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“Have you had relationships?” Greg asked, and it took Holden a moment to realize he’d returned the conversation to the previous topic.
“If by relationship, you mean something that lasted long enough to have a significant anniversary, I’ll be honest with you. No, I haven’t. I’ve had two boyfriends in my life, but both of them broke up with me before we passed the six-month mark.”
“When did you know you were gay?” Greg winced. “If you don’t mind me asking.”
“I don’t. And the answer is always. It’s pretty obvious when you’re always dreaming about guys, and you couldn’t care less about seeing tits or…” Holden waved his hand, and Greg nodded. “…in thePlayboysyour friends found. I’m not closeted because I’m ashamed, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“And you?” Holden asked. “When did you know?”
“About being gay?”
Again, Greg’s gaze slipped to the side, but when Holden nodded, Greg screwed up his mouth before answering. “Not until I was in the army. Early twenties.”
“Is that why you got out?”
“Pretty much. I wasn’t planning on making it a career; I just didn’t have any better ideas at the time I signed up.” He shrugged. “Nothing happened to me. The guys in my unit couldn’t have cared less about me being gay, but it wasn’t a great fit.”
As their conversation drifted on to other topics, Holden watched Greg relax and wondered what had caused him to pull back. In some ways, he thought his interest was reciprocated, but then the other man’s attention would drift away, or his body language would close down. Strangely, the contradictions intrigued Holden rather than repelled him. The longer they talked, the more he wanted to know.
They were almost finished when Greg’s phone rang. He apologized as he drew it from his pocket. “It’s my mom. I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” Holden said and watched as Greg headed toward the doors, cell phone already pressed against his ear and a big smile creasing his gorgeous face.
Holden continued to sip at his lager, but his attention remained fixed on Greg. It had been a long time since anyone had interested him this much, but then his thoughts turned to their earlier conversation. Was it too much to ask of someone to accept joining him in his closet? And, in this day and age, with the likelihood of not living in the same city and carrying on a long-distance relationship, could it be done without too much conflict or stress? Or did Holden need to wait until he retired to have the kind of relationship he wanted? They were questions he’d asked himself before, but, watching Greg, they took on a new importance and a hint of possibility where he’d only seen limitation and deprivation before. Could it work? Would it?
“My mom says the storm’s holding off a bit and moving south,” Greg said as he returned to his seat.
“Does that mean you’re heading out?” Holden asked and felt a weight drop into his stomach at the thought that their time might be cut short.
“I could,” Greg said slowly, his attention focused on Holden. “There’s a bus that leaves at four thirty, so I have time to get my stuff and make it to the depot. There’s still a possibility that the roads won’t be clear enough, in which case I’d need to stay in Denver another night.”
“Or,” Holden said, his gaze equally as riveted on Greg, “you could stay the night and be sure of making it to Aspen tomorrow. My offer to share the room still stands, so you don’t have to find somewhere else to stay. No strings. No expectations.”
They stared at each other, Greg’s gaze holding Holden’s steady. Were his eyes summer blue? Cloudy blue? Powder? Holden still couldn’t figure it out and wanted more time to do so. He counted his heartbeats while waiting for Greg’s answer, feeling as if his entire world was held in the balance.
At last, Greg nodded, and Holden felt as if he’d won a prize. Trying to keep his inner victory dance under wraps, he said, “Great. Because, unless I’m mistaken, you owe me dinner tonight.”
Greg’s mouth opened in surprise, but then he grinned. “Yup. I do believe you’re right. And if you’ll hold on again, I’ll let my mom know I’ll be there tomorrow.”
Chapter nine
Greg
Greg’sheartwaspoundingas he left the table a second time and made his way through the crowded seating area to the door, and he had a pretty good idea why. He liked Holden, liked spending time with him, talking to him, justbeingwith him, and he was starting to hope there was more to it than just making a new friend.
Though he was often slow to warm up to people, Greg made friends easily. Of course, some of those friends had started out as wannabe lovers who’d gotten frustrated with Greg’s lack of apparent interest and interpreted it as being friend-zoned. Greg hadn’t even realized they’d been flirting until he got teased for being oblivious.
Micah had been one of those guys who’d initially been attracted to Greg but stuck around long enough for them to develop a deep friendship and for Greg to trust him enough to explain he was asexual. Micah had understood. When it turned out he’d been in love with someone who was aromantic since he was eighteen, Greg had been able to talk to him about how his own lack of sexual attraction was like the flip side of Jake’s lack of romantic attraction. Where Greg needed connection before he had any hope of feeling sexual attraction, Jake was perfectly fine fucking his way through San Francisco in an endless procession of one-night stands. Micah was the only person for whom Jake had ever developed romantic feelings and the emotional bond necessary for a long-term relationship. He’d also been completely in denial about that connection for nearly twenty years.
And while the stereotype of the sexually promiscuous and commitment-phobic male had hidden Jake’s relational expression behind a wall of acceptability and understanding, Greg wasn’t so lucky. Frigid, cold-fish, robot—those were just a few of the terms past boyfriends had used to condemn his lack of arousal.How long has it been since you had sex?was a question he’d been asked far too often to count by guys trying to get in his bed and always in a tone of voice that indicated how impossible it should be for anyone—let alone a gay man—to go without an orgasm for weeks, let alone months. Stereotypes were a bitch and a half and died a frustratingly slow death. Mason hadn’t been the first guy to ask if he had a medical problem.
All in all, Greg’s head was a crowded place as he called his mother back and told her he’d be staying in Denver for the night.
“You have a place to stay?” she asked. “Because if you don’t—”
“I’m good, Ma,” he interrupted her. “I’ll be staying at the same place as last night.”
