Operation Green Card Read online

  Arkady swallowed the decidedly lewd request that immediately jumped to the forefront of his mind. He leaned on the breakfast bar and watched Jason make a pile of sandwiches that would easily have fed a class of third graders.

  When he’d finally wrangled his mind under control, Arkady said, “I’ll take the coffee, thanks.”

  When he took the mug of black brew from Jason, he made damned sure their hands didn’t touch. Just thinking about that gave him a jolt he didn’t need.

  Absolutely nothing had happened last night, nor would it, ever. Then, why did this feel like the world’s supremely awkward morning after I-should-have-left-last-night?

  He sipped his coffee, casting around for a safe topic to fill the silence, when his shirt caught on the rough edge of the bar top. “So, have you given up on your renovations?”

  “No. I don’t know.” Jason huffed a laugh. “Most nights I’m too exhausted to notice, but every time I have a minute, I hate it. I like things neat, not this unfinished crap.” His hand wave seemed to include the whole house plus the land it stood on, plus unseen things he couldn’t or maybe didn’t want to find words for. He sighed. “But is it worth it? At some point I’ll have to decide how likely I am to finish. Might be better to sell this place as a fixer-upper and move on.”

  “No emotional attachment, happy memories?”

  “No.”

  Arkady winced at the bleakness of that, and Jason seemed to have noticed, because he shrugged. “No particularly bad ones, either. It’s the house I grew up in. That’s it. The only thing keeping me here right now is that it’s cheap. Though at the rate those Hollywood people are driving up the property taxes, that might not be for long.”

  It was said matter-of-factly enough that Arkady thought the loss he read between the lines might be his own rather than Jason’s. Yet, against his better judgment, he felt compelled to offer something, some comfort, some solution.

  “I have nothing to do except play tourist here,” he heard himself say. “And I’m not unhandy. If you tell me what you want done and trust me with your keys, I’d be perfectly willing to lend a hand.”

  Jason’s gaze grew speculative. “Why would you want to do that?”

  Taking his heart in both hands Arkady said with a straight face, “Because I’ve had the fiercest crush on you ever since we first met.” Then he screwed up his face into a classic cartoon wink. It worked. Jason burst out laughing.

  “Good one. And a good idea, too, about the keys. There’s a spare one hanging right by the door. About the reno though? Waste of time.” He checked his watch. “How about I take you back to your sister’s now and let you work your romance genius on something nice for tonight?” He tried to copy the cartoon wink, but broke up laughing again. “Text me when you’ve got something?”

  “I will. I might even put on something pretty.” The earlier tension between them was gone, and for the first time, Arkady thought that this whole thing might actually work.

  Jason dropped Arkady off at Natalya’s place and watched until the door closed behind him, then tried to call himself to order. But this whole not-thinking-about-the-kiss-because-he-had-a-mission-to-plan thing wasn’t working. Not with Arkady bumping into him half-naked at odd hours, and weird sparks flying between them. Or maybe that was just him. Which didn’t really help, because he couldn’t figure out why it was happening. Despite having been jerked off and sucked off by other guys, and despite occasionally admiring male beauty, he wasn’t gay. He didn’t think he was, anyway. He liked women and sex with women. And he’d certainly never dreamed of being in a relationship with a man. Hell, he’d never even wanted to kiss one. Until yesterday. He felt a little betrayed by the fact that kissing Arkady had been quite so . . . arousing. He was aware of the man in ways he wasn’t usually aware of male bodies.

  That didn’t change over the next couple of days, the next couple of meetings. Otherwise why would he notice Arkady licking beer foam off his lip, or how his throat moved when he swallowed, or how the oil ran down his long fingers when he bit into a slice of pizza?

  And it didn’t change when Arkady brought over his suitcase and a box of books, when he unpacked his toothbrush, and when he showed up for coffee the next morning with a bit of shaving foam stuck to the edge of his jaw. The urge to wipe it off, to run his thumb along that edge and across those full lips was so strong that Jason had to turn away. He rinsed out his coffee mug to the pounding of his heart in his throat.

