“I will be,” he replied thickly, smelling the food John had been cooking and suddenly realizing he hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast.
“I have dinner on the stove. Here, let me take this.” He took his helmet and placed it on the hallway table, which also had a fashionable shoe rack.
Without asking, Wyatt peeled off his black leather cowboy boots and set them beside John’s. He stared at the image of their shoes side by side and slowly looked away.
“I can give you a grand tour after dinner,” John said, already heading to the kitchen.
He followed him through the long hallway, into a sizeable living room, and then into the kitchen. It was an open-space design, with no walls blocking the view of the windows or of what was happening in the living room. It made the space feel cozier and more spacious.
“Your home is incredible,” Wyatt marveled, peeling off his jacket and setting it on the couch, noting the wall of records and books. The record player was on, and the crooning sounds of blues drifted through the house.
“Thanks,” John said with a hint of pride. “Designed a lot of it myself. With the help of the architect, of course. Walking into rooms all day long made me want something…” he trailed off, searching for the word.
“Freer.”
John shot him one of those kind, sexy smiles. “Exactly.”
Heart swooping, Wyatt nervously licked his lips and walked up to the marble granite island in his fancy kitchen. “What are you making?”
“Pasta. Pairs well with wine.” John turned, bottle of wine in hand, and poured Wyatt a full glass of red wine. “I’ve only seen you drink whiskey or beer.”
“I like wine,” he replied, taking a sip. “It’s good.”
“Good,” he said, the crinkles around his eyes drawing in Wyatt’s gaze. He loved those crinkles a little too much, wondering if they were possibly the handsomest part of John’s face, outside his lips… or eyes… or beard.
Stop, man.
You’re pining.
He took a long sip of his wine this time, hoping it would take the edge off his nerves. “I wanted to thank you for what you said today.”
John glanced up from the chopping board and nodded. “I meant every word.”
“I know.”
He tossed the veggies into the sauce, glancing over his shoulder. “I know you know.”
Wyatt stared, unable to look away, unable to speak. It hadn’t been that long since their relationship became sexual, and yet, everything had changed. Everything. And he wasn’t sure, in this moment, he would ever be the same again. That he could ever look at another man the same way—see the same things that he saw with John.
Feeling bold, Wyatt walked around the island, deciding to let his body speak everything that was trapped in his heart, kicking and screaming to come out, and to let tonight be what they had agreed upon between them. Physical. No attachment. But he feared he wouldn’t be able to resist the affectionate part.
He slid behind John as he stirred the pasta sauce over the stove and wrapped his arms around his waist, resting the side of his face into his shoulder.
They swayed, holding one another, listening to the blues guitar and piano in the background.
“Did you always want to be a doctor?” Wyatt asked, brushing his lips across his shoulder.
“I think I always gravitated toward helping people. But with different ages and phases, I would go back and forth.”
“With what?”
He shrugged, “Oh, you know, the normal stuff. Be a doctor or an astronaut. Police officer or professional baseball player. Firefighter or the world’s best guitar player since Stevie Ray Vaughan.”
Wyatt smiled, “Sensible choices.”
“Every last one of them,” John said without a hint of sarcasm. “But ultimately, I decided on medicine. I saw the power of it. My mom had breast cancer when I was a kid and managed to beat it. That stayed with me. Influenced me, I suppose.”
He nodded, releasing him, but not before sliding a hand over the shoulder that had once been frozen, locking John in and crippling him.
