“No, of course not,” Thomas said. “But deep down, you wanted to, and this was your chance to kiss me with plausible deniability built in. It was just a game, and you were being a good sport by going along with the dare.”
“Of course,” Rhys said, keeping his tone dry, but some small part of him was getting hooked by Thomas’s fairy tale. “Then what happened?”
“Well, then we kissed, and our explosive chemistry scorched everyone in a ten-foot radius, and there was no way either of us could pretend we were just friends anymore.”
Rhys imagined how the scene might go. Thomas’s cheeks would be flushed as they always were once he had more than a couple of beers, and maybe the flush would deepen when someone “helpfully” pushed him in Rhys’s direction. If they were hanging out with some of the cast and crew after filming ended for the day, they might be in the studio with a cooler full of ice and beer and a bottle of wine or two.
Rhys would be sitting on a metal folding chair, which would make it easy for Thomas to straddle his lap. Thomas would slide his arms loosely around Rhys’s neck and turn those big blue eyes on Rhys, and Rhys would get sucked into their depths until he felt like he was drowning. Thomas might bite his bottom lip shyly before ducking his head and brushing his lips against Rhys’s. It would be a taste, but it wouldn’t be enough. Rhys would rest his hands on Thomas’s back and feel the play of muscle beneath skin, would feel the wiry strength in Thomas’s slender frame —
“Is something burning?”
“Fuck!” Rhys jolted out of his daydream and snatched up a spatula to rescue the eggs, but it was too late. The whites were already dark brown, and the edges were almost black.
His face felt so hot that he thought it might be glowing as brightly as the burner beneath his skillet, and his cock was showing some approval of the fantasy that had spun itself out in his head as well.
“Shit. Sorry.” Rhys carried the eggs over to the garbage can and stepped on the pedal that opened the lid. “I’ll have to make some more.”
“What, you don’t like your eggs extra crispy?” Thomas was grinning, his eyes crinkling at the edges. Rhys sent up a prayer to whoever might be listening that Thomas hadn’t guessed the wayward nature of Rhys’s thoughts.
“Not so much.”
Rhys went to the fridge to retrieve more eggs, and when he closed the fridge door and turned, Thomas was behind him, startling Rhys enough that he almost dropped the eggs. After Rhys began working with Thomas on stunts for the show, he realized Thomas was both quick and agile, He could move quietly, which had helped with the stunt work but sure as hell wasn’t helpful for Rhys now.
“Shit!” He glared at Thomas and held up both arms in an X across his chest, although he wasn’t sure whether he was protecting the eggs or himself. Maybe both. “I forgot you’re a damned ninja when you want to be.”
“Sorry,” Thomas said, but he didn’t look apologetic. “It occurred to me that whatever version of the story we go with, we should probably be comfortable with physical contact too.” He skimmed his fingertips along Rhys’s forearm, and Rhys felt trails of fire bloom on his bare skin. “Maybe we should practice.”
“Practice what?” Rhys’s voice cracked, and he scowled and cleared his throat.
“Touching,” Thomas said, brushing the back of Rhys’s hand, and Rhys exerted effort to keep from yanking his hand away. “I tend to be tactile with my partners.”
Rhys wasn’t surprised. Thomas seemed to respect Rhys’s boundaries and kept a certain amount of distance, but Rhys had observed him behaving differently with others — offering hugs, casually wrapping his arm around their shoulder or waist, resting his hand on their shoulder. The kind of casual contact that Rhys had refused to give or receive except in limited quantities to only a handful of people in the last five years.
“I like to touch and be touched.” Thomas took a step closer, moving into Rhys’s personal space, and Rhys stepped back until he hit the fridge. “But your family isn’t going to believe we’re dating if you look like a deer caught in headlights every time I come near you. If we’ve been dating two months, we should still be in the handsy, grabby honeymoon stage.”
“Shit.” Rhys stared down at Thomas, at a loss for what to do. Clearly he hadn’t thought this scheme through well enough.
“Put the eggs down,” Thomas said in a gentle voice. “Then put your arms around me.”
Rhys set down the eggs with care, then eyed Thomas warily. “Why?”
“Practice,” Thomas said as he stepped back and held out his arms. “I promise the world won’t end if you do this.”
Rhys let out a derisive snort at that, but he still hesitated. He hadn’t held a man in his arms since Andy and doing so now felt like a betrayal. But he wasn’t betraying Andy because Thomas wasn’t his boyfriend. They weren’t even dating. They were just friends, and this was just practice so he could be convincing for his family.
Slowly he hunkered down so he could slide his arms around Thomas’s waist, but before he could start to feel awkward or wonder what to do next, Thomas wrapped his arms around Rhys in return and moved into the embrace with a soft sigh.
“See?” Thomas rubbed his cheek against Rhys’s shoulder. “The world is still turning.”
“Yeah.” Rhys’s voice sounded ragged even to his own ears. He felt the warmth of Thomas’s body seeping through his clothes. He felt the steady rhythm of Thomas’s breathing. He felt how easily Thomas relaxed in his arms like this was somehow good and right.
It was different. Rhys had been able to look Andy in the eyes when they embraced, but he could rest his chin on the top of Thomas’s head. Andy had a broad-shouldered, solid build, but Thomas was all lean muscle on a smaller frame. Andy was gone, but Thomas was here.
Rhys’s breath hitched, and his eyes stung as he tried to blink back tears. He missed Andy so damned much, but he was starting to realize he missed having someone to share his life with, to love, to hold in his arms even more. During the first year, he’d often wished he’d died with Andy, but now he thought maybe part of him wanted to live again, and that scared the hell out of him.
“Rhys?” Thomas drew back and looked up at him with concern that swiftly shifted to dismay. “Aw, shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Instead of releasing Rhys, however, he tightened his arms around Rhys’s waist and squeezed hard. “It’s okay. We can tell everyone we’re not a touchy-feely kind of couple.”
“No, I’m all right.” Rhys rubbed his eyes and gave Thomas a one-armed squeeze in return. “Or I will be. It’s just this is a first for me, even if it’s not real.”
“I want to help,” Thomas said, stroking Rhys’s back in a slow, soothing rhythm. “Maybe—”
But whatever he’d intended to say was lost when they were both startled by the ringing of the doorbell, followed by an enthusiastic “yoo hoo!” that was loud enough to carry to the back of the house.
“Oh, fuck…” Rhys groaned and released Thomas so he could bury his face in his hands. Just what he needed right now!
“What? Is it one of your neighbors?” Thomas asked.
“No, worse. It’s Mama.”
