Chapter 5
He sighed heavily. “You’re a neat freak, aren’t you? I knew there’d be something wrong with you.”
Sam raised his eyebrows and regarded him with a humorous expression. “I’d prefer to just be called neat.”
“So this place must be torture for you, huh. I let the housekeeper go. It’s not like I entertain guests on a regular basis.”
“Well how pissed off would you be if I asked mine to stop by?” Sam said slowly.
Suddenly Eric felt like Sam was an oppressive weight on his chest instead of the comfort he had been a moment ago, and he was seized by an overwhelming urge to kick him out of bed. He wished that just once the man could lie in his arms without opening his mouth and making things so damn personal.
Sam interrupted his panic. “Alright, so it does bother me, but honestly, I totally understand how it’s hard to keep up with things with your arm like that. So I just thought that Marilynn could lend you a hand one afternoon.”
Eric felt some of his panic start to subside. Sam’s interest in the place’s cleanliness probably was for his own sake and not Eric’s. After all, the man still folded his clothes neatly over a chair every single time they made their way to the bedroom, no matter how heavily engaged they were in foreplay.
“Fine,” he said. “But . . . don’t say anything about . . . about . . .”
Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her you’re my client." He grinned. "Because you are.”
******
Sam was smiling as he walked to his car that afternoon, and he felt lighter than he’d ever felt leaving Eric’s place. It was hard sometimes, to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground and remind himself they were nothing more than fuck buddies. Fuck buddies, like what his brother Billy had constantly told him he was supposed to ‘enjoy’ a gay man--although Billy probably had a lot more experience with fuck buddies than he did. He tried to take pride in having achieved this life-experience, but he already knew with each passing encounter that he was secretly hoping there would be a chance for more.
It was true the piles of dirty clothes were extremely distasteful to him. His own gleaming condo was kept in constant order; he liked all his things to have a place and despised clutter. But there had been something else behind his offer to help. He was starting to feel an urge to take care of Eric, since it seemed apparent Eric didn’t care enough to take care of himself. And he was worried about him, spending so much time alone. Eric didn’t get out much, Sam knew, and when he did it was usually to a bar. He didn’t seem to have many friends--evidently everyone he knew was in hockey, and they were off on their season still, too busy to bother visiting. Although somehow Sam got the feeling Eric probably wouldn’t hang out too much with that crowd even if they were around. He’d known from their very first meeting Eric was depressed, and though Eric tried his best to cover it up, Sam could tell it was still there.
He never thought he was the kind of person to take a liking to a fixer-upper. A house, yes-he still had dreams of remodeling a diamond-in-the-rough piece of real estate some day-but not a person. It seemed like a catastrophe in the making and definitely went against his rules of involvement. But now that Eric was already in his life, Sam found that taking care of him was all he wanted to do.
*
And his next step was to get him to eat something decent. He showed up the week after Eric’s place had undergone a thorough scrubbing with two heavy bags of groceries.
Eric gave him a puzzled look as he opened the door and saw paper bags instead of Sam’s face.
“Excuse me,” Sam said, maneuvering his way around Eric and plopping the bags down on the table.
“What is this?” Eric asked, his brow furrowed.
“Groceries. You know, from the grocery store. That’s where food comes from.”
“Why are you bringing your groceries here?”
“They’re not mine, they’re yours.”
Eric blinked several times. “Uh, you bought me groceries? Why did you buy me groceries? I have food.”
Sam sighed. He’d expected resistance; it was the norm from Eric, and sometimes he still had the notion he might be thrown out at a moment's notice. He thought about proceeding with caution, but uncensored words came tumbling out anyways. “No, what you have is takeout, and most of it ends up going bad in the fridge. You should be eating better . . . you look like you’ve lost weight.”
Eric continued to stare and his mouth dropped open slightly. “Are you serious?”
Sam looked down at the floor, his cheery put-on confidence abandoning him. He’d known it was a risk to push this far into Eric’s life, but he’d not been able to ignore his genuine concern. Eric’s face had started to look gaunt in the past week and as far as Sam knew his usual intake consisted of vicodin and beer, hardly a healthy combination.
Eric reached out and touched his arm gently, causing Sam to look back up. “Sorry . . . thanks . . . that’s the appropriate response, right? Thanks,” he said with a half-smile.
“Okay, well I actually have to run, I gotta be at a deposition in a little while." Revived, Sam buzzed about the kitchen, putting everything away in the mostly empty cabinets and fridge. He tried to ignore the flutter in his heart when he saw Eric’s face fall.
“Oh,” Eric responded, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Oh, okay.”
“But maybe I could stop by later . . . if you want,” Sam said.
