Page 35 of Game On

“Jamieson?” Matt said, gaze going from Dorian to Charlie and back to Dorian. “Jamie Jamieson? My Jamie Jamieson?”

My Jamie Jamieson, Dorian almost snapped, which served to prove that there was definitely something wrong with him.

“Nooooo.” He held his own Tupperware of leftovers to his chest, the edge digging into his ribs. “I need to get home to... work on my business idea.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to get home to work on a certain hot hockey player?” Charlie asked.

Matt’s gaze jerked between them again. “Wait, seriously? You and Jamieson?”

“What? No.” Huffing out a breath, Dorian set his leftovers aside since it seemed he was stuck here. “There is no me and Jamieson.”

“But you are attracted to him,” Charlie pressed, flicking a crumb from the corner of his mouth with a thumb.

Dorian leaned against the counter across from Matt. “You can’t possibly know that.”

Charlie laughed in his face, as much as someone could laugh in his face from four feet away. “I’ve known you since we were babies. I know everything about you. And you get all squirrelly when you’re attracted to someone but don’t want to admit it.” He waved in Dorian’s direction, where Dorian was, in fact, acting all squirrelly by shifting from one foot to the other.

“Whatever,” Dorian grumbled, forcing his feet to stay still. “You’re wrong. Besides, he’s my housemate.”

“Yeah,” Charlie said, a heavy dose of get-with-the-program in his voice. “So you can jump his bones anytime.”

Cocking his head, Matt scratched his forehead and looked as perplexed as Dorian had ever seen him. “Should I be here for this conversation?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dorian told him. “Because I can be attracted to someone and not act on it. Which I won’t. Because housemate. Ergo, he’s off-limits.”

Charlie’s smile turned sly. “So you admit you’re attracted to him, then.”

Letting his head fall back, Dorian groaned up at the ceiling. “God help me.”

“No gods here,” Charlie said cheerfully. “Just me and Matt and cannoli. Have one, Dori. It’ll make you feel better.”

He had three and suffered the consequences when his stomach began to hurt on his drive home after he dropped Charlie off.

It wasn’t until he was finally alone that he could admit—at least to himself—that sure, he was attracted to Jamie. Jamie was hot, yes, but he was also nice and sweet and hard-working and determined and obviously loved his family and he was a great conversationalist. And by the looks Dorian sometimes caught Jamie sending him, the attraction wasn’t one-sided.

But.

They lived together.

Dating a housemate?

Could anyone say recipe for disaster?

At home, he put the leftovers in the fridge. As he grabbed a glass of water, something thudded above his head—Jamie dropping something no doubt. Dorian yelled a brief, “I’m back! Leftovers in the fridge if you want some,” and took his glass into his office.

The difference was immediately obvious.

Difference the first? A new painting on the wall where his previous forty-dollar HomeSense eyesore had been. But whereas the contemporary piece had made him want to commit canvas murder, this new painting was... tranquil. Done in shades of blues, oranges, and purples, it depicted an ocean at sunset with mountains in the background. The painting’s strokes were bold, yet still somehow serene. He could picture himself on a boat bobbing gently on a calm sea as he watched the sun disappear behind those mountains and carry his problems and insecurities along with it.

Difference the second? His corkboard had been replaced with one twice its original size. It was now divided into five sections instead of its original three: fall, winter, spring, summer, and fall. His photos were still under the first three, but under the second fall—next year’s fall—someone who was certainly named Jamie had pinned the wildflower tea towel. Next to it was a note that read: Contact artist for a pencil case with fall-themed embroidery.

Well. Jamie had certainly been busy since he’d returned from Kelowna, hadn’t he?

Dorian had still been sleeping when Jamie had left on Sunday morning. He’d returned last night. Dorian had left for Nanaimo yesterday morning, and since he’d opted to stay overnight, they hadn’t seen each other since the Orcas had kicked Colorado’s ass for a second time on Saturday.

Steps sounded on the stairs, lightning quick, and the man himself appeared in Dorian’s office doorway a moment later, wearing slacks and a blazer in a greyish-greenish colour, and a black sweater over an indigo shirt.

He looked like a romance cover model.

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