He clearly has an eye for decorating. There are little touches everywhere that make the place look homey. I had to ask Val to help me decorate when I bought my house.
“What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward the large wire cage in the corner of the living room.
“My baby,” he answers, waving me over to see. It looks like a pretty typical rodent cage— disposable bedding, a water bottle attached to the side of the cage, a dish of food, an exercise wheel. I duck down a little to get a better look inside and find something curled up in the little wooden hut.
“What is it?”
Watson opens the door and reaches inside, moving the wooden structure and revealing a spikey little rodent.
“A hedgehog,” he answers, picking it up and pulling it out. “This is Fermata.”
The hedgehog in his hand yawns and starts to snuffle around like he’s looking for food.
“He’s kind of cute,” I say, reaching out cautiously to pet the top of his head with one finger. He squeaks and curls up in a little ball. “Shit, I didn’t mean to scare him.”
“It’s okay, he’s a little shy, but he’ll warm up to you in a few minutes,” he assures me, holding out the small animal. I hold my hands out in an awkward, cupped motion, and he drops the rodent into them with a smile.
The little guy is so light in my hand, and I can feel every rapid breath it takes. Wats is right: after a few minutes, Fermata unballs himself and starts to sniff curiously at my hand.
“Will he bite?” I ask.
“Sometimes,” he says, seeming unconcerned, chuckling at what I’m sure is a horrified expression that crosses my face. “He’s gentle, he hardly ever breaks skin.”
“Hardly ever?” I repeat. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
Watson grabs a few toys and plastic tunnels out of a tub next to the cage, then gestures for me to follow him. We end up sitting on the floor with the rodent accoutrements spread out and the hedgehog happily playing on the floor.
“This is different,” I say, humor dripping from my tone. Of all the possible scenarios I imagined when he invited me over, playing with a hedgehog never once crossed my mind.
He shoots me an adorable smile. “Never a dull moment with me.”
“I can see that.”
The door buzzer rings, and Fermata makes another one of those startled squeaks and curls up again.
“You want to get that while I put up a little enclosure so he won’t wander off?”
“No problem,” I agree, getting up, my knees cracking as I heave myself off the floor.
Watson groans as he gets up as well and then laughs. “Fuck, sitting on the floor was a bad idea.”
I chuckle in agreement as I make my way to the door to buzz the delivery person in. I collect the food and take it into the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter and washing my hands.
“Should we be civilized and eat in the kitchen, or are you cool on the couch with a movie?” he asks.
“I’m easy,” I answer.
“Good to know,” he jokes, arching an eyebrow at me.
My face flushes hot, and I bark out a laugh. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were flirting with me,” I accuse playfully.
“Well, that’s an improvement over the accusation of pity,” he teases.
My stomach flutters. He is flirting. I can flirt back. Surely it can’t be that difficult. I just need to say something vaguely sexual, right? I’ve seen the rest of the guys do this a million times. I can definitely pull this off. I open my mouth, and then snap it closed again when nothing comes to mind.
“Don’t hurt yourself,” Watson says, patting my arm. “I’m a flirt, you’ll get used to it. But don’t worry, I’m harmless.”
Right. He wasn’t flirting with me in particular—he was just flirting. That makes perfect sense. He’s a confident, experienced man; there’s no reason he should settle for someone like me.
We carry our food into the living room and get settled on the couch.
“Will you judge me horribly if I put on Grease?” he asks.
“No, who doesn’t like Grease?”
“Good answer,” he says happily, pulling up the movie and starting it. “I have a slight addiction to musicals. My friends tried to have an intervention, but I resisted all attempts to get help for my affliction.”
“Sounds serious.”
“Oh, it is,” he says. “I start foaming at the mouth if I’m forced to go more than a week without re-watching Les Mis.”
“What you’re saying is I’d better make a show tunes playlist on my phone in case you ever have an attack while we’re hanging out, and I need to give you a quick hit to revive you?” I joke.
“Yes, oh my god, you get me.”
Watson shamelessly sings along to the opening song of the movie while I bob my head to the beat and stab a fork into a piece of orange chicken.
“I had such a crush on Danny Zuko when I was a kid,” he confesses, digging into his own food once the first song ends.
“Thing for bad boys, huh?” I joke.
“Nah, it’s when he’s in that track uniform later in the movie, his legs on display, his muscles all sexy.” He hums suggestively, the sound sending a small shiver through me. “How about you?” he asks.
“Hm, I never thought about it.” I study the screen as characters are introduced and the next musical number is set up.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” he asks.
“Sure,” I agree, swallowing nervously. I’ve avoided answering personal questions directly half my life—it’s probably time I give it a try.
“You can tell me to fuck off if you don’t feel like answering. I’m just curious,” he hedges.
“I can take it,” I assure him.
“Ugh, don’t tempt me with your innuendos,” he jokes before refocusing. “Are you bi?”
There’s the million-dollar question right there. Actually, the million-dollar question is implied. How the hell did it take you so long to realize you’re gay?
“I thought I was,” I admit. “For a long time, I told myself that’s all it was and that there was no point in rocking the boat as far as my marriage went. It was easier to tell myself that I was bi, because then I wasn’t denying myself, I was just…in a monogamous relationship with a woman.” I shrug.
“But you’re not bi?” he asks, the sympathy clear on his face.
“No, I’m not bi. I am, without a doubt, one hundred percent gay.” Holy shit, it feels good to be so honest. I let out a heavy breath and a relieved laugh follows from my chest. “I loved Val, she’s my best friend to this day. It just took me a hell of a lot longer than it should have to realize I didn’t love her the way I was supposed to.”
“I’m sorry. It sounds like that must’ve been difficult.” he says. “I can’t imagine what it would be like to go so long without ever even kissing someone.”
“Pathetic, right?” I give a self-deprecating laugh and wait for Watson to agree with me. Instead, he sets his food container down on the coffee table and puts a hand on my knee. I can feel the heat of his touch even through the denim of my jeans, my whole body buzzing at the innocent contact.