Strings Attached

“I don’t have a key.” No shit, I don’t have a key. Why would I?

“I guess it’s a good thing I do.”

He took a couple of steps, but I didn’t move. Warren had a key to Harrison’s house? My stomach twisted uncomfortably at the thought, my legs suddenly feeling weak. Oh fuck. Was I jealous? Why in the hell was I jealous? I’d never felt that way over a lover in my life, but I’d also never been with someone like Harrison before. Plus, he’d offered me a key, and Warren had been married for, like, a hundred years.

“I, um…gotta get my stuff.” Because I definitely wasn’t sitting in the car if Warren was going in. Warren, who had a key to Harrison’s house.

Stop it!

I grabbed my bag and made it to the porch just as he was unlocking the door. Warren went inside, me behind him. I set my stuff down and went straight for the kitchen. I needed to keep myself busy.

“How are the two of you doing?” he asked while I washed my hands.

“Fine. We’re fine. Why wouldn’t we be fine?”

He chuckled. “I didn’t say you weren’t fine. I was just making conversation.”

Oh…well, that made sense. “Fine,” I said again because it seemed like it was one of the few words I still had the ability to say.

“Harrison says you’re a teacher?” he asked while I looked in the fridge for something to make us for dinner. There was some ground beef. I knew we had some sauce and pasta in the cabinet—Harrison, I meant. Harrison had those things. That would be quick and easy to make, so I pulled out the beef.

When I turned around, Warren was looking at me in a way that made it clear he’d said something and I’d either forgotten or hadn’t heard at all. “What?”

“Teacher. Harrison says you teach sixth-grade English.”

“Yeah, I do. It’s my first year. Harrison says you…” Shit. What did Harrison tell me he did? I couldn’t remember, but I knew he’d mentioned it at some point.

“I’m an accountant,” Warren replied.

He watched me as I went to the pantry for the rest of the supplies, as I opened the ground beef and put it into a skillet to brown. It was unnerving.

“The two of you should come over for dinner or drinks sometime. We’ve been bugging Harrison about you, but apparently he wants to keep you all to himself.”

My pulse did this strange sort of throb, tap-dancing against my skin. Was that the case, or did Harrison just not know if he wanted me around his friends? Maybe he thought I was too young and wouldn’t fit in?

“Yeah, if—” The front door opened before I could finish my sentence. I said a silent prayer to the gay gods that I didn’t have to figure out how to reply to that.

“War? What are you doing here?” Harrison’s gaze shifted back and forth between the two of us. Curiosity, or was he unsure how he felt about us meeting?

“I came to see you. Zander has been keeping you locked away…or you’ve been keeping him that way. We never decided.” Warren laughed.

His words were said playfully, but still I replied, “I’m not keeping him. I can go if—”

“No,” they said in unison.

“I didn’t mean that,” Warren said. “I was giving Harrison shit. I know what it’s like in the beginning of a relationship when all you want to do is spend time with each other.”

“We’re just friends,” I replied, and Warren frowned.

Harrison sighed, walked over, grabbed a spatula, and stirred the meat.

“Shit. Sorry. I’ll finish that up.” I went to the stove, wondering if Harrison would kiss me hello the way he often did. When that didn’t happen, I tried to ignore the stab of disappointment.

“Don’t believe a word Warren might have said while I wasn’t here. And he came to scope you out, in case that wasn’t obvious.”

“Can you blame me? You wouldn’t let me meet him.”

The disappointment turned into guilt. I didn’t want to keep Harrison from his friends, and deep down, I knew that I hadn’t met Warren because Harrison hadn’t been sure how I would respond. I’d thought…Harrison was so honest, put his emotions into words so easily; maybe he just didn’t want me around Warren.

I went to the cabinet where he kept the pots, got one, and began to fill it with water.

“Listen, I don’t want to keep the two of you. Harrison’s right. I’m strictly here to be nosy. Oh, and George was asking about Thanksgiving. You know how he is, always planning ahead. He’s getting prime rib and needs a head count. When we saw Ross, he said his girlfriend is coming—he seems smitten with her, Harrison.”

“He is. I’ve never seen him like this.”

“Well, Uncle George and I need to approve.” He winked. “Anyway, prime rib because my husband is obsessive. Will you be at Harrison’s?” Warren asked me.