Chapter Six

A BUNDLE of excitement and nerves, Kyle paced the foyer barefoot. He’d changed out of his wet clothes and into a black button-down shirt and a pair of dark-wash jeans, strategically worn in places like they’d been around the block a few times. He didn’t want to appear too dressy or too casual.

His little black-and-white Boston terrier was disemboweling the squeaky toy Kyle bought him yesterday. “I think you’re really going to like him, Jasper.”

Jasper snorted and blew a piece of nylon fuzz off his face.

Kyle chuckled and peeked out the window. It was still raining, but thankfully not as heavily as earlier. He’d bought several flats of flowers to plant this weekend—just like he and Mom always used to do—and he didn’t relish the beds being a swampy mess. Since he’d bought the house in the winter, he wasn’t entirely sure what was even growing on the property. Little spots of green had been popping up here and there, and he’d been delighted by the lovely patch of tulips and daffodils in the one corner. Sadly the rain had knocked all the tulip petals off so they were just leaves and stems now. Kyle had been looking forward to getting his hands dirty tomorrow.

But maybe I’ll be too busy with Forrester to do any planting, he mused.

Just as that pleasant thought crossed his mind, a black pickup pulled in his driveway.

“He’s here.” His blood warmed as he remembered the feel of being in Forrester’s arms, the taste of his lips.

Yes, he wanted Forrester physically, but something else drew Kyle in.

Something more primal.

The first time Kyle saw Forrester chewing a pencil and doing a crossword behind the bar in his bookstore, Kyle had felt something. Call it a sixth sense, call it animal lust or fate, but when their eyes met, Kyle had a funny notion they were old friends reunited after being apart too long.

Dad’s words drifted through his mind. “Son, when you meet your soul mate, you just know. It’s that simple.” One of the few things he remembered him saying, but he couldn’t be sure if the words were Mom telling Kyle or real memories. Recollections of his father were vague at best, scents and feelings more than actual events. He’d loved when Mom used to talk about him. Her eyes would light up, and she would smile in a way that uniquely belonged to Dad’s memory. They’d really been in love, married six weeks after their first hello.

The doorbell rang, and he jumped. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door.

“Your house is so cute,” Forrester gushed, looking around at the porch, the pale gray floor, and the light green ceiling that matched the colors the previous owners had chosen. Sage, violet, plum, and gold accented the gray bungalow’s gingerbread architecture. Safe from the elements, the flower flats—yellow pansies, purple wave petunias, and pink impatiens—sat under the porch and would complement the house’s colors when they bloomed.

“Thanks,” he managed. Forrester never failed to take his breath away. “Get in here before you’re washed away.”

He had a pizza box in his hands. “Didn’t want to leave it in the store.”

“I can put that in the fridge,” Kyle offered, taking it from him.

Forrester smiled, and for a moment, Kyle imagined they might kiss, but without warning, a black-and-white blur jolted forward. Jasper, making noises like a pig, Scooby-Doo-ed it across the floor and barreled into their guest.

“Oomph!”

“Jasper, get down,” Kyle scolded, but the dog eagerly jumped on Forrester, licking, barking, and not listening.

Forrester patted the dog happily. Snorting, Jasper licked his hand, did a circle around Kyle, then raced back. With a laugh, Forrester bent down and let Jasper jump and lick to his heart’s content.

“Hey there, little guy. I hear you’re Instagram famous,” he said as he scratched Jasper good across his belly. Jasper snorted and squirmed, totally in heaven. “Oh, aren’t you a good boy, yes, him’s a good boy, isn’t he? Yeaaah.”

Nothing sexier than a man baby-talking a dog.

Jasper shot off like a rocket, jumping on the couch, and then he raced along the tops of the cushions to spring off the end table. His nails had already scratched the hell out of the leather and wood, but Kyle loved watching him run along the back of the couch, jump down, then dart down the hallway, so he forgave him for destroying the furniture.

Drying his glasses off on his jersey, Forrester laughed as Jasper made his wild little circuit twice. “Man, he’s hyper.”

“Tell me about it.” He gestured Forrester farther into the house. “Make yourself at home.”

“I swear I’m soaked clear through.” Forrester brushed his hair off his brow and then peeled off his hoodie. “You got somewhere I can hang this to dry?”

“Yeah. Then I can get you something dry to change into.”

Forrester gave him a sly smile. “Or I could just get naked.”

Kyle grinned until he noticed Forrester shivering. “How about you wear a pair of my sweats and a T-shirt and warm up first?”

Rubbing one arm, he raised a finger. “Actually that’s a very good point. I’m freezing.”

“Laundry room’s this way.” Kyle tried to imagine what Forrester must be thinking of his home as he led him to the back of the house. Little tufts of nylon fuzz from Jasper’s toy littered the floor, the only thing out of place. “The house isn’t remodeled inside yet, but there are things I plan to do,” he said, glancing back. “For now I just want to get settled. And since it’s spring, I’ll probably start outside with some landscaping. I love gardening.”

