Soups and Diners

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Soups and Diners

diner, the only open place within walking distance from

the  reception  hall,  was  strewn  with  garland  and  fake  pine,
plastic  snowflakes  clinging  to  the  windows,  and  festive
cardboard  figures  plastered  on  the  walls.  It  was  well  lit,
blocking out the snowy darkness just beyond the front door,
and  quietly  playing  carols  filled  all  the  empty  spaces.  Not
many  people  hanging  out  at  a  diner  at  midnight  two  days
before  Christmas.  Most  people  were  heading  home  from  a
late day of shopping or already curled up with their families,
warm and snug.

Or celebrating their wedding night, like Max's friend was

likely  doing  with  his  new  wife.  They  were  probably  back  at
the  hotel,  frantically,  and  a  bit  drunkenly,  stripping  one
another  of  their  formal  wear  and  making  love  for  the  first
time  as  husband  and  wife.  He  didn’t  know  if  it  was
better―hell,  he’d  never  know  that,  not  with  a  wife  and
probably never in this country―but it had to be better than
sitting alone in a diner.

He wrapped his hands around the lukewarm coffee mug

and  bent  over,  staring  into  the  bitter  brew  made  worse  by
being  decaf  and  practically  cold  before  lifting  it  the  scant
inches to his lips and taking a sip. He sighed and sat up, his
gaze never lifting from the dark pool. He could see the lights
reflecting  on  its  murky  surface,  the  liquid  rippling  as  his

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

fingers tapped the ceramic and as people moved around the
diner.

“Anyone sitting here?”

Max looked up, blinking as his focus shifted from near

to far, to the man standing by the booth seat opposite him,
his wool coat folded over his arm, glittering with melted
snow. Max glanced around the diner, wondering if it had
suddenly filled since he’d last looked, but there were just as
many empty seats as before. He turned back to tell the man
as much, when the man smiled, unfolded his coat, and hung
it up.

He wore a suit and had a white satin bag that he

plopped  on  the  table―favors  from  the  wedding.  “My  name's
Stan  Walker,  from  the  bride's  side.”  He  smiled  again,  his
whites pearly and skin smooth. He was pale. Not like milk or
snow  or  virginity,  whatever  that  meant.  Just  pale.  Like  he
spent  too  much  time  indoors.  His  brown  curly  hair  was
mostly  styled,  just  like  his  suit,  although  both  had  the
distinction of having been dancing.

“Family?” was all Max found the words for.

“High school sweethearts, actually,” Stan chuckled, and

although  Max  didn’t  understand  what  was  so  funny,  he
smiled  along  with  him.  Best  to  humor  strangers  who  most
likely  were  a  bit  sloshed.  Though  he  didn’t  have  any  of  the
traits  that  usually  came  with  it,  besides  the  confidence  to
approach perfect strangers. “And you're the best man.”

“Max Cunningham.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“So, Max”—still with that cheery smile—“anyone sitting

here?”

Max gave another glance around the deserted diner and

then to the lonely booth across from him. What the hell. “No,
but why would you want to?”

“Maybe I don't like sitting alone,” Stan said with a shrug

and slid into the seat with a casual comfort, as if they were
two friends meeting up for late drinks. “What are you doing
here? Where’s your date?”

“Date?”
Stan's cheek twitched. “Sorry, I assumed you’d have a

date.”

Max frowned, barely keeping it from becoming a scowl.

“No date.”

“Me neither.” Only, Stan looked far more pleased about

it  than  Max  was,  or  ever  had  been.  He  also  seemed  like  he
wanted Max to say something. Having no idea what he could
possibly  be  edging  for,  Max  dropped  his  eyes  to  his  cold
coffee  and  pretended  to  take  a  sip.  He  didn’t  risk  actually
taking  a  drink,  for  fear  that  he  would  spit  it  out  in  disgust
and ruin his façade.

“O-kay,” Stan said, punctuating the two syllables. “So

why trek four blocks in this weather to drink what probably
amounts to bad coffee, when you could have gotten it better
and for free at the hotel?”

There was a snort beside them and Max looked up to

find the waitress leering at Stan. “Guess you won’t be
wanting any coffee.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Sorry,” he said abashed. “Uh, how about some hot

chocolate?”

She eyed Stan up, then gave a terse nod and walked off.

Max let his gaze flicker up to Stan, who still looked pleased,
albeit bashfully. Then he dropped his stare back to his mug.

“So?” Stan prodded.
“You're pretty nosy, you know that?”
“I’ve heard mention. I like to think of it as curious. Plus,

it’s all I have to go off of right now. Max Cunningham, best
man to Roger Reynolds, walks four blocks in bad weather for
bad coffee.”

“Making a list?”
“Making conversation.”
“Well, if that’s what you’re looking for, why don’t you tell

me why you walked four blocks in this weather to come to
some diner you think is crap?”

Stan hesitated. “You want the truth?”
“Well, I didn’t ask so that you’d lie to me.”
“I’m here because I asked around and someone said

that the cute best man I’d been staring at all evening had
come this way and here was the only open place.”

Max blinked, his gaze making its way from his coffee to

Stan’s tentatively smiling face. “You followed me here?”

“In a completely non-creepy, not-a-stalker way, yes.”
Not sure how to react to that besides blushing, he

redirected. “So you dated Claire?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Yes, dated and then good friends. I’m glad she invited

me, despite not talking much this last year. Though I didn’t
know anyone aside from Claire and her parents.”

“So you tracked me down to make a new friend?”

“Well, that was one of the objectives.” Stan’s smile was

more  confident  as  his  hands  abandoned  the  satin  bag  he’d
been  playing  with,  but  before  they  could  get  farther  than
halfway  across  the  table,  the  waitress  returned,  steaming
mug of hot chocolate in hand.

“Here you go. Anything else?”

Max wasn’t hungry, but he felt bad for the two of them

just sitting here, especially now that his bad coffee was cold.
“Can I have some hot apple cider?”

The waitress rolled her eyes. “Sure, honey. Anything

else?”

At their negatives, she left and Max slithered his gaze to

Stan’s hands, which were now occupied with spooning
whipped cream from the top of his cocoa.

Max cleared his throat, pushing his nearly empty coffee

mug out of the way and trying to casually fold his hands
together in its place. “So where are you from?”

“Brownsdale.” The smile was back, highlighted by a dab

of whipped cream on his top lip. “Ten miles from you, or so
Claire informs me.”

“She told you that?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Stan licked the cream away in what had to be a

purposefully lascivious move. “She may have mentioned it
when I inquired about the cute best man.”

