“Don’t worry about that.” Frank waves me off, giving me a reassuring smile. It’s almost enough to make me feel better. “Numbers and I aren’t good friends, but they happen to come with the territory.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” Matthias butts in. “Frank’s doing great in his math classes. Even got an A on his last exam.”
“Better than I ever did.” Bitter? Me? Nope, not at all. I have siblings who do all the math and science. By the time I came around, I’m pretty sure my parents had used up all the genetic material that allows people to think logically.
Not that I’m bitter. Or jealous.
“Okay, why are we all in the kitchen?” I jump as Aaron comes up behind me. “I know it’s not Matthias’s house, but my living room is plenty big enough for everyone.”
“Really? Did you not notice the crazy discussion going on in there? None of us has any interest in discussing the intricacies of tax statuses.” Tyler rolls his eyes dramatically. I’m not going to say anything, but I agree.
“This is what I get for agreeing to host.”
Aaron looks dejected as he puts his head down on the counter. He worked hard on setting up today. A fact he wouldnever admit to his friends. I get the impression that having people over is a rare occurrence for him.
Before I can think better of it, I put my hand on his back and rub it a few times. It’s a small move, one that I would do for any of my friends or family members, but maybe too intimate for whatever it is we’re pretending to be. I pull my hand away and hope no one noticed. Or perhaps they don’t care.
“It’s not that bad. We’re having plenty of fun in here,” I announce to the room, hoping everyone else will back me up.
“Plus, we’re closer to the beer.” Leave it to Tyler to care about the essential things.
“Fine. That backyard of yours better be done soon. This is the last time I’m hosting.” Aaron stands up, giving me a half smile before turning back to his friends.
“Frank was telling us about how he’s a math whiz.” At least if I say something, it’ll override the silence that keeps settling over the group. Anything is better than quiet.
“Oh, that’s not… no. I barely got through my calculus course,” Frank says, stuttering as he tries to backpedal the previous conversation.
“Well, if you need any help, let me know,” Aaron offers.
Does he help everyone? First, he volunteers to get me in shape to run a 5k. Now he’s offering math tutoring?
It shouldn’t matter. He’s being kind, which is one of the reasons I like him so much. But I thought I was special. His willingness to take time out of his already busy schedule to help me stemmed from our connection.
How many other people is he spending a night a week with?
I try to shake off those thoughts. Afterall, I’ve seen his work calendar and his training schedule. There’s no way he has five or six other guys on the side he’s tutoring.
Without a word, I manage to slip out of the room, leaving them to argue over calculus and whatever else. The living room conversation about tax statuses is suddenly fascinating.
AARON
“Remind me why I like my friends?” They’re respectful, but my kitchen is still a mess. Bits of food and drink are scattered across the counter, making everything sticky. How does Matthias do this? My friends aren’t even that messy. They’re respectful and clean up after themselves—most of the time.
After years of living alone, I’m not used to dealing with messes I didn’t make. It’s one of the things that worries me about getting into a relationship with Oliver. I know I can handle his mess, but can he handle my neatness?
“They’re all great.” Oliver’s voice is flat. It’s been that way since early this afternoon. I’d wanted to pull him aside a hundred times to check in, but it was hard to pull off with everyone here. My condo’s not big enough for any privacy, as noted by the fact that I caught Matthias and Frank practically undressing each other.
“Did someone say something to you?” I can’t imagine any of my friends being downright mean. Completely oblivious, on the other hand, fits perfectly.
“No.” He stops his cursory wiping down of the counter. I’ll end up doing it myself anyway. There’s nothing wrong with his approach, but I prefer to do it myself so I know it’s clean. “Maybe? I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
That’s the word I’ve been using, too. I’m starting to hate it. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, I want to be able to touch you and not worry about what people say.”
“I get that.” I do, really and truly. “There were a hundred times today that I almost reached over and put my hand on your knee.”
“So why didn’t you?”
