We kind of made small talk over the twenty minutes it took to get to our winding road. We touched on sports, politics, movies, video games, and how his brothers were doing. If the Adams house was the Kingdom of Estrogen, then the Sandbeck spread was the Empire of Testosterone. Shaun had three brothers. Drew, Kirk, and Adam. Kirk and Adam are still in high school and so live at home. Drew’s a highly successful architect with an office in Denver, Colorado. It was Drew who laid out Monarch Basin Snow Park and Mr. Sandbeck’s construction company that built it.

As soon as we parked by the huge double-door garage and I got a look at the massive home, I felt like I was back in tenth grade. The Sandbeck house was a log cabin, but not one of those dinky mountain man things. It was this sprawling two-story home with porches that looked down over the rough terrain and steep slopes that living on the side of a mountain produced. The house was gorgeous, like something out of a magazine. The yard however; that wasn’t going to win any landscaping awards. See, Shaun had transformed his yard into a snow park years ago, back before the big one was built. I had helped him, as had Drew and his dad, Ron. His mom, Patrice, had grudgingly given in when it was obvious Shaun’s affair with snowboarding was more than the passing fancy of a ten-year-old.

There were rails and jumps built into the yard. The rails were set in concrete, the jumps made from old picnic tables and then manicured after the snows fell and buried the tables. Exiting the Subaru, I smiled at the sight. Kirk and Adam were ripping around the yard on four-wheelers. Kirk, a senior at Liberty High—Go Liberty Lions! —was pulling Adam, a freshman, back up to the driveway on a snowboard. A long length of rope was the towline. It was crazy dangerous, and it was exactly what Shaun and I had done for years.

I looked at Shaun as his brothers raced past, shouting obscenities.

“How soon can we hit those pipes?” I asked.

He opened the hatch on the car and handed me his famed yellow board. “Soon as you get a board under you.”

“Dude, no. That’s your baby.”

“I insist. She’ll do you good.” He shoved the safflower board into my chest, and we went inside to find some boots that fit me. Mrs. Sandbeck met us at the door with a hug for me and a warning for her two youngest boys to be delivered by Shaun.

“Tell them that I do not want to see them towing without helmets,” she said to Shaun while patting my cold cheeks. She was so pretty and smart. She was also the first black woman to hold the title of Mayor of Liberty.

“He can tell them, but they won’t listen,” Mr. Sandbeck tossed out as he passed by with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. “Good to see you, Mitch.”

“You too, Mr. S.” I slid into the massive closet just inside the front door. It was packed with coats, boots, boxes of bindings, skates hanging off hooks, skis, a sled, several hockey sticks, and a baseball bat and several wet softballs making a puddle on the stone floor. There were cabinets packed with gloves, hats, and scarves.

“Well, at least I’ll have done my motherly duty by warning them. This way when they end up concussed I can say ‘I told you so’. Seems all I do is tell these boys the same things over and over. ‘Please use Febreze in your room’ or ‘I dislike crusty socks in the hamper’ or ‘If you’re in the same room that I am there will be no hands down the front of your pants’. Take the blue ones, Mitch; they’re Shaun’s old ones and should fit you.”

“Right, I’ll tell them,” Shaun said to his mother while I toed off my snow boots and wiggled my feet into Shaun’s old board boots. I was having major fuzzy feelings. The memories of doing this very thing for years ran over me like a warm summer rain.

“You are coming over tomorrow afternoon, right?”

I glanced up at Mrs. S while trying to get the liner in place so I could lace. “Oh, uh, sure, yeah. I’d love to.”

“Good.” She smiled warmly at me, gave Shaun a look that I did not grasp, and then went off to do mayorly things, I guess.

“She’s the best,” I told Shaun and bent over to lace up the heavy boots.

“Yeah, she’s great. I’m glad you’re coming over. I have something for you.”

“I have something for you too,” I whispered, feeling awkward and fat-fingered.

“Cool but not necessary. Now hurry up and lace. I’m anxious to see if you remember how to spin a one-eighty.”

“Please. I knew how to spin a one-eighty when we were in third grade.”

