by Sarina Bowen
“That sucks,” I say softly. Roderick deserves better than that. He’s too accommodating already.
“I’m over it,” he says, pushing his empty plate away. “I’ll miss the sex, though. Brian wasn’t conflicted at all when we were naked.” He sighs and scrambles to his feet. “We have some cleaning up to do. But just think of all the leftovers we can eat this week.”
He washes, and I dry.
I’m overly conscious of how close he is to me. And then we bump arms a couple of times, and I’m too conscious of that, too.
It’s torture. I want him to kiss me again. It’s all I can think about. But Roderick seems unaffected. He whistles as he scrubs out the Dutch oven, and then feeds his sourdough starter with a bag of flour he keeps in the cabinet. “There you go, William,” he says to the blob in the jar. “Eat up!”
He washes his hands and dries them on our only dish towel. When he turns to me, I realize I’m staring at him like a creeper. His eyes light up with amusement. “Need something?”
“No,” I say too quickly.
He gives me a comical frown. “Bummer. Because there are other things I could teach you besides cooking. Just saying.” He takes one step forward and puts a hand on the center of my chest. “If you want to fool around with someone who thinks you look like a cross between Henry Cavill and Nick Pulos, you know where I live.”
Then he plucks his phone off the counter and walks away. I hear his bedroom door click shut a few seconds later, and I can still feel the heat from his hand on my chest.
Naturally, I go upstairs and google Henry Cavill and Nick Pulos. They are both hot as hell, but I sure don’t see the resemblance.
And then I take a shower just because I needed to relieve a little sexual tension. As I stand there in the clawfoot tub, stroking my shaft, it isn’t an actor or a burly stunt man I’m thinking about. It’s a quirky baker with strong forearms and bright blue eyes. I picture him on his knees before me, opening his mouth and…
Eight years have passed since the first time I had lust-filled thoughts about Roderick. Now they’re back and stronger than ever.
Maybe I should have followed him into his bedroom. But I didn’t find the nerve.
I wonder if I ever will.
Roderick
The following week is full of tension. The sexual kind.
After our kitchen make-out session, Kieran remains as difficult to read as always, but my crush on him expands to epic proportions. Subtlety was never my strong suit, but now I don’t even try. At work I watch him like a puppy who’s hoping the master will toss some table scraps in his direction.
Maybe we only shared a few kisses, but they were hot. Lava hot. I generally avoid assuming anyone’s sexual orientation, but if Kieran isn’t sexually attracted to me, then I’m the Queen of England.
Every time I think about his mouth on mine, I get all hot and horny. The grip he had on my body? Rawr. I want to feel it again. Next time, without clothes.
So now I’m watching for signs of further encouragement. As we stand shoulder to shoulder behind the coffee counter, I keep glancing in his direction. But Kieran is inscrutable as ever. He seems a little looser in my presence, though. Calmer. Quicker to smile.
If kissing me was the biggest mistake of his life, that wouldn’t be true, right?
Unfortunately, there’s no time for cooking lessons this week. Kieran’s new shift at the coffee shop is seven till noon, four days a week. Zara and Audrey cut his hours back at his request, so that he could do more farm work.
I’ve never lived on a farm, and I don’t really know what it’s like. When he talks about farming, I mostly watch his lips move and wish I could kiss them, but a few things have sunk in. Like, I’m pretty sure this week he’s been busy using macho tools to fix a broken water pipe. Or something that lets the cattle have a drink of water after they’ve snacked on oat stalks. I think.
He might have also mentioned something about breeding the cattle. I only remember that bit because I have a filthy mind.
Let’s face it, I just want to do him. Or vice versa. And if he decides to explore his sexuality with someone who isn’t me, I’m going to be crushed.
“Roddy,” Zara says, snapping me out of my reverie by literally snapping her fingers in front of my face. “You’re in a kneading trance there, buddy.”
