“It’s inconvenient.”
“That’s how you know it’s real.”
Henry chuckled and turned down the stove. Bubbling ravioli sauce splattered out of the saucepan. “You are making the Puritans proud.”
Heat burned Cameron’s cheeks. There was this voice in his head reminding him of the all the reasons why he couldn’t like Walker. Relationships didn’t work. The rug was always waiting to be pulled out from under. Just like it was with him and his mom.
“This can’t work,” Cameron said quietly, not even a whisper.
Henry put his arm around his friend. “You’ve been saying that to yourself about every guy for years. Not every relationship will end up like your parents. You’re happy with Walker. Let yourself be happy.”
The voice in Cameron’s head was sounding more and more like a vocal minority, a squeaky wheel hogging all the grease. He closed his eyes and pictured himself letting go.
“We should eat up,” Cameron said. “Give ourselves time to digest. We don’t want to dance the night away on a full stomach.”
CHAPTER twenty
Walker
Walker blinked his eyes and they were still there. Rows upon rows of an empty spreadsheet waiting to be filled with spend projections. The fluorescent lights beamed above his desk.
He had to plug away on these figures and email them out tonight. This task required pulling up past creative briefs from their partners, finding where they listed their price, and entering it onto one consolidated spreadsheet. In other words, data entry.
One Browerton Bachelor’s Degree hard at work.
Walker’s wrists numbed from typing. Piercing pain shot down the tips of his fingers straight to his elbows. Each tap of a key was morse code spelling out the important messages ofOWWWandCarpal Tunnel Syndrome: here we come.
Walker worked on this sheet through lunch. His half-eaten burrito bowl sat beside him, and he was about to take a bite when his office phone rang. Nobody called him at the office ever. He didn’t think he ever set his voicemail. Email was the name of the game.
“Hello?”
“I’m downstairs.” The caller hung up, but he didn’t need to identify himself. Walker shriveled up inside. He took a final bite of lunch, then rode the elevator down to the lobby.
The doors opened on Doug, waiting there with crossed arms. There was a time when Walker liked getting a rise out of him, because they both knew how to relieve tension.
Eons ago.
“I can’t believe you,” Doug said in a hushed tone. Walker led him to a deserted couch that overlooked well-landscaped lawns.
“What happened?”
“I received a call from Melinda last night. She told me about the ‘baby-sitter’ who picked up Hobie from gymnastics.”
“What?”
“I knew she could only be referring to your rent boy. She thought he was on something.”
“Cameron wasn’t on something. He was probably just nervous.” Walker hated how quickly Doug could get under his skin. He and Melinda ruled over the other parents, but Walker refused to follow suit.
“Nervous?”
“I’m sure Melinda was not welcoming. She probably gave him that cocked-eyebrow-megabitch-staredown that she does so well.”
“Great term. I’m glad your rent boy is expanding your vocabulary.”
“He’s not my rent boy.” Walker grit his teeth. Doug maintained a serene smile for people passing by. “Cameron did a great job looking after Hobie. They built a robot.”
“Oh, I know all about the robot. Hobie wouldn’t stop talking about it. Beerza, I believe is its name.” Doug’s eyebrows were daggers for his ex-husband. “Beer plus pizza.”
