Chapter 7
He trudged over to the kitchen and found the bottle of wine sitting on the island where he had left it, and he unceremoniously twisted out the cork by bracing it between his thighs. He decided not to bother getting a glass and took a swig directly from the bottle instead, grimacing at the bitter taste. He wasn't really a wine drinker, but now that the thing was opened he decided to take a few more swallows as he leaned against the kitchen counter.
His shoulder was throbbing again and he fished a pill out from his pants pocket and tossed it down with some more wine, wondering how much of the bottle he’d have to drink before he’d forget the way Sam had looked when he’d left him hanging, the way his voice had shook, and how unsettling his saddened eyes were when compared to the blissful smile he’d had on his lips only a few moments before. He took another lengthy swig of the wine and nearly chipped a tooth when a knock on the door startled him into banging the bottleneck on his mouth.
Swinging the door open quickly, he found Sam waiting for him on the other side with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. “I moved my car,” he said.
Eric took a step back, still blinking in surprise. “Oh . . . I thought you were leaving . . .”
Sam walked in and shut the front door behind him, then reached out to grab the bottle of wine from Eric’s hand. “I would have, but someone has to look after you if you’re not going to take care of yourself,” he said as he trailed to the kitchen and found the cork. “Do you really want to destroy your liver that badly?”
If it had been anyone else making that comment to him, Eric knew he would have become the defensive asshole he’d been for most of his life. But it wasn’t just anyone, it was Sam, and for some reason, Sam cared about him.
He smiled. “Let’s go to bed.”
They wrapped themselves up in the sheets, several inches apart at first until Eric held out an arm and beckoned for Sam to scoot in closer. He did so, and after a moment’s hesitation, draped himself over Eric’s body.
Eric avoided Sam’s eyes. “I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.
“Done what?” Sam responded sleepily.
“Spent the night with . . . with someone.”
Sam kissed his chest gently. “Goodnight Eric,” he said before he closed his eyes. Eric watched him curiously for a few moments before falling into a deep sleep.
*
Eric woke up and spread a hand out over the side of the bed, feeling for the warm body he knew had been against him the whole night. He felt like he’d slept better than he had in quite some time, possibly because before his injury he’d been a confirmed tosser and turner, and since his movements were so restricted by the cast and broken shoulder he’d had difficulty finding his sleep-stride. But Sam had slept so close against him he wouldn’t have been able to move if he’d tried, and it was nice to have the reason for his confinement be another human being and not an ugly piece of plaster.
Now, though, as he felt for Sam’s sleeping form he realized he was alone. He squinted at the clock and saw that it was still fairly early, although he really couldn’t blame Sam for slipping out. In fact, he told himself, it was what he preferred.
It was then that he smelled the scent of warm butter, and heard the sizzling of a pan and the distinct tickticktick of the toaster oven. He rolled out of bed and made his way down the hallway to find Sam turning off the stove and scrapping some eggs into a waiting plate that already contained some toast. “Good morning,” he said cheerily
“What’s this?” Eric asked, his voice still thick from sleep.
“This is your breakfast. That would be the first meal of the day,” Sam replied.
Afterwards he couldn’t pin down what it was that had possessed him, but as Eric sidled up to grab his plate he stopped beside Sam, pausing for just a split second before pulling Sam's mouth into a gentle and chaste kiss. “Thanks,” he whispered.
He backed away and their eyes locked, both sets wide with surprise. It was the first time they’d shared a kiss that hadn’t been in the bedroom or on the way to the bedroom, Eric realized. It was seven a.m. and birds were chirping and Sam had just cooked him breakfast and he had kissed him casually in the kitchen. And it was terrifying.
Sam blushed and took a few steps back. “Well, I already ate, and I gotta get going . . . gotta walk to my car yet,” he added with a teasing smirk.
Eric nodded and put his head down. “Yeah, sorry. Okay, well, have a good day at work.”
Shit if that didn’t sound domestic. Eric groaned inwardly as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
But Sam smiled a happy smile and ducked his head down shyly as he headed out. “Bye, Eric."
*******
Sam had not been kissed in the kitchen since Mark and the memory of those types of casual kisses had surprisingly faded quickly, possibly because he’d tried his best to put all memories of Mark behind him. But he’d felt that spark of joy the moment Eric had moved in for the kiss, and by now Sam had to admit it was time to stop lying to himself. He didn’t want to be Eric’s fuck buddy; he wanted more than that. And he knew that was dangerous.