  It didn’t bother him that he might be gay, but it bugged the hell out of him that he didn’t know if he was. Shouldn’t a grown man know these things about himself?

  He picked up Mark, and they sat in their usual silence in the car, Mark checking and answering emails like he always did. Jason couldn’t help throwing sideways glances at him, trying to decide whether he could ask him some stuff. Mark was a nice guy, and Jason trusted him. Definitely not one of the gossip squad, Mark. But he might not appreciate getting personal questions just because he happened to be the only openly gay man Jason knew.

  Suddenly Mark looked up. “Yeees?”

  “I didn’t say anything,” Jason growled.

  “Not yet. Are you going to say something, or were you merely admiring my looks?”

  Shit. He didn’t think he’d been that obvious about it.

  “I need to ask something. But you can ignore me. It’s kinda private.”

  “Yeees?” It sounded a little more wary this time, but not like a shutdown.

  “Have you ever kissed a girl?” Jason asked before he could chicken out.

  “No.”

  “Huh.”

  The silences between them were never uncomfortable, but not exactly communicative either. Drumming his fingers on the wheel at the one red light between Bluewater Bay and the studio, Jason asked, “Did you ever want to?”

  “No.”

  “Not even curious?”

  “Not really.”

  Jason was keeping his eyes on the road, but could feel Mark watching him. He’d ask what this was about any second now, and Jason wasn’t sure how to answer that.

  “When did you know you were gay?” Jason asked and threw a glance to his right. Mark’s eyebrow shot up, and Jason knew immediately that that had somehow been the wrong question.

  “When did you know you were straight?” Mark shot back, his voice very cool now.

  Jason grunted. He owed Mark an answer, didn’t he? “That’s just it. I don’t think I do know.”

  “Let me guess, you’re afraid something or someone turned you gay?”

  That was a weirdly aggressive way of putting it. It sounded as if Mark had heard it before, and more than once. And he was tense, almost defensive, as if he expected an attack. Jason decided he needed to explain some more, clear the air. “I don’t believe you can turn someone gay, and it wouldn’t bother me if I was. What bothers me is that I can’t figure this out. I’m not twelve anymore. I should know this.”

  Next to him Mark relaxed, but didn’t offer any advice. So Jason stumbled on.

  “I’ve always liked women. Still do, in fact. So why—” He took a deep breath. “I met a guy recently who pushes buttons I didn’t know I had.”

  “Buttons as in sex?”

  Jason shook his head. “Worse. Kissing.”

  Mark laughed out loud. “That’s worse? How?”

  Fuck. He didn’t want to think about an answer to that question, but pitching Mark into the ditch just so he wouldn’t have to was probably not good strategy, was it? Really, he should be happy Mark was making an effort to figure this out with him, but goddamn it, this was awkward.

  “It’s more . . . intimate somehow. Involved. I dunno.”

  “More intimate than what?”

  Jason shrugged. “Jerking each other off, getting blown? Those are just about getting off. No names, no talk, no acknowledgment that it happened. You know?”

  Mark nodded slowly. “Yeah, I think I know what you mean. Still, looks to me like you’ve always swun
g both ways a bit?”

  “Huh?”

  Mark sighed. “Have you ever considered you might be bisexual?”

  “Oh, come on.”

  “What?”

  “Isn’t that just a fancier term for ‘hasn’t figured it out yet’?”

  Mark opened his mouth, then closed it and sighed. “You know what? Google it.”

  Jason had put his foot in it again, then? “Sorry, didn’t mean any offense.”

  “No, I know.” Mark pinched his eyebrows. “This . . . It gets really old at some point. Also, we’re here. So, do us both a favor, google it, at least skim the Wikipedia article, do some research, and if you still want to talk after that, I’ll be here, okay?”

  “Okay, thanks.”

  He parked the car, and they started walking in different directions to their respective work areas, when Mark turned back to him and said, “Good kissers are keepers, by the way.” Then he left.