I look down at the dough I’ve been working and see that it’s supple and smooth already. “Right. What do you need?”
“Two things. First one—can you set up a batch of biscotti for the morning? I’m opening with you, and I’ll be hung-over.”
“Sure.” I chuckle. “How come?”
“That’s the second thing I need from you. My place, seven thirty. Hockey-viewing party—Brooklyn versus the Bruins. My honey is playing, and I just ordered up satellite TV so I could see every game. There will be food and tequila.”
“You need me to cook for that?”
“No way.” She gives me a face, like I’ve said something dumb. “I need you to come. We’ll have a good time.”
“Oh.” I feel a rush of gratitude. “What can I bring?”
“Nothing. Except your roommate. That boy works too hard. Do you like hockey?”
“Well, I never watched before. There’s too much padding concealing all that male hotness.”
Zara gives a belly laugh. “You have to use your imagination. I know I will. See you tonight.”
After work I’m on the prowl for ripe avocados. I strike out at two different grocery stores, but I’ll be damned if I show up to Zara’s party empty-handed. Luckily I find them at a store in Montpelier.
When I pull up to the house, Kieran’s truck is already in the driveway. Yes. I can teach him to make guacamole. Every man should be able to make a fresh guacamole.
“Hey, Kieran,” I say as I come through the backdoor. “Want to learn how to make the food of the gods?”
“Maybe,” he calls from the living room. “Need a minute.” His voice drops down to a softer register, and he says something I can’t quite catch. I decide he’s on the phone. But then I hear a distinctly non-Kieran squeal.
Curious, I deposit my grocery bag on the counter and then tip-toe into the living room. I find Kieran on the couch, and he’s not alone. There’s a very beautiful redhead on his lap. But I’m only a little jealous, because the girl in question is only one or maybe two years old.
They are reading Frog and Toad are Friends. It’s so freaking cute that my heart melts like a lump of butter in a hot pan.
Kieran looks up at me with an embarrassed grin. “Zara ran out to the store. Have you met Nicole?”
“Hi, baby,” I say, giving her a wave. I don’t really have any experience with kids.
“That’s Roderick,” Kieran says in a gentle voice. “He’s coming to your party, too.”
“Watch. Daddy,” the little creature says.
“Right,” Kieran agrees.
“More,” Nicole says, pointing at the book.
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles, and I turn to mush inside. Could Kieran be any cuter?
I leave the two of them to their book. In the kitchen, I cut the avocados and scoop the flesh into a mixing bowl. I mince garlic and squeeze limes. And I listen to the low sound of Kieran’s voice reading about Frog and Toad, until finally it stops.
A moment later he appears in the kitchen. He’s still holding the toddler, but she’s passed out on his shoulder.
“Wow,” I say.
“Actually, this happens a lot when I talk to women.”
I let out a bark of laughter. It’s awfully loud, so I clap a hand over my mouth. Kieran doesn’t make jokes that often, but they’re usually dry and terribly funny. I’ve got it so bad.
“You couldn’t be any hotter than you are right now,” I point out. “Just saying.”
His eyes widen a trace. “Hold that thought for a few hours,” he says. “I’m going next door, because Zara’s car just pulled in. I’ll see you over there a little later, unless you n
eed help here?”
“I got it,” I assure him. “Text me if Zara needs anything else.”
He leaves, and I turn on some music while I finish the guac. Not country and western. I think I could go a lifetime now without listening to anything twangy. Been there, done that. Got the broken heart to prove it.
In fact, I put on some old eighties New Wave stuff. Depeche Mode, Erasure, and A-ha. Brian would hate it. That’s why it’s perfect. I haven’t listened to this stuff in ages. I like a lot of different music, so I always let him pick.
Of course I did.
When the guacamole is perfectly seasoned and nicely blended, I cover it with plastic wrap and take a shower and shave. I’m not in a rush, because it’s dawning on me that I won’t know very many people at this party. Except for Kieran, Zara, and Audrey.
