Page 107 of Give Me What You Will

“Feel older?” He teased.

“More like helpless.”

“Helpless?”

“You keep cooking for me—taking care of me. It’s starting to make me feel weird.”

Frankie pursed his lips, considering this, while simultaneously plucking a coffee mug from his cabinet and pouring Sam a fresh cup.

“Weird because you feel like you should be helpin’? Or weird cause someone is actually wantin’ to take care of you?” He asked, handing him the thick ceramic mug and kissing his lips firmly, then giving him a wink and strolling back to the stove.

“Both.”

“You do realize I’m like this all the time, right?” Frankie replied smoothly.

“I know, I know,” he sighed. “It’s just starting to make me feel like an asshole.”

Frankie smirked, glancing over his shoulder, eyebrows arched. “Because?”

“Because things are different between us now.”

Frankie turned, the full weight of his gaze on him. “That just makes me wanna take care of you more, baby, not less.”

He exhaled a long breath, a restless energy clenching at his insides.

“What’s wrong?” he asked quietly.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, shaking his head. He didn’t want to bring up the topic of ‘them’ today. It was his birthday. A big one, too, and he planned to have fun, make love, eat horribly all day, and be delusionally happy. Not talk about serious shit.

“Nothin’.”

Frankie hummed, surveying him closely before returning to the stove and finishing up. “I’ve decided, since you don’t like cake, that we would still have dessert all day. Starting with my cinnamon vanilla pancakes, and finishing the evening with Tony’s Donuts.”

Sam laughed, “You got me Tony’s?”

“Joel’s pickin’ up two dozen donuts on the way to the bar tonight to celebrate. Donuts and beer is totally a thing.”

Frankie, gorgeous and sexy with his charming smile, strolled over to the dining table, carrying two plates of food.

He took a seat across from him, and they ate their pancakes, talking about the bar and the people coming to celebrate Sam’s birthday. Once finished, Frankie stood to clear the plates, but Sam beat him to it.

“It’s your birthday,” Frankie whined in protest as Sam pushed him back down into his seat and snatched his plate away.

“Yeah, well, I gotta do somethin’, or you’ll make me feel like I need a housewife to survive.”

Frankie chuckled, tossing his arm onto the empty chair beside him, “I’d make a good fuckin’ housewife.”

“You would put the 1950’s ones to shame.”

He looked ridiculously pleased by this statement and, for the first time, eyed his wardrobe. “So, what, you didn’t bring an extra T-shirt or sweatpants?”

“I did. But yours smell like you.”

Frankie sighed, jaw clenching and heat flaring in his dark eyes. “You’ll have to leave me yours, then, so I can smell like you when you’re gone.”

He liked the idea of leaving his things here and taking Frankie's things. It was what boyfriends did. But they weren’t boyfriends.

The restless energy returned, so he focused on scrubbing the plates and placing them in the dishwasher. Sam returned to the table, filling up their coffee mugs. “You seem to have this whole day planned out. So, what happens after breakfast?”