An hour later I was back in snowboarding 101. It was embarrassing how much I’d forgotten. I’d kind of bitched about Shaun lecturing me, but when I wiped out after a simple ollie, he’d put his boot down. We’d manage to work up through five or so simple tricks that I now had good control of. Muscle memory or something, maybe? Or maybe it was my awesome teacher.

“Okay, so, now that you’re back to where you were when we were like four,” Shaun teased, giving me a hard shoulder bump, “I want you to try something easy but will grab you some short air.”

Snow was falling at a steady but slow rate. Kirk and Adam had gone inside to eat lunch, leaving the yard for us to enjoy.

“Your body awareness is good, so let me see you try an indy grab,” Shaun said.

“Okay, yeah, I remember doing those.” I pulled my knit hat down over my ears. It kept moving up my head. Maybe my big, dumb ears were pushing it up

“Good. Come into the jump with some speed, but not too much. They’re super straight forward, so when you get some air, bend your knees and reach your backhand down to grab the board.”

“Right. Got it.” Shaun grinned and pounded on my back. Then he stood back and motioned me to head down the yard and hit that first jump. “If I nail this, and I will because I’m the boss of backyard boarding, you’ll owe me at least an hour on the ice before I go home.”

“Mitch, if you hit this trick, I’ll give you two hours on the ice, and I won’t even wear skates.”

I nodded and placed the board in my hand on the snow and fastened my boots to it. The blue boots kind of clashed and were a bit tight, but who cared?

“Now remember about pressing and ollies, and keep your weight distributed on the board,” Shaun reminded me.

I rolled my eyes and edged to the slope. Down I went, the wind bitter cold in my face, my eyes watering, and my heart thumping as I picked up speed. I hit the jump way too fast, I knew it as soon as I cleared the snow-covered picnic table, and when I bent my knees to reach for the board, I threw myself off balance. When I hit the ground, the edge of the board dug into the snow instead of the flat bottom, and I went face first into the snow. My chin caught the brunt of the crash, and I bit down on my lower lip. Blood filled my mouth. I started to snicker.

Shaun was bellowing my name, the shouts getting closer. I rolled to my back, nose and eyes packed with snow, lip bleeding, laughing softly.

“Mitch, man, are you okay? Shit, you’re bleeding.” He dropped down beside me, kneeling on my arm then quickly apologizing and sliding his knee off my bicep. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I brushed at the powder on my lashes and sneezed a time or two as I sat up and freed my boots from the board. “Just busted my lip, it’s good,” I snorted in amusement.

“Shit, you look rough,” he said, his voice losing the panic it had held a minute ago. “Here.” He pulled off a glove, dug around inside his thick coveralls, and pulled out a hankie. Resting on his calves, he pressed the red square of soft cotton to my lip. I winced but continued sniggering at myself. The humor of talking shit and then wiping out so royally amused me to no end. He pulled the hankie away, leaning in to study my lip at close range, his sleek eyebrows knotting then smoothing out. “Okay, it’s just a small gash. Don’t think it needs stitches. The moms will be upset.”

He placed the hankie tenderly to my lip again. I blinked some wetness from my lashes, and met his look, intending to say something about moms and worrying. Instead, I found myself fixated on a perfect little flake of snow landing on a cheek the same color as sunbaked driftwood. The flake rested on his warm flesh for a second and then turned into a small droplet of water. I watched, spellbound, as it ran down over his stubbled jaw.

“Mitch.”

My gaze moved up to meet his. His touch was still gentle on my lip, the cotton held in place with two fingers. I reached up to pull the square aside. All I wanted now was…something. Maybe to have him press his mouth to mine again. There was a smoldering fire igniting in his brown eyes. A low flame that told me that his thoughts and mine were running along the same—

Something plowed into Shaun, knocking him sideways into the snow. I jerked back, the hankie stuck to my weeping lip, to witness Kirk and Shaun pummeling each other as Adam arrived on the four-wheeler and opened fire with premade snowballs. One hit me in the ear, packing snow into it. I snarled a curse, and made a hasty snowball then lobbed it at Adam. It hit him in the face. Things then went downhill rapidly. All four of us ended up slogging back into the house, soaking wet, bruised and bloody, but in high spirits. Mrs. S. gave her sons a lecture, mopped up the snow, and then sent me home with a box of cookies and four new wine glasses with holly or something on the sides.

