“Don’t be.” I press my lips to his. “The only one who needs to apologize for anything is—”
He kisses me before I can utter his ex’s name, and we both let it linger for a long, long moment. As he draws away, he says, “I hope Ian knows how lucky he is to have you.”
I slide my hand into his hair and kiss him again but don’t speak.
Because nights like this, as I learn how dangerous and devastating his relationship with Steve really was, I think Ian and I are the lucky ones.
Because as battered as he is, Michael is still with us.
Chapter Nine After that, we take it a little slower. Massages, making out, hand jobs—it’s slow enough to frustrate Michael, but it also seems to keep his demons at bay most of the time. I’m happy to stay in safer territory while he finds his equilibrium, even though part of me is itching to go farther. I’d never dream of pushing him, but I want him to be back to as close to normal as he can get.
And who am I kidding? I want him. This is about him, not me, but the desire definitely exists. I’m only human, and he’s one of the most gorgeous human beings I’ve ever encountered. When he’s ready to take things further, he’ll hardly need to twist my arm.
Slow and steady, though.
A couple of weeks go by. Another hot tub Sunday rolls around, and I have a few errands to run before Michael comes over to hang out. Ian and I always take turns handling drudgery on the weekends—dry cleaning, grocery shopping and all that other shit that inevitably falls by the wayside during the work week. Especially since lately, my evenings have been a bit…full.
By the time I get home, Ian’s car is already in the driveway. I park in the garage, pop the trunk and grab some grocery bags. When I let myself in, Ariel comes thundering and barking to the door as always.
“Careful, baby.” I hold up the grocery bags so she doesn’t knock them out of my hands. “Down.”
She whines a little but stops jumping. As she calms down and follows me toward the kitchen, I can hear Michael and Ian talking.
“…might have a shot, but their bullpen is a fucking disaster.”
“Ugh. It is. I’ve seen stronger Little League pitchers.”
“I was a stronger pitcher.” Michael clicks his tongue, and I can just imagine him rolling his eyes. “I probably still am, and my team was last in the division.”
I chuckle as I step into the kitchen, where Michael’s leaning against the counter and Ian’s pulling some glasses down from the cabinet.
“Are you two still hung up on all this sportsball nonsense?” I ask with a grin and hoist the grocery bags onto the table.
Ian laughs. “It’s only nonsense to heathens who don’t pay attention.”
“Uh-huh.” I put my hand on his back and kiss him lightly. “At least it’s not football season.”
“Not yet,” Michael says. “The preseason starts soon.”
I groan, and it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “Okay, fine. Baseball. Carry on. At least that game makes sense.”
“I don’t see how football doesn’t make sense to you.” Michael shrugs. “I mean, even if you don’t understand the rules and the plays, it’s a bunch of guys in tight, shiny pants throwing each other around. What’s not to love?”
“The fact that the refs keep interrupting right when the throwing-each-other-around part starts getting good?”
They both pause, glance at each other and shrug.
“He does have a point,” Ian says.
Michael nods. “Can’t argue.”
I arch an eyebrow. “But this isn’t going to put an end to all your conversations about scrimmage and passing games and—”
“Not a chance,” they say in unison.
I sigh dramatically. “Damn it.”
Ian nods past me. “Need a hand with groceries?”
“Yes, please.”
Michael comes too, and between the three of us, the trunk is empty in one trip, even with the giant bag of dog food and two boxes of cat litter. Of course, the minute we start unpacking everything and putting it all away, Michael and Ian are back to analyzing the bullpen and the…the…whatever the hell baseball fanatics analyze. The minute they’re on that topic, my eyes glaze over and I tune them out, because oh my God yawn.
As much as sports bore me to tears, though, it’s good to see the two of them talking like nothing’s changed. They’re bantering and debating—holy shit, I will never understand how there is so much to discuss about sports—as if we’re back to the days before Ian suggested I sleep with Michael.
Maybe nothing has changed.
Ian puts a few plates of munchies out on the table beside the tub, along with a couple of bottles of wine. Then he and I run up to the bedroom to put on our swim trunks while Michael changes clothes in the downstairs bathroom.
And finally, it’s time to relax for the evening as our weekend winds to a close.
“You boys know the rules.” I lower myself into the water. “Sports are banned from the tub.”
“Fine.” Michael slides in across from me. “No sports.”
Ian settles beside me. “Eh, that’s okay. It was getting depressing anyway.”
Michael grunts in agreement. “Fucking team.”
“Right?”
I clear my throat.