Ra Adventures

RA Adventures (C) KV 2002

If you're offended by sexual activities between men, or if you're younger than 18, you're not supposed to be here. If you're over 18 and meant to be here, please, kick back, relax and enjoy! The author reserves all rights. Individual copies of this story may be downloaded for personal use, but may not be reproduced without the author's express consent.

Also, this story is rather void of gratuitous sex, so if you're looking for a quick wank, you'd probably be more satisfied reading elsewhere -- just as a warning.

Chapter 16

The drive home was enough to bring me back to reality. Clint had continued talking, but the look he had given me said he knew what had been going through my mind. It was an interesting dynamic, to say the least. In the span of a day our relationship had stayed predominantly the same, but at the same time there was a definite undercurrent of change. The glances I had always given were still given, but the object was more aware of them. It was all still too new. I think I'd have known more how to behave if we *had fallen into bed. Then again, that would all be over by now, so maybe it was best to... Best to just stop thinking about it!!! Besides, we were home.

"Hey, you want to watch a movie or something?" Clint asked, arms propped on top of his car.

"As in *go watch a movie?" I asked.

"Oh. Well, yeah, we could do that."

I laughed. "I was asking. What'd you have in mind?"

"Oops. I was thinking we could see what was on TV and then if there was nothing interesting we could go to Blockbuster and rent something."

"That's fine with me," I said. "All I want to do at the moment is get out of these sweaty clothes."

"And to think those sweaty clothes touched my interior," he said smirking at me.

"Yeah, well, it's leather. Wipe it off," I called back as I walked up the narrow concrete walkway up to our apartment. I was about half way up when I realized that I wasn't used to being the one going up the stairs first. I knew the sight of Clint's nice round cheeks quite well and it made me wonder if he was checking me out. I couldn't resist the temptation and glanced back down.

Clint looked up at me with a rather surprised expression. I suppose it would have been more subtle if I hadn't actually *stopped in the middle of the stairs. "Forget something?" he asked, a grin touching his lips.

"Nope, just making sure you weren't lagging behind after your arduous workout, Mister Tucker," I called back down while fishing for the keys in my pocket.

"You're so weird!" he said, blowing past me and into the apartment barely after I had unlocked the door.

"Age before beauty," I called out. I got a nice bird in response and I just chuckled as I closed and locked the door back. I hadn't even made it to my room before I heard the water running. I shrugged and followed suit. When I got out I glanced down the hall to see Clint cooking something in the kitchen, hair still damp and clad in black Umbros and a very form-fitting blue tank. I turned around without staring lest my towel betray me and slid into a pair of boxer briefs and some green shorts and a loose gray t-shirt.

"What're we having?" I asked as I walked into the kitchen.

"We, kemosabe?"

"Just asking so I could fix the glasses, but whatever, if you want to do it all that's fine with me."

"Scrambled egg whites and a toasted wheat bagel, no cream cheese."

"I like it plain anyway, oh health guru," I said, pouring a couple glasses of water and setting the table. I had just finished when Clint brought in the plates.

"Good timing," he said, and handed me the plate.

"Good team. Why do I still have the feeling we're rushing around?"

"Oh," he said, sitting down and smiling. "'Cause we are. Isn't it obvious?"

I sat down and smirked as he passed me the salt and pepper. "I just have been in the mood to watch a movie all day and I know I'm not going to get to do that again for a while," he said.

"Oh shit. I forgot about finals and stuff," I said.

He took a deep breath and shook his head. "Yeah, it's the 'and stuff' that's going to kill me."

"Such as?" I asked.

"Graduation, for starters. The whole family logistics and yadda yadda yadda, make sure they have a place to stay, book the hotels; you know how it is," he said glancing up at me. "Then there's the job interviews and all that and looking at grad schools..." he kept eye contact all through this last bit and I must have had a strange look on my face because he stopped. "What?" he asked.

"You will survive, grasshopper," I said. "Besides, why isn't the family taking care of all the hotel stuff themselves?"

He blushed and took a bite of his bagel. "Um...'cause I told them not to," he said it as though it were a question. I just laughed.

"Well *that was a stroke of genius," I said.

"Tell me about it."

