Page 60 of The Last Guy On Earth
“You can have a beer, though,” I add quickly. “I won’t even notice.”
“I’m good,” he says, removing the bowls from the microwave.
We set up our meal on the kitchen island, and I take a seat on a barstool.
“Hang on,” he says, opening the fridge again. “We need sour cream.”
I lean over the bowl and sniff. Then I let out a little groan. “Smells so good. How do youdothat?”
“You’re just hungry.” He plops a blob of sour cream on my chili. “Here.”
It’s not just hunger. His cooking is so good that I regularly burned my mouth when I lived with him. I was that eager. I carefully test the temperature with a small taste, and then dig in. My first bite is sublime. It’s meaty and rich, with just the right amount of spice and smoke. I let out a moan of happiness.
He gives me another sideways glance before picking up his own spoon.
As we eat, I can’t help but flash back to our old life together, sitting at that shitty kitchen table. To distract myself, I glance around the room, taking in all the upgraded equipment. There’s the mixer, a fancy espresso machine, and some kind of complicated-looking blender. Very civilized.
“Who are you cooking for these days?” I ask.
His spoon halts on the way to his mouth, and his blue eyes flash toward me.
I realize a beat too late how awkward I just made things. “Never mind,” I say quickly. “Christ, I didn’t think that through. I retract the question.”
“Nah.” He gives his head a shake. “It’s just… I don’t cook for anyone, except a couple weekends a year when I’m hanging out with my sister. So, yeah, it’s kind of…” He sighs. “Humiliating? Depressing? Take your pick.”
Whoa. “So you don’t date?”
“No,” he says quietly.
I’m full of follow-up questions, but I’m also aware that it’s none of my business. So I take another bite.
He sighs. “I’m never dating women, Jethro. I’m not built like that. And I decided a long time ago that I can’t date men, either. So it’s just…hookups on summer vacation, always out of town.”
I take that in, not trusting myself to comment. And unwittingly, I picture Clay in a Hawaiian shirt at a resort somewhere, flirting with the bartender. Slipping him his hotel key.
And then the bartender thinking to himself—Fuck me, I just won the lottery.
“Yeah, I realize it’s weird,” he says into my silence. “And I’ll never know if it had to be this way, or if I complicated my life unnecessarily. I try not to think about it too hard.”
I swallow a bite of chili and try to decide what I’m allowed to say about that.
“Whatever you’re thinking, I’m sure my sister has already said it,” he says. “It’s lonely. It’s stupid. It’s unhealthy. I’ve heard it all before.”
“That’s not what I’m thinking.”
He snorts. “Sure.”
“No, really.” Like I’m one to judge? “I mean… yeah, it sounds lonely. But you’re not the only lonely man in hockey. What Iwasthinking, though, is that we’re both kind of stuck in the samespots we were fifteen years ago. You’re still the people-pleaser who puts everyone else’s needs first. And I’m still the grumpy loner.”
He gives me a startled look.
I say, “I was also thinking that me being perpetually single isn’t very surprising. But I never expected that for you.”
He blinks. “Why areyouperpetually single?”
“I date women. In theory. But women seem to like theideaof me more than they actually like dating me.” It’s the sort of naked honesty that I can only provide after a very long day, while eating a bowl of the world’s best chili. “After putting up with the long hours and the traveling, they expect their patience to be rewarded with a lot of fun times. They want a guy who’s the life of the party. The kind who goes out of his way to impress their friends. But all I want is a hot meal and a movie on the sofa.” And sex. But I keep that part to myself.
“Sounds like you haven’t met the right one, then.” He pauses between bites. “Charm is nice, but there are more important qualities.” He studies me again with those familiar blue eyes, and I fight off a shiver. “You’re kind of an acquired taste.”