Shaun walked me to the Subaru, his usually springy hair flat, and his cheek scraped from a snowball that someone had made from gravelly snow.

“I think my mom has wine glasses,” I commented after placing the boxed goblets and cookies gently into the passenger seat.

“Not a clue why she sent them. Maybe they have some sort of hidden message? Like when your dad calls mine, says something about a spark plug, and they both end up over at the golf course.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I chortled then reached out to cup Shaun’s face. A bold move for sure, but it was dark now, and the big pine tree blocked the wall of glass in the living room. “I’m glad we caught up.”

“Me too.” He placed his hand over mine, and it was strong and toasty warm.

“Merry Christmas Eve.”

I pulled my hand away, and his fingers stayed with mine. Hand in hand we stood there smiling at each other.

“Guess I better let you go. Hope Santa brings you everything you wanted.” Shaun let go of my fingers, gave me a killer smile, and ran back inside before he froze solid out here in his t-shirt and jeans.

“I think maybe he already did,” I whispered after he was safely back inside.

The following morning was chaos. I had never seen so many clothes and dolls in my life. There I sat, between four girls under thirteen, with a new pair of Bauer skates on my lap, listening to K pop bands and being asked which perfume smelled better.

“Uhm…the flowery one?”

I got cold glares and a couple flounces as the question-askers went off to find people of the female persuasion to make the call. Allison flopped down next to me, wearing her brand-new Philadelphia Eagles jersey.

“Are you going to Shaun’s?”

“Yeah. I have to give him his gift.”

She sighed, and her bottom lip came out a bit. “Bet you’re going to snowboard at his house more, huh?”

I shook my head. Someone stalked past, complaining about her sister hogging the bathroom all the time.

“Nope, no boarding today.” I tapped my split lip. “Your grandmother forbids any more snowboarding for the duration of my stay.”

“So, you’re off to play something else?”

I glanced around to make sure my mother was still in the kitchen tending to the placement of pineapple slices on the ham.

“Maybe some hockey at the rink if I can get Gus to let us in.”

“Ugh. I so hate it that my skates are home, and Mom said I have to leave you alone for five minutes.”

That made me laugh, and I slipped an arm around her and pulled her into my side for a hug. “I love hanging out with you. Next time we’re here, we’ll play us some big hockey, so make sure you bring your skates.”

She snuggled in for a long time, then her mother told her to come help in the kitchen and leave Uncle Mitch be. Allison frowned, gave me a solid knuckle bump, and slouched off to the packed kitchen.

I made like a rug and beat it as soon as it was humanly possible. Mom made me take a dish of green bean casserole to Shaun’s house.

“I’m not sure why she thought you needed green bean casserole,” I said to Mrs. S as I handed over the small casserole dish.

“Same reason I sent her wine glasses,” she replied with a smile. “Now head on into the living room.”

I jogged off, Shaun’s gift under my arm, rounded the corner from the kitchen, and descended the four stairs into the living room. This room had been tidied up, but athletic gear was still everywhere. The massive live pine tree in front of the wall of glass blinked steadily, the lights tiny and white like a thousand stars.

“Dude, finally, I thought maybe you stood us up,” Shaun yelled from the floor where he sat next to Adam, watching a movie with some major explosions taking place.

“Mitchell Adams, come give me a kiss on the cheek.”

I picked my way through ski poles, new snowboarding boots, video games, and packages of socks to Shaun’s grandmother seated in a small rocker. She called it a “lady chair” but her daughter, Mrs. S., called it ‘Mama’s throne’, which I guess it kind of was. It did have the best view of the TV.

I bent down and pecked her wrinkled cheek. She was weathered and silver-haired and bowed with age, but her brown eyes were sharp like a raptor.

“You look good,” she said, taking my face between her hands, and gazing into me like her grandson did. Her perusal had a different effect than Shaun’s though. “Wiser. Whiskery.”

I blushed a bit. “I’m taking a few days off from shaving.”

