“Look at me.” Eli wanted to whisper words of comfort and affection, something like I love you or I’ve always wanted this with you, at the very least I would never hurt you, but without mutual affection, Eli couldn’t bring himself to do it. For Lincoln this was a kissing lesson, nothing more.

  Lincoln swallowed and dragged his eyes back to Eli’s face. They were round with shy nervousness, but the pressure on Eli’s chest transitioned from resistance to an encouraging grip. “I would die if this was anyone but you.”

  Oh God. How Eli wished it was true, but what Lincoln really meant was that he’d die from embarrassment if it were someone he was actually attracted to. He meant that he didn’t mind making a fool out of himself in front of Eli. They were friends and that’s all they would be. There was no romantic awareness and no risk. Still, it was better than nothing. Eli would give Lincoln what he wanted, a brief lesson—a short field trip to second base—and then he would leave. It would all amount to nothing but a beautiful memory.

  Eli let his weight sink into Lincoln, savoring the muscular contours of his body as the couch depressed beneath them. He closed the gap between them until their lips brushed. Thundering heartbeats filled the silence, and Eli wasn’t sure if they belonged to Lincoln or himself. He brushed his tongue along Lincoln’s lower lip, eliciting a soft-pleasured moan. The small encouragement was all Eli needed. He parted his lips and used his tongue to wordlessly urge Lincoln to open himself. Lincoln was slow to comprehend but complied willingly, even going so far as to counter the intrusion. Eli’s nerves were on fire, like he had been dipped in an ice bath and then jumped into a sauna. His innocent intentions melted away like a snowman in springtime, lust and desire budding like daffodils and tulips.

  “I don’t know what to do with my hands,” Lincoln panted as Eli’s lips trailed across his jaw before moving in a southerly direction.

  “Touch me,” Eli offered in a smothered reply, his face buried in Lincoln’s neck. His hands had slipped beneath Lincoln’s flannel shirt, and to Eli’s delight, the gentle caresses had not inspired protest. “My hair… my neck… my chest…. Wherever you want.”

  “You have to tell me if you like it,” said Lincoln, lacing his fingers through Eli’s hair. His fingers worked reflexively, opening and closing, sliding through thick locks of hair and then gently grasping handfuls. Eli sighed in pleasure, basking in Lincoln’s touch and the feel of steeled muscle beneath silky skin.

  “Just like that.” Eli groaned. He had managed to unfasten Lincoln’s shirt buttons and was easing the fabric open with painstaking slowness. The last thing he wanted was for this moment to end because he scared Lincoln. The green flannel fell away like wrapping paper to reveal smooth porcelain skin that complemented Lincoln’s blond hair perfectly. He was everything light and pure and beautiful, like an angel caught in the hands of a greedy mortal.

  Lincoln arched under Eli’s ministrations, his hands slipping into Eli’s shirt, igniting a trail of fire up his back. “Let me try,” he gasped, tugging Eli’s hair to look into his eyes. Lincoln’s breath was ragged, his pupils dilated from pleasure.

  “Try what?” murmured Eli, trying to burn the erotic image into his mind.

  “Taking the lead,” replied Lincoln. He pushed Eli into a sitting position and straddled him, fixing his attention on Eli’s still-buttoned shirt.

  Eli relaxed into the couch and closed his eyes, trying to will his heart into a steadier rhythm. The fabric of his shirt fell away by degrees with the loss of each button. Before Eli could catch his breath, Lincoln settled heavily into his lap, the round curves of his butt cradling the growing bulge in Eli’s pants. Eli tensed at the sensation, fearing Lincoln would shy away from such rapid escalation. His hands flew to Lincoln’s shoulders in a feeble attempt to slow progress.

  Lincoln wilted into Eli’s perceived embrace, his face nuzzling into the crook of his neck. The warmth of Lincoln’s breath washed over Eli in soft ripples as his hands slid over Eli’s shoulders and gripped the back of the couch for purchase. Rather than shy away from Eli’s recognizably growing desire, Lincoln pressed himself into it. He rocked himself into a steady rhythm, murmuring incoherent words of longing.

