He shrugged. “You haven’t made a meal yet that I didn’t like, so…”
“Well, it helps that you’re not as picky an eater as your brother.”
“As much of a complainer, you mean,” he countered as we made our way to the living room, and then he followed me to the kitchen.
A quick check showed it was five-thirty, so I might as well start making dinner. I liked eating early—one of the leftover habits from my Army career—and Forest seemed to have adapted to that habit because he always made sure to have dinner ready around six as well when it was his turn to cook.
“It’s gotten a lot better since he met Heath, I’ll tell you that.” I continued our conversation as I grabbed the potatoes from the fridge.
Forest was already filling a large pot with water.
“You don’t need to do that,” I told him.
“I figured I’d help you since we’re both here anyway.”
Cooking together. That was new. I liked it, probably more than I should, which was only more proof of how truly pathetic I was becoming. “Sure.”
I started peeling the potatoes as he defrosted the ground beef. “How was work today?”
He shrugged. “I like it. It’s a small community college, but I like that I get to build relationships with my students. And it’s very diverse.”
“You speak Spanish, right?”
He wiggled his hand. “Enough to get by, but I’m nowhere near fluent. But I can understand and make myself understood, so that’s good enough, I suppose.”
“I’m still learning. I picked up some phrases in the military since we had some Latino men, but they weren’t necessarily the most useful…or appropriate. Sure, I can proposition women in Spanish, but first of all, I don’t play for their team, and second of all, I’m pretty sure the lewd language would mean they’d beat me over the head with a baseball bat.”
Forest laughed. He had this melodious, full laugh that always made me happy, like a reward in and of itself. “You never know when it might come in handy.”
“For seducing women? Never. No offense to women because I think they’re amazing, but I’m one hundred percent gay. Well, close enough anyway.”
I’d finished peeling and cutting the potatoes and was now gathering herbs and spices for the meatballs. Italian seasoning always worked, plus lots of garlic, of course, and onion powder. Salt and pepper, obviously, and I’d also need mustard and bread crumbs. Oh, and an egg. It was my grandma’s recipe, and her meatballs had been legendary.
“Same,” Forest said. “I’ve never been attracted to women. Like you said, I love them, but not like that.”
“I tried it once,” I said. “Just to see if I really was gay. I invited this woman on a date. I was on leave and she was interested, and in my defense, I was nineteen and perpetually horny, as most boys are at that age, so I didn’t see anything wrong in test-driving my sexuality.”
“You mean test-driving her.” Forest shot me a grin as he put water on for the green beans.
“Eh, same difference.” I had no idea why I was telling him this, but whatever. Now that I had started, I might as well finish the story. “But anyway, we went on a date, and I paid for the movie tickets and for dinner at this barbecue joint, and then we headed back to my car, where she started to make out with me. She could kiss, I’ll give her that, but that was about it. Nothing about her soft curves did it for me, no matter how nice her breasts were. She left me cold…or I should say, soft.”
That got a snort out of Forest. “That poor girl. How did she react?”
I winced at the memory. “By doubling her efforts. I ended up lying to her that I’d been on a mission and was exhausted. She bought it, I think. But I felt awful about it for years.”
Meanwhile, I’d worked all the herbs and spices into the ground beef, as well as the egg and bread crumbs. It had the right consistency now, a little sticky but not too wet, so I started making medium-sized balls.
“I never even tried,” Forest said, leaning against the kitchen counter as he watched me. “I’ve known I was gay since I was a kid. Seemed senseless to deny it. And I had Creek to make sure no one gave me crap about it…including our father.”
His face clouded. I knew his father was still in prison for manslaughter and wouldn’t ever make it out alive due to added charges after he got into some trouble in prison. Was this a topic I needed to avoid? I didn’t really think so, since he had brought it up himself. “How old were you when he was arrested?”
He blinked, as if surprised I was asking that. Maybe he was. “Eight. Nine, when he was officially sentenced and I knew I’d never have to see him again.”
“Do you remember much of him?”
Another quick blink. “Erm, no. Not much. I never saw him again after he was arrested. I mostly remember Creek being there for me. I was heartbroken when he enlisted. Later, I understood why he did it, but at that time, I felt like he was abandoning me.”
“He needed the discipline,” I said, not wanting to reveal I knew exactly why Creek had signed up. He’d feared his temper was too much like his father’s and that he, too, would end up in prison.