She grinned and patted my cheeks. “Work that stubble, honey.” I blushed harder. “Shaun, fetch me the gift I made for Mitchell.”

Grandma let go of my face, so I straightened and watched Shaun get to his feet. He was in jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt that hitched up when he stretched his arms over his head. A strip of belly was exposed. Firm and tight with a line of dark hair leading into the band of his jeans. My stomach flipped over, stirring up the meal I’d just eaten in an uncomfortable way. I nervously played with his gift.

Shaun pattered to the tree, grabbed a soft-looking package and a small box shaped one.

“Here you go, Mitchell.” He gave me a wink as he handed over Grandma’s gift.

“I didn’t get you anything,” I whispered to the matriarch of the clan. She shook her head then gave me a funny look over the top of her bifocals.

“Oh, I think you’ve given me more than you realize.” She waved a hand at the gift. I sat down on the edge of the couch, nudging a drowsy Drew aside, placed my gift for Shaun on an end table, and ripped at the bright green paper. Inside, wrapped carefully in tissue paper, was a quilt. A big one that would easily cover a king-sized bed. I had to stand up and spread my arms to show it off to Shaun and the other guys.

“It’s a star-crossed pattern,” Grandma explained as I sat down and laid the aqua-and-ivory covering filled with quilted stars over my lap. “I worked on that for a year. My eyes and hands don’t work as well as they used to.”

“It’s beautiful, thank you so much.” I was stunned to hear she’d put so much time into it. I knew quilting wasn’t a speed sport, but a year? Man, that was a long time to spend on a gift for some kid who hung out with your grandson.

Shaun dropped down beside me, pushing at his older brother’s long legs. He ran a hand over one of the stars, smiling softly as he did and making my heart feel as funny as my belly. His hand stalled right in the middle of a star, resting on my thigh.

“Now, you two can take it home and put it on your bed and cuddle under it,” Grandma announced with a nod. Drew sat up. Adam and Kirk paused the movie they were watching. Shaun and my mouths fell open.

“Grandma,” Shaun sputtered as his brothers studied us closely. “Mitch and I aren’t romantic. We’re just close friends.”

Her gaze fell to his hand on my thigh.

“You two have always been romantic, you just didn’t know it.”

He jerked his hand away, blushed hotly, and said nothing more. I had no clue what to say so I folded the quilt neatly, wrapped it back up, and then slid down on the sofa and pulled my new toque down over my face. Dying right now would be a blessing.

“Right, well, uh, I’m not embarrassed or anything,” I heard Shaun saying from inside my hat. A smile pulled at my mouth, giving me the strength to peek out at the world. “Here.” Shaun handed me his present. It was wrapped in red and white paper with a big red bow on top.

Ignoring the snickers from the other Sandbeck boys, I sat up, pulled my hat up, and lifted Shaun’s gift from the end table.

“I didn’t know what to get you because…” I faltered simply due to the thousand reasons for not knowing what to buy my childhood friend whipping around my head.

“Yeah, I get that,” Shaun softly said. We exchanged gifts. I sat beside him, intent on his face when he dug into the box filled with crumpled tissue paper. He gently lifted the framed picture out, turned it to face us, and then grinned widely.

“Oh man, I remember that day,” Shaun exclaimed as he stared at the restored 35 mm image of him and me, age eight, standing by the pond at my grandfather’s farm.

We were holding this massive largemouth bass, both of us, our faces sweaty and pink from summer heat and the fight we’d just had to land that big bastard. Shaun, me, and my grandfather, who passed away a year after this had been taken, had been using top-water lures on that sticky July day. Lazily casting out then reeling back, catching a small bass or sunfish here and there when that monster showed up. It hit Shaun’s lure like a shark, coming up out of the scummy water a good foot. Shaking its head to try to dislodge the barbed hooks, it scared all three of us. Shaun and I leaped up, grabbed his pole in unison, and worked in tandem to bring the fish to shore. Grandpa stood beside us, telling us when to ease up and let him take some line and when to reel. It took us over ten minutes to get that fish in. When we had him on the bank, Grandpa ran back to his house to get his old Pentax and snap a picture.

Shaun glanced at me. I kind of knew right then that not only was that the perfect gift, but that he was feeling some powerful emotions like I was.