"Let's do this, you give me the list and I'll book the, ehem, accommodations. You concentrate on finals and the rest of it. I'll do graduation," I said. "Oh, and let's not have the little 'are you sure?' argument."

He just laughed. "You're a freak. Is thank you still allowed?"

"I guess," I said, smiling. "And you're welcome. When are they coming in?"

"That'll help out tons. You have no idea," he said. "Oh, and they're supposed to get in on Friday night before graduation on Saturday."

"How many people do you have coming in?" I asked. "They still have limited seating for December graduations, don't they?"

His eyes got wide and his mouth opened slightly. "You've got to be kidding me."

"No dude. It should have been on your forms."

He held up a finger. "Just one minute," he said, jumping up from the table and sprinting down the hallway. I finished my glass of water and started taking the dishes into the kitchen before Clint emerged from his room, a stack of papers in tow. He plopped down on the couch and started poring over them. He got about halfway down the second sheet when he looked up suddenly and, from the expression on his face, I thought me might be sick.

"Small print?" I offered.

"Small brain, evidently. Do you have any idea how many of those stupid announcements I sent out?" he asked.

"Yeah, but that's just it. They're *announcements, not necessarily invitations. Besides, how many would actually show up?"

"With my family, you just never know. This is the kind of thing they fly over Mom's family from Greece for."

"Seriously?" I asked. "I mean, yeah, it's a big deal -- especially considering it's you -- but Clint, it's not like you're getting married or something."

"Kevin, you don't even want to go there."

I laughed. "Yeah, I probably can't even imagine."

"Anyway, just start calling around," I said. "Better yet, call your parents and get them to place a few key calls."

"Mom's gonna flip."

"Relax. What about this? Call the people you know are coming. I'm sure your mom knows who they are. We'll tell them that you didn't know there was a space restriction. Then, I'll put together an after-grad dinner or something and everybody can be there for that. We'll get the ceremony taped and we'll have a screen or set up so they can watch it if they want to."

"No, man. You have no clue what you're saying," he said, flipping on the TV. "They're all stuffy and crap."

"No they aren't. I've met most of the Tuckers, remember? Besides, I know your style, I'll keep it nice."

He paused his channel surfing long enough to glance back at me. "Kev, idiot, it's not that. I trust you more than anybody to be able to pull it off. I'm just saying that it's gonna be a big deal and I don't want you to get in over your head."

"Thank you, but really, it's cool. I could use the challenge." I grabbed the phone and started walking back toward my room.

"Where're you going?" he called after me.

"To make a quick call. Find a movie and I'll be right there," I said. "Oh, and pour me a coke, bitch!" I heard laughter from the living room as I closed the door to my bedroom. I found my address book and flipped to the number I was looking for. I dialed and waited."

"Allo?" came a familiar feminine voice.

"Mrs. Tucker?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Hi, this is Kevin McReardon."

"Kevin! Hello! It's so nice to hear from you."

I grinned into the phone even though I knew she couldn't see it. "Thank you. You too."

"What can I do for you?" she asked.

"Actually, I was calling to talk to you about Clint's graduation..."

Twenty minutes later I'd already sorted through the preliminary details. Martina had agreed to the idea only after many questions on her part and assurances on mine. The ball was in her court now. She'd find out who would actually be coming and would pass the final tally along to me. She also asked about Christmas again and encouraged me to talk to my parents about it. I said I'd do my best and left it at that.

I walked back into the living room and got comfy on the loveseat. Clint's attention was focused on the TV, so I waited and watched a couple minutes trying to get a grip on the basics of the plot.

"What's this?" I finally asked.

"Oh, I don't remember what it's called," he said, flipping down the on-screen TV guide menu before finding it. "It's called 'Get Real'," he said.

"What's it about?" I asked.

"I'm not totally sure yet. English kids in highschool."

"Fascinating, really. Remind me again why you get to pick the movies."

"You want to know what's happening or would you rather just sit there?"

"Sorry, sorry."

"May I continue?"

"Please do."

"Okay. Geez. *Anyway, the main guy evidently wrote this great article for his school paper about what life is like for a teenager in his town." I suppressed a yawn.

"Uh huh."

"But he hates it," he said.

"Why?" I asked.