I mosey over there around eight, letting myself in the kitchen door. Audrey is the first person I see. “Roddy!” she says. “Help me carry these trays into the living room?”
“Sure thing, sugar pop.” I grab a tray and follow her.
“Look who I found!” Audrey announces to the living room. “Roddy brought guacamole. And he said it’s all for me.”
“Sure he did,” Zara says from the sofa. “Pour yourself a margarita?” she adds without taking her eyes off the screen. “Dave’s shift is on.”
I guess that means he’s playing. All I see is a bunch of dudes skating around bumping into each other.
“Everybody, this is Roderick,” Audrey says. “Our newest Busy Bean.”
I receive friendly greetings as several heads turn, including Kieran’s. He and two other guys are sprawling on beanbag chairs. He gives me a quick smile that does nice things to my insides.
“That’s Kyle Shipley,” Zara says, “Kieran’s brother. But you probably know that already.” Kyle must be the one that Kieran argues with on the phone. “And you’ve met Griffin,” she says, pointing at the biggest lumberjack in the room, “whom Audrey was kind enough to marry.” Everyone laughs. “And Dylan, the sweetest Shipley.”
They all say hello, and I’m struck by how much alike Griffin, Kyle, and Dylan look. Kieran has the same build, but his eyes are different. Moodier.
Finally, I’m introduced to Zara’s brother Benito—a cop with flashing dark eyes—and a couple named Sophie and Jude who live nearby. It’s quite a crowd.
The Shipley boys have already turned the hockey match into some kind of drinking game. “There it is!” Griffin laughs.
“Drink!” someone yells. Kieran picks up his margarita and takes a sip, as do the others.
I resolve not to stare at my roommate all evening, because people will notice the raging crush I have on him. And I also resolve to drink slowly, because the first margarita always goes right to my social skills.
The men on the floor look like a happy pack of puppies. Kieran grins and nudges Kyle. “Go on, you lightweight. No stalling.”
“I’ll show you stalling…”
I make myself busy pouring a margarita while I eavesdrop on their patter. It’s fun watching Kieran in his natural environment.
“Butt shot!” Audrey yells. “Drink!”
I glance at the screen and note that the camera is, indeed, focused right on the goalie’s ass. It fills the screen. Zara, Audrey, and Sophie all take a drink. Audrey’s is ginger ale, though. Much of the furniture is taken, and I can’t figure out where to perch.
Zara notices my plight and scoots over. “Come here. We have the good cheese and charcuterie.”
I take a seat among the women just as the hockey game goes to a commercial. “Your baby is so cute,” I tell Zara.
“She is delightful, a perfect child,” Zara says with a cheeky grin. “And by the way, do you babysit?”
“No.” I laugh. “I mean, I have no experience. But if you’re ever in a bind, I’m always ready to help.”
“Our Roderick is a pleaser,” Audrey says, patting my arm. “So many chefs are.”
“What do you mean, a pleaser?” I help myself to a slice of brie on a cracker.
“You give a lot, and you hope others will do the same. And since you’re above average, they let you down a lot of the time.”
“What, are you my shrink now?” Although that sounds an awful lot like me.
“You can ignore her advice,” Zara says. “I always do.”
The thing is, Audrey is right. A lot of chefs are trying to buy the world’s affection with their cooking. Audrey gives me a knowing little wink and reaches for a piece of salami.
“Where’s mine?” says her husband from the floor.
“Don’t ask me to find your salami in front of all these people, honey.”
There’s a roar of laughter. And then Zara announces that the chili is ready in the kitchen, and all the guys get up fast and hustle into the other room.
“How to get the Shipley men moving in one easy step,” Audrey says. “Roddy, you’ll have to muscle in there and get yourself a bowl. But first, can I have a sip of your margarita? I really miss alcohol.”
“Sure.” I pass her the glass and she takes the world’s tiniest sip.
“That’ll have to hold me another three months.”
