The Christmas Wager by Jamie Fessenden Page A

and
    Thomas once shared at the club, sitting in one or the other of
    their rooms in their nightshirts, talking about philosophy and
    politics into the wee hours of the morning. If so, he was being
    foolish. That easy companionship had disintegrated, and would
    never return.
    Yet when he and Thomas returned to their rooms at last,
    he found he could not say ―no‖ when his friend asked, ―May I
    come in and talk for a while?‖
    ―It‘s very late, Thomas.‖
    ―So?‖
    ―All right.‖
    Thomas smiled, looking deliciously sweet and inordinately
    delighted. ―I shall return in a moment.‖
    Andrew let himself into his room and debated whether he
    should undress for bed. Finally, he decided it was ridiculous to
    be bound up in his best clothes at this hour, and Thomas
    could damned well cope with him in his undershirt. He
    stripped down to nothing but the knee-length linen shirt and
    seated himself by the fire. One of the staff had built up a warm
    blaze, and thankfully there was a full decanter of sherry on the
    table.
    Thomas entered without knocking, just as the blond was
    pouring himself a glass. He was padding about in his
    undershirt, as well, his feet bare.
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    ―Pour me a glass too, please,‖ he said, as he flopped down
    in the opposite chair. ―Though I‘d rather you had brandy than
    that syrupy stuff.‖
    ―You seem to have had quite a bit to drink tonight,‖
    Andrew observed, though he poured the sherry just the same.
    ―I‘m not drunk. Were you watching me?‖
    It was a loaded question, fraught with peril, but Andrew
    was too tired to deny it. ―If you must know, I always watch you
    at parties.‖
    ―Because I‘m devilishly handsome?‖ Thomas quirked an
    eyebrow at him playfully.
    ―Because you drink too much.‖
    ―Oh, Andrew. How tedious. Am I about to receive a
    lecture?‖
    Andrew sighed. ―No. I merely endeavor to prevent you from
    making a fool of yourself.‖
    ―Except when you want something,‖ Thomas retorted.
    ―Such as a holiday in the country.‖
    Andrew held his glass up and gazed thoughtfully at the
    sweet amber liquid. ―I shall regret that for the rest of my days.‖
    Thomas appeared to be about to say something, but he
    thought better of it, taking a sip of the sherry instead. There
    was a very long silence, while Andrew listened to the crackling
    of the fire and wondered just how long they would be able to
    endure each other‘s company.
    ―May I ask you some questions?‖ Thomas asked at last.
    Andrew had a feeling that the questions would be
    unpleasant. But he was just enough in his cups to answer
    them. ―Very well.‖
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    Thomas glanced at the fireplace, unable to look his friend
    in the eye. After a long pause, he cleared his throat and
    downed his sherry. ―How long have you known?‖
    ―Known what?‖ Andrew asked sharply. ―That I was a
    pervert? Or that I was in love with you?‖
    Thomas was clearly trying not to look shocked, but he
    failed. ―Really, Andrew! Must you say it like that?‖
    ―How do you want me to say it?‖
    ―Say you prefer men to women. Say you find men
    attractive. Anything but ‗pervert‘. It sounds so sordid.‖
    ―It is sordid, Thomas.‖
    ―You don‘t intend to answer my question, then.‖
    Andrew sighed. ―I suppose I‘ve always been like that. Even
    as a young boy. I remember swimming naked with a friend in
    the river. I was fascinated by his body. It wasn‘t so much
    erotic—not at that age—but it was… beautiful.‖
    Thomas contemplated this, then asked, ―But when did you

know ?‖
    Andrew emptied his glass and poured himself another. ―I
    suppose I really didn‘t understand how differently I felt from
    the other boys until I went to University. While all of the others
    were spending their free time trying to convince women to
    surrender their virtue, I found myself hoping to get a glimpse of
    my friends dressing after