“What else did she tell you?”
“Nothing.” Stan frowned. “Should she have?”
“No.” Max glanced to the window where all he could see

was the diner reflected back at him. Outside he knew it was
snowing. It was cold and dark and lonely outside, but warm
and  less  lonely  inside,  even  if  his  company  included  a
complete  stranger  who  had  followed  him  from  the  wedding.
He  seemed  nice  enough,  and  he  didn’t  seem  to  know
anything about him.

The waitress arrived with his cider and drew his

attention back to the table and his companion as the scent
of cinnamon wafted up to his nose. “So, cute best man,
huh?”

Stan grinned, using the back of his spoon to dunk the

rest of the whipped cream under. “I was wondering when
you’d catch on to that.”

“Maybe I was ignoring it.”
“I was hoping you weren’t.”
Max did ignore the delightful butterflies that warmed his

stomach and only permitted a sly smile. “I wasn’t. You also
were about to say something about objectives….”

“Was I?” Stan teased, his eyes glittering in the light just

before he leaned over his hot chocolate to capture a bit of
cream with his tongue, curling the agile muscle in each

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

direction to swipe away anything he may have missed. Very
thorough. Max knew it had been too long when that simple
show stole his breath away.

“Where were we?” Stan asked.
Max had no idea. He'd never been particularly adept at

flirting, especially when it was subtle and teasing. Most guys
came  on  to  him  strong  enough  that  it  was  clear  what  they
wanted.  And  they  always  got  it.  He  struggled  not  to  frown,
his  hands  tightening  around  his  mug  of  cider.  He  didn’t
know what Stan wanted. Maybe he was just flirting because
Max  was  cute.  Maybe  he  was  lonely  tonight.  Maybe  he  was
just  bored.  Maybe  he  knew  Max  was  loaded  and  wanted  to
get  in  on  it,  although  how  he  would  know,  Max  couldn’t
figure.  Claire  wouldn’t  share  that  information,  especially
since she forgot it more often than not, but a simple Internet
search would—

“Max?”
He froze, staring down at the piping-hot cider that had

spilled  over  his  hand,  the  pain  sensors  sending  a  delayed
message.  He  hissed  and  released  the  cup,  grabbing  a
handful  a  napkins  to  mop  up  the  mess,  muttered  curses
grumbling in his throat.

“Are you okay?”
“Yeah, just clumsy tonight, I guess. Sorry, were you

saying something?” He winced at his own words and shoved
the wet napkins in his discarded coffee mug. “I mean….” He
sighed.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Am I making you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s not that. Well, I mean, it is that, but you’re not

making me uncomfortable. It’s just been a while.”

“Since someone flirted with you?” Stan said in disbelief,

eyebrows arching beneath his curls.

Longer than he’d like to admit. At least seriously. “Since

someone flirted without groping me, yes.”

Stan laughed, not, Max noted, at him. It was more a

laugh  of  relief  or  surprise  or  just  at  the  humor  that  people
liked  to  grope  Max.  He  threw  his  head  back  to  do  it,  his
pearly  whites  flashing  in  the  diner’s  lights,  the  action
exposing  his  long  neck  to  Max’s  hungry  eyes.  Smooth  and
muscular,  good  for  biting  and  kissing  and  nuzzling  against
afterward,  Max  was  certain.  He  was  so  enchanted  by  the
expanse  of  skin,  he  almost  didn’t  notice  when  the  man
himself  began  talking  again;  only  when  he  did  start,  it
limited Max’s view.

“I'm surprised you didn't have every gay man all over

you tonight.”

“Thank you, but I think we’re the only two gay men that

were there. Plus, I was very busy dancing with all of Claire’s
cousins.”

“I noticed.”
“Jealous?” he teased. “I’m sorry I didn’t see you earlier, I

would have saved you a dance.”

“Maybe we can make a rain check?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

The offer, and the casual way it was brought up,

warmed  him  more  than  the  gulp  of  cider  he  took  to  buy
himself some time. He knew he was foolish to fall for a guy
because  he  was  stunning  and  witty;  after  all,  Julius  had
been both those things. Julius had kept him on his toes just
as  much  as  Stan  was,  except  he’d  met  Julius  at  a  fund-
raiser. Still involved a tuxedo.

Of course Tony, his second best friend and loyal

accountant, informed Max eight weeks later that Julius was
trying to skim money from his funds. Like he wouldn't notice
a few thousand vanishing. Well, he probably wouldn’t. But
Tony would. That's what he was paid for. Plus he trusted
Tony to watch his back.

“Maybe,” he said, licking cider from his lips. “You a good

dancer?”

“I’ve taken a few lessons here or there.”
“Good, you can make up for me, I have two left feet.”
“You do not!” But Stan was grinning, and Max

remembered Stan had been watching him dance with
cousins A through Z. So he had to know that Max may not
have two left feet, but only because one of them had been
surgically removed. “But I’d take care of you, if you’re afraid
of tripping.”

That was something Leslie had always been saying. “I’ll

take  care  of  you,  baby,”  he’d  coo  into  Max’s  ear  as  he
massaged  his  tight  shoulders.  He’d  always  made  sure  Max
was  never  wanting  for  anything—physically,  at  least.  Sex,

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

massages, and gourmet meals, which Max had later found
were all ordered out. Leslie made sure Max was satisfied.

Of course, he expected Max to make sure he was never

wanting  either.  For  things  like  Armani  suits,  the  newest
electronics,  and  a  leather  jacket  made  from  some  nearly
extinct  animal.  Baby  seal?  Max  didn’t  even  want  to  think
about it. That had been the breaking point.

“I can get around without help.”
“Sometimes it’s nice to get a little help,” Stan replied, his

fingers—when had his hand crossed the table?—brushing up
over  Max’s  knuckles.  It  sent  a  shiver  down  his  spine  to  his
groin,  but  his  brain  couldn’t  help  twisting  the  words  a
hundred different ways that weren’t so pleasant.

“Well, maybe we can dance,” he said, too tersely,

because Stan frowned and the hand withdrew.

“If you’d like.”
He sighed, forcing a smile as he looked up to study

Stan’s face. “I would. I bet if we headed back now we could
still sneak into the ballroom and take a spin.”

“No music,” Stan said, the smile returning to his eyes,

although his hands stayed curled protectively around his
mug. “And we’re not done with our drinks.”

“Good point.” Max tried to make his body relax; a few

sips of cider helped.

“Are you sure I’m not making you uncomfortable?” Stan

asked.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“I thought we covered this? It’s not you—” he cut

himself off with a laugh. “Wow, way too early to be using that
line. How about, ‘Sorry, weddings make me think back on all
my failed relationships’?”

“That’s depressing.”
“Yep.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
Not become a failed relationship, Max wanted to say.

But they hadn’t even progressed beyond coffee in a diner;
calling it a relationship was premature.