"He's gay and it's more what life *would be like if he were normal.straight.whatever."

"Interesting."

"Shhh. Just watch the movie."

I grinned and settled into my seat for the remainder of the movie. As 'gay' movies go, it wasn't too bad. It told the tale of a young schoolboy who somehow managed to attract the attention of the school jock, who was himself a closet case. Wouldn't *that have been the stuff? The story climaxed with the grand coming-out of the rather nerdy yet somehow lovable protagonist. The would-be boyfriend, however, is firmly planted IN the closet and has no intention, at least no stated intention, of changing his lot in life. The movie ended with Mr. Out-and-proud driving off singing into the sunset with his best girlfriend.

As soon as the credits started rolling I got up and picked up a few random glasses lying around the living room. I had just started the dishwasher when I heard Clint mutter something.

I poked my head into the living room. "Did you say something?" I asked.

"Yeah. I said, 'that's it?'"

"What do you mean?" I asked as I dried my hands and walked back in.

"Well, it's just like every other movie like that."

"Like *what?" I asked.

"A 'romance'. Gay or straight they seem to always end up like that."

"And? What's the big problem?"

"It's just that it seems so. I don't know. cheesy and predictable."

"Predictable okay, but why cheesy?"

"It's always the same gig. Take this movie for example. The main character is gay and is somehow tormented and then comes out to someone. The object of his affection either disses him and you have your whole 'life's a bitch' plot. Or you have scenario B: the guy falls in love and they ride off together into the sunset probably having sex on the horse."

I had to laugh at that. "Okay I see your point. But what would you suggest?" I asked. "What else is there?"

"I don't know," he said, flipping the TV off. "Something more real, I guess. Life is just different than that. I mean, sure, you have your cheesy moments and your life's a bitch moments, but it all balances out somehow."

"It's just a movie, Clint. I don't think it's meant to be the end-all of gay cinema or romances in general."

"Fine. I know that. But it still seems so not realistic."

"Why? Think about it. That's the way life is so much of the time. It's so full of drama. High highs and low lows. We life in the in-betweens." I grinned. "Besides, I never really pegged you for the philosopher type."

"I don't know. It just pisses me off. Guys complain about stereotypes, but that's what people see. People don't see the 'normal' guys," he said, drawing air quotation marks.

"Isn't that sort of the idea of being normal? Normal just goes unnoticed. But realize that the more 'normal' Adam and Andy couples there are behind the scenes, the more the status quo changes.

"I see your point."

"But?" I offered.

"I'm still pissed at the movie."

I laughed. "Fine. It's your prerogative," I said. "Besides, I figured out what's bugging you about it."

"Clue me in, and if this is a joke, I'll kick your ass."

"Promises. Seriously though, the problem is that they never show what happens *after the movie. You don't see the balance after the big moments."

"You might be right."

"Of course I'm right, doofus. Romance, passion, all that, it's a high and people come off of it. At the end of the day there has to be something more to it for it to last. The movie is about the high, the build up, the chase, the conquest and sometimes about the one month or a few years after. The point is it deals with a specific conflict. Life is about a series of conflicts and each one is what determines who we are and who we're with. Write your own story, Clint." I said. "I'm off to bed."

"Night, Kev."

"G'night." -----------------------------

The next few days passed like a blur. I had my hands plenty full trying to keep up with end-of-the-year preparations at work and only a little over three weeks to pull together the after-grad gig for Clint and his family.

Work basically consisted of notifying all my clients of our final manufacturing dates and trying to get orders that would tide them over during our shut-down period. Since we were doing them a favor, I had made the mistake of assuming that everyone would be not only responsive, but cooperative. Not so in the real world. Through our manufacturing blackout was a yearly occurrence, people never got used to it. I could never quite explain to everyone's satisfaction why we didn't keep unlimited supplies of inventory for each client.

As for the Tucker/Petridis gathering - I finally found out what the Greek side was named - I finally settled on a nice reception at a Mediterranean restaurant that I'd gotten especially catered. Everything was much simplified by the fact that Mrs. Tucker had given me a rather large budget to work with. I typically hated using money to cover up a lack of planning, but given the limited timeframe, it worked out just fine.

