His background flashes in colorful blurs I can’t distinguish as he walks. After a few seconds, he says, “Why are both of you asking me that?”
“He asked, too?”
“Yeah. Do I not seem okay?”
“I’m just checking in. But if there’s something you need to talk about…”
“Just wrapping my brain around things. You know, like instead of seeing what’s happening between us as a problem I need to fix, I could be looking at it as an opportunity.”
“That’s a very C-suite take.”
“Right?”
“Do you really see it as a problem?” I ask.
“I don’t know. More like a line of code I can’t figure out. But I told you I’m keeping an open mind.”
“You are, and I’m so grateful. I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight. Both of you.”
He sucks in his cheeks and nods. “Yeah. There’s gonna be quite a few people at our place, though. You know that, right?”
“Yeah, I get the concept of a party.”
He bites his lip. “I’m looking forward to seeing you, too. In fact, if you can show up looking just like that, I wouldn’t be mad about it.”
That makes me blush, and I nervously smooth my hair back again. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“You have our address, right?”
They’ve both sent me the address. I also dropped Evan off there Monday morning. “Yeah, baby. I know where you live.”
His eyes nearly disappear when he smiles. “Don’t call me that, oh my God…”
“Oh, because you obviously hate it.”
“I’ll see you tonight, okay? Show up whenever. We’re in apartment three.”
I’m nervous the second I hang up the phone because I can’t fuck this up. I need to be prepared for anything to happen. The good, the bad, the ugly. Temper tantrums, panic attacks, puking apparently, because that’s a thing I do now. To be clear, I’m not worried about the dinner party itself. I’m good with people. It’s after the party I’m concerned about.
I swear I used to love being a gay man in San Francisco. A rich, relatively attractive one. When I was younger I could have anyone I wanted. I’ve had a few brief relationships, but never with anyone I want as much as I want Evan and Deacon. I’ve consistently run into compatibility issues with my would-be partners. Calyx—the runway model— is a perfect example. He and I lasted about three months, but we had a lot of issues with communication and even more in the bedroom.
His sex drive was significantly lower than mine, and I couldn’t really see past how goddamn gorgeous he was to dive into what the real issues were. In short, we were incompatible. All my relationships have been some version of that, which is why Evan was such a breath of fresh air. He says what’s on hismind, he never lets me derail him. He always gives as good as he gets. He’s smart as fuck, and quick. Not to mention, he’s a sexy brat with a great ass who loves to be fucked and doesn’t give a shit about HR. I didn’t realize I was falling so hard for him until the two dates I went on before I met Deacon, though.
The dates were both with good looking, intelligent, self-assured men who had plenty of money of their own and yet lacked any chemistry with me whatsoever. Then I’d show up in the office the next morning, hear Evan nag me about the schedule, watch him prowl toward me and—cue the inferno.
Should I have said something and not gone on the date with Deacon? Probably. But Evan never acted like he wanted more from me. Sex with him was about as impersonal as sex gets. Not only that, but I had no idea I was the only person he was fucking. At his age, with his looks? I assumed he hooked up all the time.
Evan’s a fucking minx. How was I supposed to know that was just for me? And he certainly never said anything about being head over heels for his roommate in an unrequited way. If I’d known about any of those things, I like to think I would have worked a hell of a lot harder, properly seducing him in order to make him forget everyone who wasn’t worth his time and charm him into giving all his attention to me.
But here I am with my churning stomach and upper lip sweat in the middle of February, climbing the stairs to apartment number three to go to a dinner party with two men I’m equally attracted to who also happen to be attracted to each other. If this doesn’t turn into a disaster, it might end up being the first night of the rest of my life.
Evan answers the door in a tight, cropped white sweater and low slung baggy jeans. The sweater is practically mesh. It’s amazing. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are red, a little swollen. Delectable.
“Hi,” he says through one of his outstanding smiles.
“Hi.” I hand him the bottle of wine I’m carrying in one hand.
He gives the label a cursory glance. “Is this a good one?”