“Best day ever,” he whispered.

“Best day ever,” I repeated, recalling how we had said that at least a hundred times since that day. Oh, and yes, we did put that big old bass back so that he or she could make baby bass and maybe be caught again. Grandpa was dead, and his farm sold before the next summer, so we never did get to go back and try to catch that fish again. “We should go fishing sometime.”

“I would love that.” He flashed a fast smile and then jerked his chin at his gift resting on my thigh. I tore the wrapping paper free and had a moment of sheer and utter joy.

“Oh. My. God.” I blinked at the Jabberjaw box set like it was a million dollars in gold bars instead of a bunch of DVD’s of an old Hanna-Barbera cartoon. But man, I loved HB cartoons so much! The new cartoons were lame and lacked humor and slapstick in my humble. “JJ is like third on my top ten list.”

“Yeah, I know,” Shaun laughed. Yeah, he did. We’d spent hours and hours watching them as kids, because I had always insisted on Cartoon Network instead of the new shows on Nickelodeon. “Snagglepuss, Atom Ant, Jabberjaw, Quick Draw McGraw,” he said, ticking off a slew of the shows I still watched religiously when on the road or when I needed cheering up.

“This is totally perfect,” I sighed, wishing I could slide one in now and kick back with Shaun. But kicking back wasn’t happening because we were called to dinner then. There was no way I could eat, but I did, forcing a slice of pie down and a cup of coffee. Bursting at the seams was a real concern.

“We still doing the rink?” Shaun asked as daylight slipped away slowly on the mountain.

“I’m not sure I can bend over to lace up my skates,” I admitted, leaning back in my chair at the dining room table to pat my rounded stomach.

“We can lace up each other’s skates,” Shaun said while patting his own belly.

“Would you two do an old woman a favor?” Grandma asked, and we both immediately said we’d love to. “Such good boys,” Grandma beamed over her cup of green tea. “Stop by the shop and carry the Christmas material down into the basement. Then, bring up the Valentine’s Day bolts. Just lay them on the tables by the front window. I’ll sort things tomorrow.”

“We can do that,” Shaun smiled, pushing up from his seat to kiss his mom and grandmother. I was instructed to do the same before we left.

“Your family is big on the PDA’s,” I commented after we settled into my mother’s car with our hockey gear and my priceless collection of Jabberjaw, which was safely lying on the back seat away from skates and sticks.

“Guess we kind of like kissing,” Shaun tossed out. I gave him a fast look but couldn’t tell if the comment was purposely suggestive or not.

We rode to Liberty at a leisurely pace, despite the neatly plowed and salted roads. The Liberty Ice Palace rose up in front of us as we pulled off Main Street heading west. It was built back in the sixties and refurbished about ten years ago. It housed all kinds of hockey leagues and figure skaters who trained here. I’d cut my teeth here, playing my first game in net at the age of six. Shaun had been there as much as was possible given he was getting into his sport as well at the same time.

Travel was commonplace for our parents and us, mine hauling me all over the state and sometimes as far as Canada. Shaun had spent lots of time out west, Colorado mostly. Later in his career, after we’d graduated, he’d moved to Breckenridge to live near his coach, returning home when he could fit it in among his world snowboarding events that took him to places like Beijing, Norway, and all over the US.

“So, what’s next on your touring schedule?” I asked as we entered the rink, pausing at the front door to yell for Gus, the rink manager, who’d been kind enough to run down to let us skate for a bit. Mrs. Gus had died before I was born so the rink and the kids who used it were the only family Gus had.

“There’s the world cup in Sweden late January, Winter Dew tour in Breckinridge, X Games in Aspen, and the championships in Vail. Oh, and Spring Battle at Absolut Park in Germany in April. That covers spring,” he chuckled.

“Guess we’re lucky we managed to see each other for four days, huh?” As soon as that came out I heard how needy boyfriendish it sounded. “I mean, with both of us traveling so much, how cool our schedules lined up.”

“Mitch, I know the traveling is like maybe an issue…” he paused as if trying to find the right words. Not that there were right words. We were not a couple. We were not anything. Friends. That was it. Friends who kissed two years ago when those miserable travel schedules had brought us together in the same country.

