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He cracks open the can, taking a sip and smiling benignly at me. His words fill me with happiness and a simultaneous feeling of dread. I can’t go on a date with him or hold his hand in public, so if he’s looking for a normal relationship, he probably won’t find it with me. A memory of Troy and Sam pops into my mind, all of us sitting in my backyard and Sam leaning over to pull a blushing Troy in for a kiss, not even caring who might be watching.I can’t do that; I can’t fucking do that.
“Here, you mean, right?” I clarify. “You want to spend some time together here?”
“Here, my place, wherever. You’re the important part in that equation, not the location.”
If the counter wasn’t holding me up, I don’t think I could have remained standing. How the hell do you respond to that? “Oh, okay then.” I reply, because I’m known for my eloquence.
“Okay.” He repeats, reaching a hand out toward where mine is flat on the counter. He swings it wide at the last moment, though, and I realize sadly that he doesn’t ever touch me unless I initiate it. Admittedly, this is what I usually prefer, but it somehow feels like a dreadful loss where Nigel is concerned.
“You can come over whenever you want. I like having you here.” The timer goes off on the oven and I scramble to pull the pan out, grateful to have something useful to do. I watch as Nigel moves over toward the cupboard I pulled the dishes from last time, grabbing two plates and laying them on the counter.
We continue moving around the kitchen like that, me offering gentle direction whenever he doesn’t know where something is located, and soon enough we are sitting down to eat. He sits in the same spot as last time, but scoots his chair incrementally closer to mine. He leans down toward the plate, inhaling, and groans in a way that sends a new round of nerves shooting through my extremities.
“This smells amazing.” He tells me.
“Sorry it’s not fresh. I don’t usually serve guests leftovers.” I laugh, a little sheepishly, wondering if the chicken is going to be dry. Maybe I should try mine first before he takes a bite.
“You could serve me dog food and I wouldn’t care.” He says, bluntly, and I stare at him. “Since I just received an open-ended invitation, though, and I mean to capitalize on it, we probably do need to come to some arrangement.”
I have no idea what that means. “What?”
“I’m getting free food. What do you get?”
“You.” He stops, fork midway to his mouth, eyes hard on mine. It was the wrong thing to say, evidently, and I scramble for a way to backtrack. “I mean… I’m not implying anything, I just meant that I like your company.”
He sets the fork down on his plate, resting his hand on the table and regarding me. He opens and closes his mouth twice before he actually starts speaking. “I meant what I said earlier, about wanting to see more of you outside of work. And if you just want to be friends, that works for me…but what I really want is to date you. I want to start over and treat you the way I should have treated you six years ago.”
What I really want is to date you. I try very hard to keep my features neutral while I formulate a response. I don’t know that I can explain to him why I can’t have an open relationship without making it seem like it’shimI’m ashamed of.
“I’m not ready to come out, yet.” I whisper, tacking on theyeteven though I doubt I’ll ever be ready.
“Neither am I.” He shrugs, still maintaining a casualness that I envy. “We can keep this between us, Corwin. Nothing has to leave this house unless we want it to.”
I relax, slightly. Nigel picks up his silverware again, finally popping that bite of food in his mouth. He groans again and my toes curl against the hardwood floor. Apparently, the chicken isn’t dry.
“Thanks.” I look down at my plate, unsure if my stomach is settled enough to eat anything. Going to bed hungry after a game isn’t an option, though, so I give it a try. Throwing up wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve done in front of him anyway.
We apply ourselves to eating, with Nigel going back for seconds before I even finish my first serving. When he slides back into his seat his knee knocks against mine. “Hey, can I ask you something?”
I nod, mouth full of salad.
“Why does Lawson look at me like I kicked his puppy?”
This startles a laugh out of me, and Nigel’s eyes light up in response, a broad grin stretching over his face. “Well, he doesn’t like you very much.” I admit, and laugh again when he looks crestfallen.
“Why?”
“I mean…you’re kind of a dick.”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his broad chest, considering this. “Offended.” He announces, and another peal of laughter escapes me. He beams, not looking the slightest bit offended.
“On the ice, I mean. The way you talk shit and…showboat…it sort of drives him nuts.”
“Well, that’s kind of the point. Piss the other team off enough that they make stupid mistakes.” He shrugs. “I’ll have to win him over. He seems like a good guy.”
“He’s the best.” I say, confidently. “And I wouldn’t worry about it, you’re going to win Lawson over just by the way you treat Troy. He loves him.”
“You say that like there are people in the world who don’t love Troy.”
