Chapter Eight
The party went on for hours. Long past Eric’s usual bedtime. He tried to mingle with everyone, drifting between the basement and the living room upstairs, but like magnets he and Kyle kept being drawn together.
He wasn’t sure if Kyle was doing it on purpose, or if he didn’t know enough people at the party, but almost every time Eric spotted him, he was standing alone.
Sometimes he would be admiring a piece of art, sometimes just watching the party.
A couple of times he’d had his phone out.
Eric had been unable to resist checking in on him every time.
The guests were finally starting to clear out, and Eric thought maybe Kyle had left while he’d been upstairs, but when Eric returned to the basement he found him collecting empty beer bottles.
“You don’t have to do that,” Eric said.
Kyle glanced up from where he was bent over a side table and grinned. “Habit. And someone needs to do this. Your friends are animals.” Kyle had removed his scarf, and now Eric could admire the long lines of his neck.
“They’re not the most considerate bunch,” Eric agreed as he helped Kyle gather up the bottles.
He heard the front door open and close a couple of times above them as they worked, and soon he couldn’t hear evidence of anyone else in the house besides the two of them.
“Where’s Maria?” Eric asked.
“She left over an hour ago. One of the couples offered to drop her off at home. I can’t remember their names, but the wife is pregnant.”
“That’s Breezy and Martine.”
“Decent, non-murderous people, I assume?”
“They’re great. And they’re from Montreal, so they have no problem driving in Manhattan.”
“Good to know. Should these go to the kitchen?” Kyle had his arms full of about a dozen empty bottles. He was obviously well practiced in the art of carrying large numbers of glass containers.
“Yeah. We can rinse them out up there. Or I can. You can go home.” Eric laughed nervously. “You are under no obligation to help me clean up.”
“I really don’t mind.” Kyle headed for the stairs, then paused and looked back over his shoulder. “You’re the birthday boy. You shouldn’t have to clean.” He winked, and Eric really wished he’d stop doing that.
“I have cleaners coming tomorrow,” Eric said as he followed him up the stairs, trying but failing to not admire Kyle’s ass as it swayed in front of his face.
“So you were just planning to go to bed with this mess of bottles everywhere?” It was a question, but it sounded like Kyle already knew the answer.
“No,” Eric admitted. He would have at least rinsed out the empties like Kyle was doing.
He hated mess. It was something his teammates had been teasing him about for years, but Eric wondered why Kyle had been able to guess it so quickly about him.
Probably from seeing his kitchen. Or maybe Eric obviously presented as the fussy neat freak he was.
“By the way,” Kyle said as they entered the kitchen, “if I haven’t mentioned it already, your house is incredible.”
“Thank you. I’m very happy with it.”
“Is there a rooftop terrace?”
“Yes.”
“Goddamn you.”
Eric laughed. “Sorry. You’re welcome to use it any time.” He mentally kicked himself for saying something so weird, but Kyle smiled.
“Maybe I’ll wait until spring.”
“Right. Yeah.”
Kyle pushed up his sleeves and began rinsing the bottles out in Eric’s sink, which Eric could not allow. “Really,” he said, placing a hand on Kyle’s arm. “I can do this later.”
Kyle looked at Eric’s hand, and then met Eric’s eyes. “Later when? It’s almost two in the morning.”
“Exactly. You should go home to bed.”
“I’m at work past two most nights,” Kyle said. “This is nothing. Let me help.”
Eric surrendered and stood there awkwardly, watching Kyle work with his head full of thoughts that he knew he shouldn’t say out loud. He chose one of the safest ones. “It was nice spending time with you tonight. I’m glad you came.”
Kyle didn’t look up from the sink. “I almost didn’t.”
“Why?”
He saw Kyle’s shoulders tense, and he thought he wouldn’t answer, but he said, “I think you know why.”
Eric did have some idea, though he was surprised Kyle was bringing it up. “Because of Kip. And Scott.”
“I’m pretty fucking obvious, I know. And pathetic.” He set the last of the bottles on the counter and turned, bracing himself with both hands on the edge of the sink behind his back. “Anyway. I need to get over it. I mean, I am getting over it.”
“I’m sorry.”
Kyle laughed without any humor. “You know what the most ridiculous part is? Kip was supposed to be the end of me having crushes on inappropriate men. He was supposed to be a good choice.”
“Inappropriate men?”
He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be talking about this with you. Or anyone. It’s fine. Forget I said anything.”
“No, I—” Eric’s hand found itself back on Kyle’s arm. “I want to listen. If you want to talk.”
“I’m way too sober for that.”
Eric studied his face. “You are sober, aren’t you? You didn’t drink tonight?”