For the hotels, I was able to arrange rooms at the best place in town. Again, money picked up where the limited timetable left off. Nevertheless, everything was going tip- top.

All Clint had left was his rounds of finals and a job interview looming somewhere overhead. I could tell the stress was really getting to him because it had even affected his time at the gym. I had brought up the climbing wall a couple of times only to be met with a longing grin and apologies. The night before his last final and his job interview, I somehow managed to get Clint to agree to me taking him out to 'clear his head' and help him prepare for his interview.

Someone had recently told me how the best thing to do to relax was not to do nothing, but to change your activity altogether. So, I tried to come up with something that was fun, easy and that wouldn't leave Clint feeling like his time would have been better spent doing something else. Hangovers were also out of the question, so it had to be good.

I loaded him up and drove us both to a place we called "The Park". it had everything from miniature golf to laser tag, ice skating and go-carts. I hoped we could do a couple of things. It was a little cold out, but thankfully not windy.

"Dude, I haven't been here since our freshman year!" Clint said as we got out of the car.

"I figured. I love coming out here when I get stressed..." He started chuckling as I was finishing my sentence.

"What's so funny?" I asked.

"Oh nothing," he said, smirking at me. "I was just laughing about how bad you're about to get beat at putt-putt."

"Is that right?"

"You'd better believe it."

"Oh it's on now, buddy," I said.

"Uh huh. Sure. We'll see."

We bantered back and forth up to the counter where I bought enough tickets for the miniature golf. I figured we could go back for more when we needed them. We handed in the tickets and picked up the little putters and balls.

The first few holes passed quickly and we stayed tied. Then, on about the fourth hole I managed to sink a hole-in-one, while Clint lagged a few strokes behind. This quickly became the source of great amusement between us.

I knew Clint was competitive enough that there wouldn't be much else on his mind -- namely no school. Good has been done here, I thought. Of course, as luck would have it, he managed to sink his own hole-in-one while I took the maximum number of strokes on the next hole. This brought us pretty close to even.

"Hey. I've got an idea," he said as we rounded the 16th hole. "Let's just take a two on the last hole and play the other course next."

I grinned and looked around. There were at least six other groups playing along the courses. The park staff would never notice.

"You're so paranoid! Of course nobody's looking at us now that you looked around like a criminal about to rob a bank," he said, laughing at me.

"Shut up. I just hate getting caught."

"You crack me up. You can talk about anything and get even Father Flaherty to believe you, but let you get caught doing something you're not supposed to and you completely choke!"

"And blush," I add, grinning.

"Anyway, you're with me," he said, looking smug.

"Right. Mister smoothness himself. I'm sorry, I forgot." I make par on the 17th. "Oh, and by the way..." I start. Clint glanced up at me. "I just have to know, who the *hell is Father Flaherty??"

This sent us both into hysterics as we tried to figure out why Clint thought I was Catholic. Not that Catholic was a bad thing to be, of course, but my father was a Baptist minister. Clint had no recollection of this fact whatsoever.

"Seriously," he said, "I'm pretty sure you never told me that."

"Dude, you met them at graduation. How did you not know?"

"We never talked shop. As I recall, I was at the opposite end of the table."

My turn to give the sheepish grin. "Oh yeah."

"Hmmmh. That's what I thought. While we're on the subject, what does your mom do?"

"Housewife. She has always been the one running the show," I said.

"I know what you mean."

We managed to stay pretty close in strokes on the second game as well. The conversation gradually drifted back to the upcoming events. I filled Clint in on my progress and he seemed pleased. I then gave him what interviewing advice I had and we chattered back and forth about everything from strategies and posture to handshakes and wardrobe. He was set, just needed the extra boost of confidence that comes from feeling prepared.

Truthfully, I didn't know why he was worried. Despite my teasing, he could really charm his way out of almost any situation. Clint's the kind of guy you keep looking at in a restaurant even though you try not to. He has presence and he's gorgeous.

As long as his professionalism matched his charm, he'd be in without a second thought. It was just weird to imagine this jeans and Birkenstocks boy in pinstripe, but I had no doubt he'd pull it off like he was born in it. That was just Clint.

