“Coming?” Rusty had kicked his shoes off in the hallway alongside my running sneakers and work shoes.
I stepped inside and shut the door to copy him. Moments later, I set off in my socked feet for the kitchen. “Coffee,” I murmured to myself, trying to stay focused.
Rusty fell into step behind me, looking around at the art in the living room as we passed through it. I suddenly felt self-conscious of my little bungalow, homely but not exactly a stylish bachelor pad.
“Ooh, the famous machine,” Rusty gasped as we reached the kitchen. He grinned, pulling up a stool at the kitchen breakfast bar and propping his elbows on the bar, his chin on his fists.
His hair was all ruffled out of place now. His cheeks were glowing pink, and his lips looked dangerously kissable.
I’d come so close to kissing him in the club. But there was still something holding me back, and I couldn’t tell what that was. Inexperience? That wasn’t all. I wasn’t exactly a virgin.
I’d kissed a boy before—once and only once in my life. Before I met Chrissy, a guy in high school had done it on a dare, and then he’d freaked out. I’d ended up reassuring him that it didn’t mean anything.
And for years, I’d swallowed down the memory of how much I’d wanted it to mean.
Only then did I realized I’d forgotten what I was doing, staring at him rather than the machine.
“You okay?” Rusty asked, playing with a lock of short, straight red hair at the back of his head.
“I’m fine,” I said automatically as I started the coffee machine brewing and grabbed mugs.
“Really?” Rusty pushed. He had a surprisingly knowing look in his eye.
I licked my lips, carefully setting both mugs in front of the machine. Spoons—that was another opportunity for distraction. “Milk? Cream? Sugar?”
“Cream and sugar, please,” Rusty answered, his chin still resting on his fist. He looked like he was crashing from the high of dancing with me.
“Coming right up.” I couldn’t avoid the question forever, though. I cleared my throat and rested my palms on the counter, then leaned against it. “I’m a little nervous about this. I don’t even have gay friends.”
Rusty frowned in sympathy. “Aw, honey,” he murmured, reaching over the counter to take my hand with both of his. “You have me now.”
I smiled at him, a rush of relief clearing the air. “So you really do just want to talk?”
“If that’s what you need,” Rusty said simply. “And I think it is.”
Okay, thank God. I thought we were going to fuck and then he’d uninvite me for lessons and… what’s it called? Ghost me? I thought. But I didn’t say anything out loud to him, of course. I just nodded thoughtfully.
The silence between us was understanding rather than awkward. When the coffee was ready, I finally settled down on the bar stool next to him.
“So, spill,” Rusty said with a gentle elbow to my ribs. “What are you working yourself into knots about?”
I took a deep breath, that dizzying feeling returning. Even a sip of strong coffee didn’t help. “I’m so not like you, Rusty,” I said. “You’re young and gorgeous and… well, you don’t flail like a dying amoeba.”
He giggled. “So? Some people like that. It’s an aesthetic. Nerdcore.”
“Really?” I snorted. “Because all I ever see in bars is guys who look like they’re supposed to be on calendars getting all the attention, and the sad old guys like me sitting in the corner.”
“You don’t look old,” Rusty argued. He was frowning now.
“Forty-three,” I told him, clenching my jaw and waiting for some reaction to that. I knew I was on the wrong side of the hill, unless he was one of those guys who liked an older man, in which case I was too young.
Rusty shrugged. “So? I know I’m only twenty-seven, but it seems to me… there are gay guys your age and older who get laid all the time.”
“But I don’t want… that,” I told him, my cheeks heating up. “Casual sex.”
“Ohhh.” Rusty paused, his gaze growing thoughtful. “Hm. I thought you were a newly-single gay guy sowing his oats.”
I laughed at the idea of me being popular enough to receive invitations to multiple oat fields. “Half of that is right. Well, not even newly-single.” I sighed; I was going to have to explain now, wasn’t I? “I married my ex-wife Chrissy at eighteen when she got pregnant with Beth. We both knew it was just a friendship made legally stronger so I could do my duty to her and Beth.”
I wondered what Rusty was thinking. His gaze was soft and contemplative, without the judgment I’d expected. Wasn’t he at least going to do the math on our age gap?
“Well, Chrissy knew maybe before I did. She tried to encourage me to figure things out, but I was determined to stick it out and wait until Beth graduated high school. It was easier than confronting myself, I guess.” I rubbed my cheek, a smile growing as I thought about my daughter. “And we did well by her. I’m proud of that.”
Even if I wasn’t happy about who she was marrying, I could be proud that I’d raised a girl who knew her own mind. If only she’d stand up for herself right now, I thought, but I tried to shove that to the side for now.
“She’s cool,” Rusty told me with a smile. “I liked her when I met her for our lesson. You did do well.”
“After Chrissy and I divorced, she remarried a man who can give her everything I couldn’t.” It didn’t even sting to say; it was the truth, and we all knew it. “I’m still her best friend, and I get along well with Kenneth, too.”
“That sounds ideal,” Rusty said. “Except?”
“Except here I am, flailing around trying to fit in with twenty-somethings,” I said, gesturing at him. “Until someone like you takes pity on me—”
“No,” Rusty interrupted sharply, holding up a finger. “I won’t let you talk to yourself like that.”
I blinked at him. “Huh?”
“You’re cute,” Rusty told me, reaching out to push my glasses up my nose where they’d been sliding down. Then he cupped my cheek and winked before he withdrew his hand and wrapped it around his coffee mug again. “You’re loyal, funny, and smart. You have an actual personality, and trust me, half the guys in that bar rely on their dick to fill that hole.”
I burst out laughing. Despite my skepticism, Rusty’s words did make my chest fill with pleasure. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done yet,” Rusty scolded.
I held up one hand and rocked backward. “Sorry!”
He grinned. “Good. You’re not the only gay man to come out late in life. Have you looked around you when you’re hiding on the edge of the dance floor? Or are you just looking in from the outside?”
Now that he asked, I honestly didn’t know. I stopped to think about it. “I guess I’m trying to fit in with the crowd,” I said slowly.
“Exactly. All of us feel like outcasts sometime or another. You still have a lot of time to be in the crowd. I was watching you, you know.”
“Pardon me?” I exclaimed.