  Great. Like that was an option.

  He climbed up to the surveillance center, careful, as always, not to show a limp or to stumble.

  Pete, who’d been on nightshift, technically had another thirty minutes, but he signed out the second Jason stepped into the room and whizzed past with a quick “All clear.” Likely trying to make it home in time to cook breakfast for his son and take him to the school bus, then crash. Jason briefly wondered when Lily would have to be on the school bus and what she’d have for breakfast. Useless random thoughts—they just popped up sometimes.

  He glanced at Pete’s one-page report. All clear, indeed. There’d been no filming going on that night; the whole shift must’ve been boring as hell.

  He settled in front of the monitors, and watched the day start and familiar faces pass the gates. “Have you ever considered you might be bisexual?”

  So this was actually a thing? For real? But the more he tried to scoff at it, the more it settled around his shoulders like it might fit.

  At nine thirty, he dug out his thermos and sandwiches and typed bisexual into his phone. Sharing his attention with one more screen didn’t seem like a big deal, but it was harder than he’d thought not to get lost in reading, and the first tour group was coming through. That kid down there was doing his best to get himself lost. Jason grabbed the receiver and pressed the button for the main gate house. “You have a family of five coming through,” he said when Turner picked up. “Black and orange stroller. Their toddler—Spiderman hoodie—just peeled off to the left. Grab him and head off the manhunt now.”

  There was a clatter and a muffled, “Fuck.” After a minute Turner came back, breathing a little harder. “Thanks, man. The little shit was halfway down the drainage ditch. Your eagle eyes saved at least that family’s day.”

  There was a reason Jason didn’t usually get his cell phone out during shift. It’d have to wait until he got relieved for lunch.

  He was walking back from the cafeteria, brain half busy going over the definitions he’d read, the other half still scanning for anything unusual—impossible to turn that habit off—when his gaze caught on a group of people in front of outdoor stage C: a handful of actors and stunt people presumably going over that evening’s shoot. But what the fucking hell was Arkady doing smack in the middle of that group?

  As if he’d shouted the name out loud, Arkady turned and waved with a wide smile that hit Jason straight in the solar plexus and nixed his very ability to draw breath. He had to sternly tell his lizard brain to let more intelligent parts handle this. He caught sight of Natalya behind the men, then, pointing at something on the stage. So she was probably giving her brother a private tour.

  He was still standing undecided, stupidly rooted to the spot, when Arkady came over to him.

  “I’m getting the VIP treatment,” he called out halfway. Then, when he reached Jason, he said more quietly, “And I’m getting into character.”

  He stood that perfect fraction too close that would shout to anyone watching that he was trying to hide intimacy; and he leaned in when he murmured, “So, this is where you work.”

  Jason had the hardest time not to touch him and pull him in even closer. He quickly jammed both hands in his pockets.

  Arkady seemed to have gotten over his jet lag, and was bouncy and excited and way better at this acting game than was good for Jason’s peace of mind. His murmur had been downright seductive. Knowing that it was an act didn’t help one bit against the shivers it was sending across Jason’s skin.

  “Want to show me in more detail?” Arkady asked in that same tone, but with such an exaggerated wink this time that it broke the spell.

  Jason laughed. “Watch it, buddy. You’re lucky I work in a restricted area, or I’d show you detail.”

  At that Arkady’s eyes grew intent. Jason bit his tongue. Too much? Were there any rules in this game beyond not getting caught? How outrageous was too outrageous?

  Arkady threw a glance over his shoulder as if to see whether they were being observed. “You wanted things public, right?” He licked his lips, and Jason could see him swallow hard. “And we only have four weeks. Which means we need to move things along.” His eyes were a little wider than usual.

  What the—

  Then Arkady went down on one knee and held a wide steel band out on his palm. “Want to take it and put it on while they’re still looking over?”

  Whoa. “A heads-up would have been nice.”

  “Why? Stunned suits you.”

