Page 8 of Saul

“Sir, yes, sir,” I murmured, wondering how I was possibly going to stay awake for dancing when all I wanted to do was to crawl into bed with Tiny despite my naps. It was one-hundred percent a comfort thing not a sleepy thing. Ricky giggled and threw his arms around me again, and I buried my head in his neck for a moment. I missed him so damn much. Then we were gently separated by two indulgent Daddies, and I had a glass of bubbly pressed into my hand. I looked up at Saul, who pointed to Ricky. “Apparently it’s your thing.”

And that was true. I loved fizz. The cheaper the better, not too sweet and lots of ice and it was perfect. I looked down at the glass. It was a flute, so no ice.

“What is it?” Daddy almost demanded. He must have seen my hesitation. “You want something else?”

“He needs lots of ice,” Ricky explained while I was working myself up to saying it didn’t matter, even if it really did. Then the glass was plucked out of my hand and in less time than it took for me to take a couple of deep breaths, it was replaced by a large wine glass full of ice and my fizz. I sighed happily and sent Daddy a smile. He looked pleased.

And yeah, I’d given up trying to make myself say Saul, not that I’d tried very hard.

Then came the introductions. I knew Jamie, Christopher’s cousin. I knew Christopher’s mom, who was adorable, and I’d always wished she was mine. I met various friends, and tried to relax a little.

Ricky eventually dragged me away to the corner and while I knew we had two watchful pairs of eyes on us, they couldn’t hear. Ricky sat me down, then arched an eyebrow. I sighed. “It isn’t real. He’s doing a job. You should know that,” I said, a little accusation in my voice.

Ricky was completely unrepentant. “Has Steven seen you yet?”

I grunted, then reluctantly admitted what had happened in the airport. Ricky’s eyes grew wider and wider. “He asked you what your favorite stuffy was?”

I took a big gulp of fizz and swallowed. “It just means he’s good at his job.”

Ricky giggled. “He’s an ex-Marine and a bodyguard. I don’t think that sort of question is covered in basic training.”

I smiled but I could feel my anxiety climbing and knew, absolutely knew, I needed some little time to settle my head. “But don’t you think it’s dangerous?” I pressed my lips together, desperately wishing I was holding Tiny. I was struggling to stay Big even if going Little here was impossible. I had to trust first, and there was no way that was going to happen in front of Daddy. Which was doubly ironic.

“You mean to let your guard down?” Ricky said perceptively. “Especially after Steven.”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to.

“Did you see the guy he’s with?” Ricky asked.

I nodded. “He’s very pretty.”

“In a very high-maintenance way,” Ricky complained, which made me smile. Ricky was the definition of high maintenance, but I knew Christopher loved every second of it so that was okay.

I glanced up and saw Daddy and Christopher chatting while they both watched us. “Maybe you’re bringing out his natural Daddy tendencies?” Ricky asked.

“I think they have that, anyway. You know, Marines. They’re used to taking responsibility for people, I imagine. Keeping them safe.” I could argue that. I needed to argue that to keep myself safe.

“By asking them about stuffies?”

“Congratulations Ricky.”

My head whipped around, and I took in Steven and whatever his name was and wanted to crawl under the table, pretty sure he’d heard what Ricky said. Ricky wasn’t ever quiet.

“Thanks, Steven.” Ricky smiled and looked at the other guy. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember who you are.”

Steven practically ground his teeth, but kept his smile plastered on. “This is Emile.”

Emile preened, sort-of, and held out his hand to Ricky. I felt sorry for him in this group of friends and held my own out. “Hi, we met at the airport. Calvin,” I added in case he didn’t know his boyfriend’s ex.

“Oh yeah, like the cartoon character.” Sarcasm and dismissal dripped from what I guessed were filled lips, his fingers barely grazing mine, and all my empathy vanished like smoke.

“Well, it was a comic strip obviously,” I said pleasantly, used to jokes about my name. “But it’s also French like yours, originally, as I’m sure you know.” He pressed his lips together, or tried, and I fought the urge to stab him with a nail buffer. Not that nail buffers were sharp. I needed something pointy like a Marine-issue tactical blade.

He put his hand on Steven’s arm. “We were going to the bar,” he said more pointedly than the knife I was imagining.

Steven nodded but didn’t move. “You look well,” he said, looking right at me.

Ricky patted my knee. “He does, doesn’t he? But I guess being in love will do that for you.”

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