Page 10 of Sheep Calm and Merry On
“I’m definitely going to rest better here than I would’ve. I’m not picky.” They locked eyes across the living room as they each lifted an end of the sofa. “I will steal the blankets, though.”
Devon laughed as they set it back down again. “I’ll get you your own set.”
Putting the bed together was the work of a few moments. Devon left Noah to pile up the couch cushions while he rustled up more pillows and blankets than Noah had ever owned at one time.
“I didn’t mean I needed enough to smother myself with,” Noah joked. “Or are those to make sure I stay on my side?”
Somehow Devon managed to lob one of the pillows at Noah’s head. “Maybe I wanted to indulge your kleptomania kink.”
“Ha ha.” But Devon knew Noah was gay, and he was willing to share a bed with him and make jokes about sex, so he decided to push his luck. “Do I get a lullaby too?”
Devon dropped the bundle of bedding on the mattress. “Not on the first date.”
Noah successfully fought down the urge to fist-pump—the impending headache helped—but he didn’t bother trying not to smirk. “Didn’t realize I’d agreed to the first one.”
Together they tucked the fitted sheet around the mattress. “You get in bed with a lot of guys before the first date?”
“Historically, I’ve been known to indulge.” Noah flattened out a wrinkle and then caught the quilt Devon tossed in his direction. “I don’t think I’ve ever made the bed first, though.” And then, well, turnabout was fair play, right? “What about you?”
Although Devon and Noah were still in the process of putting the blankets on, Nelson took that moment to hop up on the bed and settle in.
“Hey, hey, troublemaker. Down, please.”
Nelson grumbled and gave Devon an unimpressed look, but didn’t budge.
Devon pointed at the floor. “Move, dog.”
Nelson slithered off the mattress, looking even less impressed than Devon. Noah swore he could feel the dog’s eyes on them as they continued to pile on blankets, and he suspected the process would repeat itself the second they let their guard down.
He narrowed his eyes at Nelson. “You’re just a big fluffy menace, huh?”
Nelson yawned.
“Wow. Thanks for your sympathy, you ungrateful brat,” Devon said wryly. “Which part am I answering first? One-night stands, fucking men, or pre-date laundry?”
They’d finished assembly at this point—even Noah could not wish for more blankets to steal. He lay down on top of them, put his hands behind his head, and fluttered his eyelashes. “Dealer’s choice.”
Devon laughed at him. “You’re dangerous.” But he lay down on the other side of the bed anyway. Nelson joined them and curled up between their feet. “Sleeping with men is a post-retirement hobby.”
Noah shook his head, mock-despairing even as he turned to face his host. “Couldn’t just get a sports car,” he teased.
“Absolutely not. I had one already, for starters.” Orange firelight danced across his features. He’d always been handsome, Noah thought. Back when he was playing hockey, but when he came to Noah’s rescue too. He was especially striking now, vulnerable in the dark. “One-night stands—gave those up with the drugs. And the sports car too, if I’m honest.”
“Oof.” Triple whammy.
“Right?” Devon said. “But they were kind of all intertwined, for me. I didn’t want to take any chances. The truck’s more comfortable anyway.”
And more practical for living on a farm. Still…. Noah reached out and touched Devon’s wrist. “Should I stop flirting with you?”
“Only if you don’t want to stick around.” He hooked their pinkies together. “I’m a hot mess, but I’m a hot mess with stability. Scheduled bedtimes. Regular rotation of sheep lullabies. Pretty boring stuff.”
But Noah could see that he needed it—that it gave him the framework he needed to live a healthy, fulfilling life. Besides— “I mean,” he pointed out, “a regular-season schedule’s not so different. Naptime at three. Dinner at six. Game at eight.” He’d done fine with that. “Coaching high school hockey’s the same, just with more leeway for the kids to throw bush parties and put off their homework.”
Tommy had despised routine. Noah tried to institute “new-recipe Monday,” even did all the research and shopping and cooking for it, but Tommy came in the door the third week and said, “I’m not feeling yellow curry tonight. Let’s go out.”
Yeah, in retrospect, that relationship was probably doomed from the start.
In any case, what he meant was, I want to be part of your routine. You should ask me. People thought routine wasn’t romantic, but people had no goddamn imagination. You know what was romantic? Not getting migraines, because you slept and ate on a regular schedule.