“I think you’re doing a fine job.”
“Thank you. Of course, you’ve also avoided answering

any questions about yourself.”

“Am I that interesting?”
“Is it wrong to want to know a bit to see if you’re more

than just a cute guy I’d like to invite back to my hotel room?”

His heart skipped a beat as the blood made a quick turn

south. “You sure do call me cute a lot.”

“I’m hoping you’ll get the point that I think you’re cute.

So, c’mon, tell me something.”

Max shifted uncomfortably in the booth. “What do you

want to know?”

“What do you do for a living? What are your hobbies? Do

you have any siblings? How did you meet Roger? Think their
marriage will last? What are your thoughts on mint
chocolate chip ice cream?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

He laughed at the barrage of questions and noticed for

the first time that Stan had pale brown eyes like the froth of
hot chocolate. “Mint chocolate chip is my second favorite ice
cream.”

“Second? To what?” he asked suspiciously.
“I think it’s called Moose Tracks. It has tiny chocolate

peanut butter candies in it. Unless it’s the mint chocolate
chip that has the Andes mints in it. Mmmm.”

“Quite the connoisseur.”
“What about you?”
“I've never had the kind with Andes mints, but MCC is

my favorite and I would have had to leave you here all alone
if you had thrashed it.”

“Well, thank goodness I didn't.”
They laughed over that. Stan asked about his job, and

Max  wormed  his  way  out  of  saying  too  much,  just  that  he
dealt  with  finances,  which  was  true,  strictly  speaking.  Stan
was completely willing to talk about his job writing code for
websites,  and  then  his  family—parents  and  two  older
brothers. Family was safe and Max shared stories about his
three younger sisters and the trouble they’d get into.

“So you’re the big, older brother who knows best and

watches out for them?”

“I was. They’ve got husbands for that now, and they

think they know everything.” He finished off the last sip of
cider. “Your brothers married?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Yep, but I’m the youngest, so no one gives me too much

trouble about it.”

“Are you out with them?”
“Pretty much. I mean, they know I’m bisexual, but

they've never met any of my boyfriends, so it’s currently a
hypothetical.”

“Didn’t want to introduce your boyfriends?”
Stan smiled, charming as ever. “I like to make sure that

it’s The One before introducing them to the family.”

“And how many have been The One?” Max teased.
A flash of sadness flickered over his face. “Just one. We

were  high  school  sweethearts—after  Claire—and  I  thought
she  was  it.  But  we ended  up  going  to  different  colleges  and
she  got  pregnant—not  mine—and  married  the  guy.  For  two
years, at least.”

“Didn’t want to get back in touch after?”
Stan shrugged. “I’m not very forgiving of cheating. It’s

too much lying, and relationships can’t survive on lies.”

“So if she had told you outright that she wanted to sleep

with him?”

He winced. “I probably wouldn’t have kept dating her,

but at least we could have stayed friends.”

“What if she just wanted to sleep with him, but didn’t

love him, still loved you?”

Stan raised a brow. “Something you do?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Yeah, right,” Max scoffed. “No, I’m just curious.

Somehow I’ve never been cheated on, and I don’t know what
I’d do.”

“Well, I never cheat. I feel that cheating, even if it’s just

the body, is a betrayal of trust, of the  promise between two
people. I mean, if it’s an open relationship or polyamorous or
whatever,  sure,  fine.  But  I  won’t  be  in  one  of  them.”  He
frowned, spinning his cocoa mug in his hand. “I don’t want
to  sound  harsh,  I  understand  why  people  do.  I  just…  don't
like it.”

“We all have our buttons.”
“Yeah?” Stan grinned playfully. “What are yours?”
That was a question that wasn’t asking what it was

asking. Max motioned for the bill, his eyes locked on Stan. “I
hate fake guys—”

“Like Ken?” he teased.
“Har, har. No, like superficial, just after sex and money.”

Usually money, though the sex came with it. “Sexiest thing
on a guy, aside from the obvious, is someone who is there
and not just present.”

Stan’s gaze softened, his lips curling like wisps of

smoke. “I can get behind that. So what's the obvious sexiest
thing on a guy?”

Max paused when the waitress came and waved Stan off

when he pulled out his wallet. Tonight was worth a cup of
cocoa, and the offer itself was nice. He tossed a sizable tip on
the table and smiled. “Care to walk a fella home?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“In this weather?”
Glancing outside when they neared the door, he could

see it was barely flurrying, but the sidewalks were
untouched aside from what shoveling had been done earlier.
They were both wearing dress shoes. Not a good idea. “I
guess not.”

Stan studied the disappointment on his face and looked

outside, pulling his coat closed and his gloves on. “Well, the
roads are clear, and no one’s driving at this hour.”

“Really?” Max arranged his scarf to protect his neck.

“You want to walk in this?”

Another playful grin and Stan opened the door, half

stepping out before offering his hand back to Max. “I would if
it’s with you.”

Cheesy little butterflies warmed his chest as he stepped

into the cold night. Cold, but not bitter with the gentle
wafting flakes and Stan gingerly stepping beside him as they
crunched through the building snow and onto the salted
roads.

“You sure about this?” Max asked. It was only four

blocks,  but  snowy,  salty  roads  could  ruin  a  pair  of  dress
shoes  in  that  distance.  He  watched  Stan  look  down  at  his
shoes  and  debate  the  same  thing.  Then  he  looked  up,  his
standard grin replaced by a smile.

“Yeah, I think you’re worth a new pair of shoes.”
Max raised a brow.
“At least.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“That’s better.”
Stan laughed and started walking, Max keeping pace

beside him with a stupidly pleased smile on his face.

They passed two blocks with nothing more than the

crunch of salt under their shoes, the shuffle of coats as they
walked, and the loud silence of falling snow. It was pleasant.
Warm, despite Max’s frozen feet. He reached out his hand,
catching Stan’s as it swung beside him and holding it, their
leather gloves clinging together.

“So, hypothetically….”
“Yes?”
“If I were to invite you to my room….”
“Yes?”
“What… what would it mean?”
“Mean?” Stan turned his head, studying him as they

walked. “It would mean that you returned my interest in
getting to know each other.”

“That’s it?”
“It would also imply you want to undress me and

probably bite my neck”—his raised brow told Max yes, I saw
you staring—“But that’s up to us.”

He huffed, a white cloud forming a second before he

walked through it. “I’m not some shy virgin or anything.”

“I didn’t think you were.”
“Oh. Good.”
“Can I ask you something, though?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

He wasn’t sure he would want to answer it, but Stan

had been nice and funny and considerate all night, so he
said, “You can ask.”

