By Any Other Name (9 page)

Michael’s eyes crinkled at the corners, and wham, just like that Andy had a pretty good idea what made Lucrezia Borgia tick, back in the day. Despite his jaw clenching, tooth grinding irritation, his cock still thickened damningly. The rate of his boning up was disturbingly commensurate with his level of Oh my god, someone tell me it’s okay to choke the shit out of the big lunk-head. Descending from above and behind him, a warm stream of air curled around the side of his neck. Cheryl must have bent down closer to him.

Andy’s supposition was borne out by the scent of patchouli he detected. However, under the thick Haight-Asbury scent a faint hint of the pine, warm salty man and maple syrup smell Michael always gave off crept into Andy’s awareness. No matter the time, place or circumstance, that unique blend of scents got Andy hard and wanting in the time it took one heartbeat to beat its way through a single four part harmony of lub-dub, lub-dub.

Michael’s head was shaved right down to the skin on one side of his head. Until he lifted one hand up to cup over the naked swath of skin, Andy thought the low keening sound was someone other than himself. The hunched in shoulders, the way his eyes dropped for a moment before flashing back to Andy’s with a cowrie shell blend of colors and the slight, pointed weight of a rapier’s tip, all those things told a story.

Oh.
Ooooh.
Michael treated the maze game on the back

of a cereal box with the single-minded intensity an Olympic swim team competitor gave to the final heat determining which medal she or he would bring home. To have someone get the jump on him and then be rescued by Adrien of all people. Holy Crap Doodle. Proof of the existence of miracles lay in the fact that he hadn’t gone on a tri-state killing spree the moment he found out what had— oh, but of course. He must not know.

Michael sat up straighter as he snorted at Andy.
“Everything you think is right there. Promise me you won’t ever gamble. Please.”
Andy narrowed his eyes at the giant dork. And yes, he did know that the word originally referred solely to a certain part of male whale’s anatomy. Hey, if the penis hat fit, one ought to embrace wearing it, right? So Michael had nothing to complain about.
“You. Are. A. Giant. Whale. Dick. Michael Rose, aka dork of epic proportions.”
Michael’s mouth fell open faster than Andy’s legs ever had, and that was saying something. A convulsive movement rippled up his torso. Andy winced, throwing his hands up to cover his eyes as he braced for the hideous sounds sure to follow.
“You face—”
A noise like a drowning donkey gasping for air burst from Michael. Cautiously lowering the tips of the fingers on one hand, Andy attempted to suss out the situation. His eyes roved a scientifically accurate most likely path for the vomitus… nope. Nein. Tracing along the line where Michael had the blanket pulled up to his waist, Andy started cataloguing his findings. Belly, firm, flexing under that hideous gown, chest, m-mmouthwatering, throat, Adam’s apple—and wasn’t that stupid? It should be Michael’s apple or Andy’s apple, chin, quivering suspiciously—
“You shit! You’re laughing at me.”
Michael snorted into his hand, choked back a guffaw, and then gave up trying to hide his mirth entirely. Lying down on the bed as he clutched his stomach, Michael let loose a spate of laughter, which left him howling and writhing on the bed. Andy took consolation from being laughed at in the way Michael’s gown—and really it could make Andy believe in God that Michael had gotten an assless gown and he managed to get a nice set of ass covering pajamas—rode up and the blanket slid down to display a tiny sliver of his succulent keister.
Come to think of it, the nurse who garbed Michael knew exactly what he or she was doing. The firm curve at the top of one ass cheek played peek-a-boo with the top of the blanket. Cheryl leaned down far enough to whisper in his ear.
“Someone needs to short sheet this man’s bed every night.”
Andy twisted his head to one side, looking up at her through his lashes.
“Sister, truer words have never been spoken. Or maybe steal all his clothes…”
They both tilted their heads to the right as Michael’s thrashing around in the bed rolled him onto his back and threatened to reveal the entire, luscious package at the apex of his thighs for one golden, hope-filled moment. Another gentle waft of air puffed against Andy’s cheek as Cheryl sighed. As the honking noises masquerading as laughter started to die down, Andy reached up to pat Cheryl’s cheek without ever looking at her. Beneath his fingers her cheek moved, bunching up into the full roundness of a smile. For the first time since he’d been at home in his bed yesterday with Michael poised above him, eyes so full of warmth and wanting, that even now Andy lost his breath, he felt his stomach settle and all the muscles in his neck relax.

