Auguries of Summer

By Mel Bossa

Easy-going Sebastien divides his time between working as a cleaning technician, caring for his widowed father, and running off to the park for soccer practice. Coasting through his existence, he's convinced he doesn't have much going for him.

That isn’t what his best friend Jack thinks. Quick-witted and passionate, Jack is fascinated by art and history, but the greatest book or painting could never compare to how he feels when he's alone with Sebastien.

In the last five years, Seb and Jack have shared everything, sometimes even a bed. Yet though their chemistry is smoking hot, Sebastien keeps Jack at a safe distance. But when the two move in together to lower their living expenses, that distance gets smaller and smaller, until Sebastien and Jack are standing so close, they can't see what's right in front of their eyes ... the love of their life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: JMS Books LLC
• Release date: Apr 24, 2016
• ISBN: 9781634860840

Mel Bossa

Mel Bossa is a Lambda Literary Award finalist and author of numerous MM romance novels. When she isn't writing, she's thinking of writing. And when that doesn't work, she sits at her old, slightly discordant piano pretending that she's actually very good at it and imagines she's a very famous author who never has to write her own biography.

Book preview

Auguries of Summer

By Mel Bossa

Published by JMS Books LLC at Smashwords

Visit jms-books.com for more information.

Copyright 2016 Mel Bossa

ISBN 9781634860840

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Cover Design: Written Ink Designs | written-ink.com

Image(s) used under a Standard Royalty-Free License.

All rights reserved.

WARNING: This book is not transferable. It is for your own personal use. If it is sold, shared, or given away, it is an infringement of the copyright of this work and violators will be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review.

This book is for ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It may contain sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which might be considered offensive by some readers. Please store your files where they cannot be accessed by minors.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are solely the product of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously, though reference may be made to actual historical events or existing locations. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published in the United States of America.

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Auguries of Summer

By Mel Bossa

Chapter 1

For what felt like the hundredth time that day, I hurried down the apartment’s outdoor staircase, eager to be finished with this move.

On the sidewalk, I looked around for Jack. Where was he anyway?

Five minutes ago, Jack had gone back down to our rental truck for more boxes, but hadn’t returned since then. This moving thing definitely wasn’t his cup of tea and I had a feeling he was hiding out in the truck, hoping I’d give up on him.

I grabbed the Gatorade bottle I’d left on the first step, taking a moment to quench my thirst. It was July first—moving day in Montreal—and I was glad the heat wasn’t too bad this afternoon.

Gazing around at our new street, I knew Jack had been right: I would get used to living in the gay village where I could be myself a little more. I’d finally made it out of my crummy east end place and into the apartment of my dreams on this beautiful street lined with mature oak trees.

I had a feeling Jack and I would be happy here.

I walked around the U-Haul truck and peeked into the backspace.

I’d guessed right; Jack was indeed in the truck, lying on his vintage couch—or divan—as he preferred to call it, playing a game on his phone.

Come on, Jack, I said. Don’t crap out on me now.

Looking up from his phone, Jack smirked, and his cheek dimples deepened. I’m gonna invite Sam and Rocco later, he said in his soft-spoken voice, his blue eyes glimmering with humor. For drinks.

Sam and Rocco were friends of his. They’d promised to help with the move, but had canceled this morning. Okay… I frowned. But I doubt they’ll come.

Oh, they will. Those two can’t resist free drinks and a new apartment to criticize. And when they do show up, I’ll lead them to the front window to show them our fabulous view of the Gothic church on the corner.

I tipped my head, watching Jack’s pretty face for a clue as to what would come out of his mouth next. With Jack, you never knew. Yeah, I said, egging him on. Okay.

"And then I’ll shove them out of our open window à la Kim Novak in Vertigo and hope they land on their precious Jeep."

I tried not to laugh. It’s not like they gave themselves food poisoning on purpose.

Jack rolled his eyes and stared at his nails for a moment. He’d gotten one of those French manicures again. I couldn’t understand how a man could care for his nails so much, gay or not. He slipped the phone into his skinny jeans and cracked a smile. "Whatever. I’m black listing them."

