Travis decided to be bold. “And apparently I sometimes make out with the hot host of the show.”
“About that….”
Travis held up his hand. “I don’t really want to sit on the floor. Let’s do this.” He moved the sawhorse he’d been using to the middle of the room, over the paper he’d just put down. Then he went into the kitchen and grabbed a couple of folding chairs.
“You improvise like this a lot, don’t you?” Brandon asked.
“I worked on a brownstone in Park Slope last year, and we got so behind schedule that I literally slept in the house so I could get there early enough every morning to get it done.”
“That must have been unpleasant.”
Travis shrugged. “I’ve slept in worse places.”
“Well, I appreciate your commitment to the job.” Brandon opened one of the chairs and sat in it. “By the way, the network signed off on hiring the kitchen and bathroom guys you recommended. I figured we could have them focusing on those rooms while the other teams deal with the rest of the house. With that many people working, we’ll have the rest of this project done in a flash.”
“Oh, great. That’s awesome. You’ll like these guys. I used to work for Mike and Sandy before I broke out on my own. They’re both good-looking Army vets who are great at what they do. So, you know, good TV.”
“Well, that will work for our mostly female audience. But I hired them because of the ‘they’re good at what they do’ thing. I mean, I did meet with Mike on Monday, and he is super hot, but that’s not why I hired him.”
“He’s super married anyway.”
Brandon laughed. “I should probably limit the number of people I kiss who are working on this house.”
“Right. I think we should—”
The doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it,” said Brandon, bounding out of his chair.
A few minutes later Travis was sitting in the other chair, holding a slice of pizza on a paper plate.
“For what it’s worth,” Brandon said, “I don’t generally make a habit of kissing people I work with.”
“Except for your wife.”
Brandon stared at his plate.
“All right,” said Travis. “One thing at a time. You should know, I am very attracted to you too, but I realize that acting on that attraction is very bad for our working relationship. And also, I was all set to just push that attraction aside because I thought you were straight, but now, here we are.”
Brandon nodded. “And I’m trying to stay in the closet for the sake of my job, so us getting caught together would be bad.”
For some reason that idea hadn’t entered Travis’s mind, but of course Brandon was in the closet. Travis hadn’t had an inkling Brandon was anything but a married heterosexual man, despite all the googling. But also…. “Get caught? That implies something might happen between us.”
“Under different circumstances, don’t you think it might have? I mean, I’m very attracted to you. It was driving me to distraction. I shouldn’t have said anything about it to you, but it just… popped out of my mouth, as if I couldn’t hold it in anymore.”
“Oh.”
They ate in silence for a few moments while Travis turned that over in his mind. He put his plate down. “Stupid idea.”
“What?”
“I don’t go around kissing men I work with either. But I can admit that part of why I pick fights with you is that I enjoy seeing you all riled up, and I had no outlet for this attraction. But if the attraction is mutual, it kind of seems a shame not to do something with it.”
Brandon laughed softly. “I’m sure part of the reason I fought with you, too, is that I didn’t know what to do with my attraction to you either. At least the powers that be think we hate each other, even though we were just pushing each other around on the playground this whole time.”
“But I also really like this job.”
“Right. And it’s my name on the marquis, so you think that if something goes wrong between us, you’ll get fired.”
“Precisely.”
“Quite a pickle.”
Travis rolled his eyes and picked his plate back up. What was he doing even entertaining this idea? He shouldn’t have an affair with Brandon. Sure, they were hot for each other, but that wasn’t enough for him to risk a job this lucrative on. Hell, a few more months working for the Restoration Channel, and Travis would be able to buy any house he wanted.
Travis watched Brandon eat a few bites of pizza. “Ah, well. In another place and time. But I do think I was right about the design of the house, and you probably will have to compromise on some things if you want to stay anywhere near the top end of your budget.”
