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“Like how weird we talking about?” Isaiah sounded curious, but not judgmental.
“Like naked pictures don’t usually do it for me. I’m the only guy in the world for whom porn doesn’t work.”
“Hardly. I’ve known others. What does do it for you, though?”
“Words. Like someone’s voice. Or a glancing contact.” Mark thought about that morning, Isaiah’s long fingers on his waist. Or how Isaiah’s laugh just always worked for him on some deeper level. “Like I’ll know someone a long time, and then they’ll say something nice or do something for me, and all of a sudden I’ll realize I’m turned on. But I have to... I don’t know...feel a connection or something. It’s rare and never happens with strangers.”
“Words and voices can be fucking sexy.” Isaiah’s voice was reassuring. “All genders?”
“Gender doesn’t seem to really matter. It’s more how much I like someone, if that makes sense. More often it’s with guys, but I’ve felt it a few times with women too. My body’s just wired strange—”
“Quit saying that about yourself.” Isaiah punched him lightly on the arm. “It sounds like you’re ace, but maybe you’re more gray ace or demisexual, where you only get turned on after an emotional bond with people.”
Mark’s eyes fluttered back open. He’d seen those terms in his reading up on asexuality, but he still wasn’t sure exactly where he fit. And he really didn’t need Isaiah, amateur therapist, helping him sort out his place on the sexuality spectrum. Frustrated, he released a growl. “Does the label really matter? You and everyone else are always in such an all-fire hurry to give me a label. Gay. Straight. Bi. Pan. Ace. But nothing ever really seems to describe me. I’ve never looked at a random person of any gender and thought, ‘Oh I’d like to do naked things with them.’ But that seems to be how the rest of the world defines attraction.”
“You’re right. We’re all too hung up on labels. I’m sorry for teasing you about your crush on Cal, implying that you needed a label. I didn’t mean to pressure you in any way. And now I’m feeling extra shitty for coming on to you at the wedding. And tonight. I should have figured you out—”
“I’m not a puzzle.” Mark tried to pull away, but Isaiah held fast. “And...” God, could he really confess this? “I wanted you to. Hit on me, I mean. You’re—you’ve always been...different.”
“Oh.” Isaiah’s eyes went wide. “I’m one of the people you feel that connection with?”
“Yeah,” Mark whispered. “I didn’t feel that way toward you at first. Only once we hung out that week before the wedding. Then your laugh turned me on, and I really didn’t know what to make of that.”
“I’m honored.”
“Don’t be flip.”
“I’m not. It’s really...cool. Special. I’m glad you feel that comfortable with me.” Isaiah pressed a quick kiss to Mark’s temple. “And I’m not going to take advantage of you, promise. No more teasing or goading.”
“What if I want you to?” Mark leaned into Isaiah’s touch. He felt...well, better wasn’t really the right word. But he felt settled in a way that he hadn’t before. Admitting his truth to Isaiah and having Isaiah both believe him and act like it was completely normal was a reassurance he hadn’t known he’d needed.
“You want pressure?” Isaiah laughed. “Nope. Not gonna do anything you might regret.”
“No. Not pressure.” Mark made a frustrated noise. “I just mean... I liked the kissing. And the touching.”
“Oh.” Isaiah’s eyes took on a predatory gleam. “You want more kissing?”
Before Mark could sort out an answer, a loud wail sounded on the baby monitor.
“I’ll go.” Not waiting for a reply, Mark headed for the stairs, thoughts still reeling. Did he want more kissing with Isaiah? It was a bad idea for so many reasons, and yet he couldn’t deny how good it had felt, how much he really wanted to try again.
He reached Liam’s room where the baby was sitting in the crib, crying and rubbing his eyes.
“Here you go, big guy.” Mark lifted him out. This. This was what was really important. He couldn’t get tangled up with Isaiah and lose sight of why he was here, what his priorities had to be.
Chapter Eleven
“Okay. I guess your new ride is good for something.” Isaiah had been pissed when Mark had gone SUV shopping on Sunday, leaving with his Camaro and returning with a black SUV that looked totally worthy of hauling around celebrities, let alone three active kids. But now that they’d filled the back end with purchases from the garden store, Isaiah had to admit it could haul far more than his little car.
“Told you.” Mark effortlessly hefted a bag of soil. “Where do you need this?”
“I’m making a pile right there.” Isaiah pointed to the side of the garage. They’d taken the girls to school, then hit the garden store, ready to put Isaiah’s plans for the yard into action. He’d spent the past few days drawing plans and doing research for the garden plans, but the shopping trip had been Mark’s idea. Probably some sort of make up for ghosting Isaiah all Sunday, not wanting to talk about the late-night kissing session on Saturday night.