“There’s Frick and Frack,” Gus bellowed as he waddled toward us. He was an old D-man from back in the day when there were no such pussy things as helmets, mouth guards, or penalties for instigating. Everyone instigated back then according to Gus. Despite his scarred face and gruff personality, Gus loved hockey, and in doing so, loved every kid who played it. When I tried to apologize for calling on a holiday, he waved it off with a hand the size of a dinner plate.

Shaun and I let the travel talk drop to shake hands with Gus and shoot the shit for a bit. When Gus was filled in on our achievements since last we’d talked, he went to his office to do paperwork. Shaun and I made our way to the ice, gearing up before stepping out onto the ice. Shaun had an older pair of CCM skates, a well-used Easton stick, and decently strong ankles. They didn’t bend out or anything and his hands were good. He’d never be Dan Arou, but he could hold his own in a shinny game.

“Man, you take forever,” he teased after making a couple laps of the crisp ice to find his stride.

I glanced up from tying my left leg pad to my skate. “You planning on shooting pucks at me?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Then I need pads. Just chill out.”

“It’s cool, I’m just busting on you a bit. Take your time. Don’t want that pretty face to get marred up by my wicked slap shot.”

My attention went to my skates as my cheeks warmed. Soon we were on the ice. I drew in a deep breath, pulling in the cold air and the scent of hockey.

“Okay, so do I get an advantage since you totally tanked that simple trick yesterday?” Shaun skated at my side as I made a couple passes.

“A good friend would have forgotten that,” I said as we sailed past the sin bin, skates gliding over ice, the sound as familiar to me as my own pulse. I stopped at the home net.

“Hard to forget.” He reached out and pressed his cold thumb to my bottom lip. The pressure of his finger was pain/pleasure, sending a jagged bolt of lust to my balls. When his thumb slipped off, I missed it. “So, yeah, hockey. Woohoo. I think you should not be able to use your stick.”

“Fine.” I turned and laid my fat paddle on the top of the net then plunked my helmet on my head. “I can block your shots blindfolded.”

Shaun’s mouth dropped open. Then he grinned wickedly and skated to center ice.

“Wait. I have to work the ice.”

“Really? You’re doing that silliness with a one-on-one game?”

I folded my arms over my chest, catcher resting on my pectoral, blocker tight to the roaring Cougar on my sweater.

“Ice prep is not silly.” I started plowing up the ice with my skates while Shaun stood at the red line and complained about goalies being weird and hung up on routines. Smiling to myself, I took a long time getting the ice in the crease just so.

“Dude!”

“Okay, stop shouting.” I settled into my butterfly stance, bringing my catcher mitt up. Not having my stick in my right hand was unsettling. Losing your stick in a game makes you feel vulnerable in a way. But, I’d been cocky, so playing without a stick was my payback.

“Can I shoot now?”

“If you remember how.”

The slap shot hit me dead center of the chest. It stung, nothing like a slap shot from McGarrity or Kalinski. Victor had a slap shot that would knock the air out of your lungs if it hit you right. Good thing he was a coach, and his time on ice was limited to showing players what to do. I’d have a permanent bruise if he were on the ice shooting at me all the time.

I threw the puck back at him. He skated out, took the puck back to center ice, and drew back for another slap shot.

“Okay, you suck,” Shaun shouted after we’d done that like ten times.

“No, I do not suck. You suck. You’re not aiming over my shoulder or between my legs. You’re hitting the emblem.” I slapped the big cougar on my sweater. “I’ll block that shot every time. Try coming at me and being slippery.”

I reached back for my stick. Shaun picked up the puck at the red line and raced at me, telegraphing his intention to shoot left a second before he did. I got my blocker up and the puck bounced off it. I kicked it away.

“You’re easy as a Dick and Jane primer to read,” I chirped as he sailed behind my net.

“Least I didn’t fall on my face,” he replied then lost his edge and went down like a bag of rocks, the puck rolling one way and his stick skittering across the ice. “Fuck karma, I mean it.”

I howled at him lying there on the ice, his helmet strap dangling free.