His therapist, Emma Nickerson, had suggested he take up a hobby. Playing in the dirt and making pretty things grow was not only rewarding, but it kept his mother’s memory fresh. No one back home had a thumb as green as hers. Kyle hoped one day to be half as good.

“Yeah, I saw the flowers on the porch.” Forrester was openly looking around, craning his neck to look up the stairs. “This place is great, how many bedrooms?”

“Three upstairs, one main bathroom down here, living room, a dining room I plan to turn into a library, and a big kitchen. Nice and old-fashioned. But it needs another bath upstairs.”

Forrester ran his hand along the wooden architecture around the archways and doors detailed with art-deco stained glass. It was all painted white, but Kyle planned to strip it to the original finish.

“How old is your house?”

“1902.”

He nodded. “Is it on the historical registry?”

“Yes, which is why it’s so cold upstairs in the winter. I need new windows, but they have to be approved.”

“Didn’t used to be like that here. Gilead got depressed in the seventies when the railroad left. Then that country singer got famous and bam! All the gays and hipsters are fixing up the neighborhood. Real estate’s almost doubled since I opened my store. They must pay you well over at the prosecutor’s office if you can afford one of these houses.”

Kyle laughed. “Actually, I inherited a good sum when my parents died.”

Forrester’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. Sometimes I say stuff without thinking.”

“It’s okay.”

In lieu of a table in the kitchen’s dining area were two comfortable chairs, each with their own end table piled with books. Books that had been piling up as Kyle continually frequented a little bookstore with its hot owner while he plucked up the courage to ask him out. The whole author signing with Scott had been serendipitous.

“When did you lose your father?” Forrester asked.

“He died in a car accident before I turned six.” He flipped on the light to the laundry room. He’d never had a real male role model in his life—another reason he’d been so promiscuous, according to Emma.

“Can I hang this here?” Forrester asked, pointing at a hook on the wall with his wet hoodie.

Kyle nodded and handed Forrester a towel.

“Thanks.” Forrester vigorously dried his hair, then hung the towel over his drying hoodie. Kyle swallowed hard when Forrester withdrew a green paperback from his back pocket and placed it on the dryer.

“We’ll just set this here.” Forrester grinned slyly.

Hot lust whipped down Kyle’s back, but he fished in the dryer for the sweats and T-shirts he knew were in there from an earlier load. He handed a set to Forrester. “These should fit. Might be short in the….”

Forrester already had his jersey off and was lowering the zipper on his khakis. He had a tattoo on his arm, a snake of some sort, and the perfect amount of body hair, thicker on his pecs and spreading lightly across his entire belly to the dark line below his navel. Kyle had always had a thing for hairy guys. Probably all those Magnum, P.I. reruns Mom used to watch.

Kyle’s body warmed all the way to his toes and back up. Forrester never broke eye contact as he stripped down to his underwear. For a hopeful second, Kyle imagined he might remove his tighty-whities, exposing that ample bulge he’d felt harden against him earlier, but Forrester was playing coy. He slid on the sweats first, then the Shiloh U T-shirt, smiling wickedly the whole time.

Forrester threw out his arms, putting himself on display. “Well, what do you think?”

“The T-shirt fits and the sweats aren’t capris on you,” Kyle told him, slipping past him and back into the kitchen, where he could breathe.

Yes, Kyle had invited Forrester over for sex, but they’d both admitted to wanting more. In the past, being with a guy was all about getting to the good parts, like sucking and fucking. But with Forrester, he wanted to relish the moment, feel their connection. Kyle clung tight to his heart, but the desire to be in a relationship with someone who loved him had at times become overwhelming. He wanted someone to share his life with. Someone to laugh with, go to breakfast with, and hold hands with over coffee.

Could Forrester Giordano possibly be that man?

Don’t get ahead of yourself… he’s not even out.

Kyle cleared his throat. “You wanna watch a game?”

“Who’s playing?” Forrester joined him in the kitchen.

Kyle had mounted a fifty-four-inch plasma on the blank wall beside his pantry because he hung out in the kitchen/dining area more than the living room. He surfed through the guide channel. “Looks like the Brewers and Indians game is still on.”

“Sounds great.”

Kyle needed a drink to calm his excited nerves. He had a three-drink rule, never more, and he could definitely use one now. “You want a beer?”

Forrester scrunched up his face. “No, thanks. I don’t like beer.”

“That’s right.” Kyle would’ve taken Forrester for one of those guys who drank beer, loved sports, and bitched about malls and shopping. He might be wrong on the beer, but he’d bet money Forrester hated shopping.

“What do you like? I have a bit of everything.” He gestured to a fully stocked bar that had once served as a built-in desk. “Vodka, scotch, white wine?”

“Wine’s good. If it’s sweet.”

Kyle selected a bottle from the wine fridge under the desk’s granite counter. “A late-harvest Riesling?”