Since I had managed ot win the first game, Clint was quite pleased that he finished the second one in the lead, if only by a stroke. I teased him mercilessly about letting me beat him at *anything even remotely sports related. He informed me very politely that I shouldn't be so smug. Putt-putt, after all, isn't really a sport.

"So, do you feel prepared enough?" I asked him while I poured us both a glass of wine back at the apartment.

"Thanks," he said as he took the glass. "I feel as prepared as I am going to get."

"You do know this is in the bag, don't you?"

"Why do you say that? This is one of the biggest firms in town. There's no guarantee. Plus I haven't even been to law school yet."

"Please. You could charm the man in the moon," I said. "Just be professional and be yourself."

He sipped the wine and sighed, then swirled the glass, watching as the wine clung lightly to the sides.

"Viscosity," he mumbled.

"What's that?"

"How much the wine sticks to the side of the glass. They call it it's viscosity."

I chuckled. "I actually knew that," I replied, smiling.

This snapped him back to the real world. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just worried I didn't really give myself a solid back-up plan. I feel like I have all my eggs in one basket."

"Look, worst-case scenario is you don't get it and you go to an agency somewhere and they hook you up."

"I know. But what about money for rent and stuff?" he asked, his eyes again riveted to the red liquid in his glass.

It struck me as more than a little ironic that this was the son of the very people who had given me such an expansive budget to work with just for graduation preparations. My silence must have been a little too long and finally made Clint curious because he asked me about it.

"I don't know. I guess it's just easy to think that your parents would bail you out if it got tough."

"Would you ask your parents for money?" he asked.

"Not unless I was absolutely at the end of my rope," I said.

"Why should I be any different? Because my parents are rich and your dad's a pastor?" he asked and I heard the sting of hurt in his voice. I had insulted his pride.

"Clint, I'm sorry. I guess you probably get this a lot and you're right, it's a stupid assumption."

"Thing is, Mom and Dad think that way too, " he said.

"Of course they do."

"What do you mean?" he asked, and I again heard the defensiveness in his tone.

"I'm only saying that if it were my kid, I'd give him anything at my disposal. I'd just want to make sure that he could hold his own and that he's trying. I'd say you've more than proved that and then some."

"Look, Clint," I continued, "I've never thought of you as some spoiled rich kid with everything handed to him on a silver platter. As long as I've known you you've always called your own shots and held your own. You've never acted privileged or arrogant. You're you, and you're my best friend." It occurred to me that it was the first time I had told him this, and the first time that I had truly thought it.

He tossed his head back and downed the remainder of the wine in his glass. When he looked up at me I saw sadness in his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I guess I've just been so stressed and I keep feeling like there are all these expectations I have to meet. The last thing I want to do is to hurt you."

"Clint, " I interrupted, "I know you're stressed. And as for the expectations, people just expect you to be you and to do your best, nothing more. Just be you and the rest will take care of itself, okay? Now go get some sleep. Long day tomorrow."

A tired smile curled his lips and he nodded. He caught my eyes with his and just looked at me for a moment before finally getting up and padding down the hall.

I was gone the next morning before Clint got up and I knew he'd be gone by the time I got back. I wanted to leave him a note or breakfast or something, but my better judgment kept nagging me about it. My internal cheesy-meter kept me from doing anything. I finally swallowed the urge and left for work.

If I held my mouth just right I *might have time to finish everything I needed to get done. The preparations for the next day were all in place, and it was in the nick of time. I had just finished talking to the restaurant that afternoon before I left work. I think I didn't really do anything terribly productive at work that day, just stressed and micromanaged all the details for that night.

Everybody would be arriving later that evening and I wanted the apartment to be perfect, even if no one would see it that night. You just never know with company. Oh sure, my room had been a disaster for the past month, but having guests evidently was just the motivation I needed to get things straightened up. I pulled out the vacuum in the living room and looked back down the hall as I spied my tidy room. When it's clean I always get visions of lighting candles, playing music and sipping a glass of whatever the wine of choice happens to be. It would have to wait.

I quickly pulled myself back to reality and glanced down at my watch. I had just enough time to finish vacuuming and to shower before Clint got home from the interview, or at least from when I guessed he'd be home if everything went well.

