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“My dick? I don’t care.” He’d shot for casual but thought he might’ve hit dismissive when Charlie recoiled. Fuck. “I just mean—what I meant was that was great. It was perfect. You were hot as fuck and I loved every minute of it.”
Rye wished so badly that he could see Charlie’s face, but he didn’t want to startle him by turning the light on.
“Do you promise?”
Charlie wasn’t one for casual promises. When Charlie said promise, it was blood and bone and pain.
Rye fumbled for Charlie’s hand and squeezed it.
“I swear.”
“Okay. Good.”
There were a hundred questions Rye wanted to ask about how it was for Charlie, but it obviously wasn’t the moment. Meanwhile, he had Charlie’s come all over his stomach and his own come in his underwear, and soon he was going to be pretty uncomfortable.
“I’m gonna take a shower,” Rye said. He kissed Charlie softly on the mouth and left him in bed.
The hot water poured over Rye’s shoulders and wet his hair, and he closed his eyes and breathed. The oozy, mushy place in his stomach had expanded to the size of a lake that threatened to swallow him. He was all mush now. Made of ooze, that was Rye Janssen. Ooze for Charlie Matheson.
He was in the middle of picturing himself as a bay when the bathroom door opened.
Charlie raised an eyebrow and Rye opened the glass door for him.
He wanted to search every inch of Charlie’s face for the answers to questions he hadn’t asked, but Charlie looked a little shy and was blinking against the light.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hey.”
Rye pulled him under the spray and they drifted together, warm and slick. It was the first time they’d both been naked at the same time and Rye reminded himself that Charlie had given this a thumbs-up on his list. He squeezed soap onto the shower puff and traced Charlie’s muscular form in suds.
Charlie hauled him in, catching him in a tight hug.
“Thank you,” he whispered, only just audible above the water.
“Thank you,” Rye said, letting his arms come around Charlie.
“What are you saying thank you for?” Charlie asked, and Rye caught himself before he could laugh again.
Instead he shot Charlie a look that might be a glare when it grew up, but was now just a look that said, You make me say all the dorky, smushy stuff that’s supposed to go unsaid.
But wasn’t that Charlie, through and through? No assumptions with Charlie. No vagaries. No empty, scripted exchanges. Even his Can I help you with anything today? at the store was heartfelt.
“For making me feel good. And...for trusting me I guess,” Rye said. “I know it was hard for you and I... It means a lot to me.”
Charlie stroked down his spine and gave him a squeeze.
“Well what did you mean, then?” Rye asked, frowning at the suds running down the drain.
“I...you know,” Charlie said.
Rye was going to let him off the hook. But Charlie tipped Rye’s chin up and looked him right in the eyes. Charlie’s eyes were shadowed and puffy from crying and there was a pillow crease in his right cheek. He was the most gorgeous person Rye had ever seen.
“Tell me,” Rye whispered.
“Thank you for wanting to be with me,” Charlie said, proving that previously Rye had not been entirely composed of mush, because he got mushier. “Even if you are a bad boyfriend,” he said, with a wry little smile. “I guess I’ll take what I can get.”
Rye glared at him.
“Asshole,” he said. Then, “Wait, what?”
“I want to try,” Charlie said.
Rye felt the smile spread wide, wider. A grin. He was standing naked in the shower, grinning like a fool.
Chapter Twenty
Rye
Over the next two weeks, Rye fully immersed himself in his new life as Charlie’s boyfriend. And not just Charlie’s boyfriend; Charlie’s Boyfriend Who Builds Houses and Sources Materials from Salvage Yards and Estate Sales and Says Hi to People in Town and Once Even Brought Charlie Flowers.
Charlie’s eyes had gone wide and he’d snatched Rye up bodily and spun him around with joy. Then he’d carefully trimmed each stem, arranged them in a vase, and would have kept them even after they were a rotten mess if Rye hadn’t convinced him to throw them away by promising he would bring him more. The next day, Charlie had brought him flowers. Now it was kind of a thing.
Every day when they got home from work, they greeted the cats—who had taken to curling up together just inside the front door before they arrived. They took a little while apart to shower and change and unwind.
Then they met in the kitchen to cook together. Slowly, Rye was teaching Charlie to use seasonings other than salt and pepper and Charlie was teaching Rye how to use Tupperware. They cooked and they listened to music—well, Rye put on music and teased Charlie that he didn’t know any of it.
