Colorado Game

By Androgene

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Chapter 19

I wordlessly handed the receiver over to Ross, who frowned and took it.

"Yes?”

When he heard who it was, his eyes shot to me and what followed were a string of ‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘but’ and ‘mother’s’.
I scooted off the bed to give him some privacy and went into the bathroom, using a washcloth to clean myself up. I was still doing that when he came in and slid his arms around me from behind.
He sought my eyes in the mirror and bit his lower lip as he put his chin in the crook of my neck.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t give her your number. I don’t know how she…”
He sighed and apologized again, frowning and obviously thinking.

“It’s okay. She could’ve gotten the number easily. When I called, she was the one who picked up and wrote down the address. You don’t need to be Jessica Fletcher to figure out the rest,” I said, sending him a reassuring smile.
He looked relieved.
“But she has impeccable timing.”
The arms around my stomach tightened and he pushed his lips in my neck.

“I’m sorry.”
His nose nuzzled my neck.
“I had a great time, just now,” he whispered. “You were great.”
A hand of his traveled up to my chest, which he softly rubbed as his, half opened, mouth trailed towards my cheek. I turned my head a bit and he captured my lips for a long, slow kiss.
Since he was standing behind me, I could feel his reaction to it and I made a sound of disbelieve. He opened his eyes and found mine in the mirror, grinning.

“Again?” I sighed, stifling a moan when his other hand stimulated a part of my chest.

“Are you complaining?” he whispered, licking my lips.
I shook my head; hell no!
He left at 2pm, after making me promise to have dinner with him that evening. He wouldn’t leave before I did, but it didn’t take all that much convincing.

**********

The next two months after that were… different. I’d never been in an actual relationship before, not with this degree of commitment, and I found it hard at times. Ross was a demanding man, to put it mildly.
Not that he was demanding of me to spend every single minute with him; not at all. But if I was busy with work, friends or something else, and he didn’t get to see me for a few days then I could bet on it that he would say something about it and ask me to make time for him. That was weird, because somehow I had imagined it to be the other way around. More than once we got close to an argument, with one full blown fight about it, when he made very clear that I wasn’t participating in this relationship as much as he was.

He was right. I wasn’t.

My only excuse for it was that I simply didn’t have any experience, sharing everything that way.
Half the time, I still had this territorial thing in my head. Like, when he would make coffee. He’d go through the cabinets and then I’d have this feeling of ‘get out of my kitchen, that’s all mine. Get out, get out’. Weird perhaps or maybe some of you relate to it; it’s gone to the point that something snuck in when you weren’t looking. In this instance, I felt like he was gradually moving in without asking. Suddenly, there were suits in my closet (and I don’t own even one of those), he had a coffee-mug of his own (Honey, have you seen my mug?) and that…. calling me ‘honey’? If I wanted that, I’d date a woman.

I’m not a big fan of re-enacting a comfy household, with mom, dad and kids. I don’t need to be married to be in a relationship. Why gay people want to marry is beyond me, actually.
Part of being gay is to be free. Now they wanna tie themselves down, and be like everybody else?
Ridiculous; we are different, always proud to go “we’re here, we’re queer, get used to it” but many who yell this, actually wanna be like hetero’s? See the irony in that for a minute.

So I quickly made clear to Ross that saying stuff like ‘buddy’, ‘honey’ and ‘baby’ to me was out of bounds; I don’t like hearing it. I’m not someone’s honey, baby or buddy when I’m in a relationship. If you feel the need to call me names, call me Mark, please. Marky, if you absolutely have to.
Call me cute, call me funny but don’t call me anything resembling a mumbling tiny human being, a sticky fluid or the backend of a motorcycle saddle.

I also didn’t give Ross the keys to my loft. I felt that it would be like giving up a huge part of my privacy.
This relationship was already going very fast, fast and furious. I kept giving in and giving and all I got in return was him.
Okay, this all sounds so bad, which it isn’t. Not all of it. He did give plenty in return, of course, and getting Ross in the deal was an absolute treat. It wasn’t him, it was what he did, at times, that rubbed me the wrong way. I had to learn, on my own speed, while he was racing a Formula 1.

When we were together, which usually was during the weekends at my loft, we talked a lot. The sex was great and quickly settled into a regular thing; but conversations? We had loads of those, frequently until the wee hours of the night.

We spoke about all sorts of things, found out we shared a hobby or two. We both liked comedies and SF movies, pretty much the same books and music; he liked to sit somewhere close by when I was writing music. Then he’d read a book while I was composing, writing and trying, sorting out riffs. He tried to give me some input at times but failed miserably.
On his part, he gave me suggestions for investments. I had quite a bit of money in my account, doing nothing and one day he found out because I left a bank statement on the counter, forgetting to put it away.

“You could double that in a year,” he told me.
When I had given him a ‘get out of town’ look, he sat me down behind my laptop and showed me what to do.

Of course, I insisted on choosing a specific stock, resulting in me losing a bundle that physically made me sick. When he asked me if I wanted to try again, I refused to even touch the laptop for a week. He even offered to reimburse the loss, which I declined. Eventually, though, he coached me onto the right path and I made half of it back on a last minute tip from his own banker.

