Served Hot (7 page)

“Sorry. You can sleep.” His cheeks turned pink.

“Oh, now I’m curious.” I raised my head to smile at him. Even brain dead and blissed out, I wasn’t going to miss out on his candor.

“It’s just . . . before you I never really thought of myself as someone who liked to top.”

“No kidding?” I tried and failed at keeping the sarcasm out of my voice. I’d already figured out that Sheriff Perfect had been all things toppy and butch. “Wait. Had you never . . .”

“Uh. Yeah. I’d topped.” He turned even pinker. “I . . . experimented some in college. And there were a couple of times with Craig, but it wasn’t really his thing.”

I had a feeling that the “couple of times” in twelve freaking years involved Craig drunk off his ass, but I wisely kept my snark to myself. Dear old Craig had been seriously missing out because David was the best lover I’d ever had—the whole attention-to-detail thing helped, but it was also the way he created such a safe space for me to let go. He was instinctively toppy without any of the asshole side effects that often came with it.

“But you like it, right?” Worry crept past all my post orgasm fuzzy happiness. Being good at something didn’t always translate to fulfillment; my aborted grad school attempt was proof enough of that.

“Oh,
yeah.
” He laughed. “That’s the thing. First time I saw you, my first thought was ‘Man, I want to fuck him.’ Sorry. That’s crude.”

“No, it’s sweet.” I propped myself up on an elbow, stretching to kiss his cheek. “But . . . do you miss it?” I wasn’t sure if these were just idle postsex observations or if he was trying to ask to switch in a very David sort of roundabout way.

“Not really.” He rolled his shoulders.
Thank goodness.
I hadn’t offered to switch mainly because I had no desire to compete with Sheriff Perfect. It wasn’t that I never topped, but I definitely felt most comfortable fucking a guy who knew how he wanted to get done and kept charge of the scene, as opposed to a guy who wanted me to go all toppy and commanding. I wasn’t anywhere close to the throw-him-down-and-ride-him-hard cowboy I imagined Craig to have been.

“If you ever want to . . .” It took a lot to offer, but if that
was
what he needed, I’d try. There wasn’t much I wouldn’t try for him.

“I’ll let you know.” He kissed the top of my head. “But it’s kind of like mashed potatoes.”

“Like potatoes?”

“Like liking mashed potatoes and being convinced it’s the perfect food but never having tasted steak.” He scratched his jaw. “Sorry. Wrong metaphor for a vegetarian—”

“No, I’ll take being your steak.” I kissed his flushed cheek. Suddenly the whole moving thing seemed rather petty. Why begrudge him his slow pace when it got me this? When things
were
pretty much perfect, every single time we got together?

“Hey. You know what?” I asked. “You want to come check out some places with me this weekend? Help me weed out the crazies?” I could do this. I could embrace another roommate situation, put my desire for us to live together on hold.

“I would, but I’m going home this weekend. My dad’s birthday.”

Just like that, my zenlike peace burst. His hometown was at least nine hours away; spending the weekend there would likely be a big deal. Something you’d mention to your boyfriend.

“But . . . it’s Valentine’s on Sunday.” I sounded like a freaking girl, but I couldn’t help it. My first time having an out boyfriend at the right time of year—yeah, I’d been looking forward to it. I’d gotten him a pair of Winterhawks tickets. Nothing cheesy or sentimental, but I’d been planning on our usual brunch, maybe a little extra cuddling in line.

“That’s right. Totally slipped my mind.” He ran a hand through my hair. “Not surprising, I guess, since I’ve never really celebrated that day. Is that like a thing for you? You one of those guys who digs the hearts and flowers?”

“Not really. Overblown commercial crap,” I lied. “We can do something when you get back. How old’s your dad turning?”

“Seventy. Whole family’s descending. Probably a hundred people, all crowded into the Grange. Trust me, I’d rather be spending the day with you.”

“Me too,” I said softly.
You could.
Huge family gathering like that, I’d bet there would be other girlfriends and boyfriends dragged along. And okay, probably not same-sex ones, but still, the fact that going together wasn’t even on the table stung. I felt a bit like I had with Brian: a dirty secret, not fit for his family. It rankled that the holidays had come and gone and he’d met my parents, but no mention had been made of meeting his. Frankly, he’d seemed almost relieved that his schedule had precluded a visit home. Maybe he had no plans to make this more permanent. Sometimes waiting for him felt like an actual weight—a heavy iron thing hanging around my neck, pulling me down.

“Hey, maybe it’ll be the perfect time to try out your phone idea.” He was all kinds of flustered suggesting it, but I couldn’t enjoy his cute discomfort. Phone sex was a pretty empty substitute for a boyfriend who thought I was steak yet still seemed to want to save me for special occasions.