They’d managed to polish off a whole pizza—Travis had been ravenous, truth be told—so he started to clean up. He took Brandon’s plate and his own and threw them inside the box. “We can just toss all this in the dumpster. We don’t really have a place to put other kinds of garbage. Craft services just takes the trash with them when they leave each afternoon.”
“Yeah, all right.” But Brandon seemed distracted now, staring at something on one of the wall frames.
“You okay?”
Brandon stood up. “No, I… God. I spent eight years of my life married to Kayla, and working with her, and I was so fucking careful not to let on to anyone that I’m attracted to men. And now that I’m divorced, I should be free to pursue whoever I want to, but I can’t… I can’t get out of my own head. All afternoon, I kept thinking, What would the network say if they found out? The viewership loves these wholesome married couples. Hell, the best-rated show is hosted by a super religious couple with five kids.”
“Really?”
“Do you even watch the Restoration Channel?”
“No, not really. I’ve seen Dream Home, but that was for research.”
“Right. Well, a few years ago, the Restoration Channel aired this show called Country Creatives. It was these two guys who were friends and business partners who did splashy, over-the-top renovations on old houses in rural areas. It was a modest hit for the network. And then it got leaked to the media that the hosts were actually a couple and not just friends, and everyone lost their minds. The Restoration Channel wants to appeal to the widest audience possible, and a gay couple making over houses in red America was never going to fly, so their show got canceled and they got fired.”
“Shit.”
“Working in Brooklyn is a different can of worms, I know. But I just… I don’t want to take any risks here. It’s bad enough that a huge chunk of my money is tied up in this house. I can’t risk losing the show too.”
“Right. And getting involved with me is a bad idea anyway.”
“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?”
“Both.” Travis’s mind swirled. Brandon was so sexy, he made Travis dizzy. His first instinct was to grab Brandon and shove him against the nearest available wall, but he shoved his hands in his pockets instead.
“We will get caught. There’s no way to avoid that with this many cameras around.”
“I know.” Travis put the pizza box back down on the sawhorse. He hadn’t known about the gay couple who had gotten fired. That did throw a wrench in the works. Travis didn’t much care about who knew about his sexuality, and he’d inadvertently come out to Ismael by using the wrong pronoun when they’d been chatting the other day. Ismael hadn’t even blinked, for which Travis was thankful. So when he’d come on to Brandon again tonight, the idea that the show could be at stake hadn’t even occurred to him. But if there was a precedent for the network firing gay hosts….
Shit.
“Why did I agree to this?” Travis asked aloud.
Brandon let out a bitter, surprised laugh. “I ask myself that very question about thirty times a day.”
“We’ll have to exhibit a tremendous amount of self-control when the cameras are around either way.”
“I do know. I was unsuccessful at that today. I’ll try
harder.” Brandon laughed again. “You’re not that great at holding yourself back either, you know.”
“What makes you say that? Because I kissed you?”
Brandon flushed crimson, likely remembering it. “I just meant, you’re not shy about expressing yourself.”
“Ah.” Travis smiled to himself. “I’m right, by the way.”
“You’re always right.”
Travis rolled his eyes at the sarcasm in Brandon’s voice. “Not always.”
“Not for nothing, but I should be angry at you because you keep undermining me. I’m the host—I’m supposed to be the expert.”
“I’m not trying to undermine you.”
“Maybe not, but you’re not afraid to speak your mind either.”
“I love these old houses and I want them to be preserved. That’s all.”
“Preserved, not modernized.”
“Are we having this argument again?” Travis was tired. Since there’d be no more making out with Brandon tonight, he just wanted to go home. “Do whatever the fuck you want, okay? The final word is yours.”
“What I want?” Now there was an edge to Brandon’s voice. “I never get what I want. If I could have what I want, Kayla would be here beside me doing this renovation. We’d work together to come up with a design that fit the house and the neighborhood, and I wouldn’t feel like such a fucking idiot all the time. Because you’re right—I’m out of my depth here, and I’m pretty sure you and everyone else working on this project knows that.” He closed his eyes and pressed a hand to his forehead. “And I’d kiss you whenever I damn well felt like it. Because we’re attracted to each other and we should be able to act on it.”
