It should have been one of my proudest moments.
But instead I was standing in his kitchen, watching the carafe fill with coffee, wondering if I’d fucked everything up. I knew I’d been doing nothing but send him mixed signals. Hendrix accused me of being arrogant, and that was true. I’d never been ashamed of seeking out the things I wanted and taking them. I wouldn’t say I would lie to get my way, but I was clever enough with words to get what I wanted from a partner. From the gate, Hendrix had seen through me, or he’d diluted me, or something as horribly unappealing as either of those things.
I didn’t want to be seen.
I didn’t want to fall in love.
I told him from the beginning I knew pursuing anything with him would end with me falling in love. He’d taken it as a jest, but it had been the absolute truth. In my whole life, which was admittedly shorter than his, I’d never met a man like him. And maybe that was because he’d been across the country, in junior high when I’d been born, and obviously very gay before I’d even thought about another person in that way in the first place, and…
“Good morning.”
Hendrix’s voice behind me startled a very inelegant sound out of my mouth. He chuckled, and I pressed my hand against my heart to still it, even though the scare was the lesser of the two causes.
“I’m impressed you’re vertical.” I opened the cupboard above his coffee pot and pulled out two mugs. Hendrix kissed the back of my neck and I filled one mug to the top and the other three-quarters of the way. “How do you take your coffee?”
“You didn’t see me limp down the hall to get here.” He huffed a laugh against the back of my neck. The hairs stood up as he breathed on the wet marks left by his kisses. “And black is fine.”
“A man after my own heart.” I filled the second mug the rest of the way to the top.
“Sounds like I already have it.”
I cleared my throat, turning with the mugs in hand. Hendrix took one and sidestepped toward his patio before coming to a stop.
“You weren’t kidding about having problems walking,” I teased.
“I was going to go outside, but the patio set is broken. It’s a mess.”
“We can go out.” I handed him my mug and indicated with a raised finger for him to wait.
The bedroom was a disaster, proof of a long night. The pillow for Hendrix’s knees was still on the floor and the contents of my backpack scattered around the room. The sheets were tangled, half on the bed and half off. I grabbed the duvet and wrapped it up, taking it with me to the kitchen and gesturing for him to follow me into the yard.
It was closer to noon than sunrise, and the sun had already began its slow creep toward the top of the sky. California weather was delightful. I fanned the king size duvet out over the grass and sat down, stretching out my legs. Hendrix sat down beside me and handed back my mug. Even with the warm air, steam still wafted from the potent brew and I breathed it in.
“How are you feeling after last night?” I asked, taking a tentative sip and avoiding the comment he’d made in the kitchen.
“I’m feeling old and used.” He chuckled and bumped his shoulder against mine. “In a good way.”
“Is there a good way to feel old?”
“Yeah, it’s the way I’m feeling right now.”
“That’s fair.” I glanced past him toward the fence that separated our yards. My stare landed on the patio set he’d mentioned, lying in half a heap on the wooden back deck. “What happened to your chairs?”
“They’re old too,” he said. “But not in the good way. I fell through one the first night you hollered at me through the fence.”
“I didn’t holler,” I corrected.
Tease. Taunt. Condescend.
Any of those words would have worked.
“Either way. It broke and I fell straight through it. Landed on my hip.”
“Glad the damage wasn’t worse.” I took another drink of my coffee, gaze falling toward the fence before drifting around the rest of the yard.
“What about you?” he asked.
I snorted. “Are you worried about the damage?”