After that, things got a little more serious, at least competition wise. Shaun got some decent shots in and excelled at trying to sneak in a wraparound, but he was so blatant that I was a move ahead of him for the hour we were on the ice.

“Okay, I admit it, you are a better hockey player than I am.” Shaun collapsed onto the away bench, sprawling out to lay down on it, arms dangling, helmet on the floor, hair soaking wet and lying flat on his head.

“I hope so since I kind of do this for a living.” I sat down by his head, took off my mask, and plunked it down on the bench to my right. “You’re better on a snowboard than me.”

“I hope so since I kind of do that for a living.”

We spent a few minutes there, relaxing and catching our breath. Well, Shaun was catching his breath. I’d not really worked too hard dealing with only one skater who only put on skates once every two years.

“Okay, so, we stop at the shop to do Grandma’s stuff, and then we go home and watch Jabberjaw while eating leftovers. How does that sound?”

Shaun tipped his head back to look at me. Man, he was cute, even when he was sweaty. In a way, the sweat added to his appeal.

“Dibs on the stuffing,” I said.

“You always dib the stuffing.”

“Your mom makes amazing stuffing.”

“Truth.”

Ten minutes later we were headed out the door, backing out to be honest, thanking Gus for the ice time and promising him some Cougars merchandise when I got home. It was a little after nine at night and the streets of Liberty were deserted. Christmas Day in this town meant every store was closed, so our neighbors were home with their families.

We parked in front of the quilt shop, and Shaun unlocked the front door then relocked it after we were in. Not that crime was a big problem in Liberty.

“I keep telling her she needs a better security system,” Shaun said, flicking on a small light over the register in the corner. The shop was packed with bolts of fabric, ceiling to floor, shelves and shelves of them. There were racks of that held more bolts all over the place, so walking through the store was always this kind of jig and dance, turn left, turn right, do-si-do, and do not spin your partner round and round.

“Good luck with that,” I replied, padding to the tables by the front window to gather up several bolts of holiday material in my arms. Shaun joined me, and I handed mine to him and picked up eight more. A couple trips should do it. Then we could go to Shaun’s parent’s house and vegetate while enjoying Jabber and the gang. Sounded like a perfect way to end a perfect day.

“I know, but come on, someday some tourist punk kid is going to break in just to be a dick.”

“Probably.” There was no arguing that fact. “Still, I don’t see her installing anything without a fight.”

“That’s all truth. Watch the steps down, okay?” He kicked open the cellar door which sat behind the register. The hinges cried out. “They’re old and super steep.”

“I remember.”

I led, going down only after Shaun had hit the light switch with his elbow. The basement was dry, wide, and filled with material, sewing stuff, and a couple old sewing machines on equally old sewing machine stands. It always smelled a little off down here or something. Not super gross but just off. Dusty and dank. Like old dirt or something.

We stacked the bolts on a table, filled our arms with Valentine’s material, and climbed back up the stairs. We did that four times. On the final trip down, we paused and looked at each other across the long folding table heaped high with holiday colors.

“You think we’re ugly corporate types, hauling out Valentine’s Day stuff when Christmas isn’t even over yet?” I enquired.

“You know those quilting ladies. They like to get a head start.”

“Guess so.”

“Remember the last time we were down here?”

I shoved at a bolt trying to slip off the mound then looked at Shaun. “Like four minutes ago? Yeah.”

“No, not that time before. The time before two years ago.”

“Oh.”

The lonely naked bulb by the stairs threw Shaun into all kinds of shadow. It worked for him, giving his lush mouth and cheekbones some alluring valleys and accents.

“I was so happy then. Like, floating on air. I’d told my parents that I was gay, and they were so cool about it. And then you pulled into town with all your goofy smiles and those cute ears, and all the Hanna-Barbera love, and I got swept into the feelings that I’d been carrying around for you.”

“Got to love Jonny,” I nervously joked, plucking at my Jonny Quest t-shirt.

Shaun came around the table. I stood my ground; the dry and dank air now ripe with heat and want. You could taste desire filling the cellar, feel it.

“I made a move and kissed you. You were so stiff, so scared, and I knew as soon as I’d done it that I’d ruined things for us.”

