He gives me that appetizer I asked for before we take a shower together.

In each kiss we share, I can feel how much he missed me. I like that he’s about as incapable of keeping his hands off me as I am with him. It mirrors how I feel about not having seen him.

As we kiss beneath the showerhead, the water streams between us and webs across our faces. The warmth mixes with our collective body heat. He sets his hands on my cheeks before leaning back, holding my gaze.

I’m waiting for him to smirk or smile, but his expression remains stoic. What are you thinking, Eric? About the same things I am? About how complicated all this is? About all those things we haven’t discussed?

In a way, we haven’t escaped the fantasy that was our experience in Puerto Vallarta. It’s just changed places. Now it’s in his shower. Our own private bubble where we share space, but only with one another.

“Thank you for coming over tonight,” he says.

“Thank you? I’m not doing you a favor. I’m over here because I want to be with you.”

“I can’t tell you how much I’ve missed this…how much I’ve missed you.”

I can tell he means more than the way it feels when we’re messing around in the bedroom. It’s the real reason I’m here. I feel the same way about him.

When we finish showering, we return to his kitchen, where he works to recover dinner. Fortunately, his chicken really was cooked through, which makes the rest a lot easier to manage.

While he puts on a pot to boil water for the pasta, I ask, “What can I help with?”

“You can just sit at the table and look pretty.”

“Uh-uh. None of that shit. Clearly, you need help making the sides.” I spot some broccoli he’s laid out on the counter. “Here we go,” I say as I approach it. “Now, I can do something with this.”

“I was going to steam it.”

“Steam it? Oh, no, no, no. We’re baking this. Where’s a bowl?”

I dig through his cabinets for a moment before he laughs at my efforts and directs me to the correct cabinet. Once I have a bowl, I continue exploring his kitchen, fetching some olive oil, pepper, and garlic salt. I wash the broccoli and cut it before mixing it with the olive oil in the bowl, adding seasoning with some salt and pepper. I spread aluminum foil in a pan before putting it in the oven.

“See? I can be useful in the kitchen too. I may not be the best cook in the world, but I could surprise you with some of my mad baking skills.”

“I’ll have to remember that,” he says while he continues preparing the pasta.

We work together to finish the meal, and when we near completion, I grab the plates off the table so that Eric can put the food on.

Soon, we’re both sitting at the table, Eric pouring us each a glass of Chardonnay from the bottle he’s chilled in the ice bucket. As we eat, I appreciate I was able to help out.

“This is really good,” I tell him.

“I figured it would be a nice first-date meal.”

“Technically, it’s not our first date. We’ve discussed this. We already had our first date. We’ve actually been on a few.”

“Those don’t really count.”

“And why is that?”

“We were just messing around, having fun. I think we both assumed that when we got back here, it was going to stop.”

“A date only means we were getting to know each other, which we were doing,” I remind him.

“We’re clearly operating off two very different definitions of date.”

“Fair enough. But according to me, just know we’re practically going steady at this point.”

He laughs. I’m kidding, yet I’m really not.

“Jokes aside,” he says, “I want to congratulate you again on getting that job. I wish we’d had more of a chance to celebrate it together…the way we initially planned.”

He raises his glass, and I tap mine against it. There’s sort of an unspoken uneasiness that rises with his mention of not being able to celebrate me getting my job, considering the reason we were interrupted was because my best friend, his son, walked in and interrupted whatever the fuck we were doing.

“About that,” I say. “I feel like the only responsible thing to do is to have a conversation about…that…the purple elephant in the room.”

“Yeah,” he says, setting down his glass. “I was kind of hoping we could delay it as long as possible tonight, but considering what we did earlier, if there is a time to talk about it, it’s now.”

Since we’re on the same page, I decide to just go for it. “I don’t want to do anything that gets in the way of you and your son. I know you were talking about the issues you all have had, and I would be lying if I acted like I didn’t know anything about them beforehand, so I just want to make that clear.”

