Chapter 6
If you want, Sam had said. And Eric did. He wanted very badly, but he was still far too uneasy about whatever-it-was they were doing to speak his mind. So he scrunched his lips to the side as he gave a one-shouldered shrug, which was all he could do nowadays without searing pain.
“Sure,” he replied.
*
Eric was busy pretending he wasn’t waiting for the sound of a car pulling up outside as the sun started to set. It would be the first time Sam was over in the evening, which strangely excited him and scared him all at the same time. An evening encounter seemed somehow more intimate, which he actually thought would be a nice thing, but he couldn’t erase the nagging feeling that one of his nosy neighbors might see or suspect something were they to catch sight of a late-night visitor. His neighbors knew who he was, and he’d had his fair share of star-stalkers stopping by when he’d first moved there-when he’d been at the top of his game. And even though he had no game to get back to, ever again it seemed, he still couldn’t stand the thought of being talked about behind his back.
The knock at the door startled him. It was only six o’clock, Eric registered with pleasure as he got up to answer the door. Not too late at all.
All the same his eyes darted around to see if there might be people lurking about before he pulled Sam inside. Since the man was always in those classy suits Eric had developed the habit of wrapping his hand in Sam’s tie in order to bring him close into a kiss, and today he found himself winding up his hand before he’d even shut the front door. At least he’d checked to make sure no one was around first.
Sam was smiling at him with that disarming smile when he backed up for a breath. Eric started to lead him by the tie back towards the bedroom, but Sam took hold of it and yanked it back.
“It’s 6 o’clock,” he said. “Have you had dinner?"
“Dinner?” Eric repeated.
“Yeah, dinner. You know, the third meal of the day . . .”
“Oh. I’m not really hungry . . .” Eric began. Warning lights were beginning to flash in his mind as he feared Sam was about to ask him go out. And going out, with a guy, in the together sort of way was definitely not on his life to-do list.
Sam had walked into the kitchen and was glancing around. “You didn’t eat lunch,” he announced.
“How do you know?” Eric shot back.
“Because you would have left the plate in the sink,” Sam responded matter-of-factly.
Eric closed his eyes for a moment and opened them up in a glare. He didn’t know whether to be happy or upset that Sam was noticing these little things about him. In the end he found himself gravitating towards nervousness-- Sam was getting a little too close for comfort.
“Well, we’ve got the groceries, which I’m sure you haven’t touched,” Sam continued in his chatty tone.
“I don’t cook,” Eric replied sourly.
“Boiling water is not cooking,” Sam continued as if he hadn’t heard the note of anger in Eric’s voice. “Get a pot and fill it up with water. I’ll start on the sauce.”
Without really understanding why, Eric found himself responding to Sam’s commands, and soon there was spaghetti on the stove while Eric leaned over a saucepan, stirring up some ground meat and tomato puree. And Eric had to admit, even though he hadn’t really been hungry, the scent of fresh food cooking was whetting his appetite.
As they maneuvered their way around the kitchen Eric found his mood brightening. Sam hummed lightly as he cooked in between sharing random anecdotes of everyday life, and Eric didn’t notice the time ticking away or the sun setting deeply outside. When the meal was ready Sam served it and beckoned for him to sit down.
But instead of joining him immediately, Eric held up a finger in a wait-a-moment gesture, then leaned down to a lower cabinet and produced a bottle of red wine. He’d already opened it and grabbed two glasses to carry over to the table before he noticed Sam’s grim expression.
“What, you don’t like wine?” Eric asked, puzzled. “I mean, I know you’re not really a beer guy. I just assumed you’d be into wine. Don’t you drink at all?"
“I do happen to like wine a lot actually, but I’ll go with water right now. And you should too.”
Okay, now that was definitely getting too close for comfort. Dictating his beverage choices?
Sam stood up and grabbed two bottles of water from the fridge. “Sit.” He motioned, because Eric was still standing and staring at him in the kitchen. “It’ll get cold.”
“Aren’t you supposed to drink red wine with pasta?” Eric grumbled.
“Not when you’re popping vicodin like candy,” Sam replied firmly. “Seriously, sit. It doesn’t taste good cold.”
Again Eric found himself unwillingly responding to Sam’s commands, and trying not to feel like this lanky lawyer had him whipped.
*
This was the closest they’d ever been post-sex. So close Eric could feel Sam’s heartbeat against his, so close their legs were entwined and Sam’s hand was coming dangerously close to holding Eric’s. At the last second he avoided the hand and instead placed his arm against Eric’s hip, a half-smile playing on his lips as he looked quietly into Eric’s eyes. Despite his best attempts to regulate his breathing, Eric sighed a happy sigh, and wondered why he couldn’t stop staring into the eyes in front of him. He wanted to look away, but he felt like Sam was drawing him in somehow, and he was afraid that if he held the contact any longer he was in danger of needing those eyes-- indefinitely.
