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“What’re you drinking?” Mikey directed his question to Morrison.

“Some local stuff.” He picked up a bottle off the coffee table and extended it Mikey’s way.

Mikey examined the bottle for a moment before passing it back to him. “Not really a fruit beer guy.”

“Neither was I.”

Bell turned to Ethan. “Did I see some Pilsner Urquell in the fridge?”

“That work for you?” Ethan asked, already turning to head out of the room.

“Perfect”

“What about you?” Bell asked.

“I’ll take some of that sparkling water Ethan mentioned.”

“Not looking for a repeat of Thanksgiving, huh?” he asked with a chuckle.

I’d probably never live that night down—which I more than deserved—but that wasn’t why I wasn’t drinking. I’d started back up on my anxiety meds, and my doctor had cautioned me not to drink at all while I was re-acclimating to them—though no one in this room, barring Mikey, needed to know that.

“Something like that,” I murmured as Bell headed toward the built-in bar where he pulled a glass down from the cabinet, set it under a stainless steel spout on the counter, and pressed a button. Ten seconds later, I had a perfectly cold, perfectly fizzed glass of water. I needed to get one of these in our place.

Ethan returned a few seconds later, passing Mikey a bottle opener and the beer.

When everyone had their drink in hand, Bell cleared his throat and twisted to face his husband. “To old love,” he said, a teasing dig about their age difference. Ethan rolled his eyes as Bell shifted to address Morrison and Sebastian next. “To first love.” Then he turned to Mikey and me, his expression softening. “And to new love.” He lifted his glass in the air. “Cheers.”

Across the circle, we offered up our own individual “cheers” to one another.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a furtive look pass between Bell and Morrison, his eyebrow cocked. Bell shook his head minutely before turning to clink glasses with Mikey, who’d just said something to Ethan that had made him snort.

“All right,” Bell said. “Everyone sit. Relax.”

“I hope you all like ham,” Ethan said as he and Bell took up the closest corner of the couch, his arm slung over the back behind Bell’s shoulders, his fingers twirling a strand of Bell’s hair that’d come loose from his bun. “Because you’re all taking some home with you.”

Watching him made my fingers twitch to play with Mikey’s curls, which were finally back to the length they’d been when we first met after that terrible haircut. I shoved my hands into my pockets.

“You always make too much food,” Bell pretended to complain.

Ethan simply shrugged.

Morrison and Sebastian tucked themselves into the opposite corner, where they’d been sitting when we arrived. Only this time, Morrison stretched his legs out across Sebastian’s lap, while Sebastian’s hand rested on his knee.

“I think you purposely buy too much so you can foist the leftovers off on unsuspecting friends,” Morrison jokingly accused, to which Ethan lifted his beer in salute.

“The couch doesn’t bite,” Bell said when Mikey and I remained standing.

Mikey and I shared a look, and I felt my face grow hot, though that made zero sense. I sat next to him all the time. Not once had I ever felt self-conscious about being close to him.

But that was out there, and this was in here, at a dinner party for queer couples where, until about ten minutes ago, not everyone had known Mikey and I were together.

Though, given neither Morrison nor Sebastian had looked shocked when Mikey and I walked in together, I figured Morrison suspected.

Which was fine. Great, even.

That wasn’t really my issue.

It was the casual way these men were all just touching that was doing me in. Bell and Ethan were married, and we’d been there at Thanksgiving when Morrison had introduced Sebastian to the team as his boyfriend. I’d seen these men share affectionate looks and touches, but I’d never been in a position before where I could do the same.