“Because it doesn’t work that way. Only one soul mate per person, it’s like a law.” Duh, his expression read.
Dalton sighed and crossed his arms over his middle. “I don’t even know if I want to be with him.” Not exactly the truth—it was more that he didn’t know which version of Tierney would come back from Dunthorpe. “Isn’t it against romance novel law or something to pin your hopes on someone changing into the right person for you?”
“But that’s not what you’re doing,” Sam insisted. “He’s not changing, he’s transforming into what he’s meant to be. Like a butterfly,” he finished, gazing dreamily into thin air.
Dalton’s head drooped under the weight of doubts, and he found himself inspecting the floor. “Oh God, I hope so. Otherwise I’m crushing on a self-involved coward who thinks cover-your-ass is a blood sport and he’s just like my exes.”
Springs creaked, and then Sam’s footsteps came closer to him. “You were attracted to those guys for a reason, right? Like, it wasn’t just, you know, their ability to take care of you financially?”
Dalton flinched. “Not totally. I kind of . . . I like being in a supportive role. Knowing the man I’m with, um—”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Sam said, saving Dalton from the embarrassment of finishing his thought. “See, he’s your type. Just because you had bad experiences with your type in the past doesn’t mean this one will be. You made changes in your life.” Sam’s hand landed on Dalton’s arm, squeezing a second before letting go. “You’re a different man, so it follows that your man should be different too.” He was beaming when Dalton looked up from under his brow.
But still. “Is this more romance novel logic?”
“Oh, honey.” Sam waved his hand carelessly in the air. “That’s the only kind I know.”
A knock on the front door interrupted Dalton’s reply. He had to answer it since, for once, none of his roommates were home. Four college-aged guys who all had to be somewhere at ten on Saturday morning? Not likely. They’d all heard “help move” and had come up with excuses.
“I’m coming,” he called when the knock came again, firmer and more rapid this time.
It’s him.
No, it’s not.
A week wouldn’t be enough, would it? Of course not. Tierney needed to deal with things. Come to terms.
Except it was possible coming to terms took less time than Dalton thought.
He doesn’t even know where I live.
He has my number. He could look it up online or something.
He reached the entryway, turned the knob, drawing breath to say something welcoming and comforting, that would put the man at ease—
Ian.
“Oh. Hi.” The slumping of his spine had to be obvious to his boss.
“Um, hey,” Ian responded, smiling tightly.
Dalton remembered his manners, straightening. “Would you like to come in?” Even if you aren’t who I wanted you to be.
“Yeah . . .” Ian ran his hand through his hair, looking off to the side, as if something fascinating might be in the front yard. “I guess I just wanted to make sure, you know, Sam didn’t have any problems with the pickup. He’s not really used to driving something that big, and . . .” He frowned.
Dalton leaned forward and whispered, “You’re very transparent. You’re going to have to come up with something better than that if you want to convince him you’re here for some reason other than not trusting him to drive your truck.”
“Hell,” Ian muttered, then, when Dalton stepped out of his path, he walked into the house. Halfway in he halted, expression clearing as he turned to Dalton. “Maybe you could tell him you called me be—”
“No.” He shook his head. “Sorry, but no. Besides, I would have told him first.” He patted Ian’s shoulder. “Sam managed to get it over here, and I haven’t noticed a single scratch or dent. I’m sure he can handle it. If you leave now, he never has to know—”
“Ian? What are you doing here?” Sam stood in the middle of the hallway, fists planted on his hips.
“Hi, Squirrel.”
Squirrel? Really, Dalton should leave them alone to hash this out in private, but they were blocking his escape. He had no choice but to stay and listen.
Ian walked toward Sam, who didn’t look very welcoming.
“Well?” Sam raised his brows. “What are you doing here?”
Ian rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, I was in the neighborhood?”
“Okaaaaay,” Sam said. “And how did you say you got here again?”
Ian cleared his throat, then mumbled something Dalton didn’t catch.
“You hate taking the bus.” Sam scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “But today you just happened to get on the bus and you just happened to end up here?”
“I couldn’t help it,” Ian said, reaching out toward his boyfriend. “I’m not used to being home by myself on Saturdays. I missed you.”
Oh, Sam would see right through that.
Except, “Really?” he asked, eyes widening. “You wanted to be with me so much you took public transit for me?” He took Ian’s hand, stepping closer.
“Yeah, kiddo.” Ian nodded earnestly.
“What did you do on weekends before we got together?” At least Sam hadn’t completely lost all skepticism.
“I don’t know. I guess I was just marking time until I met you.”
Oh gag. But Sam totally fell for it, resting his hands on Ian’s shoulders and smiling into his face. Ian brought him closer and kissed him. Dalton had to look away, not for their privacy but for the sake of his stomach. When he glanced back to see if they were done, Sam was rolling his eyes at him over Ian’s shoulder.
So he hadn’t bought it? Whatever. It was official—Dalton had had enough of their little relationship drama. “Excuse me,” he said, working his way around them. “I’ll get back to moving while you two discuss this.”
“Oh.” Sam pulled away from his boyfriend. “Since Ian’s here, he can help us too.” He beamed.
Ian smiled weakly. “Sure.”
Heh. The guy totally deserved that. Dalton tried to remember if he had anything particularly heavy or awkward to load still. Too bad he wasn’t bringing his bed, but he’d promised it to Vance so the guy could stop sleeping on a mattress on the floor.