Reaching a hand up toward his face, Michael swiped at the corners of his eyes. Holy fuck, he loved a good laugh. Hopefully he hadn’t pissed Andy off too much, especially considering the crap he was about to have to drop on that beautiful blond head. A fission of cold slid up his spine, sobering Michael instantly. He reached over, depressing the button to raise the head of his bed more. Clearing his throat, he glanced down for an instant before drawing in a deep breath and raising his gaze back up to meet Andy’s eyes.

The sleek black arches of Andy’s brows drew together above the bridge of his nose. Glancing from one of them to the other, the tall blond woman behind Andy’s chair straightened up. She opened her mouth as though to speak. Flicking the direction of his gazed from Andy’s face to hers for a moment, Michael shook his head at her. Andy didn’t say anything.

“I-I’ll explain more about that later, but for now please just treat her like an unavoidable patch of shit you have to wade through to get somewhere you really, really want to go. You know, like a twenty-five percent off sale at that clothing store you like so much. I mean—hell, be polite I guess, but don’t act like she’s my mom. She’s just the egg donor as far as I’m concerned.”

Something fluttered at the edge of Michael’s focus, behind Andy and Cheryl. As he gazed into the cool blue depths of Andy’s eyes, the movement registered. Michael’s brain interpreted the input as the room’s door being pushed open and glanced up in time to catch a close-mouthed, big eyed look pass over the face of the very woman he’d just spoken so harshly about. Watching the sheen of moisture spread across the surface of her multicolored eyes—just like his they were just like his—Michael felt a burning hot spasm pass through his center. Her lips pressed more tightly together for a moment, and then her throat moved as though she were swallowing down his jagged words without a drop of water to ease the way.

A gasp drew his attention from her pale face. Glancing back toward Andy, Michael caught an equally shocked look on his face. Letting loose a heavy sigh, he dropped his head back against his thin hospital pillow. Closing his eyes didn’t help much; he knew the problem was still standing, rigid and unyielding as a statue made of stone, and bigger than a fucking African elephant, smack dab in the center of his room. Grimacing at the sour taste of crow-pie currently filling his mouth, Michael opened his eyes back up.

“Crap. Sorry, Ma. Didn’t think you’d be back so soon, and shouldn’t have been airing the laundry like that anyway. Apologies.”

Oh, he knew the tilt of his tone leaned right across the line into sarcasm, but there was nothing he could do about it right then. Michael had barely been able to force himself to grit the grudging apology out. He wasn’t going to feel bad—not really. Not after all she’d done, and allowed herself to be blind to. Tipping his head to one side, Michael raised his eyebrows as he held her gaze.