“You seem nervous.”
“That’s not a question,” he hedged.
“Is something making you nervous?”
Max laughed, sounding tense even to his own ears as

the noise echoed off the empty road and quiet houses.
“Honest answer?”

“Yeah, sure.” Stan squeezed his hand and Max squeezed

back, letting air rush from his lungs.

“I’m at my best friend’s wedding a few days before

Christmas, thinking how depressingly single I am, and
suddenly a perfect little package arrives at my table,
wrapped prettily and rather shiny.”

“And this is a bad thing?”
“No.” He wanted to pull his hand away from Stan’s, but

squeezed it instead. “No, I’m just worried tomorrow morning
I’ll wake up and realize it was all just wrapping.” And the
shiny thing inside is a knife prepared to stab me in the back.

“Oh.” Silence, and then, “You’re worried I’m one of those

fakes?”

“No.” Yes. “I’m worried this isn’t a Christmas miracle,

but an empty box set under the tree just to make it look like
something worthwhile is there.”

“That’s….”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Stupid?”
“Depressing,” Stan said, giving his hand a squeeze. “I

can’t promise I’m a Christmas miracle, but I’m not an empty
box, if that helps.”

But an empty box would say that, just to prove that its

trappings are perfectly pretty, so of course it’s a present. Max
sighed, pushing those thoughts down. He could just enjoy
the night and the sex and deal with the next morning when
it came. The next morning or the next month or whatever it
was.

“Would it be better if I invited you to my room?”
“No.” Because it didn’t matter what tree it sat under, the

box was still empty.

“Would it be better if we skipped tonight and I just

agreed to see you tomorrow at breakfast?”

He wanted to say no and yes and nothing at all. He

wanted  to  know  what  the  right  answer  was,  but  it  wasn’t
there.  Just  the  crunch  and  the  swish  and  the  silence.  He
wanted a warm body to curl up with, a shoulder to rest his
head on—or a head to rest on his shoulder—and arms that
didn’t want to take, but to give. He wanted it tonight, but he
wanted  it  to  be  a  Christmas  miracle,  and  that  was  just
stupid. Those things happened in movies and novels—if you
read that sort—but not life. Anyways, it wasn’t Christmas, so
it didn’t count.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?”
“Christmas Eve?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Yes, it was Christmas Eve, and that was a stupid thing

to ask. Max had forgotten—well, not exactly forgotten. But
he wasn’t flying out to see his family until two days after
Christmas, so the days were all screwed up. “Yes, but I guess
you’re spending it with your family.”

“No, actually. I mean, when we were kids it was a big

deal, but now it’s when all the couples exchange presents, so
I’m not exactly doing much.”

“Not exactly?”
“Are you going to ask me out so I can be doing

something?”

A flutter of wings escaped his chest in the form of a

laugh. “I probably should before someone less inept comes
along and asks.”

“Oh, Max,” Stan laughed, tugging on his arm. “Would

you like to come over to my place for a light Christmas Eve
dinner?”

“Yes.”
“Are you going to be less worried then?”
“I’m not usually this bad.” It was just the season, and

the late hour, and Stan was so… gorgeous. It was all too
good to be true.

“I’ll find out tomorrow morning.”
“You will?”
“At breakfast, remember?”
“Oh. Yeah.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Stan opened the door to the hotel lobby, and they both

thumped  their  feet  on  the  floor  and  shuffled  in,  only
releasing hands in order to pull off gloves and unbundle. The
heat instantly started making his legs and feet tingle, the tip
of his nose and ears burning, and he could feel snot building
up  to  fall.  He  sniffled,  hoping  to  stave  it  off  long  enough  to
say  good  night.  Because  that  wasn’t  sexy.  “What  room  are
you?”

“305, you?”
That warm fluttering returned. “307.”
“I’ll walk you to your room then.”
In the elevator, Stan took both of Max’s hands and

gently  rubbed  them  between  his  as  if  warming  them,  but
Max didn’t think his tingling skin had much to do with heat.
All  too  soon  the  elevator  doors  opened  and  Stan  held  his
hand  as  they  walked  down  the  too-short  hall  to  room  307.
Stan’s  door  was  right  beside  his.  Coincidence?  Christmas
miracle?

“Good night, Max.”
“Good night.”
Stan leaned in and brushed his lips across Max’s,

leaving  the  kiss  chaste  as  he  squeezed  Max’s  hand  and
stroked his jaw, letting his intentions be known. A promise,
maybe,  even  as  he  straightened,  giving  Max  a  tender  smile
before  he  released  his  hand.  “Join  me  for  breakfast
tomorrow?”

Max nodded.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Good night.”
“Good night.”
Stan’s door snicked behind him, and Max pulled out his

key card to let himself into his own room. As he readied for
bed, he worried his brain wouldn’t shut up about Stan, but
it was late, far later than he was used to, and as soon as his
head hit the pillow, he fell blissfully asleep.

The next morning he woke at his usual hour, despite

the lack of sleep, and stumbled into the shower, which
roused him enough to worry about Stan. Except it wasn’t
worry curling and uncurling in his stomach, but excitement.
A giddiness rose from his chest, escaping in a fit of giggles as
he toweled off. The joy remained after he dressed and packed
his things, ready to go down and have the special breakfast
for wedding guests.

He didn’t even have to worry about whether he should

knock on Stan’s door or meet him down there, since right as
he was about to open the door, there was a sharp rap, and
opening it revealed Stan.

He looked like a completely different man without the

suit. His hair was just as wily fresh from the shower, and he
wore  jeans—very  fitted,  designer  jeans  that  accented  his
assets  better  than  the  suit,  somehow.  Max  had  trouble
getting  beyond  the  jeans,  and  his  crotch,  to  notice  the
buttoned, but untucked, blue dress shirt with the bright red
tee underneath.

“Morning, Max.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

His eyes were just as gorgeous as the night before.

“Good morning.”

“So it is a good morning? Good. I was wondering if you’d

like to accompany me to breakfast.”

He hoped the whoosh of relief wasn’t too audible. “Yes,

let me just grab my key card.”

“Know what always struck me as odd?” Stan said as

they  headed  down  to  the  dining  floor.  “Why  is  it  called
Christmas  Eve?  Isn't  ‘eve’  short  for  ‘evening’?  Shouldn’t
Christmas  Eve  be  the  night  of  Christmas,  not  the  night
before?”

“Maybe it’s like biweekly? It means two different things,”

Max suggested and was surprised to see a bright smile break
across Stan’s face. “It wasn’t that brilliant a thought.”

“No, but it is a good one.” He grabbed Max’s hand in the

elevator and stole a kiss, their hands as warm and soft
against one another as their lips. “Plus, I mentioned
Christmas and you didn’t panic. So we’re still on tonight?”