“Um, sure. As long as that means it’s sweet like Boone’s Farm.”

He poured them both a glass. “Hopefully it’s better than Strawberry Hill.” He passed one to Forrester, the chilled wine already causing condensation. He raised his own in a toast. “To rainy days and Jules Verne.”

They clinked glasses. After taking a sip and smiling with approval, Forrester turned his attention to the plasma TV. Seeming relaxed, he took a seat on one of the barstools to watch the game. “We’re in the lead, four to two.”

“Indians fan?”

“Oh yeah.”

Kyle sniffed in approval. At this hour of the day, he was usually eager to lose his processor, veg in silence, and watch the game on closed-captioning, but he was happy to have Forrester there. Kyle leaned across the island, eyes divided between the TV and Forrester in those glasses, looking all geek-sexy.

His dick pressed against his jeans, and subtly he reached down to give it more room. A smile formed on his face.

No, he didn’t regret inviting this man into his home, opening up the more private parts of his life so quickly. Not one tiny bit. It felt right having him here, comfortable.

Perfect.

When the game went to commercial, Forrester set his glass down and faced him, looking uncomfortable. “Is it a problem that I’m not out?”

“No, not really.”

His brows furrowed. “What do you mean not really?”

“I won’t force you to be out. But everyone around here knows I’m gay. People at work too. You should ask yourself if that’s a problem for you.”

Forrester nodded and remained quiet.

“Can I ask why?” Kyle said.

“Because I always thought I’d meet my future husband in college. It’d be easier to come out to my family with someone at my side. But I didn’t have a boyfriend when I moved back home, so I never said anything. Like, why bother? Besides, if I come out, the Spaghetti Hotline will just blow up, and I don’t need the drama.”

“Spaghetti Hotline?”

“Ma’s name for the family gossip chain. Everyone’s in everybody’s business. Real pain in the ass.”

“I have no family.” Kyle didn’t want to make Forrester feel bad but hoped he could see how lucky he was to have so many people who cared, even if it was annoying.

“None?”

Kyle shrugged. “After Dad died, we moved in with my grandma. Mom practiced law in Portland, mostly DUIs and divorces, stuff like that. I didn’t have anyone besides Mom and Grandma. And they’re both gone now.”

“I’m sorry,” he gushed. “I know I sound shitty, ungrateful. But you just don’t understand my family.”

Kyle waited while Forrester sipped his wine and squirmed on the stool.

When Forrester drained his glass, Kyle held up the bottle in question. “Better than Boone’s Farm?”

“Yeah, it’s good.”

He refilled their glasses, and just when Kyle thought Forrester wouldn’t say anything, Forrester caught his gaze. “The men in my family are stereotypical straight guys. I mean, my dad said queer and fag without batting an eye, because that’s what his generation did. My brothers aren’t that bad, but they ain’t voting with the rainbow flag in mind either. If I had a nickel for every time Ma said, ‘love the sinner hate the sin,’ my loan would be paid off and I’d have one of these houses in Gilead too.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you upset.”

“I’m not upset,” Forrester assured him, eyes wide. “I just want you to see where I’m coming from. I don’t think—at least I’m pretty sure—my family wouldn’t disown me or anything, but I’m just not ready to have them all treating me different. What if they meet Forrester, and don’t love Frankie anymore?”

When Forrester’s voice cracked, Kyle moved, coming to stand in front of him. Forrester spread his knees so Kyle could slip between and hug him tight.

“Not that I’m complaining, but what’s this for?” Forrester asked, returning the embrace.

Not releasing him, Kyle pulled back and brushed a damp curl off his face, the action appeasing and apologetic. “I’m sure they’ll love you no matter what. How could they not? You’re kinda great.”

That brought a real smile to his face. “I am, huh?”

Kyle nodded and swayed his hips. “You are.” With Kyle standing and Forrester on the barstool, they were almost at eye level. Kyle couldn’t help himself and kissed Forrester on the cheek.

Forrester wrapped his arms farther around Kyle’s waist, drawing him close.

Just feeling Forrester’s hard body pressed against him made Kyle shiver with anticipation. “So what’s this Frankie thing? I hear your friends call you that sometimes.”

He chuckled, his breath warm on Kyle’s neck before he pulled back to explain. “Some old-fashioned Italians name firstborn sons after the father’s father, and the second after the mother’s father. Or the first daughter after the father’s mother, and so on. Since I’m the second son, I’m named after Gramps, but my whole family calls me Frankie.”

“And you don’t like it?”

Forrester heaved a sigh. “It’s just a daily reminder that I’m not who they think I am or want me to be. That they don’t know the real me. Maybe they don’t even want me to be the real me. Like I’m Frankie, and that’s it. There’s no room for gay Forrester.”

“You can’t know that’s true.”

When Forrester frowned, Kyle instantly regretted his words. He touched Forrester’s cheek. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay.” He ran his hands up Kyle’s back. “I know you’re right, but knowing it and doing it are two different things.”