For Your Own Good - Part 5

 

Alan stared at the woman on the chair—a woman who looked exactly like Christina, even to the crinkle of her smile. It was uncanny.

He flicked his gaze down to the wedding ring on Christina’s (no, Jason’s) slender finger. He remembered the day he’d put it there: Christina’s hands shaking, her eyes dry and clear, the minister’s lips moving in slow motion.

Alan looked at Christina—the Christina who wasn’t Christina—and tried to remember the last time he’d touched her with gentleness.

Jason caught him staring and, with a deliberate, almost feline grace, let the moment linger just long enough to sting. Alan flinched and looked away. Jason let it hang between them, then flashed a crooked, knowing smile and padded over to Christina’s dresser, running his fingers along the lacquered edge in a way that felt both foreign and deeply familiar.

He pulled open the top drawer and sifted through the forest of delicate fabric—satiny slips, faded college T-shirts, bras with the wires poking out like tiny antennae—marveling at how Christina’s life could be reduced to a handful of textures and scents. He wasn’t sure if his father would follow, but he could feel Alan’s gaze crawling up his back, heat prickling along his shoulders.

Jason picked a simple blue Henley and held it up to his chest. He cocked a brow at Alan, who looked like he wanted to bolt or maybe throw up, but instead just pressed his lips together in a pale slash.

He stripped out of the button-down, letting it pool on the floor, and shimmied the Henley over his head. The cotton dragged across the breasts, the fabric catching on the soft points of borrowed nipples, and he suppressed a gasp.

The shirt was warm and close and soft, and he ran his palm down his side, appreciating the cling of the fabric along the new topography. He breathed, steady and even, and realized he wanted Alan to keep looking at him—or, more accurately, at her. He was Christina now, for as long as it took.

He spun around and greeted Alan warmly.

“Hi, honey,” he said, letting Christina’s voice drop into an easy purr, a sound so self-assured it made Alan’s jaw stiffen, “Are you going to keep staring, or are we going downstairs?”