“Assuming Claire and Roger don’t warn me away from

you over breakfast.”

The doors opened and they got off, heading to the dining

area hand in hand. “You think they’re going to be here? If I
were them, I’d need all morning to recuperate, at least.”

“On the other hand, Claire’s mother would kill them

both if they didn’t show.”

Stan chuckled and held open the door for Max. “Good

point.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Considering it was still fairly early and the party had

run late, breakfast was bustling. They grabbed food from the
buffet spread and found the table with the bride and groom,
which was otherwise empty, probably due to the “you woke
me up for this” glares going around. With a glance, Max and
Stan sat down. “Morning.”

“I see you found each other,” Claire said, then took a sip

of espresso.

Roger raised a brow. “They were looking for each other?”

He looked over at Max without waiting for an answer. “You
know each other?”

“We do now.” He winked, laughing when Roger’s jaw

dropped. “Nothing so dirty, Mr. Reynolds. We were merely
talking last night, unlike some people.”

Claire snorted. “It was our wedding night.”
“I wasn’t holding it against you.”
“Eat your breakfast. Morning, Stan.”
“Morning,” Stan snickered, shoveling eggs into his

mouth.

“So you found him?”
He rolled his eyes. “Yes.”
“Don’t be boorish.” She sipped her drink.
“That reminds me,” Max said. “I’m supposed to ask if

you’ve any warnings against him.”

“He owns three computers,” Claire cautioned.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Four, actually,” Stan admitted, leaning over to stage

whisper, “but one of them doesn’t work.”

Max hid his smirk behind the lip of his mug.
“Men and women flirt with him all the time,” she added.
“Claire!”
“They do! And you’re oblivious.”
Stan flushed but didn’t argue, and Max fought not to

laugh. “And?”

“He likes cats better than dogs.”
“Only because I don’t want something that relies

completely on me,” Stan argued.

“And that’s the worst of it?”
“That’s what I know,” Claire said. “But it has been

years. Oh! And he has this weird habit of staring at you and
getting a dopey smile on his face.”

Stan harrumphed. “How is that even a bad thing?”
Max had to put his drink down before he spilled it, his

shoulders shaking with restrained laughter. “I’m so glad I
asked.”

“So does that mean the date tonight is off?” Stan asked,

his wide brown eyes feigning hurt.

Max flushed as Claire and Roger shared knowing smiles.

“No.”

His face melted into a pleased smiled. “Good.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

They stared at each other a moment, smiling goofy

smiles at one another until Roger cleared his throat. “As
enlightening as this has been, Claire and I are going to
excuse ourselves. There’s a giant bed with our names on it.”

“Have fun,” they both answered, pulling their gazes

away from each other to smile at their friends. “And have fun
on your honeymoon.”

“We will,” Roger said, winking at Max. “I’ll call you when

I get back.”

“Sure. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas, Max.” Claire leaned over and kissed

Stan’s head. “Happy Solstice.”

Solstice? Max’s heart skipped a beat. Had he been going

on and on about Christmas the night before and Stan didn’t
celebrate?  But  why  didn’t  Stan  say  anything?  But  wait,
hadn’t  he  said  his  family  used  to  make  a  big  deal  out  of
Christmas  Eve?  Maybe  he  didn’t  celebrate  anymore,  Max
reasoned, although that didn’t seem right either.

Stan grinned. “Merry Christmas, Claire. Don’t be a

stranger.”

“You too.” They shared a hug, then Claire and Roger left.

Max slathered butter on his toast.

“Happy Solstice?”
“Yeah.” He turned his stunning smile on Max. “In high

school when I realized I wasn’t straight, I decided since
Christians didn’t like gays that I wouldn’t celebrate Christian

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

holidays. It lasted for all of a year before I realized Christian
holidays aren’t really Christian anyway, but Claire never lets
me forget that one year when I made her say ‘Happy Solstice’
to me.”

“Isn’t that what friends are for? So,” he added, “are you

Christian?”

“Sort of. I mean, I believe in God, but I don’t like the

whole institution. They do some great things, but they do
some not-so-great things too. You?”

“Agnostic.”
Stan grinned, prodding Max with his elbow. “Taking the

cheater’s route, eh?”

“Wouldn’t pretending to be Christian be the cheater’s

way out?”

“Good point. How’s the bacon?”
“Deliciously bad for me.”
They chatted over breakfast, hands and knees bumping

together  “accidentally”  as  they  moved.  It  was  incredibly
juvenile,  but  Max  couldn’t  stop  smiling,  and  Stan  was
suffering from the same condition. Their touches were mostly
innocent,  but  each  time  Stan’s  fingers  brushed  his,  he
wondered  what  that  touch  would  feel  like  on  other  parts  of
him. It had been too long—of course, more than a week was
too long for most men, so that wasn’t saying much. They left
their  plates  to  head  back  to  their  rooms,  and  Max  sought
Stan’s hand and held it, his fingers brushing promises over
his knuckles.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

At the door, they kissed, but before Max could open the

door and take it further, Stan moved away, releasing Max’s
hand. “You have my contact info, right?”

“Yes,” Max said, a little frustrated as he reached out and

caught  Stan’s  hand.  “Do  you  have  to  leave  right  away?”  He
really,  really  hoped  he  didn’t.  His  blood  was  just  warming,
and by extension, his groin.

“I do, actually.” Stan hesitated, then stepped forward,

pressing their bodies together as their mouths sealed. It was
slightly mollifying that he could feel Stan was half-hard too.
Max let himself meld into the contact, one hand digging into
Stan’s mussed hair, the other wrapping around his shoulder.
Stan grabbed his ass, rubbing them together briefly before
using his hips to gently push him away. “Tonight, though,
right?”

“Seems awfully far away.”
“Patience makes the heart grow fonder.”
“Absence,” Max corrected, releasing the hold in Stan’s

hair to stroke his chin and steal a kiss. “And at the moment
it’s not my heart that’s going to be missing you.”

Stan chuckled, easing them apart. “Fair enough. But it’s

Christmas, I want time to open presents.” His hand slid
forward to squeeze Max’s cock through his jeans. “And
packages.”

Max groaned, as much from the sensation as the bad

joke. But before he could reply, Stan had left him with one
last kiss and a hard-on. Not very nice, but he had to admit it

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

had him looking forward to that night. Hopefully he’d have a
very merry Christmas Eve.

TAN

took a deep breath and peeked into the pot of soup,

where chicken, vegetables, and brown rice simmered. After
turning down the heat, he grabbed the dish towel and began
drying the dishes he’d made dirty, pacing along the counter
as he did.

