9. Chapter Eight
Chapter Eight
Foster
I couldn’t stand pineapple on my pizza. Ick. Gross. Disgusting. Invented by a person with seriously bad judgment.
But I did string Arnav along for quite some time. Right up until he started to order the pizza on his phone to block my pineapple craving.
I pointed out that since we’d agreed I’d pay, that it only made sense for me to place the order, and since pineapple on pizza was right up there with anchovies as a bad idea…
He wagged his finger at me for the lie.
I offered a sheepish grin. And then laughed. Honestly, laughing felt good. I’d all but admitted to him that I’d been in a bad relationship. Howard hadn’t been abusive. Well, not physically. Well, not much. But he hadn’t always been a nice person. He’d spent a lot of time putting me down. And so I’d internalized a lot of that.
Vivi, a woman I worked with, wanted me to see a counselor. Or a therapist. She’d even made a few suggestions. Which I’d accepted and then never called. I wasn’t going to waste a counselor’s time. I was fine. Feeling rejected by someone I’d believed myself in love with…but fine.
Yet, as Arnav watched me intently while sitting in the living room waiting for the pizza, I questioned that assertion. His uncanny way of reading me really unnerved me. “Uh, are we watching Notting Hill tonight?”
“We can do whatever you’d like.” He sat on the couch with his body angled to face me. He had an arm draped over the back and sat clearly loose-limbed.
I, on the other hand, was a bundle of nerves. Why did I think bringing him here would be a good idea? Oh, wait…he sort of invited himself. Not that I had any objections to that. I didn’t. I would’ve done so myself except my house wasn’t anything great, and I was certain—successful lawyer he was—that he likely lived in an amazing house. Nothing like mine.
Still, after ordering the pizza, I’d given him a tour. We’d started upstairs where I showed him the renovated bathroom and the two bedrooms I’d fixed up.
He’d complimented me.
I hadn’t refuted him.
Then I’d shown him the new flooring on the ground floor as well as the new cabinets I’d installed. The furniture was a little cringeworthy, and I hadn’t told him I’d acquired it at the charity shop. I’d told myself reusing was good for the environment. The truth was, I hadn’t had money to spare, and this place hadn’t come furnished. I had splurged and bought a new bed, though. The second bedroom just had a desk and a dresser. I figured the next renters could either turn it into a spare bedroom or a nursery. This house wasn’t big enough for a full family. Or at least I didn’t think it should be.
My really hard work had come in the basement. When I’d arrived, it had been dank and, frankly, gross. I’d gutted everything down to the studs, cleaned everything to within an inch of its life, and then rebuilt. I was in the process of creating a third bedroom, a second bathroom, a proper laundry room, and a gaming room. The space was welcoming. The thing was also expensive to heat for just one person, so I kept it closed off and rarely went down there except when working on it.
The doorbell rang.
I leapt up to answer it. I’d expected a text letting me know the driver was on their way, but that didn’t always work. As I opened the door, I found Inga at the door. She was about my age and delivered pizzas to supplement her husband’s salary working at the hardware store. One night, when she hadn’t been busy, we’d chatted for a few minutes. I didn’t order pizza often, but I was always grateful when she delivered. “Thanks.”
“Thank you for the big tip.” She handed me the pizza as well as the box for garlic bread. “You staying in?”
I peered into the darkness beyond her. The pink streetlights illuminated the falling snow. “I have company.”
“Oh.” She grinned. “Lucky you. I just have my monsters waiting at home.” By monsters, she meant three children she adored, her Havanese puppy, and her lug of a hubby.
I envied her. “It’s, uh…” I jostled the food. “Not a date. I mean, not really.”
She continued to smile far too brightly. “Well, enjoy your not really date. Snow’s supposed to pick up just after midnight. Be careful, okay?”
“Yeah, thanks. I’ll let him know.”
Inga knew I was gay—one of the very few people in Mission City I’d confided in—so referring to Arnav wasn’t a big deal. Now, since he’d kissed me on the cheek at Fifties, probably half of Mission City knew I was gay. Nothing stayed secret in this town for long.
Except my relationship with Howard . We’d been living in Vancouver anyway. A long way from the sleepy town I’d relocated to.
Yeah. That. And so not the time. “Be safe.”
“I will.” She headed back with her padded bag. She hopped into her car and was gone in the blink of an eye.
“Everything all right?”
I spun to find Arnav close.
“Yeah. Just making sure Inga’s okay, you know? The snow’s heavier and some’s sticking. You might want to go soon.”