“Was there something you wanted? I’ve got company.”
Andy’s voice rang out with a staccato, censuring beat.
“If you wouldn’t mind introducing us?”
Allowing his eyes to fall closed again, Michael reached a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. Crap. Shit. Fucking. Fresh. Hell. He so did not need Andy trying to play therapist with that—woman. After a moment, Andy cleared his throat. Oh, hell, Michael knew that sound. That was Andy’s hop to it before you really piss me off throat clearing. The beautiful bastard ought to have it fucking patented.
“Yeah. Sure. Andy, that’s Donna Jean. My—mother.”
Andy made a disapproving sort of clucking noise under his breath. Michael narrowed his eyes at him. In response, Andy lowered his gaze for a split second, and then looked up though his lashes at Michael. The glance was bone meltingly hot, scorching the air it passed through. His skin tightening across his cheekbones as though pushed back by a solid wave of burning blue, Michael sucked in an arid lungful of air. Unable to bear the disappointed weight of that fathoms deep blue gaze, Michael turned his gaze back to his—back to Donna Jean. Her face had paled in the few moments she’d been back in the room; the only color left aside from the fire engine red of her lips were twin spots of hectic red at the highest points of her cheeks. Andy made a low, growling noise, and the woman behind him coughed.
“Christ, Andy, what?”
Andy lifted one thin black brow at Michael.
“Michael, even if no one else ever did— begging yours pardon, ma’am—I know for a fact Lynn Jimenez would kick your big, Dumkopf ass six ways to Sunday for talking that way to the woman who gave birth to you. I don’t know the whole story. You don’t have to tell me. But if you’re going to be a spiteful child, tell me now so I can have Cheryl here find me another room.”
The cool, clipped tones in which he spoke said everything. Michael could play nice or play by himself. He’d worked too hard to get Andy to the point where he’d even talk like that to screw it up now. Bunching and releasing his fist once, twice, and then a third time eased a little of the tension Michael could feel creeping up along the edges of his jaw and at the corners of his eyes. A smile creeping across his face, Michael shook his head.
“Bossy little bo—boy.”
The corner of Andy’s mouth quirked up.
“Changed your mind about word choices?”
Michael dropped his head forward. Andy had him by the short and curlies. A wicked, wonderful, devilishly fun idea flashed across his mind, and Michael lifted his head back up, tilting his chin at a jaunty angle as he began to speak.
“Yes. I surely did, on both counts, babe. Andy, this is my mother, Donna Jean Rose. Mama, this beautiful bit of trouble is your future son in law.”
Andy’s mouth rounded into a perfect ‘o’ as his eyes opened so wide he resembled a gorgeous three dimensional anime character. A zinging sense of perfection sparked every nerve in Michael’s body simultaneously. The smirk he’d been trying to hide grew into a full face grin. The woman with Andy—Cheryl, giggled. The tiny, girlish sound was something an eleven or twelve year old would make, and hearing it spring from the Viking warrior princess looking woman tickled Michael’s fancy. She patted Andy’s shoulder.
“Well, I can see that the two of you are well matched. I’ll leave you here, Andy, and go let the nurses know you won’t need any assistance to get settled in.”
She reached into her pants pocket, extracting a card, which she handed to Andy with a battlefield worthy flourish.
“Here you go. If you need anything, call me. We Norse folks have to watch out for one another, ja”
Never taking his eyes off Michael, Andy clutched the card tightly in his hand. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before visibly swallowing.
“Ja.”
With a smirk at Michael, Cheryl turned and headed for the door. As she passed Michael’s mother, she briefly laid a hand on the woman’s shoulder.
“Nice to see you again, Donna. We’ve missed you on Thursdays.”
Shooting a furtive glance at him, his mother answered in a soft enough voice that she probably thought he couldn’t hear her.
“Oh, they changed my schedule at the restaurant. I found another meeting though. I’ve got my two year chip now.”
Cheryl squeezed her shoulder and continued out the door, calling back over her shoulder.
“My number’s still the same. Give me a ring; we can get together for coffee at that dessert place you love so much. And it doesn’t even have to be on a meeting night.”

As Andy locked the wheels on the wheelchair and flipped up the foot pedals, he mulled over the implications of Donna Jean and Cheryl’s little exchange. He’d bet his next paycheck that they knew each other from some sort of twelve step program. There was no way he could let Michael just write the woman off, not when Andy knew down to the soles of his beloved half boots, that the damned idiot would regret doing so for the rest of his life. A tiny sigh escaped Andy at the thought of his boots. They were perfect. Gazing into the mid-distance for a second, he smiled—They’re exactly like the ones worn by Andrej Pejic in an amazing photo op, thank you very much, even if mine were thirty-five dollar EBay knock-offs of the pricey military lace up combat boots the famous model wore.

“Excuse me, ma’am. Would you mind helping me over to my bed. I think I’ll be fine, but the stuff they gave me last night may make me a little wobbly when I get up, and I know Michael’s not supposed to be getting up right now.”

Andy quite deliberately neither met Michael’s eyes as he spoke to the fool’s mother, nor did he meet them as she stepped to his side proffering her arm for him to hold onto as he stood. A grunting noise came from the bed Michael lay in. After they’d taken a few steps toward the other, empty bed, Andy rolled his eyes. How a man with such a big heart—not to mention other equally sizeable portions of his anatomy, at least not in present company—could be such a shit was mystifying. Because the rail was already lowered on that side, Andy stopped at the side of the bed closest to Michael. The temptation to reach across the intervening space and smack some sense into him ripped through Andy. He’d give anything to have his mother still be alive.

As he sat and swung his pajama clad legs into the bed, Donna Jean spoke.
“Do you need anything else?”
A quick glance to the side showed that

“Ah, yes. Would you go to the nurse’s station and ask them to please bring me a pitcher of water? The medicine they gave me dried me out horribly.”