I was glad to see his spirits were up.

Because ever since Craig—Jack’s last worthless boyfriend—had dumped him, Jack had been downhearted. Craig had really put a dent in my best friend’s self-esteem, but now that we’d be living together, I’d make sure Jack went back to his bad-ass self again.

I wiped my sweaty brow with the bottom of my white tee and leaned against the side of the door, giving Jack a quick wink. Come on, there’s only ten boxes left and that couch you’re lying on. We’ll be done in fifteen minutes.

Jack studied my face. Leaning on the door like that, all sweaty and shit—you look like Marlon Brando. Well, in his good years. The ‘Stella!’ years.

I have no idea what you’re talking about. Isn’t he the fat guy in that mobster movie? I climbed in and grabbed a box. It was more of Jack’s books. And it’s your fault this move is taking so long, I teased him, struggling with the box’s weight. If you watched TV like the rest of us do, instead of reading a book a week, we’d have been done by now.

You know, Sebastien, Jack said, you and those bulging muscles of yours are really good at this. Maybe you should consider becoming a professional mover.

Yeah, right. I put the box down and climbed out of the truck, then slid the box back into my arms and looked at Jack over it. Well, are you gonna help me out here or what? Should I carry the couch up the stairs with you on it, Cleopatra?

Yes, why don’t you, Jack said, giving me an exaggerated lascivious look. While I feed myself grapes.

* * * *

I paid the delivery guy and shut the door with my hip. As I carried the two pizza boxes back to the kitchen, I saw Jack—shirtless and wearing only pajama bottoms—stepping out of the washroom. A cloud of steam followed him into the hallway. The fan doesn’t work in there, Jack said. You’re gonna have to fix that. He grabbed the boxes out of my hands and turned away for the kitchen. Thanks for the pizza. How much do I owe you?

Nothing. It’s on me. I stared at his perfect little ass moving under those loose-fitted cotton pajama pants. And I’ll take a look at the fan later, I called out to him. I poked my head in the bathroom door. It was a like a sauna in there. The walls and mirrors were covered with steam.

I joined Jack in the kitchen. Do you even turn the cold water dial at all when you take a shower?

Jack was fumbling through an open box labeled kitchen. Hot water is good for my complexion. It clears my pores. He pulled two plates out of the box. I’ve trained myself to stand the heat.

I see. I plucked two beers out of the case. Want one?

Jack was staring down at the pizzas with a dejected expression. Where did you order these from?

I twisted the cap off my beer and shrugged. I’d grabbed a take-out menu the previous tenants had left out in the living room and had dialed the first pizza place listed there. What’s wrong with the pizza?

Well, for starters, it looks so bland and cheap. I know a few great specialty pizza places we could have called. Jack picked up his beer and scoffed. And Labatt Blue? Are you serious? This is probably what you and your friends drink watching hockey or something.

I dragged a chair out and fell back into it. I was dead tired from the move. Have some of your red wine then, I said, serving myself a few slices of the thin cheese pizza. But Jack was right again; the pizza was like a piece of cardboard.

Jack pulled a chair out next to mine and sat. No, no, it’s fine. He smirked and lifted the bottle to his sexy lips. I’ll join you in this manly moving day ritual.

I tore a huge bite out of my pizza. Cool, I said with my mouth full. I was starving. I ate quickly and then gulped half of my beer down.

Meanwhile, Jack was picking at his fries. He had a serious expression on his face and was obviously lost in his thoughts. Maybe he was thinking of Craig? Of his break-up? I stared at him for a while, watching his downcast eyes. The kitchen ceiling light hung low over the table and played in Jack’s thick black hair, throwing shadows over his brow.

I swallowed another sip of beer, but my throat was a little tight.

I wanted to kiss him.

Wanted to put my hands on his slender thighs and slowly and deeply kiss him.

Jack must have felt my stare on him because he raised his eyes to meet mine. What? he asked in a gentle voice.