They began to see even more of each other, during the days and even more frequently through the nights. Sam made a half-hearted attempt to use logic to dispel his growing feelings, because he didn’t really think Eric was going to change. He was approaching his thirties and Sam had a feeling that a man so paralyzed with fear about his sexuality probably wasn’t going to jump out of the closet without a lot of therapy. Logic told him the best thing he could do was cut his losses and extricate himself from the situation before he fell too deep . . .but in the weeks that followed, logic abandoned him, and he knew that he had fallen.
He wasn’t so sure what had caused him to fall. Eric could be abrasive and off-putting. He was a slob and certainly appeared self-centered at times. But he was also funny and could be thoughtful in his own gruff way. Eric wasn’t an affectionate man by any means, but Sam still felt his concern in the little details; in the way he could size Sam up in a few glances, somehow know exactly when he was stressed from work and silently hand off a single glass of wine to calm his nerves. And Eric may not have had much to say in the conversations that Sam led them to, but he could listen well and he never let Sam get away with a single self-deprecating comment; on the contrary, even the shortest response he gave to any of Sam’s troubles let Sam know that he was held in high regard, both for his intelligence and for his personality. And sometimes Eric even let on how impressed he was that Sam had “turned out so well,” like it was a badge of honor to be a stable and successful gay man.
But his favorite moments by far were when Eric would smile a genuine smile or crack a corny joke and let his guard down completely, and Sam could see that underneath all the pain-and not just the pain from the injury-Eric was really a big kid with a good heart.
It wasn’t easy but Sam managed to coax out some of Eric’s childhood; how he’d known he was different early on, how he’d been teased until he started playing hockey, at which point he’d been able to make the transition from bully’s fodder to fighter, a reputation he took with him all the way to the NHL. And the more they talked, the more they learned about one another, the more that Sam dared to hope that if things could just keep going smoothly there might be some way for them to grow into something more.
Life, however, always had a way of making things more complicated. And when, for the tenth time, Lexy, the tall, leggy paralegal, reminded him that he needed to turn in his billable hours for “the McNally guy” he realized with a sinking feeling how tangled things were getting. He certainly spent a lot of hours with Eric, but hardly any of them were billable, and it was tugging at his conscience to even try to figure out how much he could accurately claim for payment purposes. And the closer he and Eric became, the less they talked about contracts and endorsements and insurance payments and the more they discussed things like the absolute inanity of late-night infomercials. When they were together, Sam was dizzy with happiness, but when they were apart he was confused and completely unsure of what his next move should be.
*
It was a Friday evening and in the throes of passion they had somehow managed to knock everything off the bed except for one pillow, which Eric now lay reclined on with a drowsy, spent smile. The freshly washed sheets, no longer so clean, had pooled in mountains and valleys on the floor.
Sam stretched down to rearrange them, casually throwing in, “I think I’m going to step aside as your lawyer.”
He felt Eric stiffen against him in that way that told him he was in for trouble. “Why would you do that?”
“Because we’re not behaving like a lawyer and a client should. And it’s making me uncomfortable at work.”
“Well, you can’t,” Eric said forcefully. “If you’re not my lawyer, then you won’t have an excuse to come over here."
“I wasn’t aware I needed an excuse,” Sam found himself replying bitterly.
“You know what I mean,” Eric said with a roll of his eyes.
“You do know that there is no network of spies outside waiting to see who your houseguests are,” Sam said. He’d half expected Eric’s response but he was tired and not really in the mood to deal with his hysteria.
“Well, maybe, maybe not, but if you’re not my lawyer, then someone else would have to be, and then someone else would be coming over, and then you wouldn’t be able to be over when they’re over and . . .”
“Breathe,” Sam interrupted Eric’s tirade. “Look, I’m trying to follow your logic but honestly I doubt there is any.”
“Quit being such a lawyer,” Eric grumbled in response. “But don’t quit being mine. I don’t want things to change, Sam. You’re . . . you’re the only good thing in my life right now.”
Eric was blushing furiously when he was done. He tilted his head as far away as possible without moving his upper body, and Sam was sure that if he had been able to roll onto his injured side he would have done that as well.
Sam found himself forgetting all about logic, all about his decision to stop playing around on business time. All he could think about was that Eric had just admitted, blatantly, that he was a good thing in his life, and that he wanted him to continue being that good thing.