  Eli slipped further and further beneath the waves of ecstasy until he felt like he would drown. Although this wasn’t Eli’s first anything, with Lincoln it was all completely new. No doubt Eli was ruined for any other man forever. Seeing Lincoln like this—feeling him like this—it was his deepest desire and most unlikely dream coming true.

  Lincoln’s hands slid down Eli’s chest, over his stomach, and dipped into his pants. He paused at the hem to fumble determinedly with the button.

  Somewhere in the confines of Eli’s consciousness, his heart screamed for him to stop. This wasn’t love; it wasn’t what he wanted, and it could only lead to heartache and misery. Eli grasped Lincoln’s hand, stilling the effort. It went against every instinct, Eli’s soul practically shattered from the sheer willpower required to stop.

  Lincoln glanced up in surprise. “You don’t like it?” he asked timidly.

  “Jesus, Lincoln,” Eli gasped. “If we don’t stop now, I won’t be able to stop at all.”

  Lincoln’s train of thought played across his face—distress followed by relief, reluctance, and then resignation. He squirmed off Eli’s lap onto the couch, his legs draped carelessly across Eli. For a few moments neither of them said anything as they simultaneously struggled to rein in a burning sense of urgency.

  Eli took several deep, steadying breaths. He studied the room with forced effort, trying to pry his mind out of its lust-induced blankness. Slowly the aromas of cinnamon and wine reemerged, and the thundering of his heart quieted to a dull rumble. His lower half was slower to comply. There would be pain later, undoubtedly.

  Eli turned his attention to Lincoln, who had hooked an arm over his eyes and was still breathing heavily. “I think I understand what you meant by intuitive,” he said, apparently sensing Eli’s gaze. “I didn’t know it would feel like that.”

  Eli chuckled. He didn’t know it could feel like that. Lincoln had stirred something within him that no one else had managed to touch. There was an undeniable chemistry between them, but it wasn’t Eli’s place to force the issue. Lincoln wanted a kissing lesson and dating profile, and by God, he would get it. Eli would always put Lincoln first, even if it killed him.

  “About the dating profile….” Lincoln said.

  “I’ll work on it tonight,” Eli interrupted with artificial cheer, unable to stomach talk of Lincoln’s amorous future with someone new. He quickly fastened the buttons on his shirt. “In fact, I should probably go.”

  Something flashed across Lincoln’s face. For a brief moment, Eli thought he’d looked stricken, but it couldn’t be. The expression was gone as fast as it appeared, replaced by an easy smile and a shrug of indifference. “Want some wine to go?” he asked. “I can pour it into a thermos.”

  Eli nodded. The heat of the moment had passed with haste at the mention of the dating profile, and the streets were sure to be a literal icy mess. Lincoln strolled into the kitchen, not bothering to don his clothes. After a series of thumps and clanks, he reemerged with the wine. Eli stole a few peeks at Lincoln’s physique before standing and accepting the drink with a brief thank-you.

  “One more thing.” Eli paused at the front door. He looked down into Lincoln’s flushed face and the curve of his lips. Small slivers of desire stirred within his chest. “Steel is awful. Pewter is infinitely better for your dating profile,” he said, trying to lighten the mood before he left.

  “Infinitely?” asked Lincoln with a raised eyebrow. “Well, you have finally spoken in terms that a math geek can understand. Please proceed.”

  Eli sighed in a dramatic display of feigned relief. “I’ll be back soon with font options.”

  “Tomorrow?” asked Lincoln.

  “Maybe.” Eli shrugged. He wasn’t sure he could face Lincoln so soon.

  Lincoln nodded, and then a mischievous twinkle sparked life into his eyes. He smirked. “I knew you liked the pewter better,” he said. “I just wanted to see how long I could make you squirm.”

  Chapter Five

  THE MULLED wine only lasted the first two blocks of Eli’s walk home, and then he had to stop by the liquor store for bourbon—the good stuff. It was his turn to wallow in self-pity. The only thing missing was company for commiseration, but it was complicated when the preferred company was also the reason for commiseration. Eli took another healthy swig. He had meant to wait until he got home, but somehow the bottle that was in his pocket ended up in his hand, and it was already half gone.

