“Obviously but no.” Malcolm swirled his own wine around in the glass, his cheeks darkening. “That David Rose lost everything he had, re-learned everything he thought true about himself, and he still found his happily ever after with an amazing guy.”
“Yeah.” Iggy wasn’t sure he could pull a David Rose and be happy putting down roots in a small town for the man he loved, but it was a lovely dream. A kind of love to aspire to one day. “Maybe we should introduce Howie to the show while he’s homeconvalescing. I bet he’d get a kick out it. Although, I don’t think he has any sort of streaming device.”
Malcolm gently steered him toward the sofa, and they sat close together. The movement shut up Iggy’s rambling, and he sipped more of the wine, unsure what he wanted now that they were alone again. A tremor shot through his belly and made his leg shake.
“Hey, I’m not gonna maul you,” Malcolm said softly. “I just wanna spend time with you.”
“I’m not scared of you, Monte. I did say you could come over, and I don’t want you to think I’m leading you on.”
“I don’t. I like that we’re feeling each other out, instead of feeling each other up.”
Iggy snorted and nearly upset his wine. “Damn, you have matured.”
“Iggs, when we first got together, we went zero to a hundred really fast, and that was great. But we aren’t horny teenagers anymore, working with more hormones than brain cells. We’re adults with baggage and experience, and I don’t mind us taking this slow. Because Iknowyou aren’t teasing me.”
“There’s a lot of baggage.”
“Yeah, there is. Too much to unpack in one weekend. So, let’s just drink our wine and fall asleep together, and then have brunch in the morning. That okay?”
Iggy melted a little inside. Malcolm had every right to demand they talk about high school, to clear the air of the thing neither of them wanted to name, like they’d summon Candyman if they did. But Malcolm wasn’t pushing, wasn’t clouding a tender moment with ghosts or old regrets.
He did not deserve this man, this sweet, sweet man, but Iggy would hold on tight while he could. “That sounds perfect to me.”
They made up the sofa bed, then climbed on and snuggled up with Iggy’s laptop and their wine. If Iggy drank more than whatwas in his glass, he’d probably pass out. They cruised YouTube for a while, searching for funny compilations, nonsense to keep the mood light. Iggy began nodding off with his head on Malcolm’s shoulder, and he briefly woke long enough to stretch out.
To roll onto his side and nestle backward when Malcolm curled around him from behind. “Need to clean tomorrow,” Iggy mumbled into the pillow.
“Clean as in a shower? Is this a participation plan?”
“Clean the trailer. Participate, please.”
Malcolm kissed the side of his jaw. “I’ll clean every house in Chance if it means spending time with you.”
“Promise?”
But Iggy drifted off before he heard Malcolm’s reply.
Malcolm wokeSunday morning much like he had the previous day: draped over Iggy, snuggled so close he was breathing on Iggy’s neck, with raging morning wood he tried to keep at a polite distance from Iggy’s ass. It was almost perfect. He inhaled a deep, comfortable breath, and released it slowly. Sure enough, it woke Iggy.
Iggy’s entire body tensed tight and then relaxed on a long breath that reminded Malcolm of better times. Long-ago sleepovers. The familiar way Iggy pulled his body inward to stretch, instead of extending his limbs or wiggling his toes.
“Morning,” Malcolm said. He brushed his lips across the side of Iggy’s neck, loving the way his skin pebbled. “A guy could get used to this.”
Iggy made a noise that could have been a soft, “Yeah,” but he wasn’t sure.
“Sleep okay?”
“I did.” Iggy twisted around to face him in a mirror of yesterday, their heads close while their groins stayed separate. “It’s nice sharing my bed with someone again.”
Malcolm made an exaggerated face of disappointment. “Just with someone? I could be the guy who picks up empty bottles along the highway?”
“Depends on how much money those bottles will make in deposit returns.”
“Ah, there’s the bartender I know and love.” The words slipped out with zero forethought, and Malcolm’s insides went both cold and hot. He fought to keep his face frozen in its lazy smile, and not allow his panic to show.
Iggy blinked sleepily at him, showing no signs of agitation or of pulling away, not like Malcolm expected. Iggy was so goddamn guarded most of the time. And maybe it wasn’t romantic love that Malcolm felt—not yet, anyway, not like when they were teens—but he still loved Iggy on a very instinctive level. Probably always had and always would.
Iggy was his first love.
