Ted: I’m making tempeh tacos. Want to join me and Jonathan for dinner?

While I’ll admit tempeh tacos don’t sound like the most appetizing thing on the planet, I do know Ted has serious cooking skills, and besides, I want to see him again.

Kieran: Sure. Need me to bring anything?

I can anticipate the response, but it still makes the butterflies in my belly flutter when I see it.

Ted: Just your beautiful self.

It takes me all of two seconds to change into a comfier outfit and head out the door. Jonathan arrives at the same time as I do, except he pulls into an empty spot in the garage next to a motorcycle, while I park at the curb out front. He raises a hand in a wave, and then pokes at his cheeks with two fingers.

I was so drunk the last time I was here, and then shell-shocked from Ted actually wanting to continue seeing me, I didn’t take it all in. There are some really beautiful Victorians in this part of town. I will admit to picking my favorites every time I drive down this historic, tree-lined street. Never in a million years would I have imagined Ted living in one of them, much less the pretty blue one with the purple and white gingerbread trim that always has lovely flowers spilling from its beds in the spring.

When we meet at the front porch, I ask Jonathan, “What does this mean?” while reenacting his movements from earlier. “This one, I got,” indicating the hand wave.

Jonathan laughs and holds the front door open for me. Once inside, he signs more. “Your sign name,” he says aloud, but slowly, with each sign so that I can understand. I only know a little bit of sign language from when I was little, but I’m interested in learning so that I can get to know him better.

Ted’s head pops out from a doorway halfway down the hall in front of us. “I thought I heard something. Hey there.”

To the left of the entryway is the living room, to the right the dining room, and behind that is the kitchen. This house has to be more than a century old, and it still has that old house charm, but in a thoroughly modern way. I’m entranced by this new facet of Ted.

Ted and I do an awkward dance of not hugging or kissing or shaking, but a quarter of the way toward all three before I give up. Jonathan laughs at us. I can’t blame him. I’ve texted with Ted about having his finger in my ass, but I have no idea what stage that puts us at in real life.

“Smells wonderful,” I say, the rich scent of cumin in the air.

“I was just showing Kieran his sign name,” Jonathan tells Ted. “Make the letter k, for Kieran.” I know my ASL alphabet, so I hold it up. “Then dot your cheeks with it. For freckles.”

I lower my hand and give him an expression where no words are needed.

“What?” he asks, although his smile says he knows what. “It’s an honor to be given a sign name. And your freckles are cute.”

“Fine,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. “It’s not like these fuckers are going anywhere, anyway. I tried my best to scrub them off when I was younger. All I got was sore cheeks.”

Jonathan giggles at my joke, surprising me. I guess he could read my lips? I notice that he speaks everything as he signs here in his home. Other times when I’ve seen him out, he usually sticks to signing only, so I ask him about it as we enter the kitchen and inhale the aromas from Ted’s tacos.

“I only hear lower sounds, and even those are pretty muffled most of the time. My voice is at a higher register, so I can’t really tell that well what I sound like. It makes me self-conscious, so I usually don’t talk to anyone unless they’re close friends or family. It’s quiet here, so I can hear about half of what you say. The other half I have to guess or hope I’m reading your lips correctly. I’m terrible at that. You know those bad lip-reading videos? That’s my life.”

Jonathan shrugs like it’s no big deal, but I can tell it affects him. Wanting to take some of the focus off him, I instead turn to Ted. “What can I do?”

Ted gestures to the kitchen table, already covered in a variety of toppings, from an Asian slaw to guacamole, all of it looking like Ted made it from scratch. “Sit. It’s all ready once I finish pan frying the tempeh.”

Jonathan doesn’t need to be told twice, so I follow his lead. Having him here makes the whole evening feel a little off. Like it’s not a date, but I’m hanging out at a friend’s house and his dad is fixing us dinner. I glance at Ted’s back as he finishes up at the stove. You can see the muscles flex through his shirt, and his butt cheeks are perfect globes. Okay, so a friend’s dad who I totally want to fuck. But that almost makes the vibe even more weird. When it was just Ted and me, I didn’t notice the age difference at all.

He sets down the plate of tempeh, and we set to work creating our own tacos. Ted eyes me, trying not to appear anxious as I take my first bite and failing miserably. Flavor bursts across my tongue and I nod at him with approving eyes and a full mouth.

I’ll admit, the tempeh has a bit of a weird texture, kind of like mushrooms or tofu, but not as bad. Definitely not enough to put me off. I just add a little more guacamole.

“Seriously, Ted, this should be illegal,” I say while digging my spoon into the guacamole bowl. It’s lumpy and fresh and has the most unusual clean garden scent that carries over into its flavor. I could eat it alone, or just dunk the rest of my tortilla into it by itself. “It’s amazing.”

