m the one who can’t get it up.”

  “This is my fault. I know how hard this day has been on you. I thought it would help you relax, but all I really did was put pressure on you.”

  Jason bit back his laugh and swallowed the smile that threatened to blossom on his lips. He ran his fingers slowly through Dylan’s hair, debating his options. Convincing Dylan he was still okay without encouraging him to redouble his efforts was like walking a tightrope. “They say it happens to everybody.”

  Dylan chuckled. “Yeah, I’ve heard that too, but I’ve never quite believed it.”

  “I guess I’m a bit distracted. And I took one of those sleeping pills when I got out of the shower.” It was a lie—he’d hidden them all in the drawer of his bedside table—but it seemed like a good excuse.

  Dylan moved up again so they were face-to-face. “I suppose that isn’t helping any.”

  “No.” But Jason could feel Dylan’s erection against his hip. He slid his hand toward it. “I could still take care of you if you want.”

  It was a gamble, but one that felt fairly safe. Dylan may have been loose with his affections, jumping into bed with whoever was willing, but he wasn’t selfish once he got there. On the contrary, he was the most generous lover Jason had ever had. He always gave more than he took. The simple truth was, Dylan liked inspiring passion. He got off on getting others off, and so Jason wasn’t surprised when Dylan caught his wrist.

  “No.” He kissed Jason sweetly. “No, I should let you sleep.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He rolled off of Jason, but didn’t move far. He kept his hand on Jason’s stomach. “Can I at least stay in here with you? I’ll sleep in the other room if you want, but I’d rather not.”

  “Of course you can stay.” In fact, he was glad for it. Dylan wasn’t the type to wake him for sex in the middle of the night. As long as Jason woke up and got out of bed before Dylan—and that was unlikely to be a problem, given their usual sleeping patterns—he could avoid any more sexual awkwardness.

  And lying side by side with his best friend in the world wasn’t a bad way to end the night.

  Jason’s luck was with him, and he woke before Dylan the next day. He used the downstairs bathroom to shower and shave, so as not to wake him. The longer Dylan slept, the fewer sexual advances Jason would have to deal with.

  It was nearly eleven when he finally heard Dylan stir upstairs. Jason didn’t want to somehow wind up in the bedroom with him again, so he went to the kitchen and made himself a cup of coffee as slowly as he could. He was just pulling the steaming mug from the machine when Dylan appeared.

  “There you are,” Dylan said. “You’re such a morning person. I’ll never get used to it.”

  “I’m not sure getting up at nine qualifies as a ‘morning person.’”

  “Close enough.” He leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms over his chest. “You shaved.”

  “Yep. I also made you coffee.”

  Dylan took the cup but set it aside. He advanced on Jason, backing him into the corner, and leaned close to kiss his jaw. “No more caveman.”

  “Consider it your Christmas present.”

  “Christmas is still a month away.”

  “I’m getting a head start.”

  “Hmm.” Dylan kissed his cheek again, letting his lips linger over Jason’s ear, making Jason shiver. “Will you grow it out again for my birthday? I’m kind of liking the idea of caveman sex.”

  “We’ll see.” But this wasn’t how Jason wanted their morning to go. He needed to point Dylan away from intimacy and back toward Hollywood. “You’re going to be strapped for time if you want to eat before you leave for the airport. You want a bagel? I have lox.”

  Dylan groaned just as Jason had expected. He stepped away to grab his coffee. “Who the hell decided fish was a breakfast food? It had to be the Brits.”

  “I don’t know about lox, but I do remember a surprising number of cold cuts for breakfast when I visited England. You want cold cuts?”

  “I’m an American.”

  “So you want French toast?”

  “No, smartass. I want steak and eggs. Or maybe bacon and eggs.” He sipped at his coffee, considering. “I’ll settle for ham and eggs if that’s all you’ve got.”

  “What I’ve got is bagels and lox.”

  “Then suit up, Captain America, ’cause we’re going out for breakfast.”

  Jason smiled, pleased that the conversation had gone exact
ly as he’d hoped. “I’ll buy.”

  “You sure as hell will.”

  The restaurant was in town, midway between Jason’s house and the airport, so Dylan packed his bags and took them with him. They took separate cars, knowing they’d have to say good-bye after breakfast. It wasn’t until they were sequestered in a back booth, their steak and eggs in front of them, that the awkward topic arose.

  “Come with me, Jason.”

  Jason laughed, as if the request was a joke. “What, like this? I didn’t even pack a bag.”

  “I’ll wait for you at the airport.”

  “There’s not enough time.”

  “I’ll change my flight.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t—”

  “Jason, please. Let me take you home.”

  The smile fell from Jason’s face. He couldn’t push too hard, but there was no way he was following Dylan back to Hollywood. “This is my home. I don’t want to go back to LA. Not right now, at least.”

  “Eventually?”

  “For work? Maybe. To stay? I don’t think so.”

  “Jason, I’m worried. I don’t think I should leave you like this.”

  “I know I freaked you out.” Jason laughed uncomfortably and rubbed the back of his neck. “I freaked myself out if you want to know the truth. But I’m fine. I really am.”

  “Just like that?”

  Jason winced. Yes, this was the hard part. Having supposedly descended into utter madness, how did he go about convincing Dylan that he’d recovered in a day? He shoved eggs around his plate, mixing them with his hash browns. “I’ll find a therapist if it’ll make you feel better. I’ll get out of the house for at least an hour every day, I promise. You can call me whenever you want to check in.”