I was just winding back the cord when someone knocked on the door. Not expecting anyone so early, my mind raced a million different directions. I ruled out anybody connected to the graduation. Nobody had our address even if they *had gotten in early, and I knew they hadn't. I had called the airline earlier to check the flights and they had said all was well. I finally opened the door and was met with a sideways grin and hands on hips.

"Hey sexy," said the beautiful blonde on my doorstep.

"Christi!!" I walked out and wrapped her in my arms. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked.

"I'm thrilled to see you too, thanks."

"Come on in. I was just about to hop in the shower. Clint's folks and everybody are coming in in a few hours, " I said, motioning her to follow me back to my bedroom.

"I figured as much," she said. "I couldn't resist putting in an appearance."

I laid my clothes out on the bed, Chris approving of my selection of sporty gray slacks and a greenish-gray button-down.

"You're telling me you actually just came back for graduation?" I asked incredulously.

"Let's just say it was an excuse."

"As though you've ever needed one," I replied. Truthfully I was a little hurt, not that I'd ever tell her that.

"I told the guys at work before I started I would need a few days off for this. So, it was more for their benefit, not yours, silly. Plus, I wanted to catch all the important people before they went home for Christmas."

I looked up and smiled at her.

"Well, whatever the reason, I'm glad you're here."

She smiled back warmly. "Now *that's what a girl likes to hear. Hurry up and shower so we can plan!" she shooed me into the bathroom, and I complied.

I came out a few minutes later clad in just my boxers much to Christi's amusement. She whistled and hoped as I slipped into my clothes.

"Oh please. Nothing you haven't seen before."

"I just forgot how much I missed my little southern boy," she said. Neither of us being from the South originally, we loved to tease each other about how or whether we were adapting to the culture, or worse, the accent.

"Anyway," she went on, "tell me what your schedule is for the next several days."

"Aside from the obvious, you mean?" I asked as I buttoned my shirt.

"Just fill me in."

"Okay. Well, let's see. Tomorrow is graduation stuff all day, so that's basically out. Then I'll let the Tuckers spend their family time, but I have a feeling I'm going to get roped into pretty much everything they do."

"Have you met them before?" she asked.

"Yeah, most of them -- at leas the U.S. side. I went up and spent Thanksgiving with them."

"Oh wow, what'd you think?" It dawned on me that although they had dated, Chris had never met Clint's family.

"They're great. They're pretty well-to-do."

"No, you don't say," she mocked, her eyes wide.

"I was going to say that you'd never know it from the way they act, though. They're really nice people, smart ass." I grinned.

"Going back to the whole spend-time-with-me issue, I guess we'll just do what we always do and."

"Play it by ear," I finished with her. I grinned and nodded. "Works for me. We have a lot to catch up on."

"Oh, *do we now?" ashe asked, giving me her trademark raised eyebrow frown.

"Like you don't have anything to report, missy. Anyway, later -- we don't have time to get into it now."

She grinned and nodded, straightening my collar before giving me a quick once-over. "You're dressed to impress."

I returned the look. "I could say the same about you." Tight black pants hugged her tight curves and led up to a nice silver blouse. Impeccable taste, as always -- not that I'd ever expect less. Her hair had grown to the bottom of her should her blades and was curled and perfect. I knew from experience she didn't wake up that way, but it was close. Christi was a natural beauty and there was just no hiding it.

She smiled and it lit up her whole face. "I have really missed you, Kev. Boston is a cold place this time of year."

"C'mere, you," I said, pulling her in for a good long hug. "I want to hear all about it."

I was surprised Clint hadn't made it home yet, but I decided to make the most of the time I had and started boiling some pasta. I just hoped he would be home before it was done.

Chris didn't stay, in spite of my most insistent pleading. She already had dinner plans with her crew of girls from college, which explained the outfit. These girls were the haute societe in the making, or in some cases, trophy wives. Chris could most definitely hold her own in the world, and I never did quite understand why she found this group so appealing. I'd probably always wonder, but never ask. She asked that I not tell Clint she was in town yet and we agreed to meet after graduation.