  Lincoln is perfect, he reflected for perhaps the millionth time. Perfectly out of my reach.

  Before Eli could berate himself further, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and squinted at the caller. His father. Shit.

  He couldn’t ignore it again. The old man was so stubborn, he’d probably start the call pattern over from the beginning, and it would take another six months to regain normalcy.

  “Hello?”

  “It’s me,” said his father gruffly. “Why do you answer like you don’t know who’s calling?”

  Eli sighed.

  “What’s wrong with you? Have a bad day?”

  “It was equal parts perfection and torment,” Eli slurred.

  “Are you drunk?” Eli could almost see his father’s surprised expression.

  “Bourbon happens to the best of us….”

  “Why did it happen to you?” How very like his no-nonsense father to cut past all of the bullshit and head straight for the meat of the problem.

  “The meat is rancid.” Eli jumbled his thoughts with his words. “It’s from college. It actually went bad from the beginning—”

  “What meat?”

  “It’s not real meat.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “The guy I’ve been pining over since college doesn’t like me,” Eli blurted. He hadn’t meant to tell his father. It would be terribly awkward, but who else could he talk to? Lincoln, his usual confidant, was the source of the problem.

  “Oh,” said his father after a moment of prolonged silence.

  “You asked.” Eli stumbled into the lobby of his apartment building. The bottle was nearly empty.

  “Yes I did…. How do you know he doesn’t like you?”

  “He asked me to help him make an online dating profile,” Eli babbled. “He wants to find a boyfriend that’s anyone but me.”

  “Did he say that explicitly?”

  “Does he need to?” Eli fumbled with the elevator buttons. “Would you ask someone that you like to help you—”

  “Okay, okay. You’re probably right.” His father paused awkwardly. “Forget about him. He doesn’t deserve you.”

  Eli was rendered speechless. He stood stock-still with his key dangling from the apartment door. His father had never been one to coddle or soothe. He was brusque and short-spoken. Facts always outweighed emotion. Eli couldn’t even remember the last time they had talked about something personal, something other than aerospace engineering. It was nice.

  “In fact,” his father continued, “if that’s how it’s done these days, why don’t you just build your own dating website?”

  “I won’t find anyone better than Lincoln here.”

  “Then why don’t you look for someone here? You know I’ll always have a room for you. Houston is a bustling metropolis, a metaphorical pond full of fish.”

  “So I can join your company and forsake the Earth for worlds unknown?” Of course Eli’s father would turn his heartbreak into opportunity.

  Eli’s father sighed. “I’m done telling you what to do. I just thought it would be nice to see you for Christmas.”

  Eli swallowed. That would be nice. “Okay, lemme just find a home for my angelic fish, and I’ll come.”

  “Wait what?” asked his father, lost again. “You have angelfish?”

  “I’ll let you know when I buy my plane ticket.” Eli’s mind raced to form a checklist that only made sense in his intoxicated state. “Love you, Dad.”

  “Love you too, son,” his father said in a soft voice. Then he added, “Maybe you should sober up before you do anything drasti—”

  Eli hung up, missing the advice entirely.

  Chapter Six

  THE NEXT day Eli woke to a sliver of piercing sunlight and a splitting headache. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the fog from his head. Snippets of the evening emerged with perfect clarity—the mulled wine and Lincoln’s touch—but others remained elusively hazy. He sat up slowly, groaning in pain. What time is it?

  The empty bourbon bottle sat conspicuously on Eli’s nightstand. He frowned at the harbinger and reached for his phone, glancing down at the time between squinted eyelids. It was well past noon. There were two text messages and an email. The first text was from his father.

  Sober up and don’t do anything drastic. There isn’t anything you can do about spoiled meat. Looking forward to your visit.

  He stared down at the phone in confusion. “What the heck is he talking about?”

  The email was a confirmation for a flight that indeed left for Houston in… three hours? What the hell?

  The second text message was from Lincoln. It said: Thanks, Santa. You shouldn’t have.