He didn’t believe in love at first sight, or he hadn’t until

he’d seen Max at the wedding in his tuxedo, looking debonair
and  suave.  At  first  he’d  thought  Claire  was  marrying  him
and  it  nearly  killed  him.  And  then  Roger  had  stepped  out
from  a  group  of  people  and  had  taken  the  traditional  spot
right  before  the  marching  music  started.  Claire  had  been
beautiful, the star of the show, as it should be, but Stan had
to admit he’d had a hell of a time pulling his eyes from the
best man.

He’d stared all night, and when he finally got up the

courage to go ask him for a dance—or a chat, at least—he’d
been gone. Claire had been highly amused that after his
greeting, the next words out of his mouth were regarding the
best man. So of course she’d made him talk with her about
the wedding and how lovely she looked and then had finally
mentioned that she thought she’d seen Max Cunningham
walking into town.

The name sounded familiar, but it wasn’t exactly an

uncommon combination, and he’d been too focused on

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

hunting him down to worry about it. And it had been worth
it. Max was hot and nice, a little nervous, but Stan had
talked him down. And he had a dry sort of humor that Stan
appreciated. Their talk had been pleasant, and it was
undeniable that there was a spark of interest between them,
especially after breakfast.

So it was a surprise when he’d turned on the television

that afternoon, fresh off the road, needing something to fill
the quiet of his flat, and the second news story of the hour
(after how crappy stocks were doing) was that CA Industries
would once again be donating presents to local homeless
shelters, with CEO Maximilian Cunningham playing Santa.

The picture flashed up as if to confirm that it was

indeed Stan’s Max, and he’d tripped over thin air on his way
to  the  kitchen,  thankfully  landing  on  his  sofa.  An  Internet
search  later  told  him  Max’s  father  had  founded  CA
Industries  when  computers  were  a  thing  of  the  future,  and
Max  had  taken  over  when  his  father  retired.  Hadn’t  just
taken  over,  but  had  earned  the  necessary  degrees  and  had
been  a  major  player  in  the  company  before  assuming  his
inheritance.

Handsome, nice, and rich. Filthy rich. It seemed too

good to be true.

And now he had sexy, sweet, filthy-rich Max coming to

his little old apartment for Christmas Eve. And Stan, with a
crush that would give a high school girl a run for her money,
was trying not to panic about everything being just right.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

He tried to remember the Max he knew from their late-

night  talk  and  from  breakfast  that  morning,  not  CEO
Cunningham. Max  didn’t seem to want Stan to know about
his  position  in  the  company,  probably  didn’t  want  him  to
know just for this reason. He didn’t want Stan to treat him
any differently. Stan respected that, wanted to do that, even.
But it was hard to not look at his apartment and think that
Max’s bedroom was probably larger than his entire flat—not
that  his  flat  was  too  tiny.  Were  his  couches  in  nice
condition? Why had he thought soup would be good enough?

A thousand thoughts, second guesses, and panicked

worries had run through his head all day, right up to the
knock on the door. Then the thoughts stuttered and shifted
into one last frantic glance around the apartment to make
sure nothing looked terrible before he opened the door to let
his guest in.

Max smiled, offered him a bottle of wine, and hung up

his own coat in the very obvious coat closet while Stan
fumbled with the door, the wine, and the pleasantries.

“What’s cooking?” Max asked, taking a deep,

appreciative inhale. “It smells delicious.”

“Oh, just some soup. I figured if you’re anything like me,

you’ll be stuffing yourself come Christmas, so we wouldn’t
want to eat anything too heavy.” He smiled dumbly, then
belatedly invited Max into the living room. “Do you want me
to open the wine?”

“It can wait until dinner, unless you’d like a glass.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“No, I’m good.” He smiled, still holding the bottle, and

Max leaned over, kissing him lightly.

“You looked me up online, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“You know who I am now, don’t you?”
“Well,” he shrugged, fiddling with the bottle in his

hands. “I think I’m still learning who you are. But yes, I did
find out you’re Max-imilian Cunningham, CEO of CA
Industries.”

Max’s face lit up with an upward tilt of his lips, and he

kissed Stan again, slowly and softly. “Good answer.”

He wasn’t sure what made it a good answer, but he

wasn’t  about  to  argue  the  point.  Especially  not  with  Max
standing  so  close.  He  let  the  bottle  slip  to  one  hand,  the
other  working  around  Max’s  waist  to  draw  him  close.  “You
didn’t want me to know, though, did you?”

Max grimaced but didn’t pull away. “No.”
“Why?”
“I just wanted to be Max.”
“Okay.”
“Okay?”
“Yes, Max.” He gave him a peck, then slowly released

him. “I’m going to put this wine in the kitchen before I drop
the damn thing.”

Max laughed, following him into the kitchen. “Yes, I

suppose there would be advantages to having two hands
free.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Stan turned around from setting the wine down and

Max was there, pressed close to him, eyes hungry. He knew
exactly how he felt. “Soup is nearly done.”

“Oh?”
Stan nodded, kissing each side of Max’s chin. “But it

can probably sit for a bit, if you have something else in
mind.”

Max groaned, just like he had that morning, and Stan

melted, dragging him closer and shamelessly humping.

“Oh, fuck,” Max moaned, one hand thumped on the

counter behind him and the other dug into Stan’s hair. Max
seemed  to  do  that  a  lot—good  thing  Stan  didn’t  like  neat
hair.  His  breath  left  him  as  Max  pulled  his  head  back  and
latched onto his neck, sucking on the expanse of flesh he’d
exposed.  The  lips  explored  every  dip,  every  curve,  and  he
squirmed,  grabbing  Max’s  hips  and  hauling  him  closer.
Writhing  against  him  and  the  devious  mouth  marking  its
way  down  his  neck,  all  he  could  think was  that  he  was  too
old to be coming in his pants. Then Max bit down.

“Fuck,” he gasped, his toes curling in his shoes as the

nip gave way to licking. “You want to—” He groaned.

Max’s mouth sucked on the spot just above Stan’s

collarbone, attentive to each inch, scraping with teeth,
wetting with tongue, sucking with lips. Stan’s arms trembled
as his body arched into Max’s, struggling closer to climax
and struggling not to climax.

“Max,” he managed to gasp. “Jesus. You’re going to

make me blow.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Max chuckled against his neck, leaving the sensitive

spot to trail up his neck and kiss the point of his jaw. “Then
maybe we should eat dinner.”

“We don’t have to,” he murmured, keeping hold of Max’s

hips. “Just saying we may want to go somewhere more
comfortable. And not be wearing pants.”

Another chuckle as Max stroked his lips along Stan’s

jawline.  “I  don’t  know,  you  left  me  wanting  this  morning.
Maybe  I  should  do  a  little  payback.”  He  reached  between
them  and  grabbed  Stan’s  prick,  just  like  he’d  done  this
morning, and gave it a gentle squeeze.