“You want to kiss me?”
Brandon huffed and rolled his eyes. His body language said, Duh. “I’ve wanted to since the moment we first met. I think about it all the fucking time.”
“This is pretty inconvenient, huh?”
“You make me feel. Inconvenient doesn’t even begin to describe it.”
“I know the circumstances aren’t ideal, but—”
Suddenly Travis was pressed up against the wall right next to the fireplace he’d spent all day dismantling, and Brandon was kissing him as though he were trying to suck out his soul. Travis had been about to say that though the circumstances were not ideal, they could find a way to work together and push this whole attraction thing aside. But, well… this was good, too.
Brandon smelled great, and his body was warm and a little sweaty, and he tasted like pizza and promise. And—oh—Brandon shoved his hands up the inside of Travis’s shirt and splayed his fingers across Travis’s skin, and Travis could feel Brandon’s arousal against his hip, and…. Holy shit, they were going to do this right here, weren’t they?
So, fine, Travis was game. He unbuttoned Brandon’s shirt and tore it off his arms. Brandon whipped his own undershirt over his head, and… wow! Brandon’s body was tight and muscular, and the hair that spread across his chest had a red tint to it. Or at least, it did in the dim temporary lighting in the living room.
Brandon pulled off Travis’s T-shirt, then got his hands on Travis’s jeans. Oh, they were just… diving right in. Travis meant to protest more vehemently, but this felt amazing. Before he even really knew what he was doing, his hands were undoing the fly of Brandon’s jeans, and he could feel Brandon’s erection straining against his cotton briefs.
“You’re going to kill me,” Travis managed to groan.
“I know. We’ll just have to combust together.”
“No, I mean, this whole room is kind of a hazard. There are broken bits of brick on the floor and stray nails, and the walls aren’t really secure and….”
Brandon jerked away. “Right.”
“I’m not saying we shouldn’t make out, because we definitely should, but maybe we could do it in a less hazardous place. Like my apartment. It’s only like ten minutes from here by cab.”
Brandon laughed and rested his forehead against Travis’s. Travis took advantage of the proximity to run his hands over Brandon’s delicious chest.
“You want to put this on hold and go to your apartment?” Brandon asked.
“That seems wise. For safety reasons. You know.”
Brandon took a step back, then bent over to pick up his shirt. “We should probably… no. Fuck it. Let’s go.”
Chapter Seven
TRAVIS’S APARTMENT was tiny but neat. A shelving unit divided the studio roughly in half, and Brandon could see the end of a bed sticking out from behind the unit. “This is nice.”
Travis rolled his eyes as he put his bag down near a row of hooks next to the door. “Whatever. It’s small, I know. Let’s just get down to business, all right?”
Brandon laughed. Travis was direct; Brandon appreciated that.
But Brandon was nervous. He hadn’t gotten naked with anyone in quite a while. He wanted to have sex with Travis, no question, but he needed a moment. “Can I have a glass of water?”
“Sure.”
The kitchen was tucked into the corner. There wasn’t much to it—a fridge, a sink, an oven with a microwave over it, and about two square feet of counter space, with two upper cabinets above. Nothing like a chef’s kitchen. But the cabinets looked new, and there was a mosaic tile backsplash—the exact thing that had been all the rage a couple of years before.
“Do you rent this place?” Brandon asked when Travis handed him the glass.
“Yes. I hate this tiny kitchen, but I didn’t design it. This was supposed to be a temporary space while I was house hunting. But then I didn’t end up buying a house, so I stayed.”
“There’s a whole show about that on the Restoration Channel.”
Travis laughed and shook his head.
