Next to me, David’s eyes were distant, and he chewed on his lip. I didn’t want to think about where his thoughts had gone, but I had a pretty good guess. I’d been feeling all smug about the sleepover and giving David something he hadn’t had before, but now that smugness turned into self-doubt. Didn’t really matter that the dude had apparently treated David like shit; the David in the picture practically glowed with love and happiness, eyes crinkled, no worry lines like my David had. David had loved the jerk, and nothing, not even me, could ever make that loss okay.
“I should probably get dressed.” My voice felt all tight and thin.
“Yeah.” David’s voice sounded faraway. I crossed quickly to the hallway, not able to stand there doing some sort of weird penance a second longer.
“I should probably think about heading out.”
“Wait. You don’t want to play?” Catching up to me at the bedroom door, David grabbed my shoulder. He touched my face tentatively, like he hadn’t spent the night becoming intimately acquainted with its contours. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s later than I thought and . . .” I was scrambling and David’s raised eyebrows said he knew it too. I pulled away to go hunt down my shirt.
“I’m screwing this up, aren’t I? Just like last night.” David sat on the edge of the bed.
“No, you’re not.” As much as I was frustrated and confused, I hated the sad puppy look on his face, the way his eyes turned down and his chin drooped. I shrugged into my shirt. “I just got cold.”
Cold feet was more like it. The picture of the dead lover had been like ice cubes landing in a perfect cappuccino, ruining the cozy, snuggly feel of the morning. Now, though, I wanted that feeling back. I wanted that look off his face. Wasn’t his fault I had issues about the ex.
“It’s okay.” I went and sat next to him on the bed and took his hand. “I’m pretty sure I’m screwing this up too. I just . . . you must have loved him a lot. You looked so different in that picture. Happier.”
“Crap. I knew I should have put the pictures away—”
“You don’t have to hide that part of your life from me. I want to know more.”
“You really want to know about Craig?” His foot swung back and forth over the gray carpeting.
“I do.” I squeezed his hand. Much as I already hated the dude, I was desperate to know the whole story, to finally open the part of David that had been locked away. My blood felt like it had been run through a milk frother: equal parts anticipation and wariness.
“He was closeted. I thought I was happy with what he could give me. But I wasn’t.”
I nodded. I’d figured as much.
“Like he didn’t even think of us as a couple per se. Never used that word. And what we did . . . we were friends, sure. But it wasn’t dating. He saved dating for women. I tried to get over him in college. But I just kept ending up back in the same place.” He gave a bitter laugh, his fingers tensing. “He even got married briefly. And I . . . I was an idiot.”
“No, you weren’t. You loved him.” It killed me to say it, but I could tell from the flashes of pain in his eyes it was true.
“Yeah. Yeah, I did. We were kids together. Played baseball, hung out—he was my best friend. And it was a tiny little town and I didn’t see a way for us to really be together. Not when it first started, at least. And later . . . we’d kind of already established bad habits.”
“I get that.” Lord, did I ever. Brian and I had created a whole slew of bad habits from the start of our relationship, not the least of which was me following all his stupid rules about making sure his family didn’t find out he was gay.
“Anyway. It wasn’t like what you and I have. No standing dates. No public outings. Never any touches where people could see.”
It warmed my chest to have him admit that what we’d been doing was different from whatever he and the asshole had gotten up to. I nodded, encouraging him to keep talking.
“It was all so damn ironic how he went. All that work he’d done to keep us a secret.” He shook his head.
“How . . .” I’d assumed it had been a line-of-duty thing. Some noble exit for Sheriff Perfect.
“In bed.”
“Say what?” My face did the whole cartoon bugging-out thing.
“Well, not in bed.” He was beet red now, but he kept going. “It was one of the first nights we’d had together in weeks. And he’d had a headache when he arrived and kept saying he felt sick. But it had been a while and I was all ‘I know how to make you feel better, so we . . . uh . . .”