  Jason didn’t grace that with a reply, took the ring, and slipped it on his finger. It was a tad large, but a good fit for Arkady having to eyeball it.

  The crowd in the back erupted into cheers as Arkady got up and put his arms around Jason’s neck. He didn’t go for the kiss, as Jason had expected, but merely touched their foreheads together. A pretense that would look like the real deal from where the guys were standing. He was so close, though. Jason had to take a deep breath to calm his heartbeat. He stepped back when the others moved in, but he took the congratulations and slaps on the shoulder in a haze. As if he wasn’t part of the whole thing, but merely watching it, like in a dream.

  Everyone had entirely too much fun with the idea of a wedding and wanted to be a part of the planning. But Arkady easily fielded questions about the where and when of it, laughed at quips about the speed of their romance, and noted down event suggestions and tips for venues and stuff like that on his phone. He moved among these all-American boys as if he’d been born here; hell, he was even losing his accent already. Next to his easy cosmopolitan grace, Jason felt like a hick.

  “I, uh . . .” Jason hooked a thumb over his shoulder at the office building and half turned to leave, but Arkady slipped an arm through his and pulled him off to one side a little.

  “When are you getting out of here?” Arkady’s murmur was back, and this time he didn’t wink.

  Jason tried to swallow, but his throat was dry. “I’m starting my second shift at two, so not before ten.”

  Arkady’s face fell. “Guess I’ll have to keep myself entertained until then. Don’t dawdle, I’ll be waiting for you. I have a proposition for you.” Again that eyebrow wiggle. But this time it only made Jason more aware of the possibilities in that last sentence.

  He cleared his throat. “Gotta get back to work,” he croaked.

  The fear of stumbling was too ingrained to allow him to run, but he’d had more dignified exits, that was for sure. He really had to remember that they were playing a role. Keeping that in mind should not have been this hard. It had been his own plan; Arkady was just following it. But a proposition? Said in that tone of voice? Jason firmly clamped down on all the different scenarios his mind came up with, because if he allowed even a fraction of that head-porn to play, his concentration would be toast, and he could kiss his job goodbye.

  Still, by the time he made it home that night, he was equal parts wary and on tenterhooks about said proposition.

  Arkady, however, was curled up on the couch in faded jeans and a laundered-to-death T-sh
irt, beer in hand, engrossed in a documentary about some sort of rodent, so Jason left him to it and went upstairs. All he wanted was a shower, and to get the prosthesis off; it had been a long-ass day. But it would be more of a bitch to put it back on after a shower than to keep it on. In the evenings he usually didn’t bother, but he’d be damned if he was going to hobble around the house on his iWALK while Arkady was living here.

  He sat on the bed, suddenly tired and out of options. He was used to being alone. This whole arrangement had been a lousy idea. He should call it off. Just go tell Arkady he’d changed his mind, and to take his money and find someone else. He made it halfway to the door before his head cinema started up, playing him the scene where he was trying to explain to his daughter why she hadn’t gotten the education she deserved because her father hadn’t been able to deal with having a roommate.

  He paused and stared at the door from where the muted cadence of the TV-narrator turned into the drone of a eulogy. The next scene in his head was him talking to Natalya at her brother’s funeral after some skinheads had kicked his skull in. Wish I could have done more to save him, but the chafing from my prosthesis was just too unbearable.

  His skin crawled; he shook himself like an animal does to get vermin out of its fur. That head cinema was a double-edged sword. When he’d been a boy, it had given him loving parents and doting grandparents. As a soldier he’d used it to relieve boredom, and to anticipate every possible thing that could go wrong during a mission. But it also tended to pop up with worst-case scenarios or ugly truths when he didn’t need or want them.

  You’re a fucking prize, Cooley.

  That wasn’t head cinema; that was his old drill sergeant’s voice. Now get your fucking head out of your fucking ass and do your motherfucking job.

  Right. He straightened his shoulders and went back downstairs, concentrating on each step. Tired and stairs didn’t go well together in his world.