Page 75 of Puck You Both

I don’t answer my spam until I’m in the safety of the underground garage. In the car, engine off, I check the voicemail first. A few seconds of quiet, then: "Call me back."

I call him back. My heart is already going, and nothing has even happened yet.

"You screened me," is Patrick’s hello.

"I was talking to the Cap." The silence that comes back has an eyebrow raised in it somewhere. "There's news, actually. I think. I’m not sure."

"Tell me Saturday."

I suppress a smile. "Who says I'm free Saturday?"

"Theo does. Loudly. He's been unbearable since the horn." There’s a pause, and when he goes on, the trash talk is draining out of his voice line by line. "Good game tonight, Wallace."

I swallow. "Good paddle save."

"I know."

Then the line goes quiet in a new way. I know his silences by now. This one has weight coming.

"Come over. Just you. No chair. We want hands this time." The garage is dead silent. My pulse isn't. He doesn't fill the next pause. He leaves it standing wide open, and I understand that the next thing that happens in my life is mine to decide. "If you do."

My hand is resting on the wheel. It's been steady all night, in front of everyone. It's not steady now. I look at it like it belongs to somebody else.

Maybe by Saturday it will.

"I do."

Chapter 15

WALL

I BRING THE gala binder.

There's no gala business tonight. I know that, they know that. But there's no way I'm walking into this building empty-handed with my real reason for being here written all over my face. If anyone asks, this is an official visit.

Nobody's going to ask.

By the time I find his door, my knuckles are white around the thing.

I knock twice, and force my hand into my pocket, the seconds before the door opens drag mercilessly, like they’re standing still. Then, it opens, and I’m the one who’s very, very still.

Theo is standing across from me, naked, unless oven mitts count as attire. The last time I saw him undressed, the mental image ambushed me at red lights for days after. But memory has nothing on reality, as he’s just there, answering Patrick’s front door on a Saturday evening, with his cock out, holding a spatula, casual as one can be.

I have time for exactly one peek before the reality of the situation catches up with me. We're standing in a public hallway.

"We're making a frittata!" Theo says. "It's a whole thing."

"You're naked.” My words come out raspy.

Theo shrugs. "Chef's whites are in the wash."

Somewhere behind him, a pan is sizzling. Somewhere behind me is an elevator with a direct line of sight to this door. I grab him by the shoulder, physically move out of the doorframe, and shut the door behind us. The sound he makes in the process lets me know he’s enjoying the manhandling.

Patrick appears at the end of the hall, fully dressed, a dish towel over one shoulder. He takes one look at my face, turns to Theo, rolls his eyes, then looks back at me. “He does this. You’ll get used to it.”

"He was visible from the elevator," I whisper-hiss for no reason.

"Hey, if the neighbors want a look, who am I to stop them?" Theo throws over his shoulder, already walking off toward the kitchen.