Page 86 of All The Things: The Last Thing He Needs Omnibus

“Wanna go in? I’ll buy you a sucker.”

He got a laugh for that. “Don’t need a sucker when I got you.”

“I’m sure you meant that to sound flirty and hot, but it just makes me sound like your sugar daddy.”

“I never said I was good at this shit.”

“That’s very true,” Bobby said as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Tom’s cheek.

Before Bobby could say anything else, Tom said, “I don’t know what my favorite color is.”

“I’d always assumed it was black like your soul.” He knew before he even finished the sentence that it wasn’t the time for jokes, but Tom’s look, Tom’s shrug, the sag to his shoulders, confirmed it for Bobby. “What about in that window?” Bobby asked, kicking himself. “Plenty to choose from.”

Tom nodded, leaned in a little closer to the glass. “I kinda like that one,” he said, pointing to a jar full of pale blue jelly beans.

Bobby didn’t mention that they were almost the exact same color as his own eyes, wondered if Tom even realized it. “It’s a good color,” he said instead.

“Yeah,” Tom said with a nod. “Makes me feel good to look at it.” He stepped back, walked a few paces up the street, then glanced at Bobby.

He wasn’t sure if that look was an invitation to follow or simply seeing if Bobby would, but of course, he did. He’d follow Tom anywhere, and it’d been that way since before they got together. “So… that’s what was on your mind? You didn’t know what your favorite color is?” Bobby knew there was more to it than that, but getting him to talk about whatever was in his head was tricky sometimes.

Another shrug. “Not just that,” he said, letting out a white huff of breath into the frigid evening. “Just… I don’t know, it’s weird, right? Everyone has a favorite color.” He patted his pockets down, looking for his cigarettes, Bobby was sure, but he came up empty. “Zoe’s is yellow and Max’s is purple and Colleen likes orange and Carrie likes pink and lavender. Christ, Davey’s is green and Mike’s is red and Collin’s is brown—why, I’ll never know—and yours is green too, and your mom likes hot pink.”

“Fuchsia,” Bobby said out of habit.

“Right, that,” Tom said with another glance at him. Nettled, but Bobby didn’t think Tom was nettled with him, just in general. “It’s weird not to know that kind of shit about yourself.”

For most people, yeah, but for Tom? With everything he’d been through, everything he’d dealt with, probably not. When the hell did he have time to figure himself out and figure out what he liked? “I think, given the trauma of—”

“Yeah, I know. My traumatic childhood didn’t allow me to even know what fucking color I like or what kind of music or movies or anything else.” Tom huffed again, walking faster. “I’m so goddamn sick of that. It’s over. Shit’s good now.”

Bobby didn’t make a sound, didn’t change his expression, just kept up with Tom’s long strides, but that little acknowledgment from him nearly knocked Bobby on his ass. Shit was good, and Tom knew it. He really wanted to point out that Tom could probably get a hell of a lot out of therapy, but he didn’t say so. There was never a good time for that conversation, but right that minute might be the worst possible. “So maybe you can start figuring that stuff out now?”

Tommy looked at him again, longer this time, nodded. “Yeah, maybe so.”

“We could start with favorite food,” Bobby said, nudging his arm. “Dinner’s waiting back home.”

“Yeah. Smelled good,” he said, slowing his pace slightly. “Your mom always makes good stuff.”

She did. Everyone thought so. “Got a favorite of hers?”

Tom shrugged again. “I like it when she makes that corned beef. I think that’s my favorite.” He paused and then added, “Of hers. Not in general.”

Bobby still couldn’t figure out why they were walking when he had a perfectly good car three blocks back, but if Tom needed to blow off some steam, Bobby figured he’d let him. “What about in general? If you had to pick a top fave?”

“Remember that dinner we had in Mexico? At that one place on the beach? With the green sauce and the white cheese and the shrimp?”

“I don’t remember what it was called, but yeah, I remember that night.” Mostly because he had never seen Tom so relaxed. They’d had sex all morning and laughed all afternoon, walked on the beach and played in the water and then eaten until they both wanted to pass out. Tom didn’t just laugh a few times or tease him and smile. He’d grinned all day and acted like he couldn’t touch Bobby enough, couldn’t get close enough. Tom was a totally different person when he wasn’t worried about something or arguing about something. Bobby didn’t love that Tom more, but he sure as hell enjoyed it when the guy showed up.

“That’s too bad because I’d like to have that again. I think that’s my favorite food.”

And if Bobby had to bribe the chef at that restaurant for the recipe, he’d make sure Tom got that dinner at least once a month till the day they died. “I’ll look it up online,” he said. “I bet their menu is posted, so we can at least get the name of it.”

Tom being Tom said, “You don’t gotta go to any trouble.”

Because of course an internet search would be too much trouble. Bobby snorted a laugh but didn’t say anything. “So, favorite food and favorite color. What else?”

For seemingly no reason, Tom turned at the next corner, so apparently, they were doing a six-block circuit. “I don’t know,” he said absently. “You got a favorite song?”

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