“No, you didn’t. I was just…that kiss confused me.”

He now stood in front of me, the smell of Shaun mingling with the hot pheromones slipping into my sinuses. Need coursed through me, plumping up my cock. I stared at his mouth.

“I know. I handled things badly. I just—it was just stupid of me to do that. I didn’t give you any chance to say no, or anything. I just kissed you. So, like, now, if you wanted to say no, I would be fine with that. We don’t have to kiss now, or even ever. I mean, I’d like to kiss you now or maybe sometime later, and maybe date and talk about travel and hold hands and—”

“You’re talking too much.” I grabbed his face and pulled his mouth to mine. It was kind of funny to feel him stiffen momentarily, as I had a couple of years ago. Then the shock melted away, and his arms slid around me. His lips were soft and pliant under mine, opening on a hot exhalation when I shifted my hip to the side a bit. I could faintly taste blood from my split lip.

It was Shaun that touched the tip of his tongue to my lower lip, running it over the split, easing back on the pressure I was applying in my fumbling rabid need to get him close. I lapped at his tongue gliding over the injury. He tipped his head, my fingers still pressed to his cheeks. There was no hesitation on my part. I opened wide, twisting in his embrace, my body now thumping with lust. His cock was a long, hard ridge against my hip bone. With his tongue teasing mine, I wiggled in, pushing my pelvis to his, grabbing at his hips frantically.

He walked me back. My ass hit the bannister, the old wood creaking as he jacked me up against the thick beam. I sucked on his tongue, my brain flooding with primal signals. His hands moved to my ass, lifting me up higher, to get my dick and his aligned. Then he began rubbing his cock against mine, and my entire body came alive. I groaned into his mouth. Shaun left my mouth then, trailing kisses down my cheek to my jaw. I slipped my leg between his. He grunted and hauled me even higher and closer, his fingers biting into my ass.

“God, oh God,” I panted, my spine riding that beam as Shaun rode my leg. “We... I’m going to—”

Never got the last word of that statement out before coming so hard my head flew back and hit the beam, nearly concussing myself. I clung to Shaun as my dick jerked, balls contracting, spunk soaking into my briefs. He never let go, not once, as I thrashed and bucked in his arms. He was strong, able to handle the rough mauling I was giving him. Another huge turn-on if you ask me.

“I got you,” he whispered beside my ear as I shuddered. “I got you.”

“Shit. Oh shit that is…I haven’t done that in…” He covered my mouth with his, sweeping deep and passionately.

“Do you have any idea how hot you are?” he asked after the kiss ended.

I shook my head and forced my eyes to open. Shaun’s hold on me softened, his fingers now cupping my ass gently, keeping me pressed to him yet.

“That’s uh, yeah, a first for me,” I murmured before putting my lips to his. He purred like a big cat, all deep and rough. And I began to wonder how it was that I had never once known the heat of that sound in my ear or the beauty of a hard body working yours and pulling an orgasm from you with such raw, powerful passion. “I mean, coming for a man, not creaming my shorts.”

Shaun chuckled as he dropped a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Did you like it?” I heard the subtle hint of worry in his voice. “The coming for a man part, not the creaming your shorts part.”

“I loved it.” I turned my head to chase his mouth for another kiss. This one was less heated, softer, and peppered with breaks for him to lower me to the floor or rub his erection into my hip one final time. “You need me to…you know?”

“Mm, not tonight. I want this to be just for you. You good with this? Us? What happened? Are you freaked out or feeling like it was a mistake?” He chucked my chin upward with a finger, pulling my greedy gaze from the bulge in his jeans. “My eyes are up here.”

I smiled sheepishly. “I came here wanting more, and I’m still wanting more.”

Shaun’s worried brow eased. “Me too. Let’s do this right, okay? Tomorrow we do a date, like a true date. Dinner…a movie, talking, holding hands. Feeling out how you are with people seeing you engaging in some light PDA’s with another man. Are you good with that? If not, please be honest. I will not push you into anything that you’re not ready for. I want you to know that.”

“What time and where?” I asked. I got an affectionate peck and a date for the next night at seven sharp.