I’ll try not to die from all the excitement
Lance Kingsley
Lol.
Have fun!
Chicken okay for dinner?
Tanner Casey
Sounds great,
But isn’t it my turn to cook?
Lance Kingsley
Blah, blah, blah!
Premium lawn care contract!
Focus Tanner!
Tanner chuckled and dropped the phone on the desk, leaning back in his chair to stare at the ceiling as he attempted to reduce the wattage of his smile. If he walked out of his office smiling like a maniac, everyone would suspect something major was up, and he certainly wasn’t ready to have a conversation with anybody about his apparent gay awakening. Yet—it was much harder than it should have been to stop smiling as he stood up, preparing for yet another boring, soul-sucking sales pitch.
It was 7:30 p.m. by the time Tanner finally got to Lance’s place. His early morning smile and good mood vanished hours ago.
“Yo! So much for booking out of there at 5:30!” Lance ribbed him good-naturedly as he entered the living room. Lance was sprawled on the couch, feet up on the ottoman, watching a football game.
“Sorry about being so late for dinner,” Tanner apologized, feeling bad about his tardy arrival.
“No worries. Chicken might be a little dry, but it should still be edible,” Lance replied, getting up to head to the kitchen. He grimaced as he noticed the way Tanner was walking.
“Shit, are you okay? You look miserable,” Lance remarked as he walked into the kitchen, heading straight for theoven. Tanner wasn’t sure why, but he felt an immediate spike of anger at Lance’s question.
“Fine,” he snapped, causing Lance to glance up in surprise at his tone. Tanner wanted to apologize, but he was in such a shit mood that he was afraid he would just make things worse. Best to keep his mouth shut and just eat his dinner.
“Right,” Lance said flatly as he slipped on some oven mitts and pulled a loaded baking dish of chicken and vegetables from the oven. It smelled heavenly and it hadn’t been touched.
“You didn’t eat?” Tanner frowned in disapproval. Lance usually had dinner at 6:00. It was now going on 8:00. Why the hell hadn’t he eaten yet?
“Nah,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why the hell not? It’s almost 8:00!”
“I figured I’d wait for you,” Lance replied, avoiding Tanner’s gaze as he reached for a serving spoon on top of the stove.
Tanner didn’t always understand what triggered his anger. He’d lost any semblance of control over it during his three years in hell, and now, apparently, something about being served a home-cooked meal was a trigger. He didn’t understand why—but his anger was all too real.
“Jesus, man. I’m not your fucking wife, you don’t have to wait for me! I was like two hours late! What the hell? I’m not like—your responsibility, or some shit. Just—” Tanner felt all tangled up inside from the emotional stress of a shit day at work and being blindsided by the strength of his feelings for Lance that were beyond anything he’d ever felt for a man. All of that boiled over inside until Tanner wasn’t sure what he was saying. He wasn’t even sure why he felt so out of control. He just knew he was angry, frustrated, and downright pissed. Whatever the fuck was wrong with him leached from every pore. He didn’t know exactly what his feelings for Lance were, or why the guybothered with him—but what he did know was that he sure as hell didn’t deserve to be catered to like this.
“Well, I just—I figured—I wasn’t really all that hungry so I just—” Lance stammered, stunned by Tanner’s explosive anger. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“What the fuck are you sorry for? You should be pissed at me!” Tanner fought to contain his temper, fully aware that Lance didn’t deserve to be cussed out for beingtoonice!
Forcing himself to back off and calm down, Tanner reached around Lance, picked up the serving spoon, and filled their plates. Lance stood very still, watching him cautiously, as if Tanner might blow up again any second if he spoke or moved.
“It looks delicious. I’m sorry I was so late getting home.” Tanner apologized, ashamed of his behavior, knowing he needed to make things right. He just wasn’t sure how to go about it.