Kyle shrugged. “Didn’t feel like it.”
The possibility that Kyle had abstained because Eric didn’t drink warmed him. But maybe Kyle truly hadn’t felt like it and Eric shouldn’t read any more into it. “Why don’t I get us both some water, and we can sit in the living room for a bit?”
“Okay.”
A few minutes later, Kyle was wedged into the corner of a sectional sofa, and Eric was sitting a safe, platonic distance away. Kyle took a sip of his water and said, “So what do you want to know?”
There were a lot of careful, easy questions Eric could have asked. Ones that wouldn’t have been completely selfish. But what he asked was, “Is Kip not the type of man you’re normally attracted to?”
Kyle’s eyebrows raised over the frames of his glasses, and his lips quirked up. “No. Not usually. I mean, I don’t have a strict type, but...”
Eric shifted to the edge of his sofa cushion. “But?”
“I have a bit of a weakness for...older men.”
He swallowed. “How much older?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe forty. Or”—Kyle smiled mischievously at him—“forty-one.”
Eric’s dick arrived to the party at that moment. Late, but very keen to celebrate his birthday. He knew he should reply to Kyle, but his head had gone fuzzy.
Kyle waved a hand. “Don’t take me too seriously when I flirt. It’s basically a defense mechanism for me.”
“Defense,” Eric repeated thickly. “Right.” He shook away some of the haze of lust. “Of course. I know you’re not serious.”
“Good. But let me know if I ever make you uncomfortable, please. I really don’t want to do that.”
“I’ll tell you.” Uncomfortable was one way of putting it.
Although, whether he was uncomfortable from being unsure of how to respond to Kyle’s suggestive remarks, or if it was from the sudden tightness of his jeans, it was hard to say.
Did Kyle know that Eric was attracted to men?
Was it as obvious to him as Eric’s inability to leave his basement a mess?
“You are gorgeous, though,” Kyle said easily. “If you didn’t know that.”
“Thank you.” Return the compliment, Eric! Or should he? Would that only make things more weird? It was probably safer if the flirting was only one sided. But he had to say something, so he said, “I like your glasses.”
Kyle laughed. “As in you want to buy a pair for yourself, or as in you want to see me wearing nothing but them?” Before Eric could respond, Kyle quickly said, “Sorry. That was too much.”
Eric crossed his legs as casually as possible as he fought to banish the mental image of Kyle wearing only his glasses. Maybe he would be stretched elegantly across Eric’s bed, his back arching as Eric trailed kisses up the inside of his thigh...
“I’m trying to be anyway,” Kyle said.
Trying to be? Trying to be what? Oh god, Eric had completely missed everything that Kyle had just said.
“Trying to be, um...pardon?” Eric said elegantly.
Kyle grinned. “Good. Or smart. Trying not to date creeps.”
“Creeps?” Anger flared inside of Eric at the thought of a man hurting Kyle. “How do you mean?”
“Oh, you know. Secretly married. Closeted and staying there. Manipulative and selfish. Any combination of those things. That’s my type, apparently.”
That didn’t sound like the sort of man Kyle should be with at all. Kyle should be with someone who cherished every one of his playful smiles and devilish winks. Who appreciated how smart Kyle was, and how easy he was to talk to. “Those guys sound like assholes.”
“Yeah, well.” Kyle pulled his knees up and rested his tilted head on them. “You wanna hear something funny? I thought you were going to be one of them.”
“One of them? What do you mean?”
“I thought you were married. Because of the ring. And I thought you were...well. It doesn’t matter.”
“Thought I was what?” Dammit. The ring. Carter was right. He should have taken it off ages ago.
“I probably project it on every handsome older man now, but I thought you were another closeted married man who was looking to have a little secret fun with the gay boy.”
Eric’s stomach clenched at the thought. “I would never—that’s—”
“I know. I was wrong. I get it. Like I said, I project. But you really do seem like a great guy, and I’d like to be friends.”
Friends. “I’d like that too.” It wasn’t a lie. Eric did like talking to Kyle, and he’d love to go to some galleries with him. Maybe share some meals. Maybe—
Kyle yawned then, and Eric was reminded of the late hour. And of the fact that Kyle lived all the way in Chelsea.
“You should stay here tonight,” Eric said. It was an obvious offer and he should have made it before now.
“Oh no. I can get a cab.”
“Stay. I have two guest rooms. I’ll even make coffee in the morning.”
Kyle lifted his head off his knees. “That is very tempting.”
“I’ve got extra toothbrushes and everything. I have nowhere to be in the morning. You can sleep as late as you like.”
Kyle yawned again, then laughed. “All right. You win.”