“What?” Circumstances demanded he speak with food in his mouth. “Why?”
“I saw you talking to him out on the sidewalk in front of the house when you came over last Monday.” His whole face brightened. Which was weird, since Dalton had been certain Sam didn’t like Tierney.
“I wanted to make sure he was all right.”
“Uh-huh,” Sam agreed, nodding and smiling and watching him with avid eyes.
“Well, I mean, did he seem well to you when he left your place?”
“Nope.”
“Okay. So . . .” Dalton turned all his attention on his lunch. He sucked at lying, other than polite social ones. That was the reason he’d learned to be polite and social—to make up for his tendency toward bluntness.
“Sooo, you find him attractive?” Sam’s whole body bobbed up when he said “attractive,” as if he’d scented his prey in the wind.
Dalton gulped down his lettuce before he was really ready. “Well, I mean he’s not unattractive.” Pointless to even try for the lie. Prevaricate! Prevaricate! “But he’s got that personality. I mean, he’s so slick. Too concerned with which profile he has turned to the camera.”
“He reminds me of a train wreck.”
“Or a porn star in a train wreck.”
Sam nodded. “You can’t not look at that.”
“Exactly, but there’s something . . .”
“When he’s not being an idiot or a poser, Tierney can be, I don’t know, sincere,” Sam mused. “And also, he really cares about Ian. Really cares about him. Like, a lot.”
Dalton jerked his head up, and saw in Sam’s gaze what he’d been afraid he might: Sam knew about Tierney’s feelings. Knew that Tierney longed for Ian. Possibly thought he loved Ian. “Please tell me Ian hasn’t figured that out.”
Sam shook his head. “Of course not. My boyfriend’s not anywhere near as perceptive as you and I are.”
Phew.
“Tierney’s not a dick to me,” Sam continued. “You saw that the other night. I mean, not a total dick. He greeted me civilly. I don’t know if I could not be a bitch to him if he had Ian instead of me.”
“Well, it is very . . .” Understanding. “Human of him.”
Sam nodded enthusiastically, but then ruined it by frowning. “But he’s no Ian.”
“Not everyone can be an Ian.”
Sam sighed happily. “Yeah, the Rainbow Gods were smiling the day they made him gay.”
Seriously, the guy was so cute. “Where do you come up with this stuff?”
“I don’t know.” Sam shrugged and picked up a fry. “My overly fertile imagination. It’s a curse. I have a habit of reading romance novel plots into everything. It’s my fatal character flaw.” He sighed and took a bite, eyes wandering around the room. “Anyway, back to Tierney. Ian wants to keep inviting him over and stuff since T admitted he’s gay—”
“Even after that scene at your house? I didn’t think Ian would ever want to see him again.”
“Tierney apologized. He called, drunk, and left a message in the middle of the night saying sorry and that I was a good guy and he was happy for us and et cetera.” Sam waved a hand in the air. “But see, that’s what I mean.”
No, actually, he didn’t see. “What’s what you mean?”
“Oh, uhhh.” Sam wiggled a fry in apology. “Just, like, Ian told me about it, and he rolled his eyes and huffed awhile, but he forgave him. Repeatedly accepting someone’s apology is kind of against my boyfriend’s character. Well, I mean, not totally against his character, but you know—”
“I do.” Dalton nodded, hoping the interruption would prod Sam to finish telling him whatever it was.
Sam hunted up a new fry before continuing. “So, he thinks Tierney needs some kind of support, and he has to stand by him if possible and provide some help. I said the kind of help he needs, we aren’t qualified to provide.” He refocused on Dalton. “But then it hit me . . . don’t you think a guy like him would benefit from having a relationship?”
“And you’re volunteering me?” Forget that stab of empathy when Sam described Ian’s pity for Tierney; the last thing the man needed was a pity boyfriend. Dalton had inflicted enough sympathy on the man already.
Sam rolled his eyes—a motion that included his whole head. “No. I was just fishing. Seeing if he appealed to you at all.”
God. How to explain his feelings about Tierney? “Well, I mean, I can see how someone might find him attractive. It’s like he’s . . . covered with a hard shell of chocolate.”
Sam scrunched up his face, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “Chocolate. You really think chocolate? He’s so, I don’t know, much less delicious than chocolate.”
“He’s like deep, dark chocolate. The bittersweet kind, but some people have a taste for it. Deep, dark chocolate with a caramel center that oozes out when you bite into it. Sea salt caramel—very trendy, with an edge.”
“Are you a fan of bittersweet chocolate–coated, trendy, oozing caramel?” Sam asked hopefully.
Dalton snorted. “I have enough flashy caramel men in my past. I’m so done with them.”
For some reason, that made Sam smile.
Working under the supervision of one’s sister took some getting used to.
Dalton liked his job, and the benefits were great. He didn’t want to be an Office Specialist Two for the rest of his life, but it was a good starting point for a career. Places could be gone to from where he was now.
Being in the same office with Andrea, though, just might kill him. He suspected she’d pushed him to apply for the position so she could keep an eye on him. She seemed to have a need to mother him at the best of times, but at work? She mothered and bossed. When he came in Monday morning, she asked him what he’d had for breakfast, told him yogurt with granola wasn’t enough “fuel” to last him until lunch, then said, “Oh, Ian will want donuts for this meeting. You’ll need to run down to the bakery on Fifth and get a couple dozen.”
His irritation made him a little snippy when Tierney came in—the first time they’d seen each other after their weird coffee shop interlude. He knew within a second of the man walking into the office how it was going to go. Tierney couldn’t meet Dalton’s gaze when Dalton smiled in welcome. His eyes pinged around the room like this was pinball and Dalton’s forehead read “tilt.”