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It wasn’t like Isaiah and Mark had ever been a thing, hadn’t ever really been more than acquaintances, but there was no denying that their interactions had gotten decidedly frostier after word had somehow gotten back to Mark about Ben. And if Isaiah had to guess, he bet it had more to do with Mark’s being protective of his teammates than any sort of romantic jealousy.
“You had to know I’d hear about Tovey.” Mark stabbed his casserole.
“Actually no. I didn’t know before we hooked up. It was just a casual thing.” Isaiah didn’t really do regrets, but he honestly hadn’t known that Ben was a teammate of Mark’s until well after their one hookup. He probably wouldn’t have gone for him had he known, but it was through Ben that he’d met Dylan, who was one of the best friends he’d ever had. So no, he wasn’t sorry he’d slept with Ben, but he didn’t exactly make a habit of poaching guys on Mark’s team or social circle.
And now Ben had gone from swinging single to the most devoted married guy Isaiah knew, all about his husband, and if Isaiah had any pangs for what might have been, they’d subsided in the face of that bliss. He didn’t want Ben. He wanted what Ben had. Had wanted that for years now, but for whatever reason he seemed to be the backup guy, the hookup, the temporary boyfriend. Nothing stuck, but it wasn’t from a lack of dreaming on his part.
“It’s always just a casual thing with you.” Mark rubbed salt in that wound. “And that’s what I’m saying. You’re great with the kids and they love you. But I’m not convinced you’re here for the long haul.”
“You’re wrong.” Isaiah had cleared out the liquor cabinet in a white-hot rage after the accident, but damn, he could seriously use a drink right now. Mark’s lack of faith did hurt, making his sternum feel like it had taken ten punches, despite all his efforts to not let the words sting. “And I’m going to show you. Besides, who are you to lecture me about not being around? I’m not the one who skipped family stuff for years because of one awkward encounter.”
“You think I stayed away because of what happened at the wedding?” Mark paused, fork dangling in the air. His eyes were bulging, like this was seriously news to him. His level of denial would be adorable if it wasn’t so infuriating.
“You telling me it’s not? You discovered you’re maybe a little more heteroflexible than your macho self would like, didn’t like me knowing about your crush on Cal, didn’t like me hitting on you, didn’t like how tempted you were to say yes. Because I know you were. And so, yeah, I think you let your dislike of me keep you away.”
“Is heteroflexible even a thing?” Mark pushed his half-eaten food away. “I told you then, and I’ll tell you again. There was nothing between Cal and me. I just... I dunno...liked him a lot when I first met him. But that faded over time. He was...complicated.”
“If your dick was involved in the liking, that’s called a crush.” Isaiah laughed because maybe Mark just was this clueless. “And for what it’s worth, I never told him. Never once even joked about it. I told you I wouldn’t tell, and I keep my word. And yeah, Cal was complicated. I hear you on that.”
“Not everything comes down to a dick joke.” Mark shook his head before turning away to load the dishwasher.
“Well for the record, I really don’t think Cal or Dani would have cared that you’re...whatever you choose to label yourself. They were always great toward me about my sexuality. Dani might have even found your...like of Cal funny.”
“Because a joke is exactly what I want to be.” Rattling plates, Mark slammed the full dishwasher shut. “Just drop it. Not everything’s about you. As long as you’re not fucking my friends in this house, I don’t really care what you do with your dick. But stop trying to psychoanalyze me.”
“Gladly.” Isaiah grabbed a sponge, swiping at the counter to resist the urge to hurl it at Mark.
“Let’s keep our focus on the kids. Not the past.” Pompous asshole Mark was back, tone cold and miles removed from the guy who’d tenderly put the kids to bed.
“If you’re worried that I’m still crushing on you, trust me, that ship sailed years ago.” Isaiah let every ounce of his disgust seep into his tone.
“Good.” Mark, the fucker, got the last word, stalking from the kitchen. Fuck. No way was Isaiah ever going to let his feelings get tangled up with that mess again.
Chapter Eight
The coffee was waiting for Mark Saturday morning, same as it had been all week. Terrible as always, but Mark was reluctant to tell Isaiah anything after their argument the other night. And he’d noticed Isaiah didn’t actually drink the coffee he made, which meant he was doing it just for Mark. Which was nice. And Mark didn’t need nice, so bringing it up...
