Page 10 of The Man I Love

“Mmhmm,” Peter hummed as he began to unload the groceries into the fridge.

“I was on my way, I swear! But then I got a text from Edward. I haven’t seen him in years, and he was right down the street.”

Peter cracked open a beer and turned toward the living room. “I’m guessing you’re Edward?” he asked, finally acknowledging Edward’s presence.

“Peter,” Margaret stopped talking and jutted her chin toward Edward. “This is Edward. Edward, this is Peter—the glass man.”

Edward adjusted in his seat, his hand pushing against Sam’s knee as he helped himself to stand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Peter.”

4

CHAPTER FOUR

December

Eight Months Earlier

New York

Samantha droppedto her haunches beside the coffee table hours later, her vision slightly blurry as she began organizing Monopoly pieces back into the box. In the kitchen, Edward and Margaret tossed empty bottles into the trash, while Peter lay passed out on the living room floor beside the couch. Samantha wasn’t sure what had rubbed her the wrong way about Edward initially, but as the night progressed, she’d gotten used to the guy.

Maybe it was his unapologetic nature that threw her off or the way he always said exactly what was on his mind. He was different, perceptive, and having him around distracted her from the crazy doubts about her art that had crept into her mind over the past few months.

“Samantha? Sam? Sammy?” A faint whisper pulled her attention to the floor. Peter was half awake, tracing circles into the antique rug he lay on top of.

“Yes?” she asked.

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, Peter, what is it?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe waffles are just pancakes with abs?”

Coughing on air, she closed the lid of the game box and rose to her feet. “No, I can’t say that I have, but I don’t think I’lleverthink about waffles the same way again.”

He made a face. “It’s sad, isn't it? That two things can be made of the same ingredients, but people think one is better” — he hiccuped— “just because they have muscles.”

Unable to hide her amusement, Samantha pressed one finger to her lips, knowing that they both needed sleep. “Shh…”

“Does Tristan have abs?” he asked, not lowering his voice in the slightest.

Tristan had everything. Gifted to him by genetics and hard labor, but he was never pretentious about it. “Yes,” she said cautiously. “So does everyone, if you really think about it.”

He made a face while glancing down at his own stomach. “I guess you’re right. My abs are just covered in layers of whipped cream.”

She bit her lip. “That’s right.”

“Which do you like better? Pancakes or waffles?”

“I like both––but that’s enough with the questions. We need sleep, Peter.” If she didn’t put an end to this conversation, she’d never get to bed.

“Is it bedtime?” he asked genuinely.

“Yes, it is,” she answered honestly, taking the blanket from the back of the couch, and throwing it over his large body. “Goodnight.”

He muttered something unintelligible as he shifted toward the couch, possibly about syrup, then pulled the blanket up to his chin and immediately started snoring.

She smiled at his complete surrender. That’s what she loved most about Peter. He was the type of person who had not a care in the world—no fucks given as he lay drunk and asleep in the center of the apartment for all to see.

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