Page 68 of Sweet T

“I take up too much room.”

“Tell me about it. You dwarf that sofa.”

“You’ll get more rest without me in there.”

“I’ll be fine. I swear.”

“One more night, and then maybe I’ll reconsider.”

Again, Evan was struck by the duality of the statement. Reconsider what—exchanging places, or sleeping together?

“Fine,” he said, turning and moving toward the bedroom. “Suit yourself. The offer’s open should you change your mind.”

He left the door cracked, shed his clothes and got into the bed. Lying there, Evan realized how tired he really was. Maybe Tucker was right. It hadn’t been that long and his body was still recuperating.

He rolled over to his side, breathing in Tucker’s now familiar scent from the pillow. His mind was quickly shutting down but, as it did so, his thoughts returned to that last hopeful look Tucker had given him on the pool steps before drifting into sleep.

* * *

Three hours later, Evan thought he heard the door open and someone enter. It could have been a dream, but then he felt the brief coolness of air against his naked flesh as the bed linens rose and then fell again. A large hand snaked around his waist, pulling him near a warm wall of Hanes cotton pressing up against his back. And just as he had convinced himself that he was dreaming, he felt a scruffy face nuzzling the back of his neck, and the hot, exhaling breath that came with a whisper.

“That sofa really is too small.”

Fourteen

When Evan woke late the next morning, he questioned again whether he had dreamed of Tucker joining him in bed the night before. His head felt fuzzy. Sleeping in could be a sign that he hadn’t yet fully recovered. With that in mind, he considered rolling over and going back to sleep. But the lingering smell of bacon was too powerful an incentive. Instead, he sat up, put his underwear on, and went to the kitchen.

There was a note on the counter.

Good morning, sleepyhead. Just kidding. I’m glad you slept well. You looked tired last night. I'm helping Pedro with something today. Your breakfast is in the microwave. I texted Sebastian the gate code. See you tonight—T.

Evan opened the microwave and found a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. He sat down at the kitchen table and consumed it all without even bothering to warm it up.

In the shower, he pondered events of the night before–Tucker’s shy disrobing, the near kiss, the sleepy snuggle. He’d found the sofa blanket puddled on the floor near the bed, so he hadn’t been dreaming after all. No matter how hard he tried, his thoughts always returned to Tucker–his handsome rescuer, caretaker, savior. Using the man’s scented soap and shampoo didn’t help, only adding fuel to his growing preoccupation.

Once he was out of the shower and dry, he yielded to the use of Tucker’s toiletries–deodorant.

I have to. It’ll be a hundred degrees outside.

And though he bypassed the talcum powder and cologne, he opened the latter for a quick reminding whiff, glimpsing himself in the mirror, small blue bottle in hand.

“What are you doing?” he asked his reflection. “You need to calm down.”

He wasn’t sure why he was acting so silly. Yes, maybe Shelly had confirmed what he suspected. And, yes, maybe Tucker had slipped between the covers with him last night. But it wasn’t like Evan hadn’t been intimate with other men. In fact, he was quite casual about sex. He’d buttered biscuits with many—students, tattoo patrons, fellow thespians. Hell, he’d recently even let a guy rear-end him for a ride to–

No. That was different.

But Tucker was different, too. Tucker cared for him. Evan felt it, and Shelly had confirmed it herself. Shelly had also indicated that Tucker had difficulty differentiating between sex and love. So, if he’s considering one, was the other near? Could that be the reason for this giddiness? Was he, too, developing feelings for his big handsome hero?

Evan felt dizzying heat rise through his torso. His face flushed with the warmth.

How is that possible? You barely know each other.

It was possible, he concluded, because the situation was not casual, anything but. They had been living under the same roof, sharing the same bathroom, and now, sharing the same bed. They were also working together and, as a result, he was now preparing for his first rehearsal in a while. He was going to be in a play again soon, all because of Tucker.

Somewhere deep within Evan, his devil’s advocate surfaced—an inner voice, baring a strong resemblance to James Earl Jones.

But it’s community theatre, Evan. It won’t pay.

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