“And the tempeh?”

“I won’t lie, it wouldn’t be my first choice. But it’s actually really good. The flavor is incredible.”

“Yeah, the texture. That does take some getting used to.”

I nod. “But I’m not even blowing smoke about that guacamole. You could cover yourself with it, and I’d eat it just like that.” I pause with my taco halfway to my mouth, realizing what I’ve just said. An arm reaches out and smacks my shoulder.

“Dude,” Jonathan says. “He always makes this guacamole. And now I’m going to be stuck with that mental image. Every. Time. Thanks.”

I snicker but try to change the subject for Jonathan’s benefit. “Whose bike was that?”

Ever since I noticed it in the garage, I’ve been curious. I’ve never been on a motorcycle before. But the thought of that, coupled with Jay’s comment about Ted in leather, has me flushing all over.

“Mine. I like to ride when the weather’s good. Sometimes I’ll get out on the highway, take it up to Wyoming or down to Denver, just to have a good stretch of solid road with no interruptions. I’ll ride it to work, but it seems like such a waste. Do you ride?”

“No.” My voice cracks and I frantically try to clear my throat. “No. I haven’t. I’d like to.”

Especially if it meant getting to sit behind Ted, press up against his ass, wrap my arms around his waist, and hold on tight.

Jonathan’s chair scrapes loudly, jolting me out of my daydreams. “Ugh. I’m going upstairs. You two are going to make my dinner come back up.”

“Sorry,” I sign. “Good night.”

He grins at my attempt to communicate in his language. “Later, Kieran,” he signs and says.

“I could take you.”

Hello. Attention back to Ted.

“There’s a bar I go to sometimes near Denver. I don’t know if you’d be into it or not, but it’s fun to take the bike there and back.”

“What kind of bar?” I swallow thickly around the lump in my throat. Not only am I overwhelmed with the idea of Ted. On a bike. In (hopefully) a leather bar. But I’m overwhelmed that he might trust me enough to share this part of himself with me.

“It’s a leather bar.”

I’m pretty sure I whimper.

* * *

“If you go to the right, you can get a Quad Damage power up before you face the second monster,” Carly says, standing over Ben’s shoulder as he plays video games. He’s on his second beer, which means this past week at school must have been a tough one.

Mom dropped Carly off at my office this afternoon, much to Maureen’s delight. They chatted for half an hour about CSU and sororities and by the time we left, Maureen had already offered to write Carly a reference letter for either when the time comes. I’m not sure I’d even get a reference letter upon my departure from CVM.

“I know how to play Doom. I was the spring break tournament champion,” Ben says, pointing to the trophy that now has pride of place in our living room. Which means beside the TV.

“That just means you’re a loser.”

I have to leave the room to keep them from hearing me laugh. The last thing I want to do is to encourage my sister to be even more of a brat, but that was fucking funny. When I have my laughter under control, I return to find Ben tossing the controller to Carly.

“Fine. Show me what you’ve got.”

Ben’s character respawns before fighting the first monster. Carly hides behind containers for cover, and quickly takes out the first Mancubus, then dashes and picks up the power up. Switching to a rocket launcher, she faces the next Mancubus, and where Ben continually failed, she bests it with ease.

She tosses the controller back to Ben. “Maybe I should get that trophy.”

“Maybe you should get a–”

“Guys. What do you want to do for dinner?” I’m not positive what Ben was going to say, but I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t have been anything appropriate for my high school-aged sister. “And Carly, you need to go to bed at a decent hour since orientation starts at eight. I promised Mom.”

I don’t mention that my own plan is to get her there, then come back home and sleep until time to pick her back up after noon.

“But I’m here for the college experience. And pulling all-nighters is part of that experience,” Carly says. She doesn’t even get all huffy, just relaxes back onto the sofa as if college came early. Yeah, sister, I don’t think so.

“College students pull all-nighters to study and get papers turned in on time. Not to stay up all night playing video games with their roommates.”

Ben gives me a side-eye, as if to say, “Really?” Yeah, even I’m not buying the words out of my mouth.

But I’m already a little pissed at Carly, so she needs to watch herself. Of course, it isn’t her fault. At dinner Thursday night, Ted asked if I wanted to go to the leather bar on Saturday. I had to turn him down because of my sister and this stupid orientation. She’d better pray she doesn’t get into CSU, because I will make it my life’s mission to cock-block her and every single guy she’s interested in for the entire time she’s there.

Leather. Motorcycle. Ted. Nngh.

Once I’d relieved the pressure caused by those mental images enough times over the past few days to be able to dwell on them without an immediate boner, I again wondered about vegan Ted in leather. I’d better fucking find out the answer to that question. Up close and personal. Soon. Or Carly is going to rue the day she decided that a prospective student orientation was a good idea. Rue it, I tell you.