Page 21 of Doing Life

Hell, maybe he needed to find Sloan someone else to fall in love with.

Chapter Seven

Sloan was just about nervous as fuck.

He couldn’t believe Lance had agreed to come over, let him cook, spend time alone in this house together.

He wasn’t complaining, but he had honestly expected Lance to say no, to blow him off.

It didn’t matter, because Lance had said yes, and Sloan was pulling out all the stops.

He’d cleaned his house top to bottom, cleaning, dusting, and he’d put on stinky candles. He’d gotten all the things for enchiladas along with beers, Cokes, tea, milk— anything that he could think Lance would possibly want to drink. Chips, guacamole, salsa. Lots of wipes for spillage.

Maybe he should have gotten those scoop chips, maybe those would have been better. Sloan thought they were a little crumbly though, so he got the thicker ones because he thought that would work better.

Shit. It didn’t matter. It was too late. He didn’t have time to run to the store again, and God knew this little town did not have DoorDash.

It didn’t have anything dash. It was a dash-less town. Even where he lived in New Mexico, he could get DoorDash.

It took forever, but he could get it.

What was he missing? Oh, water for the dog. He filled the new dog bowl with water. He’d already made sure the fence was good enough for Abby to go outside and go to the bathroom without getting out, getting lost.

He didn’t have a doggy door, but he wasn’t going to put a doggy door in a rental house because his ex-boyfriend was coming over once. Maybe if he decided to come over more than once he’d put one in.

Sloan wondered if the house Lance was living in had a doggy door. Maybe he could volunteer to put in a doggy door… It would get him a chance to see the house at any rate.

That was probably skeezy, but the benefit might outweigh the skeeze.

He really had to think about this.

Sloan damn near jumped out of his skin when the doorbell rang, and he smoothed down his shirt, made sure he was fine before he hurried over to answer it.

Lance stood there wearing a dark T-shirt, with the gray button-down open over the top of it. Pair of blue jeans finished the outfit, and the man looked just about as hot as anything he’d ever seen in his whole life.

“Sloan?”

“You know it. Come on in. Hey, Abby.”

He got a single wag from the German shepherd.

“Abby, forward.”

They walked in the door, and Dan Riviera was standing there behind Lance holding a six-pack of Coronas and a box of fudge.

“His hands were full,” Dan explained, handing over the goodies. “I told him I’d bring him in. I’m not horning in on your date.”

“It’s not a date,” Lance said.

“Yeah, thanks.” It was definitely kind of a date.

“Absolutely. Text me when you’re ready to come home, buddy, and I’ll be here. I’m just gonna head back to the house and watch some terrible TV. I wish it was football season.”

Lance snorted and rolled his eyes. “Soon, grasshopper. Soon the leaves will begin to fall, and the pigskin will begin to fly through the air again.”

“Promises, promises.”

Sloan chuckled. “Who’s your team man?”

---