Chapter 9
Except that he’s a hell of an artist.
And…he’s gay.
For about thirty seconds, Rusty entertained the idea that Nate had brought him here to hit on him, but the notion didn’t ring true, and he ended up smiling at himself. “Paranoid, Rusty,” he muttered. He’d already figured out that with Nate, what you saw at any given moment was exactly Nate. And so far, despite the rough start at the ticket counter, that was a pretty decent guy.
The teakettle whistled for a fraction of a second, quickly cut off, and Rusty went to see if Nate could use a hand. There wasn’t enough room in the kitchen for the two of them to stand together without getting closer than Rusty thought wise, so he ended up lurking in the archway, watching Nate load a tray with two steaming mugs and a spread of the finger foods and dipping sauces from Rajah-to-Go.