Page 16 of Game On

“Soften the dates.”

A second pot simmered with water. Charlie added dates to it.

He looked cute as fuck in the bright pink apron with I like big buns (and I cannot lie) written across the front that Dorian had bought him as a gag gift years ago. Except it had turned into Charlie’s most used apron, and that it was his favourite made Dorian feel special in a way that didn’t make much sense. Wasn’t like the apron had contributed to Charlie’s success or anything. It was just an apron.

The television was on in the living room, forgotten, as though Charlie had been inspired to bake while watching. The rest of the apartment looked the same as it always had, despite Uncle Steve moving out—and in with his girlfriend—more than a month ago. He’d left everything here for Charlie, seeing as his girlfriend had all the necessities at her place. It was only Uncle Steve’s room that looked like a ghost town.

Wait. No. The apartment wasn’t the same as it had always been. Another man’s things were strewn about. A hoodie two sizes too big for Charlie. Extra equipment in the little workout corner. A pair of very large socks by the couch. And Dorian knew from past visits that there were another man’s toiletries in the washroom.

It was the same at Blair Brawsiski’s—Dorian had noticed Charlie’s things scattered about and his favourite ingredients stored in Blair’s pantry the last time he’d visited. Two-ish months into their relationship and Charlie and Blair were already living out of each other’s pockets.

“Is the cream mixed into the sauce?” Charlie asked as he measured out ingredients.

“Yup.”

Charlie took over from there, so Dorian left him to it and sat on a barstool on the other side of the counter.

“How’s life with a housemate?”

“Good.” Dorian still felt squirrelly about having someone in his space, but that was neither here nor there. “He’s quiet. Didn’t even hear him leave the house this morning.”

“What’s Jamie like?” Charlie asked, straining the sauce through a sieve.

“He’s...” Pausing, Dorian thought of Jamie’s sad eyes and contrasted that with the man who’d plopped himself on his office couch and helped himself to his samples. “A conundrum.”

“How so?”

“I thought he was the tall and silent type when he arrived, but I think he might’ve just been tired. He certainly perked up after his shower.”

“Maybe he was intimidated by Matt. Didn’t he pick Jamie up at the airport?”

Dorian waved a hand. “That’s not the impression I got.”

Charlie moved dirty dishes to the sink, then poked the simmering dates with a fork. Turning to Dorian, he said, “So, what brings you by?”

Who the fuck knew? Dorian couldn’t say why he’d come here. Perhaps he’d needed someone familiar after having someone unfamiliar in his home?

“Not much,” he said. “I was heading into the office, so I thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

Charlie frowned at him. “You’re going to the office in that?”

Dorian looked down at himself. “What’s wrong with it?” He wore fitted checkered pants in tan and a colour that was somewhere between maroon and wine. His belt was classic brown leather. And his shirt was cut in a diagonal pattern: black at the top, white on the bottom, and the outline of a cup on the black so that the white looked like spilled milk.

“Those pants are actually nice,” Charlie said. “I’m sure you have an equally nice shirt to go with them instead of whatever that is.”

“Why do you say my pants are actually nice, as though the others I own aren’t nice?”

Charlie stared at him. “Do I need to remind you about the rainbow pants?”

“I got them for Pride.”

“You wore them to Shore family brunch last week.”

“Yeah,” Dorian said, a heavy dose of duh in his voice. “Because I have pride three hundred and sixty-five days of the year.”

“No pride on Leap Day, huh?”

“Don’t get sassy with me, Charlie.”

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