“So, okay, tell me this.” Brandon looked around and spotted a little café table with two chairs at it. A laptop rested on top of the table, so this was presumably also what Travis used as a desk. “If you could do anything you wanted in the kitchen at the Argyle Road house, what would you do?”
“Are we not having sex? Because I wouldn’t have been so eager to show off my tiny apartment if we weren’t.”
“We’ll get there. Just humor me for a few minutes.” Brandon sipped his water as Travis sat in the other chair and gave Brandon a wary look. “You don’t think talk of home design is sexy?” he asked, smiling.
“I think you’re sexy. But I think you’d be sexier if you didn’t have any clothes on.”
Brandon chuckled. Okay, this was helping him calm down. “I’ll talk to you about home design with my shirt off, if you’d like.”
Travis nodded solemnly. “I think that would help.”
So Brandon indulged Travis and took his plaid shirt off before hanging it over the back of the chair and peeling off his undershirt.
“Better,” said Travis. “You were saying?”
“Hypothetically, if you had an unlimited budget and the power to do whatever you wanted in the kitchen, what would it look like?”
“Is this foreplay?”
“Sort of. Just tell me.”
Travis shrugged. “I’m not really a designer.”
“So? You clearly have an opinion.”
“Fine. I’ll bite.” Travis closed his eyes for a moment. “Craftsman-style cabinets, probably in a dark wood. We can get away with it in that kitchen, especially if you take the wall down between the kitchen and dining room, because there’s so much natural light that comes in through the windows. Probably light quartz counters. Light gray or white, even, to break up the dark cabinets. Then—and here’s where it gets a little zany—I saw these tiles a few weeks ago at a flooring store. I’m not sure if they’d work as a backsplash, but they’re teal blue with… I don’t know what it’s called. A brown outline of a flower on each one. Actually, hang on, I’ll show you.” He got up and went to one of the bookcases in his apartment. He pulled a photo album off the shelf and flipped through the pages. He handed it to Brandon, open to a spread of a couple of
children and an older man sitting on the floor of a kitchen.
“It’s called a quatrefoil. Is this little boy you?”
Travis grunted. “Yeah. That’s me and my cousin Jen with my grandpa at his house. And I saw tiles at the flooring store that looked a lot like those, but the teal was more vibrant. They looked appropriately Victorian, so I thought those would be good in the kitchen. But as the backsplash, not the floor.”
“Teal is a bold choice.”
“You asked my opinion.”
Brandon tilted the photo album to get a better look at the tiles. They were pretty and might work as a backsplash, but they were awfully specific—not at all something Brandon would put in a home he intended to sell. He handed the album back to Travis and watched as Travis put it away, wondering about what his grandpa had meant to him. Probably a lot; Travis had looked at the photo with fondness.
Brandon cleared his throat. This was about foreplay, not getting deep into each other’s personal histories. “So, you would take that wall down?”
“Yeah, I would. It would make the space function better. For the flooring, I might do a ceramic tile. I like those twenty-four-by-twelve ones that are popular right now. I’d coordinate the color to the cabinets, maybe light gray. But, like, a warm light gray. That color probably has a name, but I don’t know it. Then stainless-steel appliances, obviously. Maybe black stainless steel, just to be different. And I’ve seen some great vintage-looking ovens in stores. Absurdly expensive, but one would look perfect in that space. Just saying—not that you should follow my ideas, necessarily. Then if there’s space for an island—and I think there is—maybe we do the cabinets in a contrasting color, same countertop, though. Sink in the middle. A little bit of an overhang so you can pull up stools.”
“So what I hear you saying is that this”—Brandon gestured at the corner kitchen—“is not your dream kitchen.”
Travis smirked. “No, it isn’t. I don’t even cook much, but it’s nice to have options. This toy kitchen is really only good for heating up takeout.”
Brandon finished his glass of water. “You must feel left out, seeing as how you’re the only person in this room with a shirt on.”
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