Page 98 of I'm Your Guy
His discomfort makes my brain glitch, but only for a second. Tommaso needs to open the door, and when he does, I can’t be shirtless in his kitchen with sex hair.
I put down the bowl I’m drying with a thump. “Go answer it. I’m, uh, stepping into the guestroom for a few minutes.” I’m already in motion, carrying my coffee cup with me, and then closing the door behind me.
I sit on the bed in the guestroom, sipping my coffee and feeling like a character in a farce. I’m the secret lover listening to the muffled voices on the other side of the door and wondering if the neighbor will notice the extra shirt draped over the arm of Tommaso’s sofa.
All my good vibes deflate like a day-old balloon. My night with Tommaso was impulsive. That’s very on brand for me. And look how it’s turned out? Hiding out of sight in my lover’s back room.
Objectively, I know that Tommaso isn’t at fault. He’s working through a lot of issues right now. He’s an admirable guy.
But right this second, it doesn’t matter. I’m still hiding. And I’m still the quasi-homeless fuckup who blew his boss under a Christmas tree.
This is not how an adult behaves.
My face burns as I get up and quietly rummage for another shirt. I do some deep breathing. Then I sit back down on the bed to check the rental listings. Tommaso’s mother will soon occupy this room, and I’ve got to figure out my holiday plans. But there’s nothing new to see and no emails from property managers in my inbox, either.
I look up when Tommaso opens the door to the guestroom, his face a storm cloud.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Not really.” He gives his head a shake. “That sucked. I’m sorry.” He clears his throat. “You hid. I didn’t stop you. It’s not okay, and I feel like a dick.”
“You’re not a dick,” I say quietly. And he isn’t. He’s just not ready to be the guy who’s casually cleaning up the kitchen with his boy toy after breakfast.
“The neighbor is a great guy, too.” He leans back against the door frame and stares at the ceiling. “I just don’t know how to do this. How to be…”
The sentence dies a quiet death in the space between us.
Gay? Queer? Whatever the word, he can’t even say it.
My heart hurts. And then my phone rings suddenly. Rigo calling.
I silence it and take a deep breath. “It always sucks. Lying to people. But this stuff takes time.”
“What can I do to make it up to you? I don’t want to be that guy.”
Nothing. “You’re on your own schedule, Jersey. You’re working on your baggage. But I’m also working on mine. And…”
“I know,” he says. “You had an ex who ignored you in front of other people.”
“True,” I admit. “You’re not cruel. But you’re also not a guy who’s ready to date a guy.”
“Fuck.” His eyes fall shut. “I want to argue with you. But it’s true.”
“I know,” I whisper. And I wonder—for the hundredth time—how I end up in these situations. “Look… I like you. A lot. You’re amazing, but you’re not boyfriend material at the moment. And who are we kidding? I’m not either, with my life practically crumbling around me.”
He sighs. “You don’t have to humor me and pretend it’s the same thing. Your issues are just details. Mine are the real obstacle.”
I’m not so sure, but I don’t want to argue about it. “I need to get my head together. Let me just find my other shirt in your living room, and then I’m out of here for a couple hours.”
Tommaso pinches the skin between his eyes. “I kicked it under the couch so that Gavin wouldn’t see it.”
“Oh.” Our eyes meet. His are so conflicted. I believe that he cares about me. But he’s got a lot on his plate. A game to win tonight. A sick mom. “I’m going to head out for some last-minute things. You need anything from the outside world?”
He shakes his head. “I’m just sorry about making you feel bad. I really am.”
“I’m okay.” I take a step toward the door, and I see him hesitate. Like he wants to reach for me.
I don’t take the bait. I don’t step into his embrace, even though there’d be nothing better than stepping into the strongest arms in Colorado. But I need to stand on my own feet for one goddamn minute, so I slide past him.