We frequently went out to dinner but he refused to go to clubs. He didn’t like them but assured me that I was free to go out with my friends if I wanted to, which I did.

Going to dinners, though, turned out to have become a problem, lately. A photo of Ross appeared in the society pages of on of Denver’s larger newspapers, stating that he had been spotted holding hands with his new lover, a young man whose name was yet unknown. The article spoke of his previous relationship with Kyle, the consequent breakup, his wealth and that he was one of Denver’s most eligible bachelors.

Going out became a virtual impossibility, because suddenly he was followed by photographers, out to get the first picture of whoever it was he was seeing. They published three wrong people before they found out my name and published it, complete with a picture of us during a visit to a supermarket, my job description, age and whatever else they had dug up.
By then, the secret had already been out in the company, where the first few days had been weird, to say the least. People whispered when I came by and I tried to not let it get to me but it did. Ross told me that it would stop soon enough, once the novelty wore off.
Having photographers outside my house didn’t help matters all that much either but that lasted only about a week. After that, like Ross predicted, they tired of it and moved on to new victims.

There was just one other, even less appealing, side affect that all of that had; Sofia Forester was now insisting on meeting me. Until now, Ross had always allowed me to determine the pace but this time, he joined his mother in her request, telling me that it was time that I met her and the other members of his family. It was the cause of another, full blown, all out fight. I refused to give in on that one.

To be honest, I was scared shitless of her. Sofia Forester had quite a reputation; the society pages frequently mentioned her name and spoke very highly of her. I hadn’t really noticed it before because it’s a section of the papers I usually skip. But when my own name was plastered in there, I started to read it and found out that her name graced those pages three, four times a week.
I felt like she was some kind of queen, and hearing Ross talk about her and her charity crap didn’t really help lower that expectation.
She had called several times during the two months, and even when Ross wasn’t at my place, insisting that I had to come over and get acquainted. Each time I had come up with an excuse, some of which were really out there (and she obviously didn’t believe), but she had let it go each time. Then, one Friday night, she called Ross on his cell and as they spoke, he slowly walked over to me, softly speaking and then handing it to me.

“She wants to talk to you.”

“Who?” I asked, frowning.
I was busy with something on my laptop.

“My mother.”
“Sorry, I’m busy…” I began but he shook his head.
“Mark… talk to her. Please?”
I sighed and took the phone, announcing myself.

“Ah, there you are. I just had the most wonderful conversation,” she said.

“You did? How… nice,” I replied, looking at Ross who feigned ignorance.

“Oh, yes, very nice. You see, I just spoke to a, shall we say ‘colorful’ woman? Yes, she told me the most interesting thing. Apparently she met my son months ago. Isn’t that nice?”

“You spoke to my mom,” I answered, slowly.

“Yes, quite a character, isn’t she? Anyway, don’t you think it is only fair that I get the same courtesy and, oh, I don’t know… get to finally meet the person that has been keeping my son from me for months now?”

“Mrs. Forester…” I began.

“I told you weeks ago to call me Sofia. Now Mark, I’ve heard every excuse from you, and then some; I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer this time. Tomorrow night, eight o’clock, I look forward to seeing you and your mother. And before you use her availability as an excuse; she already accepted the invitation.”

“But…”

“You will be here, Mark, and we will get to know one another. Tomorrow night, eight o’clock; be there,” she said, her raspy voice suddenly filled with steel, “Now please, put Ross back on the phone.”

I reached up and Ross took the phone, bringing it to his ear and softly spoke for about a minute. Then he hung up and I set the laptop beside me on the couch.
I turned my head towards him. He bit his lower lip and visibly winced when our eyes met. Then his followed my hands as I reached for a bottle of water on the table.

“I’m sorry, but…” he said, his eyes going from the bottle to my eyes and back.

“You gave her my mom’s number?” I asked, slowly standing up. “You set me up. You absolute, miserable…”
He started to laugh and raised his hands in defense.

“Now Mark, come on. Don’t be mad, okay? Imagine this; she’s been on my back about this since day one. Mark? Don’t you dare throw… Mark! Oh crap…”

Too late; water was already dripping from his nose as he still tried to fend me off. When he finally managed to take me in a wristlock, there wasn’t much left in the bottle.

“You know, I’m going to tell her about this; just you wait. No one touches me and lives,” he promised, whispering threateningly, but he grinned. “Damn it, look at this; I’m soaked!”

“Suits you right for setting me up, jerk,” I grinned back.
His arms came down around me and I yelped when the water soaked through my own clothes as well, and I tried to push him off.
He just grinned and lifted me up, walking to the stairs.

“Jerk? Listen to me, you little shit, you’re going to dry me off completely, and you’re not allowed to skip even an inch,” he snickered.

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really; or there’s going to be hell to pay.”

“And who are you going to bring to pull that off?” I quipped.
Turns out that he didn’t need anyone to get me to do what he wanted.

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