“I have snow tires. Didn’t she say something about it picking up after midnight? Sorry, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. I was just concerned.”
His contrition appeared genuine. He didn’t seem like the jealous type. But then what did I know about that? Howard had never been jealous because he’d known no one wanted a forty-something washed-up man who wanted to crawl on all fours and act like a dog.
Who does that, anyway?
The pile of young men and women who’d been enjoying themselves at Kink on Wednesday night. One of my biggest regrets was that I hadn’t joined them. Or at least spoken to some about their experiences. I didn’t regret spending my time getting to know Arnav, but I’d gone to get a perspective that I still felt I didn’t have.
Evan’s phone number haunted me. The young man had said to call so we could have a proper chat. That although he wasn’t a pup, he was a submissive. That he knew lots of pups and would be happy to facilitate introductions.
“Foster?”
“Um?”
Arnav gestured to the pizza. “Would you like me to take it?”
“Yeah.” I handed it to him. I needed to be more focused. My mind jumping from topic to topic to topic wasn’t going to stand me in good stead. I had an attractive man in my house, and I should be doing my level best to give him my full attention. “I’ll grab plates. Do you want a soda? I grabbed some diet cola in case you wanted it.”
He offered a wide grin. “That was very considerate of you. You don’t drink it?”
I shrugged. “Not often. I’m really a water, tea, and hot chocolate guy. Coffee first thing in the morning, but then I ease off caffeine for the rest of the day.”
“Ah. I mainline the stuff all day and then struggle to sleep at night.” He headed into the kitchen.
“Well, that’s not good. How do you sleep?”
“By reading law-review cases. Puts me out within ten minutes every time, even if it doesn’t last.” He placed the pizza on the counter. “Guaranteed eye-closer.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine that would be stimulating.”
“No. Other things, certainly? Tort law? Definitely not.”
“I thought you were a defense attorney. You do injury law as well?” I pulled two plates down from the cupboard.
“No.” He opened the lid. “I stick to defense attorney with a few other things thrown in. Torts are not my jam. Hence reading them to put myself to sleep. Two slices or three?”
“Two is great.” I moved to the fridge. “So mostly defense. Don’t lawyers pick a lane and stick to it?” I pulled out two chilled cans of pop, then closed the door.
“Usually. I chose criminal law because I thought I wanted to be a prosecutor. Spent a summer working in the office and realized that job wasn’t for me. I wasn’t sold on the idea of defending people either. At law school, I had the choices of Indigenous law, business law, environmental law, or the law and social justice specialization.”
“That’s the one you chose.” I handed him the can of pop.
“Yeah. I had zero interest in business. Indigenous law intrigued me, but I didn’t see it as a good fit for me. Environmental law appealed to me in some ways, but again—not the right fit. That left social justice. Criminal law is just part of that. Advocating on behalf of clients is a bigger part. For me, anyway. So yes, I do defense work. I also try to represent those who might’ve been left behind.” He tapped his chin. “Some of the folks I went to school with are already kicking ass and taking numbers. The ones on the business track are especially raking in decent money.” He grinned. “I’m not that person. Yet.” Then he grabbed his plate of pizza and his cola. “Do we eat at the table, or—”
“Living room is fine. I’m not fussy and the couch…” I did my best not to wince. “Has seen better days.”
“That’s fair. My stuff’s a bit older, but sturdy. I’m all for taking care of things. Of not getting rid of them the moment they’re out of style.”
Does he think my furniture is out of style? Damn.
Except I reminded myself, he hadn’t said that. That was what I’d heard—but that wasn’t the same thing.
We made our way into the living room. He stood aside and gestured for me to sit first. Momentarily disoriented, I pondered. Guests sat first, right? Except… Oh. He wanted me to take my spot. The spot where I’d be the most comfortable. Little did he know, I alternated sides so I could make the couch last longer. Or at least that was my theory.
I chose the right-hand side and plopped down. I expected Arnav to select the chair, but he sat next to me on the couch.
He cracked his can open and took a sip.
And sighed.
I grinned. Sometimes he was so easy to please—other times I struggled to read him. To figure out what he wanted. What would make him happy. I also reflected on his comment about not perhaps doing as well in his job as some of the other graduates from his year. Did he resent they were raking in decent money ? If I didn’t work for a nonprofit, I could definitely be making more money…
“Are you going to eat?” Arnav held up a slice from which he’d taken a bite. “Because I understand waiting until the guest has started, but waiting until they’re finished is a little awkward.”