“Okay.” He acquiesced far too easily.
********
Next Chapter 8
His shoulder was throbbing again and he fished a pill out from his pants pocket and tossed it down with some more wine, wondering how much of the bottle he’d have to drink before he’d forget the way Sam had looked when he’d left him hanging, the way his voice had shook, and how unsettling his saddened eyes were when compared to the blissful smile he’d had on his lips only a few moments before. He took another lengthy swig of the wine and nearly chipped a tooth when a knock on the door startled him into banging the bottleneck on his mouth.
Swinging the door open quickly, he found Sam waiting for him on the other side with his suit jacket slung over his shoulder. “I moved my car,” he said.
Eric took a step back, still blinking in surprise. “Oh . . . I thought you were leaving . . .”
Sam walked in and shut the front door behind him, then reached out to grab the bottle of wine from Eric’s hand. “I would have, but someone has to look after you if you’re not going to take care of yourself,” he said as he trailed to the kitchen and found the cork. “Do you really want to destroy your liver that badly?”
If it had been anyone else making that comment to him, Eric knew he would have become the defensive asshole he’d been for most of his life. But it wasn’t just anyone, it was Sam, and for some reason, Sam cared about him.
He smiled. “Let’s go to bed.”
They wrapped themselves up in the sheets, several inches apart at first until Eric held out an arm and beckoned for Sam to scoot in closer. He did so, and after a moment’s hesitation, draped himself over Eric’s body.
Eric avoided Sam’s eyes. “I’ve never done this before,” he whispered.
“Done what?” Sam responded sleepily.
“Spent the night with . . . with someone.”
Sam kissed his chest gently. “Goodnight Eric,” he said before he closed his eyes. Eric watched him curiously for a few moments before falling into a deep sleep.
*
Eric woke up and spread a hand out over the side of the bed, feeling for the warm body he knew had been against him the whole night. He felt like he’d slept better than he had in quite some time, possibly because before his injury he’d been a confirmed tosser and turner, and since his movements were so restricted by the cast and broken shoulder he’d had difficulty finding his sleep-stride. But Sam had slept so close against him he wouldn’t have been able to move if he’d tried, and it was nice to have the reason for his confinement be another human being and not an ugly piece of plaster.
Now, though, as he felt for Sam’s sleeping form he realized he was alone. He squinted at the clock and saw that it was still fairly early, although he really couldn’t blame Sam for slipping out. In fact, he told himself, it was what he preferred.
It was then that he smelled the scent of warm butter, and heard the sizzling of a pan and the distinct tickticktick of the toaster oven. He rolled out of bed and made his way down the hallway to find Sam turning off the stove and scrapping some eggs into a waiting plate that already contained some toast. “Good morning,” he said cheerily
“What’s this?” Eric asked, his voice still thick from sleep.
“This is your breakfast. That would be the first meal of the day,” Sam replied.
Afterwards he couldn’t pin down what it was that had possessed him, but as Eric sidled up to grab his plate he stopped beside Sam, pausing for just a split second before pulling Sam's mouth into a gentle and chaste kiss. “Thanks,” he whispered.
He backed away and their eyes locked, both sets wide with surprise. It was the first time they’d shared a kiss that hadn’t been in the bedroom or on the way to the bedroom, Eric realized. It was seven a.m. and birds were chirping and Sam had just cooked him breakfast and he had kissed him casually in the kitchen. And it was terrifying.
Sam blushed and took a few steps back. “Well, I already ate, and I gotta get going . . . gotta walk to my car yet,” he added with a teasing smirk.
Eric nodded and put his head down. “Yeah, sorry. Okay, well, have a good day at work.”
Shit if that didn’t sound domestic. Eric groaned inwardly as soon as the words were out of his mouth.
But Sam smiled a happy smile and ducked his head down shyly as he headed out. “Bye, Eric."
*******
Sam had not been kissed in the kitchen since Mark and the memory of those types of casual kisses had surprisingly faded quickly, possibly because he’d tried his best to put all memories of Mark behind him. But he’d felt that spark of joy the moment Eric had moved in for the kiss, and by now Sam had to admit it was time to stop lying to himself. He didn’t want to be Eric’s fuck buddy; he wanted more than that. And he knew that was dangerous.