“And I don’t want to mess up anything you and Ty have, because I know he values your friendship a lot, but at the same time, I recognize I like spending time with you, and I do want to see if this could lead to something else, if that’s what you want.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”

The right side of his lips curls upward like he’s as pleased with my response as I’m pleased with his.

“Neither of us wants to hurt Ty,” I say, “but I think we both agree if there is something here, and it seems like there could be, it’s worth exploring. The question is: when is the best time to tell him?”

“I would think,” Eric says, “not until we’re sure this is more than fucking.”

“I think we’re already sure it’s more than that.”

“No, I agree. I’m sorry. That came out wrong. But more than us liking each other, we want to take this to another level than dating.”

“I agree with that. We both know we like each other, but we should have some time to get to know each other a little better, because that is a lot to put on Ty if we just say it and then nothing comes of this.”

“I just don’t want to drag it out to the point where he feels like he’s been deceived,” Eric points out.

“We’ve already passed that point. Even if we told him today, he’s going to feel lied to. I would just prefer that we tell him sooner rather than later.”

Eric nods.

“It sucks,” I say. “There’s no right answer, because it’d be a mistake to tell him now and then a week from today realize we’re on different wavelengths, go our separate ways, and do all this damage to our relationships with him for nothing.”

Even saying those words, imagining things not working out between us, is painful, but this conversation is about acknowledging the worst-case scenario. “At the same time,” I add, “if there is more, we’re all fucked, because how the fuck can anyone deal with the situation we’re in?”

“Yeah, it’s a big mess.”

“I guess what I’m saying is, Eric, if you don’t want to do this because of what it would do to your relationship with Ty, I understand that, and we could just walk away tonight.”

“Did you say my name to make it that much harder for me to walk away?” he asks, which makes me chuckle. Not sure if it was all that funny or because this is the most awkward conversation ever and my body is trying to shake off some of the tension.

“I don’t want to walk away,” Eric adds. “If I wanted to walk away, I would have done that already. I do know that I like you too much for that. You got me curious, Jesse…curious about who you are, what you like, your hobbies, interests. I want to find out more about you, and I want you to know more about me. Hell, in a very short amount of time, I’ve opened up with you a lot more than I ever have with a lot of people. I know it might not seem like a lot—”

“It does,” I interrupt quickly. “I don’t want you to think I don’t see that, and I’ve appreciated everything you’ve talked with me about.”

“But,” Eric continues, “I think the other issue we have to deal with is the fact that it’s not exactly going to be a normal dating situation. I don’t figure we can go running around town to see movies together and potentially risk getting caught by Ty or one of your mutual friends.”

“I agree. I think that would be a mistake.”

“And as exciting as I’m sure it sounds to have dinner here every night for a while, I don’t think we have many other options.”

“It’s not a bad option, considering all the things we could do here. I mean, at the very least, we can enjoy fucking, hopefully over, and over, and over again.”

Eric smirks. “There is that.”

I take a sip of my wine. After what we’ve discussed, I could use a buzz.

“So, you said you wanted to know more about me?” I ask. “How about we do a little quid pro quo?”

“Like Silence of the Lambs? ‘I tell you things, you tell me things,’” he quotes. “This isn’t for some deep dark secrets or anything?”

“No, just random fun shit, like to get to know each other better. I really want to get to know you, Eric.”

“Okay,” he says. “So what do you got for me, then?”

“Let’s see. I listen to a lot of podcasts. Science and history ones, mainly. I’m part of a flag football league…and also a volleyball league that gets together in the summer.”

“Admittedly, the podcasts are kind of surprising, but not the other stuff. Considering how eager you were to learn how to surf, you’re obviously athletic, not to mention your fairly impressive body.”

“Ah, you don’t need to flatter me, Eric. You already know I’m going to fuck you. So, quid pro quo, Eric.”