He offered the endearing grin I was coming to love so much. “It’s fine.” I picked up a slice. “Oh, did you want to start the movie?”
“I was going to suggest we talk some more, but yes, I think watching a film would be enjoyable.”
Before he could rise, I had my cola and plate on the side table. I snagged the bag on the coffee table and rifled through it, quickly locating Notting Hill . Serendipitously, I owned the appropriate machine, and loading took mere moments. I turned on the television and sorted out the remote. “Sorry the screen isn’t bigger.”
He waved me off. “I’m not into screens that are so large you can’t take everything in. To me, there is such a thing as too big.”
Heat raced to my cheeks, and gratitude swelled in me that he couldn’t see me blush. He wasn’t talking about cock size, and you shouldn’t be thinking about his cock size. Seeing as I didn’t have much experience—Howard was pretty much my one and only—I was intensely curious. I’d been bigger than Howard, which was the excuse he used to never bottom. More incompatibility.
The copyright screen lit, and I settled back into my seat. The next hour and a bit flew by as I took in the movie I’d never seen. Truthfully, movies weren’t really my thing. I watched hockey, football, soccer, and rugby. All the British Columbia teams. Well, those were all pretty much Vancouver. I would also catch the news and, more often than not, documentaries.
A sniff caught my attention.
Both Arnav and I had long finished both our pizza and colas. Somehow, he’d moved closer to me. Or I’d drifted toward him. Regardless of who had moved first, less distance separated us than before.
I surreptitiously glanced over at him.
A lone tear streaked down his face.
I refocused on the movie. Hugh Grant was sitting with his friends as they discussed his breakup with Julia Roberts. How some thought he was right, and one thought he was an idiot.
Arnav sniffed again.
He’d said he expected me to hold him when he cried. Or hoped I would? I couldn’t remember his exact words. But, in essence, he’d offered.
Before I could overthink things, I slid toward him.
He shuffled toward me, his focus still on the screen.
Some antics were ensuing about a car or something or other.
I placed my arm on the back of the sofa.
He tucked himself into my side and grasped my henley.
I pulled him toward me by wrapping my arm around his biceps and applying pressure. God, this feels so good. So perilously perfect. How did I get to be so lucky?
Even as I had the thought, Julia sat at a table during a press conference. And Hugh Grant arrived. And asked a question. And she answered. Then another reporter asked a question, and she answered, and all these cameras flashed, and… Yeah. That was the happy ending, right?
Nope. Then they were on a park bench and she had her head in his lap. He was reading and she had a baby bump.
Then the movie was over.
As the credits rolled, I continued to hold Arnav.
Only as the last of them ended, did he stir. He sniffed. “Uh, sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I moved my hand gripping him so he could sit up. “I think it’s sweet.”
“It’s something.” He rubbed his face. “May I use your washroom?”
“Sure, you remember it’s upstairs? Do you want dessert?”
His dark eyes lit. “Dessert?”
“I might’ve bought a cheesecake. I mean, you had the hot chocolate, so I figured you weren’t lactose intolerant. I also have some ice cream.”
“Cheesecake.” He grinned. “I adore cheesecake.”
“Okay.” I grinned back. “I have strawberry jam, chocolate sauce, or cherries—”
“Oh God, cherries. Please, cherries.”
“So easy to please.”
He stilled. “Yeah, I am. I can also be demanding. But mostly free with praise and grateful for everything. I’ve had a good life, Foster. For me, that means paying that forward whenever I can.”
I tried to discern his meaning, but couldn’t. Perhaps I could just take him at his word. “I’ll get the cheesecake.”
He hopped up. “And I’ll run upstairs.”
After he’d disappeared, I sat still for a very long time. Well, long enough his footsteps on the old, creaky staircase ceased. Finally, I organized our plates and pop cans and took everything into the kitchen. I removed the cheesecake from the fridge, cut two slices, and sorted out the cherries from the tin.
By the time Arnav was back, I had the two plates ready to go.
His eyes lit. “Oh, I’m so excited. Mom prefers traditional Indian desserts. Or sometimes she’ll do chocolate cake.”
“What do you have when you’re alone?”
He cocked his head. “I’m never…oh. Right. You mean when I’m at my place.” He tapped his chin as if in contemplation. “Truthfully? I’m not really a dessert guy. Grateful when I have it, but I don’t go out of my way.” He nudged my arm. “So, this is the best choice ever.”
That felt a little over the top, but I wasn’t going to question his enthusiasm.