Stan groaned, hips automatically thrusting into the

touch. “Payback, huh?”

“Yep.” It was gratifying, when Max stepped back, to see

his swollen lips, flushed cheeks, and dark eyes—not to
mention the strain in his pants. God knows why he would do
that to himself when they could get off quick before dinner.
Max smiled, as if reading his mind. “Didn’t you want to take
your time opening the presents, anyway?”

Stan groaned a laugh. “I’m going to regret that, aren’t I?”
“I’m hoping so!” Max looked far too cheery considering

the tent in his pants. “So how’s that soup coming?”

With a grunt, Stan pushed away from the counter and

went to the stove, peeking at their dinner. “It looks good.”

“Anything I can do to help?”
Stan shook his head and motioned to the preset table.

“I’ve got it. Why don’t you take a seat, it’ll just be a minute.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Max obliged and Stan served their soups along with

crusty bread and replaced their water glasses for the wine
variety. “Oh, a cork.”

“No corkscrew?” Max asked, grinning.
He was sure he had one… somewhere. But he didn’t

drink a lot of wine, and when he did, he wasn’t the one
fussing with the bottle. “I’m afraid not.”

“Don’t worry, I come prepared.” Max disappeared down

the hall, returning a minute later with a corkscrew.

“You just carry around one of them?” Stan asked as he

took it and applied it to the bottle.

“Only when I’m bringing corked wine. I like to be

prepared.”

“Always prepared?”
Max’s eyes dropped to the wine, his teasing smile

melting into something reflective. “Not when it comes to
you.”

Any snarky retort was washed away by the honesty, and

Stan silently filled their glasses before sitting across from
Max. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No.” Max’s gaze didn’t lift from the glass, though.
“But?” Stan asked, his heart tripping in his chest.
For a second, Stan thought he was going to share what

made his eyes dark and sad, but then Max shook his head, a
wan smile scrawling across his face. “Nothing. You’re just a
surprise in my life. A nice surprise.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said, lifting his glass.

“Here’s to nice surprises.”

They toasted and drank, then started eating. The wine

didn’t  match  with  the  soup,  but  Max  didn’t  seem  to  mind
and  both  were  too  delicious  to  care.  The  soup  homey  and
safe,  swaddling  the  body  in  warmth  and  comfort,  the  wine
fruity and spicy, tantalizing the taste buds to adventure.

But better than the food was the conversation. It was

warm  and  comfortable  too,  more  so  tonight  than  the  prior,
since  Max  wasn’t  sheltering  secrets  about  his  life  and  job,
and  Stan  wondered  if  he’d  been  so  sharp  about  it  before
because he worried Stan was a gold digger. Not a concern he
needed to have, but Max would learn that in time. And if this
dinner was any indication, they’d have the time.

After dinner they took their wineglasses into the living

room  and  continued  their  conversation  over  the  last  sips.
Between  them  they’d  finished  the  bottle,  but  it  had  been  a
smaller  bottle.  Stan  was  warm  and  cozy,  but  not  drunk,
except maybe on Max’s company, as cheesy as that sounded,
even in his own head.

With their wineglasses safely stowed on the end tables,

their  hands  were  free  to  touch.  At  first  it  was  just  brushes,
fingertips  stroking  over  knuckles  and  then  a  little  higher  to
rub  the  inside  of  the  wrist.  Max’s  hands  were  warm  and
sure, so different from the hesitancy the night before.

Max undid Stan’s shirt cuffs, fingers teasing up his

forearm as they moved closer to one another on the couch.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Max,” Stan huffed, his free hand curling around the

back of Max’s neck and drawing him closer. “Your fingers are
driving me nuts.”

“Can’t help it,” he murmured, “your skin’s too

touchable.”

Their mouths slid together perfectly, sweet and spicy

like  the  wine,  the  remaining  tartness  vanishing  as  the  kiss
lingered.  Stan’s  heart  drummed  in  his  chest,  and  when  his
thumb caressed Max’s throat, he could feel his pulse beating
just as hard.

Kissing, touching, letting their hands wander beyond

where  their  urgency  had  demanded  they  touch  before  had
Stan  straining  in  his  pants.  He  wanted  to  rip  off  Max’s
clothes and sink into his body, but just as much, he wanted
to  slowly  strip  each  piece  of  clothing  and  kiss  every  inch  of
exposed flesh before sliding into him and pushing him closer
and closer to climax until neither of them could hold on any
longer.

When Max’s lips strayed to Stan’s neck, he gasped,

pulling Max closer to press the weight of his erection against
him and relieve the pressure by applying it. “Max.”

“Mmm?” he asked, tracing a similar pattern as he had

in  the  kitchen,  lips,  teeth,  and  tongue  evoking  the  same
response  as  they  had  before  until  Stan  pulled  away,  falling
back  onto  the  couch,  staring  up  at  Max.  Sexily  disheveled
hair, wet lips, and a very pleased smile.

“Mercy.”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

Max chuckled and turned to lean over Stan, one hand

beside Stan’s head, supporting himself against the arm of
the couch. Stan helped, twisting so he was lying completely
on his back, cradling Max between his thighs. “I don’t know,
Stan. You have a very edible neck.”

“I suppose you’d like it if I came in my pants.”
Max smiled, bending down so his lips brushed Stan’s

ear. “Your neck is good enough I might come in my pants,
too.”

Stan groaned, rocking up against him and looping one

arm  around  his  waist  to  keep  him  from  pulling  back.  Max
didn’t fight it, just nibbled on the point of Stan’s jaw while he
threw  his  head  back  and  closed  his  eyes,  lost  to  the
sensation of Max’s mouth and the coarse rasp of his boxers
against  his  cock.  It  wasn’t  enough  and  it  was  going  to  be  a
mess when it was enough, but Stan couldn’t think anything
beyond nibble, nibble, thrust.

“Wait,” Max groaned, pulling his hips away despite

Stan’s best efforts. “Wait,” he said again, almost with a
laugh. Stan opened his eyes, floating down far enough from
the high to realize Max was undoing their pants.

“Good idea.” Together they undid zippers and buttons,

but when Stan reached to untuck Max from his underwear,
he only reached hot skin. “Jesus.”

Max just grunted as Stan’s hand found his cock and

eased it between the zipper teeth, pushing everything down
so he could get a better grip. Max freed Stan’s cock, pushing

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

the elastic of his boxers beneath his balls, shoving it all
forward in a hedonistic display. “Mmm, that’s sexy.”

Stan started stroking and Max matched his pace,

mirroring every swipe of his thumb and twist of his wrist.