Uh—nothing. I leaned back in my chair, unsure of myself.

Last Saturday evening, after Jack and I had finished packing up the rest of my things at my apartment, we’d gone through two bottles of wine together, talking and listening to music. Later that night, Jack had been a little drunk and upset over his break-up and I’d ended up lying next to him in bed, whispering comforting words in his ear. One thing had led to another and I’d kissed him.

We’d had sex. Gone all the way, too.

Are you thinking about last week? Jack asked in a quiet voice. Is that what’s on your mind, Seb?

Do you think about it? I couldn’t look at him and fiddled with the corner of the pizza box instead. I was sending Jack mixed signals again. It was wrong of me, but I couldn’t seem to restrain myself when we sat so close.

Of course I think about it. Jack leaned in and nudged my knee with his. A lot.

But now we’re living together. I chanced a look up at him, feeling more and more trapped. I didn’t want this to go any further. We were friends. The best of friends. I couldn’t risk losing that.

Or was it something else keeping me from taking our relationship to the next level? Sometimes I wondered if I was embarrassed by Jack.

Jack’s features tensed and he cracked a caustic smile. Yes. Now we’re Bert and Ernie. Felix and Oscar. He sipped his beer, his blue eyes catching fire. Batman and Robin.

You were pretty upset last week and I was a little drunk.

And now I was a jerk for saying that.

Jack squared his shoulders and set his bottle down on the table. Ah, yes, of course. We must factor in the booze and Jack’s little meltdown into the equation.

I knew Jack well enough to understand that beneath his sarcasm lay hurt feelings. The thing is—the thing is, Jack, I get real turned on by you. I let out a strong breath. Look, I can’t pretend you don’t make me so hot I lose my head, but that being said—

That being said, we should resume our positions as friends and continue playing the game of Jack and Seb move in together.

I could never win with him. He was too clever and quick-witted for me. All right, yeah. Okay. I gulped more beer, feeling insecure.

Last week hadn’t been the first time we’d slept together. Five years ago, on the first night we’d met, I’d gone home with Jack and spent a fantastic night with him. But back then, our sexual relationship had ended abruptly and we’d agreed to be friends instead.

Our amazing friendship was the best thing that had ever happened to me and I couldn’t imagine not having Jack in my life. But I didn’t believe in romance, that whole couple thing.

Jack knew this.

Seb, he said, his expression softening, it’s all right. I don’t wanna have this conversation again. He rose and gathered our plates, but he hadn’t even touched his food. I think I’m just gonna have a glass of wine and try to organize my bedroom. He gently pressed my shoulder and left. Good night, he added, leaving the kitchen.

Confused, I stared at my reflection in the dark kitchen window, hating myself for playing this game with my best friend.

Had I made a mistake asking Jack to move in with me?

* * * *

Barefoot, with my blue jeans still dusty from the move, I walked down the long hallway that connected my bedroom to Jack’s room. Boxes were lined up against the walls. We hadn’t unpacked anything yet, except for those two plates, but I was too exhausted to mind the mess. Anyway, there would be plenty of time to organize our new place.

Cleaning was my business. What I did for a living. I was a cleaning technician.

In other words, a cleaning lady. Man.

Whatever.

It was close to midnight, and though I couldn’t wait to crash down on the mattress in my room and sleep until noon tomorrow, before I headed to bed, I wanted to check up on Jack. I knew his first night in our new home would bring mixed feelings for him. After all, he’d lived with Craig for almost a year. I couldn’t really imagine what he was feeling tonight.

My longest relationship had been with Ryan, my neighbor, and that boring thing had barely lasted three months. That had been five years ago, when I’d been twenty-two years old and still naive enough to believe I had it in me to love anyone.

Coming up on Jack’s open bedroom door, I slowed down a little. He was on the phone and talking real low to someone. I hoped it wasn’t Craig.

I poked my head in his door and Jack motioned for me to come in. He was shirtless, wearing only those skimpy white Armada boxer briefs he bought by the dozen every month. Jack had a fantastic body he obviously enjoyed flaunting for my pleasure. He was five-foot-eight, shorter than I was, much leaner, too. There was a gracefulness about him. A sensual quality I’d never had myself.

