Forty-Four Arya
forty-four
Arya
Arya yawned and blinked awake, only to immediately be overwhelmed with warm dog breath.
“Good morning, Simon,” he groaned, angling her head away from his face and toward his chest as he petted her. “Did you sleep well?”
She panted happily and flopped her head onto his sternum, which made him let out a soft oof.
Ben stirred next to Arya, only half-covered by his blanket, exposing the tawny expanse of his chest. Only the triangle of fine hairs between his pecs and the occasional vein broke the smoothness.
Arya wanted to lick him all over. Might have, if he wasn’t half-certain Simon had gotten there first this morning.
Arya loved Simon, but he was not sharing his man with her.
Ben blinked awake, brushing his hair off his forehead and reaching for his glasses. “Morning, beautiful.”
Arya scratched behind Simon’s ear, and her leg started shaking, kicking at Ben’s side, which got a laugh.
“Morning, Arya,” Ben added.
“Ouch.”
But Ben just laughed and rolled over, trapping Simon between them, as he kissed Arya, their morning breaths mingling. Arya didn’t even mind.
Before Ben—a lifetime ago—he would’ve snuck away and brushed his teeth before “waking up” with his hookup. And he’d done that often enough with Ben, too. But he’d been too cozy to do it this morning.
Another of his walls had come crumbling down.
“Morning, azizam,” Arya said when Ben broke the kiss.
Ben’s parents had finally headed back to California, so they had the house to themselves again. Arya had been spending the night a lot.
Unfortunately, the Philharmonic season had started up once more, which meant less time together now that Ben had shows and rehearsals.
It was especially annoying because Arya didn’t have anything to be doing. Mitchell was dragging this thing out with the lawyers, and Arya had been slow to start his own company because he really needed the capital he’d invested in MME.
How had it come to this? Him and Mitchell, fighting it out with lawyers, not even speaking to each other? Twenty years of friendship, all tied up in affidavits and contracts and resentment and broken hearts.
But Arya couldn’t save Mitchell from himself. All he could do was try to mitigate the damage.
He sighed, tracing a thumb along Ben’s jaw. Ben smiled lazily.
“Mm, want to go for a run? Is your knee up to it?”
Physical therapy had helped him get back his range of motion, and his knee was feeling stronger, but he was still taking it easy.
“Maybe a short one?”
He could see how he felt.
The championships were less than a month away now, and it was becoming clearer and clearer that Arya wouldn’t be able to play in them. Which was fucking annoying.
He’d deal with it, though. He was a grown-up.
After a jog, which mostly ended up being him walking Simon while Ben ran ahead, then came back, then ran ahead again—they showered (and gave each other soapy handjobs) and dressed for their days.
“See you tonight?” Ben asked. “At Aspire?”
“See you then,” Arya said. “Love you, azizam.”
“Love you.”
Arya drove home, got his mail, did his laundry, washed his dishes. There was a lot more of both, now that he wasn’t sending half his clothes for dry cleaning, and now that he was home all day and cooking for himself more often.
Arya almost liked it: the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted. He’d seen more of Farzan and Ramin in the last few weeks than he had in the six months beforehand.
But Arya was getting bored, too. He needed to be useful.
And he missed his job. He was good at his job.
He missed his friends and colleagues. He missed Carley.
He missed the chaos of a load-in and the full-out panic of a live show where things were going wrong, and he missed how it felt being part of a team, trying to accomplish the impossible day after day after day.
Arya was drying off his rice cooker—his mom had bought it for him ten years ago, and he was finally using it regularly—when his phone rang.
He took off his gloves and was shocked to see Mitchell’s name on his screen.
Mitchell. Not his lawyer.
Was he even allowed to answer?
Curiosity got the better of him.
“Hello?”
“Arya?” Mitchell asked. “It’s Mitchell.”
“Yeah.” Arya shoved down the urge to add I know. “What’s up?”
Mitchell didn’t answer. The other end of the line stayed silent so long, Arya thought it must’ve been a drunk call. Or maybe a butt dial, except Mitchell had definitely said his name.
“I wanted to talk to you,” he finally said. There was something in his voice.
Arya took a deep breath.
Was this a fucking mind game? He didn’t have time for this.