They began to see even more of each other, during the days and even more frequently through the nights. Sam made a half-hearted attempt to use logic to dispel his growing feelings, because he didn’t really think Eric was going to change. He was approaching his thirties and Sam had a feeling that a man so paralyzed with fear about his sexuality probably wasn’t going to jump out of the closet without a lot of therapy. Logic told him the best thing he could do was cut his losses and extricate himself from the situation before he fell too deep . . .but in the weeks that followed, logic abandoned him, and he knew that he had fallen.
He wasn’t so sure what had caused him to fall. Eric could be abrasive and off-putting. He was a slob and certainly appeared self-centered at times. But he was also funny and could be thoughtful in his own gruff way. Eric wasn’t an affectionate man by any means, but Sam still felt his concern in the little details; in the way he could size Sam up in a few glances, somehow know exactly when he was stressed from work and silently hand off a single glass of wine to calm his nerves. And Eric may not have had much to say in the conversations that Sam led them to, but he could listen well and he never let Sam get away with a single self-deprecating comment; on the contrary, even the shortest response he gave to any of Sam’s troubles let Sam know that he was held in high regard, both for his intelligence and for his personality. And sometimes Eric even let on how impressed he was that Sam had “turned out so well,” like it was a badge of honor to be a stable and successful gay man.
But his favorite moments by far were when Eric would smile a genuine smile or crack a corny joke and let his guard down completely, and Sam could see that underneath all the pain-and not just the pain from the injury-Eric was really a big kid with a good heart.
It wasn’t easy but Sam managed to coax out some of Eric’s childhood; how he’d known he was different early on, how he’d been teased until he started playing hockey, at which point he’d been able to make the transition from bully’s fodder to fighter, a reputation he took with him all the way to the NHL. And the more they talked, the more they learned about one another, the more that Sam dared to hope that if things could just keep going smoothly there might be some way for them to grow into something more.
Life, however, always had a way of making things more complicated. And when, for the tenth time, Lexy, the tall, leggy paralegal, reminded him that he needed to turn in his billable hours for “the McNally guy” he realized with a sinking feeling how tangled things were getting. He certainly spent a lot of hours with Eric, but hardly any of them were billable, and it was tugging at his conscience to even try to figure out how much he could accurately claim for payment purposes. And the closer he and Eric became, the less they talked about contracts and endorsements and insurance payments and the more they discussed things like the absolute inanity of late-night infomercials. When they were together, Sam was dizzy with happiness, but when they were apart he was confused and completely unsure of what his next move should be.
*
It was a Friday evening and in the throes of passion they had somehow managed to knock everything off the bed except for one pillow, which Eric now lay reclined on with a drowsy, spent smile. The freshly washed sheets, no longer so clean, had pooled in mountains and valleys on the floor.
Sam stretched down to rearrange them, casually throwing in, “I think I’m going to step aside as your lawyer.”
He felt Eric stiffen against him in that way that told him he was in for trouble. “Why would you do that?”
“Because we’re not behaving like a lawyer and a client should. And it’s making me uncomfortable at work.”
“Well, you can’t,” Eric said forcefully. “If you’re not my lawyer, then you won’t have an excuse to come over here."
“I wasn’t aware I needed an excuse,” Sam found himself replying bitterly.
“You know what I mean,” Eric said with a roll of his eyes.
“You do know that there is no network of spies outside waiting to see who your houseguests are,” Sam said. He’d half expected Eric’s response but he was tired and not really in the mood to deal with his hysteria.
“Well, maybe, maybe not, but if you’re not my lawyer, then someone else would have to be, and then someone else would be coming over, and then you wouldn’t be able to be over when they’re over and . . .”
“Breathe,” Sam interrupted Eric’s tirade. “Look, I’m trying to follow your logic but honestly I doubt there is any.”
“Quit being such a lawyer,” Eric grumbled in response. “But don’t quit being mine. I don’t want things to change, Sam. You’re . . . you’re the only good thing in my life right now.”
Eric was blushing furiously when he was done. He tilted his head as far away as possible without moving his upper body, and Sam was sure that if he had been able to roll onto his injured side he would have done that as well.
Sam found himself forgetting all about logic, all about his decision to stop playing around on business time. All he could think about was that Eric had just admitted, blatantly, that he was a good thing in his life, and that he wanted him to continue being that good thing.
“Okay.” He acquiesced far too easily.
********
Next Chapter 8