I was six-foot-three, all brawn, too bulky, and clumsy as a bear.

Jack hung up and then stared at the phone in his hand.

Was that Craig? I asked, already prepared to give Jack a speech about standing his ground.

No…my mom.

Oh. I leaned back on a stack of boxes that stood against the wall. So, is she still freaking out about you moving into this neighborhood?

Jack’s parents were both university professors living in the burbs. They all got along fine. Twice a year. Specifically: On Christmas and Jack’s birthday. For the remaining three-hundred and sixty-three days of the year, they avoided Jack. There had never been any real arguments between them all—only this ongoing cold silence full of disapproval for Jack’s life. They’d wanted their valedictorian son to pursue his studies and assume his reserved place in academia society.

But Jack had hit the road at fourteen and decided to study life instead.

"She just wanted to make sure that I know how dangerous the gay village is, and that she read somewhere in one of her lady magazines printed by the Devil’s Publishing House that seventy-four percent of gay men are HIV positive, and oh—what else—yes, that last week, a man, a poor innocent father stepped on a syringe in a park somewhere and of course, she’s sure it’s the park next to our place, which she hasn’t even seen or know the address of yet."

I cocked a brow at him. Yikes. She needs to get out more. The gay village isn’t all hustlers and bathhouses.

Well, well, well, look who’s finally coming around. Jack smiled. "And no, my mother needs to stay exactly where she is, with that big ol’ river dividing my world from her world. He picked up the bottle of red wine that he’d left on the floor and took a swill right out of the bottle, then offered it to me. Hey, cheers, he said. To being roommates."

Obviously Jack was in a better mood. I slipped the bottle of Big House Red out of his small hand and drank, too. Living together is gonna be cool. I gulped another good sip of the wine and handed the bottle back to him.

Yeah, I think so, too. Although, I do hope we don’t go all Gauguin and Van Gogh on each other by the end of the month.

I usually didn’t get Jack’s references. His knowledge of culture, contemporary or past, was way over my head. He had a phenomenal memory and could retain information easily. I remembered the first time he’d mentioned Leonardo and Donatello to me, I thought he’d meant the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

For a time, Jack patiently explained, understanding I needed a little enlightenment. Gauguin and Van Gogh—you know—the painters, lived together in Arles, France. The whole thing ended in violence and that’s when Van Gogh cut off his ear.

I instinctively touched my left ear.

Jack took another sip of wine and laughed. Oh, don’t be so worried. You’re definitely the Gauguin in this pair. He tipped his head, watching me. Hey, you look tired, Sebastien.

I realized I was standing there, half asleep. Yeah, I should go to bed.

Jack set the wine bottle down on the floor and fell back against his pillow with a long sigh. God, the last time I was this sore, was that afternoon when I was ten years old and Brody Thompson stuffed me in a truck tire and kicked me down a hill.

I snorted. That sounds kind of fun actually. I looked at him a little longer. Jack’s mouth was tense. Something was up with him. I could read him like an open book. So, uh, how are you feeling?

He shrugged and turned on his side, facing me. I’m fine.

That was a typical Jack reaction, so I pushed on. Yeah? Sure?

Look, it’s fucked up. Being single again after almost a year of living with someone is fucked up. I’m fucked up. The world is fucked up. You’re fucked up. But in a fucked up way, I’ll be okay. Just don’t fucking ask me about it.

"All fucking right. I laughed. Understood." I moved away from the boxes and leaned in over him, going in for a hug.

Or more, if he let me. I wanted him so bad, but should we cross that line again?

Slowly, Jack sat up and gently tugged at my T-shirt. Fuck it, he said. Come here. He pressed his fingertip to my bottom lip. I can’t help it, Seb. I just can’t. He kissed my mouth, my chin. I can’t stop myself. And please don’t ask me to.

It’s okay, I said in a husky voice, not really