Page 34 of Still The One

A low rumble of laughter fills the hall, but the lines on his face betray a tinge of annoyance. ‘I can assure you, I have never once uttered the term “brah”,’ he retorts.

I look him over, wishing he weren’t so frickin’ handsome right now. There’s not much to pick on. Not that I want to roast the guy – he’s been through enough recently – but it’s going to be hard to set rules for our game of house considering we’ve done just about everything two people in love could ever do, and now we’re supposed to dance around it and be patient and nurse.

I spent last night painfully overthinking how to handle this situation. I’ve decided I need to set some boundaries here – no more flirting. I suspect flirting will lead to places we’ll never return from, and I can’t take the heartache.

‘You’ve never said “brah”?’

‘Nope.’

‘Well, the flat-bill hat on your head says otherwise.’

It’s puzzling to me how that particular item made its way into his personal belongings bag, while his clothes were left out. Sure, it’s part of the off-duty FMX boy uniform, but I thought for sure he’d have grown out of it by now.

He rolls his eyes. He’s always had the FMX rider look. He could pass for twenty-five instead of thirty-five, and not just with his looks. He’s got a young heart, mouth – and probably brain, if I had to guess by his condition right now.

The sound of someone jogging down the stairs relieves me a bit. Finally, a piece of my world that is familiar to me after weeks of chaos.

‘On my way, hon!’ Phil’s voice echoes through the hallway, announcing his arrival before we even catch a glimpse of him.

I quickly whisper to Foster as he meanders back to me from the mailboxes after his fifth lap, ‘Don’t react when you see him.’

‘Why?’ Foster asks. ‘Does he have two heads?’

‘No, he’s just… colorful.’

He grins. ‘I don’t judge, sugar. He could come down here wearing diamond-studded glasses and a rainbow suit, and I wouldn’t bat an eye.’

‘He’s not Elton John. But he’s also not many steps away from that.’

‘I like Elton,’ Foster murmurs.

‘Let’s see this ma—’ Phil stops mid-sentence as he begins to descend the last set of stairs, his eyes on Foster. I can’t blame him there.

While he’s not wearing the exact outfit Foster alluded to, he wasn’t far off. Instead, Phil’s clad head to toe in a bright neon orange sweatsuit, zipped halfway open to reveal a lush garden of chest hair. A sparkly bracelet on one wrist that matches the necklace shining around his neck completes the look. And if his outfit weren’t enough to catch your attention, his choice of shoes would surely do the trick – a pair of silver joggers that seem more fit for a disco than a jog.

Phil exudes an aura of confidence and flamboyance that is both impressive and slightly intimidating. The man is built like a Greek god, and despite the fact that he’s very clearly into men, women never pass up the opportunity to admire his good looks.

‘Well, well, well,’ he drawls, taking in Foster’s appearance with a critical eye before turning to me. ‘He is beautiful, darling.’ Suddenly he cocks his head. ‘But what’s with the bandages? Did you run him over?’ His words drip with sarcasm and amusement as he continues to scan Foster up and down like a piece of art.

A chuckle threatens to escape my lips, and I fight to stifle it. ‘No, but if I had, he deserved it,’ I tease, playfully nudging Foster’s arm.

Foster rolls his eyes in response. ‘It was a motorcycle accident.’

‘Oooh. You’re a daredevil; I like it. She needs some excitement in her life.’ Phil gives me an approving thumbs up while behind Foster. ‘Does he have a name, love?’

‘Foster.’

‘Foster…?’ He awaits the rest of his name.

‘Just the one name,’ Foster says. ‘Like Madonna.’

Phil’s face lights up with a smile that conveys his interest in the conversation. We seem to have hit all the right notes, sparking his curiosity and engaging his attention. Foster, on the other hand, appears relaxed and at ease despite being the object of a gay man’s unabashed admiration.

‘Alright then, Foster. Let’s get you upstairs,’ he says.

Without hesitation, he reaches out and grabs Foster’s hand, throwing his good arm over his shoulder. Together, they make their way up the stairs, Phil trying to take short breaks at each landing.

‘Where are we putting him?’ Phil asks.

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