2 Chapter 2
“Do we really need to worry about the rest of it just yet?” Charlie hovered at the kitchen door, looking longingly at his recliner in the living room. “I just want to get off my feet for a few minutes.”
“If you sit down, you won’t want to get up again.” Bryce began opening and closing drawers, finally holding up a box of plastic wrap with an unmistakable look of triumph. “Won’t it be easier to clean up this mess now?”
“Easier, yes. Fun, no.” His stomach flip-flopped as Bryce turned away again, going for the cupboard that held the Tupperware. Maybe asking him to stick around was a bad thing. They’d gone this long without the truth coming out. What did Bryce care what his sexuality was? “You know, you really don’t have to do this. I’ll take care of it. Why don’t you go home?”
“I know what you’re trying to do. If you make me go home, you can leave all this sitting out and go drink beer in front of the television. It’s not going to work.” Bryce poured what remained of the baked beans into a Tupperware container, then added several of the leftover sausages. “That’s mine, by the way.”
“I won’t leave all this sitting out. This is my dinner for the next week.”
Begrudgingly, Charlie moved away from the lure of his recliner and farther into the kitchen, closer to Bryce, closer to temptation. Ever since he’d made this decision, it had been increasingly difficult to just hang out with the younger man. Nobody knew him like Bryce did. Nobody put him at such ease. But finally choosing to be totally honest with him had shifted everything just slightly off-center. Bryce was still Bryce, but he was more than that. He was a very attractive young man who had fueled one or two of Charlie’s most private fantasies. They were fantasies he would never act upon, of course. Bryce was his friend. Just because Charlie could appreciate the man’s bitable ass did not mean he was willing to sacrifice their friendship for a quick fuck.
“Don’t throw that,” he said when he saw Bryce about to dump the rest of the peanut butter pie into the trash. Neither one of them liked it, but he’d picked one up because he thought the neighborhood kids might. “Mrs. Kinley asked if she could have the leftovers. I’m going to run that over tomorrow.”
Bryce wrinkled his nose. “Well, she’s welcome to it. Yet, somehow, I’m not surprised she’d want to have the leftovers.” He covered it in plastic wrap and wedged it into the fridge. He looked up and caught Charlie’s gaze. “You really want to get rid of me? I won’t hang around if you’re tired.”
“No, don’t go.” The words came out before he could think otherwise. Because when Bryce looked at him like that, Charlie couldn’t breathe.
“We’ll have you lounging on your chair in no time,” Bryce promised. They worked in silence for a few minutes before Bryce asked softly, “How you doing? I got the impression you spent most of the day looking for Christian.”
“I did.” He put the plug in the sink and started the hot water. Some of the utensils would need to be soaked before coming clean. “I forgot how big this house is when he’s not around.”
“He’s flying out for Thanksgiving, right? That’s not too far away.”
“Two and a half months. Sometimes I wish I’d moved to Chicago when Sarah went back. At least then I’d see Christian more often.”
“Yeah, that’s true. But you have the right to have your own life, too. I think Christian is old enough to understand that. He’s a pretty sharp kid.” Bryce smirked. “He must get that from his mother’s side of the family.”
Charlie splashed some of the soapy water at Bryce in protest, grinning when the younger man twisted to take it mostly on his back. “I should probably be glad he’s not around for you to influence even more than you do. The entire ride to the airport, all I heard was ‘Bryce said this’ and ‘Bryce did that.’“
“Like I said, he’s a sharp kid. He knows wisdom when he hears it. And fortunately, I’m full of information and clever witticisms.” Bryce dumped several serving utensils into the soapy water. “I’ll stick around and help you take your mind off things.”
“Actually…” Charlie took a deep breath. He had to do it; he knew that. “There was something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“You’re not going to move to Chicago, are you?”
He blinked. “No, of course not. I just…it doesn’t have to do with Christian. Not really. Well, maybe in an obscure way, if you count the divorce.”
Bryce wiped his hands on his pants and stood with his hip against the counter. “What does it have to do with?”
“Why Sarah and I got the divorce in the first place.”
“And you want to talk to meabout it? Okay. I’m all ears.”
Another deep breath. Though deep breaths weren’t really doing a whole lot to stifle the jumping beans exploding in his gut. “Can we do this in the living room?” Charlie tried to smile; he wondered if it looked as strained as it felt. “Or doesn’t the slave driver approve yet?”
Bryce glanced around the kitchen. “Well, you don’t have any food going rancid on the counter, and I’ve already taken what I want. So I guess I approve.”
Charlie wiped his hands on a towel and tossed it onto the counter. He felt every one of the steps to the recliner, and while sitting down was a relief, seeing Bryce settle in the corner of the couch closest to him was not.
