Page 30 of Keep

Shut up.

“Well,” he said, letting a slow smile spread across his face. “Even though you cling to it, I think the word virgin is overrated.”

Hank’s eyes darkened. “I’ll get the check.”

Hank flagged down Marsha and handed over his credit card before Chad could reach for his wallet. While they waited for the receipt, Chad excused himself to the restroom.

Small, clean. He splashed water on his face and looked in the mirror. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes.

Are you really doing this? Going home with a forty-year-old closeted guy you’ve known for three days?

Three for three, Chad. Let’s go.

But even as the reflex kicked in—the broken-picker routine, the preemptive self-protection—it didn’t stick. Because Hank was honest about being scared. And that was new.

He dried his hands and went back to the table.

Hank was standing, wallet put away, working his jaw the way he did when he was wrestling with something.

“Ready?” Hank asked.

“Ready.”

They walked to the car in silence, the night air cooler now, a breeze from the east. At the car, Hank unlocked it but didn’t open the door. He turned, his expression serious.

“I need to tell you something,” Hank said. “Before we—before anything else happens. It’s about my work.”

Chad’s stomach tightened. Here it comes.

“Okay,” he said.

“I never really explained what I do, and I feel like I should tell you now because⁠—”

“Hank.” Chad placed a hand on Hank’s chest. He could feel the heartbeat under his palm—fast, hard. “Whatever it is, it can wait. We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with. We can just go back to your place and talk. Watch a movie. Whatever you want.”

“That’s not—” Hank stopped. Took a breath. “I want this. God, I want this. I just don’t want to mislead you.”

“Everyone has secrets, Hank. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” Chad squeezed his hand. “Right now I just want to be with you. Is that okay?”

Hank’s shoulders dropped. “Yeah. Yes. That’s more than okay.”

He opened Chad’s door, waited until he was settled, closed it, and walked around to the driver’s side.

As they pulled into traffic, heading east toward Capitol Hill, Chad’s hand found Hank’s thigh, and he felt Hank’s muscles tense beneath his palm.

“Why so nervous?” Chad asked.

“I’m not—” Hank stopped himself. “Okay, I am. I’m terrified, actually.”

“Of me?”

“Of disappointing you.”

He said it without elaboration. Just the bare thing.

Chad’s hand moved higher on Hank’s thigh, and he heard Hank’s breath catch.

“It already matters,” Chad said. “That ship has sailed.”