My phone makes a noise from my pocket. It’s not a Grindr notification. It’s something far more surprising. A text from Brian.
Where are you, baby? I’ve looked everywhere.
And even though I know better, my heart gives a startled little kick. All I ever wanted was for Brian to love me back. The fact that he’s looking for me might have sent me running back to him, if I didn’t know better. And I do know better, right?
Stop it! I give myself a mental slap. This man canceled your credit cards and froze you out of our bank account.
That’s not how you treat someone you actually love. Not to mention all the shitty things he said when I caught him fucking a groupie in his dressing room. Even then, I was mindful of his status in the closet. I didn’t call him out until he caught me backing out of the driveway just as he finally arrived home.
Don’t be a whiny little bitch about this, he’d said. You don’t own me.
Those aren’t exactly words of love.
Even so, I stare at that text for a long time. I don’t respond.
“Everything okay?” Audrey asks beside me.
“Yeah,” I say, flipping the phone over. “My ex-boyfriend is texting me, though. Nobody let me drunk-text him later, okay?”
“I’ll hold that for you,” Zara says, taking my phone away. “Even better—we’ll give this to your roommate. Catch, Kieran.”
Oh shit. I watch, panicked, while my phone arcs through the air toward the men returning from the kitchen. I can’t afford to replace that if it breaks. But Kieran lifts his hand immediately and the phone lands neatly in his palm.
“Friends don’t let Roddy text his ex-boyfriend,” Zara says. “Keep that till morning.”
All the boys are studying me now, curiosity in their eyes.
Luckily, the hockey game comes back on. Zara sits up straighter and yells, “Power play!” Whatever that means. Kieran tucks my phone into his shirt pocket and looks toward the TV.
All eyes are glued to the hockey, so I get up to make myself a bowl of chili with all the fixings.
Vermont doesn’t quite feel like home yet. But I suppose it could get there one day. The men are hot and the food is good.
It will have to do.
Kieran
I almost never get drunk.
In the first place, it’s expensive. Also, I’m the guy who usually has the forty-minute commute home. But not tonight. Griff’s in the mood to drink, because his pregnant wife can drive him home, and so we’re playing some kind of stupid drinking game that involves getting me a little drunker every time the guys calling the game use the word “stick.”
“Kieran has to do my shot,” Kyle says. “I’m done drinking for the night.”
“You could crash at your brother’s place,” Griff says. “Is there a spare bed?”
“Nope!” I say sloppily. “There’s barely any furniture at all.”
“Are you going to show us your pad?” Griffin presses.
“Sure,” I say. “After the game.”
When the time comes, I rise unsteadily to my feet. The alcohol is swimming through my bloodstream, leaving me feeling pleasantly loose and carefree. It had been too long since I’d hung out with this crew, and it was nice to just watch TV and talk smack with my brother and cousin.
I thank Zara for having me over. “Is there anything I can help you with?” I ask, giving her what is probably a sloppy grin.
“No.” She laughs. “Go home. Your more sober roommate already scrubbed the chili pot for me. Besides—you helped me out with a little childcare earlier.”
“That was nothing.”
“Don’t say that or I’ll ask you again.”
“You can,” I insist.
She grabs my shoulders and points me toward home. “Drink some water before you go to sleep.”
“Good plan.”
When I step outside, Kyle is puffing on a cigarette. “Two seconds, okay? I need it to wake up.”
“Filthy habit,” I say. Although I’ve been known to smoke after a party. I consider asking my brother for one, but then change my mind. The truth is that I don’t want to sober up right away. It’s nice to feel loose and carefree, for once. Although the cold November air is bracing in a good way, and I feel my head start to clear, regardless.
“Let’s see this place,” Griffin says, exiting Zara’s kitchen door a couple minutes later.
Kyle crushes the cigarette under his boot. “Cool. Let’s do it.”
“Pick that up,” I insist. “Don’t litter in my hood.”