“I get the picture.”
“Anyway, right afterward, he pukes. Doesn’t even make it to the trash can. Just falls to his knees. Grabs his head. And it’s bad. I can tell right away that it’s heading to a bad place.”
So could I. Wrapping an arm around David, I pulled him closer.
“I start to dial 911, but he stops me. Says he doesn’t need the ER. But he can hardly get the sentence out. Tries to make noises about how we have to get dressed first, but he’s barely making sense. I call it in because I’m just so fucking scared.”
I kissed his forehead because I didn’t know what else to do. Despite the sunshine filtering in, the room felt chilled, bathed in hospital-grade antiseptic. My nose tingled and my hand trembled against David’s back. I would have given anything to be able to take away his pain.
“Somehow I managed to get boxers on before the EMTs arrived, but Craig was still naked . . . and they knew. I could tell they knew as soon as they walked in. Small town. I’d gone to high school with two of them. They weren’t going to keep their mouths shut.”
“Assholes.”
“Damn right. And it didn’t matter. Craig flatlined on the way to the hospital. Brain aneurysm. He was dead and the whole damn town knew how, when, and where he’d died within hours.”
“I’m sorry.” They were the most useless two words ever, but I had no idea what else I could offer him. “I get why you wouldn’t want to try sex very soon—”
“I didn’t. Not for the longest time. To be honest . . .” He played with the edge of the comforter. “I wasn’t sure I could have sex again. Wasn’t even sure I could get off.”
“Not even . . .” I made a vague gesture below my waist. I had a hard time imagining a planet where I didn’t jack off regularly, but David’s story was all kinds of fucked up. I could see where he’d be messed up for a long time. My heart felt too big for my chest, a deep ache for all the agony he’d endured.
“Even . . . doing things myself felt awful. But then I met you . . . and that problem cleared up in a hurry.” He stammered through it, but I suppressed a smile. I’d inspired him to jack off. More than once. Apparently, he wasn’t made of steel after all—just an ice-encrusted man in need of a good thaw.
“That’s why you didn’t want to . . . do stuff sooner?”
“Yeah,” he whispered. “I didn’t want to hurt your feelings if I freaked. Like I freaked last night. Mainly because I didn’t know the protocol. I just assumed you’d leave.”
“Because he always did?” I hated Craig for stealing David’s trust, for taking advantage of his placid good nature. Everything I loved about him, Craig had taken advantage of. Deep rage built behind my sternum, threatening to erupt in angry words. I had to swallow hard.
“Yeah.”
“I’m . . .” I’d run out of things to say. I shrugged. “It’s okay.”
“No, it’s not. I keep feeling like I’m a step behind—like there’s a manual for being in relationships and I haven’t even cracked the cover—and when I saw Craig’s picture just now, all I could think of was how much we missed out on.”
“It’s okay to be angry.” Lord knew I was angry enough for both of us.
“I know. That’s what Mel and my grief counselor both tell me too. I’m not sure if I’m angry so much as . . . sad and confused. But I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You feel what you need to feel.” What did I know about gr
ief? I would be pissed, but I wasn’t David. And if David’s sadness made me feel smaller, I didn’t think it was intentional. I’d just have to work past it. Same as him. I wanted to trust in us both.
“And sometimes I’ll realize that I’m just assuming things because of how things used to go. Like, I could have just introduced you as my boyfriend last night.” He said it slowly, like he was still figuring something out in his head.
“Of course. Um . . . Carol and a few of the others totally guessed. Is that terrible for you?”
“No. I . . . I wanted that.” He grinned sheepishly.
“Me too.” I kissed his head again, relief coursing through me. “I want to be boyfriends. I want to meet people who matter to you. I want to hear about what matters to you. Even Craig.”
Eyes widening, he cocked his head to one side, studying me. “Is that why you seem . . . off sometimes? Because you’re not sure we’re boyfriends?”
