“You don’t have to do that,” he said, closing the front door.
“Yes, we do,” Samuels retorted. “I haven’t had a meal like that since I left home.”
Wyatt paused, hands deep in the pile of dirty plates, rinsing and loading them into the dishwasher. “Me either, now that I think about it.”
“You and your dad did a good job with the turkey, but damn, that pumpkin pie your mom brought knocked my socks off,” Samuels said with a whistle, using a wet rag to wipe down the dining table.
“Who made the stuffing?” Wyatt asked.
“Chad,” John replied, heading to the living room to put on some music. “Justine avoids the kitchen like the plague. Always has, even when we were kids.”
“Nicely done, Chad,” Wyatt said with a teasing smile. “Really knows how to stuff the stuffing.”
Samuels shot him a look and both men laughed. John shook his head and felt the easy laughter roll out of him. He picked out his favorite Muddy Waters record, placed it on the turntable, moved the tone arm, and hit play.
He joined Wyatt in the kitchen and pulled out extra Tupperware to pack the leftovers in, and enough for Samuels to take some with him.
“You going back home for Christmas at least, Samuels?” John asked.
He shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe. I dunno. Not much left for me there these days.”
“No parents?” Wyatt asked.
“Nah, dad skipped out when I was a kid, and mom… isn’t the nicest person to be around voluntarily, especially during the holidays.”
“What about friends?” John asked.
Samuels stilled, before quickly shaking his head, his expression closing. “Nah, no one special.”
Wyatt glanced at John, exchanging a curious look. Samuels wasn’t being forthcoming, and John, knowing when to back off, merely nodded, closing the container full of turkey. “Well, Justine likes you. Both of you. So, this is the official Donnelly invitation to join us for Christmas, if you don’t have any other plans. We’d love to have you.”
Wyatt stiffened next to him, and John brushed a reassuring hand onto his back as he reached for the plate of stuffing. “Especially you,” he whispered lowly, unable to resist kissing his cheek as he returned to the food containers.
“Thanks, man,” Samuels said, walking back into the kitchen. “That’s very nice of you.”
“You’re welcome. Steph usually shows up with her husband a bit later for dessert and drinks.”
Samuels grinned. “Even more reason to come.”
John finished packing two very full containers of food for Samuels and placed them before him, along with an entire uneaten homemade apple pie.
“You’re kidding?” Samuels said incredulously down at all the food.
“Nope,” John patted his back. “My fridge is full already. Whatever you don’t want, I’ll take it to work for all the broke med students.”
Wyatt rolled his eyes at him, sipping his wine with soap bubbles on his hands and looking deliciously sexy while cleaning the dishes. A few strands of his sandy blond hair draped over his eyes, his long black sleeves rolled up past his elbows and the top button of his black flannel securely fastened, all of which reminded John of what was hidden beneath.
Wyatt saw something in his expression and his gaze lingered over his mouth, taking another slow sip of wine, intentionally tilting his neck upward and exposing the bruising red mark on his neck that he had managed to keep covered with his collar all night.
John’s cock twitched.
“All right,” Samuels declared. “I think I’ll head out.” He patted the back of John’s shoulder, giving him a genuinely appreciative look. “Thank you for this. I uh…” he cleared his throat. “I didn’t realize how much I needed tonight.”
John’s heart stuttered at the sight of grief tightening his friend’s face, and he nodded. “Of course. Anytime. I’m serious about Christmas, too. Please come if you can.”
Samuels nodded tightly and winked at Wyatt, hands filled with food. “See ya later, cowboy.”
John walked him out to his car, and when he came back, Wyatt was in the living room, sprawled out on his couch, Muddy Waters crooning all over him.
