Page 61 of The Marriage Policy

“Wait! You’re gonna leave me hanging like this?” he calls after me.

“No time for orgasms, husband. I’m hungry! I’ll blow you later.” It’s fucking amazing how fun it is to give a blowie. I wish I’d started doing it much earlier.

Donovan laughs. He takes his PrEP and fiber like he does first thing every morning, but skips his stretching and comes into the bathroom with me.

We each take a piss, wash our hands, and brush our teeth, then jump in the shower. We end up with wandering hands, and do, in fact, find time to jerk each other off before we’re dressed and in Donovan’s car, heading to Third and Fairfax for the Original Farmers Market. They have any and everything you could want—fresh produce, meat markets, restaurants.

There’s traffic because we live in LA, which means there’s always traffic, but the ride still feels quick because the company is good.

“I’ll drop you off out front, then find a place to park,” Donovan tells me.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, but I want to. I don’t want you walking any more than you have to. Not much longer until you’ll hopefully get that thing off, and you don’t want to risk reinjuring it.”

I smile. I don’t really need Donovan to do that for me, but I like that it’s important to him, that he wants to take care of me because he loves me and that’s the kind of thing you do for people.

“Okay,” I agree, and he does as he said. It takes him an eternity to find parking and walk back to me, and as dumb as it sounds, I miss him while he’s gone. I love spending time with Donovan and want to soak up as much of it as I can. “Come on, slow poke.” I take his hand and pull him toward the crowded entry.

We find food first—my stomach might eat itself otherwise—and then I’m dragging him around to all the booths. Donovan is smiling the whole time, so clearly, he’s having as much fun as I am.

We get fresh fruit and vegetables, then grab steaks to grill tonight. It’s not until we’ve been here for about two hours that I realize I’m still holding Donovan’s hand, that I’ve been holding his hand the whole time.

“Hey, this is new,” I say, holding up our arms. “Is it okay with you?”

“It’s okay with me. Is it okay with you?”

“Yes, I would think so, considering I’m the one who did it.” I nudge him.

“Brat,” he teases, then more seriously, adds, “God, I wish I lived inside that head of yours sometimes.”

“I’m an open book. You can ask me anything.” What could I ever possibly want to keep from him? “But then, I guess I rarely know what I’m doing.”

“Not in a bad way.” His hand tightens around mine. “You’re just all heart and so easygoing. Things that might mean something to other people, like holding hands, are just part of that big, squishy personality of yours.”

I cock a brow. “Is that a good thing?”

“The best. You just are who you are. You’re the guy who holds his gay best friend’s hand at the farmers’ market and likes to cook him meals and snuggle on the couch simply because this friendship means so much to you. You’re one of a kind, and Ijust…I want you to know I see that. That I’m so thankful I have you.”

My pulse speeds up, my heart feeling too big for my chest. “I’m thankful I have you too, and you’re obviously my favorite person. I do all those things because I’m greedy for you. Also, you forget I’m queer. Why wouldn’t I want to snuggle and hold hands with a hot guy? I’m completely selfish.”

He chuckles. “There’s not a selfish bone in your body.”

“Now that I’ve buttered you up, I wanted to mention something I believe you think I forgot about.”

His brows draw together, Donovan clearly trying to figure out what I’m talking about. “I give up.”

“Our cat.”

His eyes widen.

“See! You did think I forgot!” I pout, and Donovan wraps an arm around me.

“No, I didn’t. I thought it was a whim. Do you really want a cat?”

“Yes. I really want a cat.”

“What happens when you move out?” he asks, and my stomach feels funny all of a sudden.

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