I nodded. It felt rather petty now, in light of everything I’d learned in the last few minutes. Here I was, all concerned about labels, while David wrestled sumo-sized guilt and grief.
“I . . . I think I want that too. But it all feels so strange. And I feel like I’m lost in the Sawtooth Forest without a map. I don’t know how to be a good boyfriend for you. But I want to try.”
“You just have to be you.”
“I’m still . . .” He made a vague gesture in the direction of the living room. “Still working some things out. About Craig. About me. Can you be patient with me?”
“We’ll figure it out together.” I leaned in and kissed him, a feather of a kiss across his lips, before retreating. “Now about that game . . .”
February: Mexican Mocha
Chapter 7
The February chill had seeped into the hallway outside David’s apartment. I stretched out my legs, wiggling my toes. My wool pea coat wasn’t enough to counter the cold snap and make the wait for my boyfriend comfortable. He wasn’t that late—maybe fifteen minutes. But each minute served as a reminder that I needed to ask him for a key to his place.
And I knew that it was mainly my fault; if I had asked, I was pretty sure he would have given me one. But I wanted him to offer. Wanted him to want me there. And so we were stuck in this strange place where I spent most nights at his place but didn’t keep more than a toothbrush there, didn’t have a key, and didn’t count on an invitation. For the most part, I was happier than I’d ever been in my life, but this strange, unsettled feeling had descended, along with the temperature, made worse by a truly crap week.
“Sorry!” David came rushing up the stairs, Whole Foods bag dangling from one wrist. His thick wool dress coat and gray scarf made him look like a dapper 1950s businessman. He took the narrow hallway in quick, easy strides. “Been waiting long?”
“Nah.” Heaving myself up, I took the bag while he unlocked the door, juggling it along with my messenger bag. “What’d you get?”
“Carol at work was going on about this vegetarian butternut soup she had the other day and how easy it was to make. Thought I’d try it.”
Just like that, affection chased out the chill in my bones and the frustration in my brain. Neither of us were great cooks. David had a whole drawer of take-out menus we made liberal use of, so him going out of his way to cook for me made me feel all cozy.
“You don’t always have to do vegetarian just for me. You can eat meat around me,” I said as we unpacked the groceries in his tiny kitchen.
“I believe I’m well aware of that.” Arching one eyebrow, he held my gaze until I was the one blushing for once. “You want to chop the onion?”
“Sure. Hacking something up sounds perfect.” I grabbed a knife and cutting board.
“Bad day?” He reached over and squeezed my shoulder. The kitchen was small enough that our hips touched as he grabbed a stockpot.
“Saw you at lunch.” I gave him a weak smile. “So not all terrible. Just more roommate drama at home.”
“More?”
“Oops. I forgot to tell you.” The onion aroma stung my eyes like a penance for the lie. It wasn’t an accident that I hadn’t told him. “Seth and Mark want to buy a place in St. Johns. Small two bedroom row house.”
“Where does that leave you and Sarah?” He put down the box of vegetable broth and came up behind me, rubbing my shoulders.
“Sarah’s been itching to move to the Pearl, and she’s got a lead on a friend who might need a roommate. But Seth and Mark gave notice without telling the two of us, so we’ve got to scramble for something by March.”
“That sucks. What are you going to do?” David’s fingers worked magic on my shoulders, but his question hardly had the same effect.
“Not sure,” I mumbled. I leaned forward to chop, not shaking him off exactly but also not giving in to the urge to sink into him. “Guess it’s time to get a listing on Craigslist and start checking bulletin boards again.”
“You don’t want your own place?”
I want a place with you. Badly. I wanted to bring color to his brown and gray universe. For Christmas I’d gotten him a bright green picture frame with a picture of us at a Timbers game. It was now the lone spot of color in the room. I wanted to drag him to the little shops on Hawthorne I loved. Pick out paint and sheets together. Cook dinner together like this every night. But I couldn’t get those words out. As happy as I was, I wasn’t sure whether David felt the same way. He’d asked me to be patient and I wasn’t sure whether expressing my deepest desire would be too much pressure for him.