Chapter 8

I
wasn’t sure we wanted the same things. I was depressed and unsure what to do about it. Still, my pulse leaped when I saw his name on my incoming call. His number showed with a selfie I’d snapped of us at brunch one Sunday. I took a moment to stare at him, deep longing coursing through me.

“Hey, stranger.” Giving up on the laundry I’d been sorting, I plopped down on my bed.

“Hi, sweetie. Sorry if it’s late.” I could tell from the
sweetie
and the languid tone of his voice that he’d probably had a few beers. I could also tell he was alone, most likely stretched out in a childhood room I’d never seen, but wanted to know everything about.

“Never too late for you.” I kept my voice light, trying to match his relaxed tone. “How was the party?”

“Long. Boring. Too many kids.”

“You have anyone to talk to?” I wanted to volunteer for next time, but I couldn’t find the words. Instead, I stared at my Portal poster, wishing I could tunnel right to David’s side.

“Not unless you count my redneck cousins who wanted to talk elk hunting.” He chuckled, the sound vibrating through me. “What about you?”

“I watched the Blazers game earlier. Look what you’ve done to me.” Sorting three weeks of laundry while watching a ball game and missing my lover like crazy—yep, I really knew how to have a wild Saturday night. “But that center guy is pretty cute.”

“I haven’t looked at the box score yet. What was his stats line like?”

“I have no idea. He’s got a new tattoo on his left calf, though.” My guy watched sports for the numbers. I watched sports for my guy. And the occasional eye candy. “But he did a wicked block in the fourth quarter.”

“Knew I’d convert you sooner or later.” His voice was like salted caramel sauce—smooth and sweet with a hint of grit. “That’s not all I’d like to do to you.”

“Yeah?” I stretched my legs out on the bed, glancing over to make sure I’d shut my door.

“Miss you. It’s nine degrees here and even with a space heater, this bed is darn cold.” It was the closest he’d come to saying he liked sharing a bed for more than just the obvious, and warmth bloomed in my chest. My own room was none too hot. Portland didn’t get many of these bitter cold snaps and our drafty old rental wasn’t prepared to fend off the chill. I had a small space heater supplementing the ancient radiator that worked better for drying socks than heating humans.

“Wish I were there too. I could heat you up quick.” Undoing the top button of my jeans, I starting spinning out a fantasy involving me, David, a pile of quilts, and warm flesh.

“Trust me, you don’t want to be here.” His emphatic tone threw ice water all over my rising lust.

“Sure I do.” I tried to keep the light, seductive tone going, but it sounded forced even to my own ears. My hand fell away from my fly and I went back to mentally categorizing my posters.

“Nah. Too much . . . never mind.” There was a scratching sound, and I could picture David tugging at his hair, the way he always did when stressed.

“Tell me about it.” The moment for sexy play had evaporated, leaving only concern behind. Didn’t matter how frustrated I was; I still wished I was there to rub his shoulders, make him tell me what was bothering him.

“Oh, nothing new. Just same small town, big family stuff.”

“They give you a hard time for being gay?” My neck tightened at the memory of the last family reunion my dad had dragged me to. Lots of military types and southerners who’d been all nice-nice while my dad was around and gossipy harpies as soon as he was out of the room.

“Some of them. Most of them pretend it’s a nonissue. But it’s always hard at things like this, where my parents’ friends show up too.”

“Ah.” Somewhere buried under all his subtext and careful inflection, the real issue revealed itself like a crack in a freshly painted ceiling. “Craig’s family was there?”

“Yeah. Not a big deal.” His words said one thing, but his weary tone revealed the truth. “Our fathers grew up together. Hell, even our grandfathers were friends. They’ve always come to family parties and stuff.”

“Even after . . .” My fingers fiddled with the buttons on my duvet cover.

“Yeah. I mean, there were a couple of months when Earl didn’t talk to my dad.”

“And that was easier?” I guessed.

“A little.” He sounded like he felt guilty for it. “But somehow they put it behind them. Our folks are at least social to each other.”

“But not to you?”

“I don’t exist to Earl and Dottie.” His voice was quiet. “It’s not a question of civil. I simply don’t exist to them. At some point they decided that whatever went down was an aberration and that denial was a great place to take up residence. So they did. And they ignore me altogether.”

“Geez. That sucks.” A chill raced down my spine.

“And every time I see them . . .”

“What?”

“I can’t help thinking that he should be there too. That he should be right behind Earl, slapping my dad on the back, getting his mom’s coat . . .”