  “Santa?” Eli grumbled. “I’m never drinking alone again.” He scrolled up through the text messages to see if there was any more to the conversation. Shortly after midnight, Eli had sent Lincoln a username and password.

  Oh my God, surely I didn’t build his dating profile while I was blackout. There was still so much to do….

  He rushed to his desk and flung open the laptop. His fingers flew over the keys as his mind graciously presented him with a myriad of disastrous possibilities. Eli wasn’t sure which would be worse: a satirical profile to ward off all potential suitors, the overwhelming mediocrity of a drunk’s shoddy work, or a masterpiece that would reel in new love.

  Eli’s jaw fell open as he surveyed the website. Lincoln’s profile had definitely been altered. The new layout was simple, sleek, and modern. Lincoln looked like a movie star rather than an introverted math teacher with no chin. There was absolutely no indication the pictures were taken in a single slapdash photo session.

  His name was in geometric font, offset from his profile picture, his occupation in a smaller font beneath. The profile picture hovered in the top right corner with a hazy shadow that flanked two sides. When Eli clicked the photo, it flipped to the back to reveal a new picture. The shadow turned out to be underlying pictures of a virtual stack. Eli had edited each of them into perfection. The one from the museum featured animated clothing while the shots from the Washington Monument had been strung together to create a time-lapse of Lincoln’s cartwheel. The third featured a silhouette of outstretched arms in front of a fountain of Photoshop-enhanced light.

  The “About Me” section was headed by more geometric font that read Hello. Below that simple Helvetica script introduced Lincoln in a few telling lines.

  I’m an introverted lover of math and chess. No I won’t let you win, ever. I like coffee in the morning (black) and bourbon in the evening. If you find joy in wandering through the dinosaur exhibit of the National History Museum and laughter filled evenings at home, I’ll be your biggest fan and sweetest companion. Looking for:

  By the time he finished reading, Eli was blushing furiously. It read like a damn love letter. If there had been any doubts about casting Lincoln from his life once and for all after their amorous encounter, they were gone. Eli would never again be able to look his friend in the eye.

  Maybe I should always design drunk. Eli let his head fall into his hands. Is this why I bought the plane ticket last night?

  The laptop pinged loudly. Eli peered at the computer through a crack in his fingers. A notification appeared in the upper left-hand corner to signify a new message. Eli hesitated. Had he forgotten to log out of Lincoln’s profile? Opening the message would be a clear violation of privacy, but the temptation was strong.

  After considering the disastrous events of the past twenty-four hours, Eli clicked the message decisively. It wasn’t like things could get any worse. Besides, if Lincoln was to have a boyfriend for Christmas, Eli wanted to ensure it was a damned good one.

  He scanned the message. “I hate this question so much I couldn’t ignore it,” he read aloud. “As a math guy, I like to believe I’d play the odds and yet here I am responding to a profile with hardly any information and no picture.”

  Eli paused in confusion. Out of context it made little sense. Lincoln’s profile had plenty of pictures and information. Eli scrolled up to see if there was more to the conversation. There was, but only a single question.

  When it comes to love, do you play the odds or take a leap of faith?

  Interesting. The question was very Lincoln—logical, brief, telling.

  Eli clicked the Home button, careful not to log out. He would return later to see how things played out. When the website loaded, Eli paused. He was not taken to Lincoln’s home screen but to one that was almost entirely blank. The username was I_love_eggnog and the profile picture was a holly-embellished carton, presumably filled with eggnog. To Eli’s horror, it looked familiar.

  He rushed to the fridge and peered inside. Sure enough, the little holly-covered carton sat front and center on the top shelf. Eli bolted back to the computer and clicked the icon for the inbox. He read through the messages again and realized in horror-stricken disbelief that he had sent Lincoln the initial question.

  The computer pinged again to indicate another message. It was from Lincoln; he was still online.

  What about you? he wrote.

  Eli hesitated. No good could come from clinging to Lincoln with a fake dating profile. He had already been turned down once, twice might literally break his heart. Not that pursuing Lincoln would be an easy task with a damn eggnog carton as his profile picture. What had he been thinking? Had his design juices run dry after creating Lincoln’s masterpiece?

 

1 2 3 4 5