He had two options.
One, he could go to bed and pretend today never happened.
Or two, he could go to Tate’s and apologize for being an asshole. That was the least Tate deserved.
Or—because why shouldn’t there be a third fucking option?—he could go to Tate’s, apologize, and convince him to give Donovan one more chance.
And then what? How the hell would he be able to tell Tate that he wasn’t looking for one night, but he couldn’t promise anything more? It would sound like bullshit.
“Because it is,” he whispered.
He was tired of too-brief affairs that left him wanting more.
Donovan took a deep breath and got to his feet. He marched toward the kitchen, grabbed his keys, phone, and wallet from where he’d left them on the counter. He grabbed his coat on the way to the garage, refusing to second-guess himself again.
This had to be done.
Twenty minutes later, he drove past his parents’ house toward the barn behind it. He considered pulling around to the back so his mom and dad didn’t see his truck parked there but decided he didn’t give a shit. He hadn’t been in the closet for decades. Not since he accepted for himself that he was gay. As soon as he did, he came out to his parents, knowing full well they would support him. They had, and he hadn’t looked back. Not once. He wasn’t about to start hiding again now.
He parked behind Tate’s Mustang, which was at the side of the barn in the same spot he always parked. Reilly’s truck was gone, so he hoped that meant Tate was home, but he could’ve easily left with her in the past forty-five minutes, meaning this would be a wasted trip.
Rather than race to the door, Donovan stared at the decorations in the yard and grinned. They reminded him so much of his sister. Reilly was a little ball of chaos. He never knew what was going to come out of her mouth because her brain wasn’t wired like everyone else. She knew what she wanted and didn’t make excuses for it. She did what pleased her, not everyone else. When asked to join the swim team in high school, she turned them down because she wasn’t interested in team sports. When Mom and Dad had wanted her to go to college, she’d bucked the system, claiming she would rather spend her time learning life lessons than going to keggers with her roommate while fighting for good grades.
He’d always loved her spirit. And he loved how uninhibited she was. Even if it meant she paired a fifteen-foot-tall inflatable snowman with a three-foot-tall wire reindeer. They didn’t go together at all, yet they seemed to be a good match.
Kinda like him and Tate.
Donovan briefly wondered how much Tate had contributed to the decor. Very little, if he had to guess. Like everyone else, Tate let Reilly be Reilly and simply enjoyed being in her life. He was a good guy, that was for sure. A damn good friend to her.
But besides knowing his character, Donovan had paid too little attention to Tate. And he had a good reason. For a while now, Donovan had been fighting this attraction. He knew it wouldn’t work, and the last thing he wanted was to hurt the guy or piss off his sister when he did. Yes, Donovan was selfish, but he’d never been one to forsake the important things. Like the strong bond he had with Reilly or, by proxy, his friendship with Tate.
“No second-guessing,” he told himself, shutting off the truck and getting out.
He walked up the path to the front door, noticing the little Christmas tree with twinkling lights sitting on the porch. He stared at the double red doors they’d designed to look like barn doors and forced himself to knock.
A minute passed.
He knocked again.
Another minute passed, and he figured Tate was standing on the other side of that door waiting for him to leave, or he wasn’t home. Either way, Donovan looked like an idiot.
He turned to go. As soon as he did, he heard the deadbolt unlock.
When he turned back, he found Tate standing there, staring back at him with confusion etched on his handsome face. His shaggy blond hair was mussed, and he was wearing red and green plaid pajama pants and a T-shirt that read: PLEASESTOPASKINGFORTHEPERFECTMANFORCHRISTMAS… THREETIMESTHISWEEK,SANTATRIEDTOKIDNAPME.
That shouldn’t be sexy, but Jesus. It kinda was.
“She’s not here,” Tate said.
“I wasn’t lookin’ for her.”
If he was surprised by that admission, Tate didn’t show it.
“I came by to apologize,” Donovan said as he moved closer. “For what happened earlier.”
“For kissing me?” Tate retorted. “Or for bein’ a pussy and runnin’ away?”
Donovan deserved that.