“That has to suck for you.” I didn’t know what else to say. I inhaled slowly, caught the scent of baking cookies. Sarah was busy testing new recipes. Usually the aroma lured me to the kitchen, but right now my stomach was churning and all I wanted to do was stay behind my closed door.

“It does. But not as much as it used to. Knowing I’d get to call you later helped.” He sounded like he was forcing the good cheer past a huge boulder of guilt and sadness.

“How about I come next time?” He sounded so down that my desire to wrap my arms around him trumped my reluctance to raise the topic.

“I . . . don’t know.”

Damn.
I called myself thirty-seven kinds of idiot for thinking he might go for it. Kicking at the lump of blankets at the foot of my bed, I sat up.

“You don’t want that. Trust me.”

That stung. I’d heard similar words from Brian a dozen times.
You wouldn’t like them anyway. You’d be bored. I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable.
And then, finally, the truth.
We’d need to be just friends for them. I don’t think I can play it that way. You don’t want to lie.

“It’s not
you.
” He tried to reassure me, his voice like an invisible pat on the knee. “It’s them. Some of them are . . . a little racist. The things they say, you know.”

“Oh.” I’d heard those excuses from Brian too. In Portland, the whole half-Asian thing was a complete nonissue, something I only really dwelled on when my dad dragged me to one of his family things back in Virginia. Mom got all stiff and nervous around my dad’s very white, very southern family. But I’d always caught more heck from my cousins for the whole short, nerdy, and queer thing than for who my mom was. “I wouldn’t care.” I’d told that same lie to Brian, and just like then, it didn’t make any difference.

“I would.” His voice was tight, and I sensed he was sitting up now, any trace of his buzz gone. His leg would be swaying restlessly, a hand on his knee. “But hey, it’s not all a downer. My coworkers love you.”

“I like them too.” It wasn’t really enough and it wasn’t the same as meeting the family, but it was all I had. Probably all I was going to get. I told myself not to be a baby about this. My getting all needy wouldn’t solve anything.

“Carol talked to her husband the Realtor for you. And it’s actually good timing for me too.”

“How so?” I couldn’t help the uptick in my pulse.

“Yeah. Property management company sold our building. Apparently, it’s the season for apartment hunting in Portland.”

“You’re not thinking of using the roommate service for yourself, are you?”

“Of course not.” His dismissal was emphatic. “No. I haven’t had a roommate since college. Last thing I want is another. I’ve been on my own too long. Too set in my ways and all that.”

Last thing I want.
I had to swallow hard, my throat feeling doused in Super Glue. For a moment, I’d let myself believe I’d found the perfect segue to talking about us sharing a place. For an instant, my chest had vibrated with stupid hope, but he’d extinguished all that in four words. Us living together seemed like little more than a pipe dream, especially on a night when he seemed to miss his dead lover’s presence more than mine.

“Oh.” My voice was way too soft, so I took another breath, needing to get the hurt out of my tone. “You’re going to use Carol’s connection to find another rental. Still in Northwest?”

“Sure. That or the Pearl.”

“Of course.” Great. Two of the highest-rent areas. I couldn’t even take solace in the idea of living closer to him. With my luck, I’d be stuck out in Beaverton, with a forty-five minute commute to work and David.

“But we can totally look together, like you suggested. Maybe next weekend. Check out some places for me and some roommates for you.”

Oh, no. Just no. This I could not do. I couldn’t go out looking at little one-bedrooms with him, fresh blank canvases of a future we wouldn’t be having. And to have to turn around and hope our next stop didn’t yield a smoking cat lady with an angry boyfriend.

“With any luck I’ll find a place before then.” My mouth was on autopilot, disengaged from the hurt and frustration raging through me. I smacked a pillow hard enough to send it skittering to the floor.

“Sure. Whatever you want.” David sounded tentative, and somehow that made my heart break even more. I threw my other pillow at the door.

“I should probably be going.” I needed off this call. My control over my voice was slipping and the last thing I wanted was to go all whiny on him. Not when I knew it wouldn’t help anything.
Last thing I want.

“So soon?” I could hear him shifting about.

“Yeah. I’ve got a load of clothes on downstairs and I promised Sarah I’d try her cookies.” The clothes could rot in the washer for all I cared, and Sarah’s hemp-nut cookies weren’t exactly high on my must-haves list, but I was willing to seize any excuse.

“Oh. I thought . . . never mind.”

“Sorry.” I knew what he’d been thinking, and five minutes ago I’d been all for it. God, even now, I wanted to give him that release, wanted to erase all the tension I heard in his voice, wanted to undo his shitty day. Wanted to be the best part of his life.

But I was the coward who couldn’t even tell him I loved him as we hung up, and he was so used to being alone, I wasn’t sure there would ever be room for me in his heart.