Actually, he did have time, he had fuck-all to do, but he didn’t want to deal with this.
“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea,” Arya finally said. “What with the lawyers—”
“I told my lawyer I want to sell to you,” Mitchell blurted out. “I want you to buy me out.”
Arya bit his tongue, he was so shocked. He winced and rubbed his jaw, as if that would help the sting.
“Hello?” Mitchell asked.
“I’m speechless,” Arya said. “Can you blame me?”
Mitchell let out a dry laugh. “No. I’m pretty sure all the blame lies with me. For a lot of things.”
Arya realized what it was with Mitchell’s voice. He sounded… present. Clear.
“You were right. I think I’ve known you were for a long time, which only pissed me off more. But you’re right. This isn’t healthy for me, and it’s not good for the company. For our team. I’m going to retire, and I’m going to get help. For real.”
“You’re shitting me.”
Mitchell laughed again. “I’m absolutely not shitting you, you bitch. So. Is that something you still want? To take over? Buy me out?”
“Yes. I mean… it’ll take time.”
“We can figure it out. I’ll have my lawyer talk to yours. Let him know he can put away the swords, okay?”
“I’ll tell him,” Arya said with a chuckle.
When Arya had realized he needed a lawyer, his first (and only) call had been to Reza Abbasi, an old family friend of Farzan’s, who’d drawn up the partnership between Arya, Ramin, and Farzan when they’d helped expand Shiraz Bistro a few years back.
He’d only known Reza as the guy who DJ’d parties on the weekend and helped him and his friends sort out partnership agreements. He hadn’t known he went for the jugular when it came to less-than-friendly negotiations.
“Are you okay with me talking to the rest of the team? Some of them might want to buy in, too.”
Mitchell was quiet for a moment. And then: “I think that’s a terrific idea.”
“To the new CEO of Kansas City Production Group,” Ben said, raising his glass of champagne.
They were all gathered around the bar—Arya; Ben; Carley and her husband, Johnny; Val; even Dan from the convention center and Maurizio from the Philharmonic—sharing a bottle of Le Mesnil champagne, one of David’s favorites.
It wasn’t on Aspire’s list right now, but he had a few bottles tucked away for special occasions.
“This bitch!” Carley added, clinking her glass and downing it. She’d bought in, as had Jim and Val. It was a phased buyout, but Mitchell was officially retired and was headed to California for an outpatient rehab, close to his sister and niblings.
Arya had asked if Mitchell wanted a goodbye party; Mitchell had insisted on skipping it.
Arya took care to look every single person in the eyes, one by one, as he toasted. He saved Ben for last, looking long and hard at him in his slutty little glasses.
No fucking way was he risking seven years of bad sex with Ben.
They were still only halfway through Arya’s toy collection.
And Ben had been doing some online shopping, too.
He’d been cagey about it, other than asking to check Arya’s Bluetooth settings one night while they sat with Simon watching The First Wives Club.
Turned out both of them had been obsessed with it as children, like any good baby gays.
“To all of you,” Arya added, raising his flute one last time to his team. His friends. His future. Sometimes when he thought about being in charge, his breakfast threatened to make a return. But he was ready. He knew that. Mitchell knew it too. Otherwise he would never have agreed to sell.
They could do this. Together.
“You all need some fries?” David asked as he settled behind the bar to pour a few glasses of Merlot. “Anything else?”
Arya looked around. “You know me. I never say no to fries.”
“I gotchu.” David winked at him. “How’s the knee?”
“Still tender,” Arya admitted. “Your term as captain isn’t up yet.”
“Temporary captain,” David reminded him. “I still don’t get why you didn’t ask Noah. He’s our best player.”
“Yeah, that’s why we need him focused on playing. The captain has to see the big picture.”
David rolled his eyes, but he smiled, too. “Who needs the big picture when you’re shouting at us from the stands?”
“I’m not shouting. I’m coaching!”
David laughed. “Keep telling yourself that.”
“Ben!” Arya called. “Tell David I’m just coaching.”
Ben looked between them and smiled. “Oh, he’s definitely shouting.”
“You—”
But Ben shut him up with a kiss.
“Fine,” Arya huffed. “You’re lucky I love you.”
“I know,” Ben said. “I love you, too.”