He smiles, obviously amused by the little game I’ve made of this, but I like the idea of keeping it light, especially considering he seems like he enjoys keeping his guard up, and all I want to do is help him lower it.

“I don’t really play any sports. I mean, I’ll play pool or basketball with the guys I hang out with, but—”

“It doesn’t have to be sports, Eric. Share anything.”

He thinks for a moment. “I never loved Ty’s mother.”

I’m quiet. Shocked, really. I just said something that wasn’t all that serious at all, and he dropped a fucking bomb.

“She was a good friend, but I was really confused when we got together. Had a lot of bullshit in my head about my sexuality that I was sorting out, and…and I knew it wasn’t right to do that to her even as we were seeing each other. I could tell it was more to her, but…” He tears up. “I did need her back then. I desperately needed a friend, someone to talk to.”

The despair in his tone breaks my heart. I can imagine him, this young guy, struggling to make sense of who he was in a very different time, when the world was crueler and less understanding. And him, being how he is about opening up in general, wanting to have someone to talk to.

He shakes out of his state.

“What?” I ask.

“Nothing. You told me about some activities you do, and then I got all weird with oversharing.”

“Eric, there’s no oversharing right now. I really appreciated hearing that.”

“Quid pro quo, then. I think you owe me a little more than flag football.”

“That’s not really how this game works,” I say. “But I’ll let it pass this time.”

I think for a moment about what to talk about when he blurts out, “Tell me some more about your parents.”

“About?”

“How you met them.”

Such a simple request evokes a powerful memory of that day, and it’s not something I needed a game to bring up. In fact, I wish I would have mentioned it to him sooner.

“I told you after that shoplifting mess, I got sent back to the state. So I would have been twelve when this happened. One day like any other, I was in the bathroom at the shelter. When I was coming out, I bumped into this guy in his thirties, who was heading inside. He was holding a case with this laptop, and he dropped it, and I could hear the thing smash as it hit the ground. You would’ve thought by the sound it made that there’d been a Tiffany’s lamp in it. The case opened up and the pieces went everywhere. I felt like shit. I could tell he was there because he was some parent looking at kids to potentially adopt, meaning I was going to get fussed at after he blabbed about what I’d done.

“I was like fumbling all over myself trying to pick shit up and apologizing. I don’t know how many times I begged him not to tell Miss Judy—she was in charge of us and the one who would bring down the law if anyone acted out. No matter how much I asked him not to say anything, I figured it wouldn’t do me any good. And when he asked me for my name, I just knew he was going to get me into trouble with her. He said it was fine, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before I got into trouble, and in some ways, I was like, fuck it. What did it matter if I did get into trouble? What did anything matter anymore?

“I went back to my room, and sure enough, not a half hour later, Miss Judy showed up. She wanted me to come see this guy, Stan, and his wife, Charlotte. She didn’t seem mad, though, so I knew he hadn’t said anything to her. She led me to her office, where Stan and Charlotte were. She sat me with them, and we all talked, and it took me a while to realize that—holy shit—they were actually talking to me to possibly become adoptive parents. I’d smashed his laptop, and here he was thinking about taking me into their home. Like, who the hell does that?”

“It was obviously an accident. He knew that,” Eric says.

“I think we’ve both lived long enough to learn that most people aren’t typically very kind, even about accidents.”

I can tell by the knowing expression on his face that he knows the truth of that all too well.

“It sounds like you were very fortunate to end up with good people who could see you for the incredible guy you really are.”

“Lucky is what I was.”

“A little luck goes a long way, though, doesn’t it?”

“It really does,” I admit.

“I hope you’re not expecting a quid pro quo.”

I laugh. “We’ll just say you owe me one. How’s that?”

“That’s fair.”

We enjoy the dinner we made, keeping the subjects light, talking movies and music, me appreciating not just what Eric shared with me, but what he let me share with him.

As we joke and laugh, in spite of how serious the conversation turned, I’m tempted to think I’m going to find myself liking Eric even more than I thought I would.