I had just uncorked a Chianti and was putting finishing touches on the marinara when I heard the door open and Clint walked in. He poked his head in the kitchen as I poured him a glass and handed it to him. He took it from me and took a sip after sniffing and swirling it. He was wearing a charcoal suit with a blue shirt complete with French cuffs. The suit hung off him fluidly. I don't know any other word to describe it. It accentuated his broad shoulders and made my chest ache for him.

"Wine two nights in a row. What's the occasion?" he asked.

"As if you needed o ask. Relaxation. Anyway, you look sharp."

He smiled and took another swallow. "Thanks."

"Go change, though," I ordered. "Dinner's ready."

"Be right back," he said as he walked down to his room, pulling off his tie.

I served the pasta and topped off his glass. I had just sat down when Clint came back in wearing black pants and a blue plaid shirt. it made his eyes stand out sharply and I knew he knew it.

"This smells great," he said.

"Thanks. Hopefully it'll taste good, too."

We took a few bites and began discussing the logistics of the next couple of days, like we hadn't already done it a million times. All I could think about was the final and the stupid job interview he had thus far said nothing about. Who would pick up whom and when and all sorts of nonsense were grounded it until we could probably do it in our sleep. Curiosity finally got the better of me and I came out with it.

"So, c'mon! How'd it go today?"

He nodded, chewing a mouthful of pasta. "It went okay," he finally managed.

"Yeah? Which one? The final or the interview?"

"Both. The final was easier than I thought it would be, so that was good. The guys at the interview were pretty stuffy at first, but I felt like it went decent."

"When will you hear something back?" I asked.

"Some time right after Christmas, supposedly."

"I assume they know where you'll be..."

To this he frowned at me. "No, actually. I thought I'd be cool if they could try to track me down."

"Um, right. Sorry. Anyway, where will you be for Christmas?" I played dumb to see if he had, in fact, masterminded the whole ordeal.

"Fort Lauderdale. My parents have this huge place that we usually go down to for the summer. For some reason they want to go down at Christmas this year, so that's where we'll be."

'Little place by the water,' Martina had said. Of course, I had known better. I still hadn't even brought the idea up with my family. My parents had been so understanding about my absence at Thanksgiving and my lack of funds that I hated to even mention leaving during Christmas break. Trips home were few and far between as it was.

"Florida, huh? That should be a nice break from the cold."

"No doubt. But I know I'm going to miss the white Christmases from back home. I love being up north with the snow for Christmas in front of the fireplace," he said. "What about you? I hope you're not planning on staying around here."

He looked around and pointed at our bare apartment. It suddenly hit me for the first time that I hadn't even bothered to *try to decorate anything. I've never been one to cutesy up the place, but I didn't even have a tree or anything.

"Um, no. I'm finally going home. When are you leaving?" I asked, quickly returning the subject to him.

"Well, everybody else is going to be here until Sunday morning and I'll probably fly home on Monday."

"Need a lift to the airport?" I asked.

"Sure, that'd be great. But when are you leaving?"

"I couldn't get a flight out until the 23rd." Tuesday was an odd day to fly, but the previous weekend had been completely packed unless I was prepared to pay triple what the fare was worth. I wasn't.

"How are you going to get to the airport?" Clint asked.

"I don't know yet. There are plenty of people around."

"Yeah. Give Matt or somebody a call."

Matt... I hadn't even talked to him in weeks and felt immediately guilty. He'd be around of course. He was a local boy. I'd have to give him a call over the course of the weekend.

We finished up our dinner and cleaned up the kitchen a bit before it as time to head out to the airport. Clint and I were going to ride together in my car so that we'd have a little more room than in the Roadster -- not that my new Sentra was much bigger, but there was actually something to masquerade as a backseat. The Tuckers were renting cars anyway, so we just needed them to follow us. No big deal. They had, naturally, been here before.

We loaded up and were quickly on our way. We were about half way there when the bottom dropped out and I could scarcely see five feet in front of the car for the rain. It fell in sheets.

Clint decided to call the airport and ask about the flight.

Okay, done with that. I know it's been FOREVER since my last update. Life has been one thing after another and I'm only now getting a chance to write again. I still have ideas for the future. Also, rest assured, the temperature will rise once again...

Let me know if you're still reading and if it's worth continuing.

Peace, Kevin farscape20@hotmail.com