“Now we’re kind of together… what do your close friends call you? Or your family? I mean, Scott called you Cross the whole time you were in Kansas and you sometimes called him Edzie, but… do you like Roger? Or however LaCroixes pronounce that?”
It should’ve been a simple question, but Cross sighed. “My sister and parents call me RJ.”
“Your friends don’t?”
“That’s what I went by in school. Thing is, I was named after my grandfather. My dad’s father.” That stern old man was gone now, but some things never faded. He kept his voice steady. “After Grandmère died, Grandpère came to live with us. I was five. I went by Roger then, with the English pronunciation. I was born in the US and I was starting kindergarten, and that’s how folks were going to say it anyway. Grandpère had a fit. It washisname and nom de Dieu, it would be pronouncedcorrectly. My dad’s brilliant and Mom’s a good person, but neither of them had Grandpère’s force of character, I guess. So pretty soon I was being calledRoger.” He pronounced it the French way.
“Roe-jhay,” Rusty mimicked, managing a better effort than most Americans had in his childhood, but still not quite the right sound on the O or the smooth transition.
“Yeah. Which went over like a ball of lead in kindergarten.”
Rusty rolled off Cross far enough that their eyes could meet. Cross missed his weight. “Couldn’t you have kept the English version outside the home?”
“You’d think? I don’t know, maybe Mom and Dad thought I’d get confused. But you know, there’s always mean kids. I told them my name, they mangled it, and if I corrected them, they called me stuck-up or started doing it on purpose. I guess I came home in tears more than once.” He barely remembered the details, just the feeling of misery that overwhelmed him those first months after Grandpère moved in. Nothing pleased the old man, and Dad had been super busy, leaving Mom to run interference on her father-in-law and manage a house and two kids. His stomach clenched. There’d been a lot of tears, not all his.
“Aw.” Rusty thumbed Cross’s jaw, a gentle brush over stubbled skin. “That sounds rough. I was named after a great uncle, but I never had to meet the dude, and everyone can pronounce it.”
Cross turned his head and kissed that thumb, marveling that Rusty’s simple touch eased a little of the pain in his chest.
Rusty asked, “So they came up with RJ?”
“Yeah. I guess it was a compromise. RJ sounded a bit like what Grandpère wanted, but English people could say it.”
“Did that work?”
“Kind of.”Not really.Grandpère had insisted onRogerto the day he died, and had huffed and glared whenever Mom or Dad said RJ, so Cross had grown up with a mix, depending who was in the room.
“But you don’t like RJ?”
“It’s okay. It’s kind of tied up with a difficult period in my life.” Like the following ten years. He’d loved sports, but he’d picked hockey in part because it was the only thing he ever did that got him an approving look from Grandpère. As a longtime passionate Habs fan, Grandpère had enjoyed thinking maybe one day he’d have a namesake in the NHL. Andnotpronounced wrong. Grandpère hadn’t appreciated some strangers’ attempts at LaCroix either.
“So what do you like to be called?”
“Cross, actually.” He hurried to add, “I know that’s weird, right? It’s a hockey nickname and it’s not even a real first name. But when my Peewee team started calling me Cross, it was like I got to be a different person. Not either version of Roger, or even RJ, but Cross, a guy who was really good at something.”
“I bet you’re really good at a lot of things.”
“Not much, not good like hockey. My sister was top of her class in everything, but I never was. I’m not brilliant or artistic or funny or naturally social with people. Just hockey.”
“You’re a good kisser, though.” Rusty lowered his head for another taste.
Cross couldn’t deny how intense it felt to have Rusty’s lips on his and Rusty’s tongue making free with his mouth. The renewed stirring of Rusty’s cock against Cross’s thigh implied he was enjoying it too. “Maybe I am with you.”
“For a guy with all your advantages, you’re awful hard on yourself.”
“I hate being flattered for ulterior motives.” He’d been excellent at hockey, but once, he’d overheard a coach saying to his assistant, “I bet that LaCroix kid’s father would chip in fornew benches for the locker room, new nets, stuff like that, if his kid’s on our team. He’s loaded.” That moment had poisoned his confidence in being chosen for his skill, even in hockey, for a long time.
“If I want to kiss you again, is that an ulterior motive?” Rusty asked.
“I think that’s a… what would you call an obvious motive?”
Rusty shifted around and Cross put his right foot up on the couch, letting Rusty fall more naturally between his thighs. He realized a moment late that Rusty might notice his own dick still hadn’t gotten onboard with things in this position, but then Rusty framed Cross’s face with his hands and dove in, and all rational worries scattered.
His lips were tingling and his chin felt damp by the time Rusty pulled back. Rusty grinned and Cross couldn’t help smiling back.
“Yeah. A-plus. All Star,” Rusty told him.
“I’m not sure you’re the most qualified judge.”
