“That sucks,” I say softly. Roderick deserves better than that. He’s too accommodating already.
“I’m over it,” he says, pushing his empty plate away. “I’ll miss the sex, though. Brian wasn’t conflicted at all when we were naked.” He sighs and scrambles to his feet. “We have some cleaning up to do. But just think of all the leftovers we can eat this week.”
He washes, and I dry.
I’m overly conscious of how close he is to me. And then we bump arms a couple of times, and I’m too conscious of that, too.
It’s torture. I want him to kiss me again. It’s all I can think about. But Roderick seems unaffected. He whistles as he scrubs out the Dutch oven, and then feeds his sourdough starter with a bag of flour he keeps in the cabinet. “There you go, William,” he says to the blob in the jar. “Eat up!”
He washes his hands and dries them on our only dish towel. When he turns to me, I realize I’m staring at him like a creeper. His eyes light up with amusement. “Need something?”
“No,” I say too quickly.
He gives me a comical frown. “Bummer. Because there are other things I could teach you besides cooking. Just saying.” He takes one step forward and puts a hand on the center of my chest. “If you want to fool around with someone who thinks you look like a cross between Henry Cavill and Nick Pulos, you know where I live.”
Then he plucks his phone off the counter and walks away. I hear his bedroom door click shut a few seconds later, and I can still feel the heat from his hand on my chest.
Naturally, I go upstairs and google Henry Cavill and Nick Pulos. They are both hot as hell, but I sure don’t see the resemblance.
And then I take a shower just because I needed to relieve a little sexual tension. As I stand there in the clawfoot tub, stroking my shaft, it isn’t an actor or a burly stunt man I’m thinking about. It’s a quirky baker with strong forearms and bright blue eyes. I picture him on his knees before me, opening his mouth and…
Eight years have passed since the first time I had lust-filled thoughts about Roderick. Now they’re back and stronger than ever.
Maybe I should have followed him into his bedroom. But I didn’t find the nerve.
I wonder if I ever will.
Roderick
The following week is full of tension. The sexual kind.
After our kitchen make-out session, Kieran remains as difficult to read as always, but my crush on him expands to epic proportions. Subtlety was never my strong suit, but now I don’t even try. At work I watch him like a puppy who’s hoping the master will toss some table scraps in his direction.
Maybe we only shared a few kisses, but they were hot. Lava hot. I generally avoid assuming anyone’s sexual orientation, but if Kieran isn’t sexually attracted to me, then I’m the Queen of England.
Every time I think about his mouth on mine, I get all hot and horny. The grip he had on my body? Rawr. I want to feel it again. Next time, without clothes.
So now I’m watching for signs of further encouragement. As we stand shoulder to shoulder behind the coffee counter, I keep glancing in his direction. But Kieran is inscrutable as ever. He seems a little looser in my presence, though. Calmer. Quicker to smile.
If kissing me was the biggest mistake of his life, that wouldn’t be true, right?
Unfortunately, there’s no time for cooking lessons this week. Kieran’s new shift at the coffee shop is seven till noon, four days a week. Zara and Audrey cut his hours back at his request, so that he could do more farm work.
I’ve never lived on a farm, and I don’t really know what it’s like. When he talks about farming, I mostly watch his lips move and wish I could kiss them, but a few things have sunk in. Like, I’m pretty sure this week he’s been busy using macho tools to fix a broken water pipe. Or something that lets the cattle have a drink of water after they’ve snacked on oat stalks. I think.
He might have also mentioned something about breeding the cattle. I only remember that bit because I have a filthy mind.
Let’s face it, I just want to do him. Or vice versa. And if he decides to explore his sexuality with someone who isn’t me, I’m going to be crushed.
“Roddy,” Zara says, snapping me out of my reverie by literally snapping her fingers in front of my face. “You’re in a kneading trance there, buddy.”
I look down at the dough I’ve been working and see that it’s supple and smooth already. “Right. What do you need?”
“Two things. First one—can you set up a batch of biscotti for the morning? I’m opening with you, and I’ll be hung-over.”
“Sure.” I chuckle. “How come?”
“That’s the second thing I need from you. My place, seven thirty. Hockey-viewing party—Brooklyn versus the Bruins. My honey is playing, and I just ordered up satellite TV so I could see every game. There will be food and tequila.”
“You need me to cook for that?”
“No way.” She gives me a face, like I’ve said something dumb. “I need you to come. We’ll have a good time.”
“Oh.” I feel a rush of gratitude. “What can I bring?”
“Nothing. Except your roommate. That boy works too hard. Do you like hockey?”
“Well, I never watched before. There’s too much padding concealing all that male hotness.”
Zara gives a belly laugh. “You have to use your imagination. I know I will. See you tonight.”
After work I’m on the prowl for ripe avocados. I strike out at two different grocery stores, but I’ll be damned if I show up to Zara’s party empty-handed. Luckily I find them at a store in Montpelier.
When I pull up to the house, Kieran’s truck is already in the driveway. Yes. I can teach him to make guacamole. Every man should be able to make a fresh guacamole.
“Hey, Kieran,” I say as I come through the backdoor. “Want to learn how to make the food of the gods?”
“Maybe,” he calls from the living room. “Need a minute.” His voice drops down to a softer register, and he says something I can’t quite catch. I decide he’s on the phone. But then I hear a distinctly non-Kieran squeal.
Curious, I deposit my grocery bag on the counter and then tip-toe into the living room. I find Kieran on the couch, and he’s not alone. There’s a very beautiful redhead on his lap. But I’m only a little jealous, because the girl in question is only one or maybe two years old.
They are reading Frog and Toad are Friends. It’s so freaking cute that my heart melts like a lump of butter in a hot pan.
Kieran looks up at me with an embarrassed grin. “Zara ran out to the store. Have you met Nicole?”
“Hi, baby,” I say, giving her a wave. I don’t really have any experience with kids.
“That’s Roderick,” Kieran says in a gentle voice. “He’s coming to your party, too.”
“Watch. Daddy,” the little creature says.
“Right,” Kieran agrees.
“More,” Nicole says, pointing at the book.
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles, and I turn to mush inside. Could Kieran be any cuter?