“Eric,” Sam whispered.
“Yeah,” Eric whispered back after another small sigh. He also wished he could stop sighing, but when Sam was this close physically he was finding he did not have complete control over his body.
“Can I stay the night?”
Like a needle breaking against a record, Eric’s surreally happy feeling screeched to a halt. “What?”
“It’s late,” Sam said, his voice uncertain, nearly quavering. “I just thought . . .”
Eric couldn’t come up with an appropriate response in time, so he said nothing. He watched Sam’s eyes go from nervous to hurt, and even though he knew this was getting much, much deeper than he wanted it to, he still couldn’t stand to see Sam look like that.
“I’ll go,” Sam said. “It’s alright that you don’t want me to stay.” He untangled himself from Eric’s legs and pulled on his boxers with those same hurt eyes.
“No, it’s not that,” Eric found himself saying. “I don’t mind you staying. It’s just . . . your car.”
“My car?” Sam had pulled on his suit pants but he paused before buckling the belt. “What does my car have to do with anything?”
“It’s uh, out front.”
“Yeah? So?”
“Maybe you could move it? Park it a block over, or on a side street . . .”
Sam stared at him for several seconds. “You want me to move my car?”
“It’s just that . . . people, you know, see your car out front, and it’s night, and then they’ll see it there in the morning, and then they’ll know . . .” Eric couldn’t finish the sentence because he could already see from Sam’s expression that Sam thought he was a complete fool.
Sam closed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s sad that you’re serious,” he said. He finished getting dressed and headed for the front door.
********
He should have known better than to ask, Sam figured as he began to redress himself. Spending the night was something couples did; something you did in a relationship. And he and Eric were definitely not in a relationship. But it had certainly hurt more than he thought it would, the final twist of the knife being that it seemed it was Eric’s fear of being discovered-so deeply ingrained that he was paranoid about a damn car being outside overnight-that was driving him out of the condo. That kind of paranoia didn’t go away easily.
Sam finished redressing himself and left the bedroom, but Eric was in quick pursuit.
“Sam,” he called after him. Sam paused and gave him his best indifferent look.
“I’m serious, I’d like you to stay, I really would. I’m sorry I’m asking you to move your car, I know I sound nuts to you, but I just don’t want . . . I mean, I’m not ready to be . . .”
“Out. Yeah, I got it.” He waved Eric off. “Look, I’m gonna go.”
He saw Eric fall in on himself, looking confused and defeated. “Yeah, okay. See ya.”
*
Sam stepped out into the crisp night air and watched as his breath formed foggy clouds around his face. The street seemed completely silent, although he could see there were a few lights on in nearby homes. He got into his car and stared into one of the houses where he could see a couple seated around a kitchen table, smiling and exchanging quick kisses, and it tugged at his heart bitterly.
Sometimes he thought he wasn’t suited to be gay. It wasn’t like he had any real qualms with his sexuality, but he craved the stability he saw in that window-- the happy, normal, family life. That’s what he had been trying to achieve in nearly every adult relationship he’d been in, but it hadn’t been in the cards. The closest he had come was with Mark, but it turned out that hadn’t been even remotely close to “happily ever after” after all. In fact, it had been a near-crushing defeat of all his idealistic hopes. A man he’d spent two years with and had every intent on spending the rest of his life with had gotten bored with him. Had decided to seek companionship with more chiseled-and more disposable-human specimens.
In retrospect of course Sam could see where there had been faults in the relationship, where Mark had fallen short of showing him love and compassion. But they had appeared outwardly like a happy and ideal couple, intellectually and occupationally matched as they were, and Sam had somehow managed to dupe himself into believing that the outward appearance was more important than the inner workings of their partnership. And in the end he’d been left feeling like a heartbroken fool.
Meanwhile it didn’t help that Billy infuriatingly took his heterosexuality for granted and slept with every female that moved while constantly telling Sam how lucky he was that gay guys didn’t get all emotional and grabby and demand permanent relationships after every lay.
Sam didn’t consider himself needy, or overly emotional, and a part of him had hoped to be able to renounce his desire for “permanence” when he’d let himself get caught up in whatever friends-with-benefits game he and Eric were playing. But now he wasn’t so sure he could get by with what Eric was offering him; not if he had to walk on eggshells at every moment.
For a minute he considered if there was any credence behind Eric’s fears of discovery. Maybe he’d had some horrible experience in his life, although that seemed doubtful, because as far as he knew Eric wasn’t out to a single person besides his similarly-closeted NHL acquaintances-- not even to his sister. Of course, Sam had to admit he didn’t really understand what it was like to be a member of a sports team, where his sexuality could have caused him to lose the acceptance of the group and in turn his ability to belong.
But all of that was over for Eric now, and Sam wished he could just let his fear go. It didn’t seem likely, though.
He started his car and began to drive off.
********
Next Chapter 7