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We reached his place, he stuck the beer and leftovers in the fridge, and turned to me. “What now?”
“This was your plan.”
Gage looked around him. I doubted he was seeing the same things as me. I was taking in the Victorian with the original wood unpainted and polished. The threadbare but clean throw rugs. The real wood table and chairs in the kitchen, and the sofa in the living room that looked like it had seen more good and bad days than most people.
And the massive TV on one wall, with the gaming consoles, sound system, and beanbags in front of it.
The entire house was a twisted combination of classic and modern.
“Death match?” Gage’s words startled me.
“Excuse me?”
He nodded at the gaming console setup. “We’ve got the day off, we’re not doing anything but waiting to get drunk. You’re not afraid I’ll kick your ass, are you?”
Fuck no. I wasn’t losing anything to Gage. “Name the game, and prepare to lose.”
“You’re on, Richie Rich.” Gage grabbed two controllers and handed one to me, before he started powering things up.
We both positioned our beanbags where we wanted them near the TV, and a game loaded with soldier characters.
First person shooter? He was going down.
We spent the next several hours alternating who kicked whose ass. I wasn’t nearly as frustrated as I wanted to be that we were evenly matched. Morning bled into afternoon, and somewhere along the way we finished off the fries, and a couple of pizzas from Gage’s freezer.
As early evening arrived, my eyes were protesting enough that I had to call it quits.
“Can’t take the punishment, old man?” Gage teased.
I scrubbed my face, but couldn’t wipe away my smirk. This had been too much fun. “I know how to wrap things up when I’m ahead.”
“By two matches.” Gage huffed and hopped to his feet. “Be right back.”
While he was in the kitchen rummaging around, I moved to the couch. Tony would give me so much grief if he could see me now. Eyes dry and strained, back sore from sitting in a bad position for so long, and a stupid ass grin on my face.
I paused, waiting for the thought to carry the same grief with it that memories of Tony usually did, but I only tasted the slightest hints of bittersweet.
Gage returned with the beers. “There’s more in the fridge—current flavors not new ones—and it’s after five, so I’m hoping your reservations about day drinking have passed.”
I took a bottle from him and flipped up the rubber stopper attached to a metal bar. “They have. Let’s see if this is the kind of chocolate I’d give someone on Valentine’s Day.”
“I have such a hard time imagining you celebrating Valentine’s Day.” Gage took a long swallow of his drink.
He had no idea. Then again, I’d made sure of that. Without being conscious of it, I’d worked hard since I arrived to make sure I was the Sawyer I used to be before Tony.
Why?
“When did you know you were bisexual?” I asked Gage rather than answer my own questions.
He clenched his jaw. “It wasn’t— I’m— I didn’t—”
“You did know?” I didn’t just out him to himself, did I?
He gave a terse shake of his head. “Why would you assume one way or the other?”
“Because of that kiss.” Because of the way Gage watched me. Had I read his stares, his mouth on mine, and everything else wrong? I didn’t make that mistake often. “Aren’t you?”
“I am.”