******
Next Chapter 6
Sam raised his eyebrows and regarded him with a humorous expression. “I’d prefer to just be called neat.”
“So this place must be torture for you, huh. I let the housekeeper go. It’s not like I entertain guests on a regular basis.”
“Well how pissed off would you be if I asked mine to stop by?” Sam said slowly.
Suddenly Eric felt like Sam was an oppressive weight on his chest instead of the comfort he had been a moment ago, and he was seized by an overwhelming urge to kick him out of bed. He wished that just once the man could lie in his arms without opening his mouth and making things so damn personal.
Sam interrupted his panic. “Alright, so it does bother me, but honestly, I totally understand how it’s hard to keep up with things with your arm like that. So I just thought that Marilynn could lend you a hand one afternoon.”
Eric felt some of his panic start to subside. Sam’s interest in the place’s cleanliness probably was for his own sake and not Eric’s. After all, the man still folded his clothes neatly over a chair every single time they made their way to the bedroom, no matter how heavily engaged they were in foreplay.
“Fine,” he said. “But . . . don’t say anything about . . . about . . .”
Sam cut him off with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell her you’re my client." He grinned. "Because you are.”
******
Sam was smiling as he walked to his car that afternoon, and he felt lighter than he’d ever felt leaving Eric’s place. It was hard sometimes, to keep his feet firmly planted on the ground and remind himself they were nothing more than fuck buddies. Fuck buddies, like what his brother Billy had constantly told him he was supposed to ‘enjoy’ a gay man--although Billy probably had a lot more experience with fuck buddies than he did. He tried to take pride in having achieved this life-experience, but he already knew with each passing encounter that he was secretly hoping there would be a chance for more.
It was true the piles of dirty clothes were extremely distasteful to him. His own gleaming condo was kept in constant order; he liked all his things to have a place and despised clutter. But there had been something else behind his offer to help. He was starting to feel an urge to take care of Eric, since it seemed apparent Eric didn’t care enough to take care of himself. And he was worried about him, spending so much time alone. Eric didn’t get out much, Sam knew, and when he did it was usually to a bar. He didn’t seem to have many friends--evidently everyone he knew was in hockey, and they were off on their season still, too busy to bother visiting. Although somehow Sam got the feeling Eric probably wouldn’t hang out too much with that crowd even if they were around. He’d known from their very first meeting Eric was depressed, and though Eric tried his best to cover it up, Sam could tell it was still there.
He never thought he was the kind of person to take a liking to a fixer-upper. A house, yes-he still had dreams of remodeling a diamond-in-the-rough piece of real estate some day-but not a person. It seemed like a catastrophe in the making and definitely went against his rules of involvement. But now that Eric was already in his life, Sam found that taking care of him was all he wanted to do.
*
And his next step was to get him to eat something decent. He showed up the week after Eric’s place had undergone a thorough scrubbing with two heavy bags of groceries.
Eric gave him a puzzled look as he opened the door and saw paper bags instead of Sam’s face.
“Excuse me,” Sam said, maneuvering his way around Eric and plopping the bags down on the table.
“What is this?” Eric asked, his brow furrowed.
“Groceries. You know, from the grocery store. That’s where food comes from.”
“Why are you bringing your groceries here?”
“They’re not mine, they’re yours.”
Eric blinked several times. “Uh, you bought me groceries? Why did you buy me groceries? I have food.”
Sam sighed. He’d expected resistance; it was the norm from Eric, and sometimes he still had the notion he might be thrown out at a moment's notice. He thought about proceeding with caution, but uncensored words came tumbling out anyways. “No, what you have is takeout, and most of it ends up going bad in the fridge. You should be eating better . . . you look like you’ve lost weight.”
Eric continued to stare and his mouth dropped open slightly. “Are you serious?”
Sam looked down at the floor, his cheery put-on confidence abandoning him. He’d known it was a risk to push this far into Eric’s life, but he’d not been able to ignore his genuine concern. Eric’s face had started to look gaunt in the past week and as far as Sam knew his usual intake consisted of vicodin and beer, hardly a healthy combination.
Eric reached out and touched his arm gently, causing Sam to look back up. “Sorry . . . thanks . . . that’s the appropriate response, right? Thanks,” he said with a half-smile.
“Okay, well I actually have to run, I gotta be at a deposition in a little while." Revived, Sam buzzed about the kitchen, putting everything away in the mostly empty cabinets and fridge. He tried to ignore the flutter in his heart when he saw Eric’s face fall.
“Oh,” Eric responded, shoving his free hand into his pocket. “Oh, okay.”
“But maybe I could stop by later . . . if you want,” Sam said.
******
Next Chapter 6