“Don’t have any moves of your own?” he tried to tease,

but  as  soon  as  the  first  words  left  his  mouth,  Max’s  hand
tightened  unexpectedly  just  below  his  head,  and  the  rest  of
the  sentence  was  more  whine  than  words.  In  revenge,  he
started moving his hand faster.

Max attached his lips to Stan’s neck again, but instead

of heading down, they made their way up to his chin and
finally his lips, so they swallowed one another’s groans until
they were gasping.

“Close,” Stan grunted against Max’s mouth and was

unsurprised when the lips left his to sink against his neck.
He was so fucked.

Max trailed wet, sharp kisses down to his shoulder, his

tongue tasting for the perfect spot. First the wide stroke of
the tongue, then the tickle of the tip teasing his nerves as
the world vanished, and then it was all teeth.

He didn’t black out. He did, however, experience the

dizzying  rush  that  parachuters  must  experience  when  they
first  jump  from  the  plane.  His  brain  and  body  were  miles
away  from  one  another,  and  he  was  only  distantly  aware  of
Max shouting in release above him.

And then a heavy weight sagged onto his body and

something hard hit his forehead.

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

“Ow!”
“Sorry,” Max muttered hoarsely.
Stan opened his eyes and turned his head sideways.

Max was smiling with glazed eyes and rubbing his forehead.

“Sorry.” He reached over and gently smoothed his

thumb over Stan’s brow. Stan smiled, briefly closing his eyes
while Max rubbed. When the hand started to leave, Stan
opened his eyes and caught the wrist.

“No need to apologize.” He licked his own cum from

Max’s hand, a moment of worry—some guys thought that
was gross—that was allayed by Max’s groan. When the hand
was clean, he pressed the back of it against his cheek. “That
was good.”

“Good?”
Stan laughed, well, as well as he could with Max lying

on top of him. “Really good. So good that the next time can
surely only be a disappointment.”

“Mmm, a challenge.” Max nuzzled Stan’s neck, his

tongue tracing the spot where he’d bitten. Stan shuddered in
pleasure, his breath catching and his cock twitching—
although not much else. A single orgasm shouldn’t leave him
so spent. But he was. Blissfully spent.

“Max?”
“Hmm?” He hummed, head tilting just enough so they

could make eye contact.

“Would you like to stay the night?”

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

A warm puff of air brushed his neck. Max shifted,

removing some of the weight off Stan’s chest. “Yes, I would.”

It took them a while to get up, but eventually the couch

crossed the line from being bearable to being uncomfortable,
and  Stan  kicked  Max  off.  They  bumped  into  each  other  in
the bathroom as they tried to clean up, and just as they were
stripping  off  their  clothes,  Stan  remembered  the  food  was
still sitting out, so he left Max, sock in one hand, to run and
throw  it  in  the  refrigerator.  When  he  got  back,  Max  was
under the covers, only his eyes and hair peeking out.

“Someone looks comfy.”
“I was cold.”
“Well then, I guess I need to warm you up.”
Max giggled, eyes rapt as Stan stripped off the

remaining articles and then tossed back the covers just far
enough to slide under. Immediately Max pressed against
him, their skin warming against one another. Stan smiled as
he rolled them over, straddling Max’s hips as they kissed. A
hand sunk into his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp. With
a sigh, Stan opened his eyes, peering down into the glittering
green eyes beneath him.

He couldn’t help himself. “I think you’re my favorite

present this year.”

Max rolled his eyes, but he was smiling when he kissed

him. “I don’t know, maybe you’ll find something nice in your
stocking tomorrow.”

Stan giggled, burying his face against Max’s shoulder.

Max joined him, wrapping his arms around Stan’s shoulders

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

and pulling him close. They stayed there, bubbling laughter
until it ran out, then just resting in the comfortable silence.

Eventually the relaxing became touches and the touches

became  sex—slow,  tender,  and  just  as  mind-blowing  as  the
first  time  without  the  head  conking  to  end  the  night.  After
cleaning  up,  they  curled  together  under  the  covers  and
studied the art of breathing—and falling asleep—together.

Before Stan was even completely awake the next

morning, he felt happy. Extremely happy. Ecstatic, even. It
was Christmas day, the sun was barely cresting the horizon,
he was going to see his family in a couple hours, and he had
a warm body in his arms. Max mumbled, burrowing against
him and sighing.

Better than a warm body, Stan had Max in his arms.

Sexy,  funny,  charming  Max.  He  also  had  hickies  in  several
places  over  his  body,  some  of  which  were  visible,  but  he
didn’t care. Even being teased by his siblings would be worth
it.  Actually,  being  teased  by  his  siblings  while  he  recalled
how he’d gotten all those hickies might be a perk.

“Too early for sex,” Max grumbled, his hand sliding

down Stan’s body to push down the erection that was poking
Max, as if touching it was going to help it go away.

“Tired?”
“Sun’s not up,” he muttered, eyes still closed, burrowing

his face into any warm pocket of space he could.

Stan grinned, letting his eyes drift closed as he stroked

Max’s back. It was early, considering it was Christmas, and
while they both had obligations for the day, they weren’t

Soups and Diners • Alex Whitehall

before noon. And his family would forgive him if he was late.
Especially when they saw the kiss marks.

Max grunted, head popping up. Stan opened his eyes

and found the green gaze sparkling in the early light. “Merry
Christmas.”

He smiled, lifting his head to kiss Max. “Merry

Christmas.”

Max’s head dropped back down, tucking away again,

and Stan smiled. Warm in bed with Max. Merry Christmas,
indeed.

About the Author

F THERE

are two types of people in the world,

LEX

HITEHALL

probably isn't one of them, despite being a

person. Her—for lack of a better pronoun—favorite pastimes
include  reading,  horseback  riding,  reading,  watching  geek-
tastic  television,  reading,  and  running.  While  Alex  prefers
writing  over  doing  anything  else  (except  maybe  reading),
sometimes  she  emerges  from  the  cave  to  be  social  and  to
hunt for food at the local market. She can be found blogging,
searching  the  Internet  for  more  books  to  read,  and  tending
after her aloe plant Cornwall.

Find Alex on twitter @AlexWhitehall or e-mail at
AlexDWhitehall@gmail.com.

Published by
Dreamspinner Press
5032 Capital Circle SW
Ste 2, PMB# 279
Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the
authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,
business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Cover Art by Paul Richmond http://www.paulrichmondstudio.com

This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is
illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon
conviction, fines, and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No
part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the Publisher. To
request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 5032 Capital Circle SW,
Ste 2, PMB# 279, Tallahassee, FL 32305-7886, USA.
http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

Released in the United States of America
December 2012

eBook Edition
eBook ISBN: 978-1-62380-214-1

Document Outline