“Can’t afford my own place. As close as my business margin is most months, I need roommates.” There had been more than one month when I’d been late getting money to Seth, but he’d been far more understanding than the average landlord. “But man, I am not looking forward to sorting through ads and trying to find sane people.”
“Well . . .” He trailed off, and I waited, my heart in my throat.
“Yeah?”
“Doesn’t Portland have some roommate matching services? Some place that sorts out the crazy people for you and matches you with a list of places?”
“Not sure.” I minced the onion into a pulp and started in on the celery, chopping hard enough to make the board shake.
“I’ll ask Carol at work to check for you. Her husband’s a Realtor.” He nodded, like it was all settled. Asking his friend to use her Realtor connections should have made me happy— he wanted me safe and not living with crazy people. But my stomach felt sour and I wasn’t sure I’d have room for soup with all the disappointment churning in my gut.
He reached around me to grab the cutting board, dumping the contents into the pot before adding a package of precut squash and some herbs. The kitchen smelled like sizzling onions and pungent rosemary and home—like the promise of comfort on a cold night. I need this.
“Um . . . David?” I really needed to simply tell him. “I was thinking—”
“You need a distraction,” he said at the same moment.
“You want me to flip on the Blazers game?” I asked, chickening out on telling him what was happening in my head. I watched far more sports these days. My dad would be so proud. Heck, he’d probably trade me for David. He and David had talked more about sports when my folks came for Christmas than I’d talked to my dad in total in the last year.
Thanks to a number of holiday fund-raisers, David hadn’t gone back home to Idaho for Christmas, but my dad had snuck in a Blazers game with us while they were here, and we’d had a cheery Christmas Eve meal in Portland’s small Chinatown. I’d suffer any amount of sports talk for more cozy holidays like that.
“Wasn’t what I was thinking.” He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back against his front. He dropped a kiss on my neck, right in the spot that always made me shiver. “I was stuck in a long, boring meeting all afternoon. Very, very dull. Had plenty of time to . . . think.”
“Think, huh?” I leaned into him with a big sigh. Being pissy wasn’t nearly as much fun as this—an
d flirty David was still a rare treat, one to be savored.
“Uh-huh. Thought about you the whole way home too.”
“I thought about you last night.” I tilted my head to give him more access to my neck. “All alone in my tiny little cold bed.”
“You could have come over. My work thing was over at about nine.”
“Mmm.” I couldn’t speak as he idly licked along one of the tendons in my neck.
“Next time you should uh . . . text me while you’re thinking of me.” I swore I could feel his blush against my skin.
“Yeah? How about I call you instead?”
“That . . . might work.” He was hard against my back and he sounded more than a little excited at the prospect. And nervous. Which just made me want to try it all the more. Edging him past his comfort zone was my new favorite hobby.
“Tell me what you were daydreaming about.” I spun in his arms, the cabinets digging into my back.
“How about I show you instead?” Claiming my lips in a scorching kiss, he went from gee-this-is-nice to must-fuck-or-die in less than ten seconds. Whenever he took charge like this happiness hummed through my senses, canceling out all the worries and thoughts usually clogging my brain.
“David.”
“Yeah?”
“Tell me the soup has to simmer a while.”
“The soup needs to simmer.” He flipped the burner control to low and threw a lid on the soup with a loud clatter.
He returned to me with a growl, diving right back into the kiss. The assertiveness had my toes curling. I sucked on his tongue, trying to insinuate what I’d do to his cock if he moved this to the couch. But he didn’t move from our cramped spot between the cabinets. Instead, he kneaded my ass and hauled me closer.
“Couch. Now.” I broke away. The way he was going, another thirty seconds and I’d be coming in my jeans.
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