Yeah. This was a massive deal for Nick. Of course he didn’t want to go back there alone.
With a rush of uncomfortable honesty, Jackson realised he wouldn’t want Nick to face his parents alone either. He was glad Nick had asked him to come, even if it meant not seeing his own family at Christmas.
He stared across at the line of shoppers. Nick was easy to spot because of his hair. The burnt orange of autumn leaves, it caught the light and made him stand out from the crowd. Jackson’s heart swelled with warmth at the sight of him and beat a little faster as he thought about what was coming.
As though he could feel Jackson’s gaze on him, Nick turned and shot an apologetic grimace in his direction, and then he got out his phone and typed something.
A text alert interrupted Jackson’s music, and he got his phone out to see Nick’s message: Sorry it’s taking so long. Coffee’s on me later.
I should hope so, Jackson sent back. Then quickly added: and cake too?
Of course :)
Jackson looked across, hoping to see Nick’s smile for real. He wasn’t disappointed. He smiled back, heart thumping treacherously again as he wondered exactly what being Nick’s pretend partner was going to involve.
Whatever. Your crush on him was over years ago, he told himself sternly. He’s your friend, and that’s enough.
The night before Christmas Eve—when they were due to travel to Nick’s parents’ place—they were sitting on the sofa watching Bad Santa, and drinking eggnog while they ate their way through a box of mince pies.
“How are you feeling about tomorrow?” Jackson asked.
“Okay… ish? I dunno. I’ve been trying not to think about it too much.” Nick shrugged.
“Oh, sorry.”
“Nah, it’s all right. You know me. I prefer not to worry about things until they happen.” He rubbed at his shoulder and tilted his head to the side.
“Your neck hurting again?”
“A bit. I probably spent too long at my laptop finishing up that project last night.”
“Do you want me to give you a shoulder rub?”
“Oh, would you? That would be awesome.” Nick was already moving to sit between Jackson’s feet on the floor. He tugged his jumper and T-shirt off as one and settled back between Jackson’s knees.
“Pass the oil.”
There was coconut oil on the coffee table, because this wasn’t an unusual occurrence. Nick always seemed to have tight muscles in his neck and shoulders, so Jackson often gave him a massage in front of the TV. Sometimes Nick would return the favour if Jackson was sore from the gym.
As Jackson scooped a little oil into his palm, he wondered whether it was weird that they did this. There was an intimacy to it that seemed a lot for people who were platonic, even for two gay guys. Not that there was anything sexual about giving someone a massage per se, but the frequency of it, the easy routine they’d fallen into, was probably unusual.
It felt like the sort of thing a couple would do.
He smoothed the oil into Nick’s shoulders, kneading the tense muscles and feeling them begin to soften as Nick gave a groan of appreciation.
“Hey, enough with the sex noises, man. We’ve talked about this,” Jackson teased.
Nick’s answer was an even louder groan, obviously exaggerated.
Jackson rolled his eyes even though Nick couldn’t see him. “Idiot.”
“I can’t help it. You’re too good at this.”
“That’s what all the guys say.”
Nick chuckled. “All what guys? You’re as much of a monk as I am.”
It was true. Since splitting up with Tomas last year, Jackson hadn’t made any attempts to find a new partner, or even hook up. After being in a long-term relationship, returning to casual dating and one-night stands held little appeal. His heart had been too bruised to face the inevitable rejections and uncertainty. He kept hoping he might meet someone more organically but hadn’t had any luck yet.
Jackson carried on massaging Nick’s shoulders, enjoying the sensation of smooth skin and lean muscle. Half-watching the movie again, his mind wandered. What would Nick’s parents be like? And what would they make of him?
“Do your parents know I’m black?” he asked.
“No.” Nick turned, surprised. “I don’t think so. Unless Maria mentioned that, but why would she? Do you want me to tell them?”
“Nah. I just wondered. Never mind. It’s not important.”
“If they have an issue with it they can fuck right off.” Nick’s muscles tightened under Jackson’s hands. “But I’m sure they won’t. They have their faults but racism isn’t one of them.”
“Right.” Although Jackson was the child of a white mother and British Caribbean father, he’d been raised in a predominantly white, middle-class area, so he was familiar with the subtle racism that could lurk behind polite smiles and attempts at political correctness. “Stop tensing.” Jackson patted Nick’s shoulders. “You’ll undo all my good work.”