And now benefits.
His emotional limbo continued through Sunday, until his regular lunch with Sam, which Dalton went into firmly promising himself he’d not say a word about what happened with Tierney.
A promise he kept right up until Sam’s conversation turned machinating.
“Did you know one of the clubs stays open on Thanksgiving?” he asked, eyes excited. “They do it for the people whose families cut them off after finding out they’re gay.”
“Like me? It’s fine, I have plans for Thanksgiving.” Dalton was spending Thanksgiving with Luke and Andrea this year, and they’d do the same thing they always did, regardless of holiday—go to the Kok Won Dim Sum Restaurant.
Sam stopped himself just before taking a bite of fry. “Um, how late do your plans go?”
“Probably not after three.”
Sam grinned. “Good. You can meet us at the club around nine.”
Uh-oh. “Us who?”
Sam shrugged, wearing an expression of forced innocence. He chewed and swallowed before saying airily, “Just, you know, the whole group.”
“We have a group?”
“Well, this is sort of the group I’d like us to have.”
Oh no. Definitely machinating. “Is Tierney part of this group?”
“Well, Ian thinks we should include him.”
“Ian.” Dalton nodded exaggeratedly. “I’m sure he suggested it.”
Sam shoved his burger in his mouth and took a huge bite.
“Um, I’m not sure if I’ll be able to make it.” Dalton used the tines of his fork to arrange his pasta in a snaking pattern on his plate. “I’ll have to see.” If Tierney calls me. Because he couldn’t go if the man was avoiding him, could he? Having Dalton there and alcohol in easy reach wouldn’t be good. Which made him think. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to invite Tierney out to a club? He hasn’t even been sober a month.”
“Oh.” Sam swallowed, smiling. “I was thinking that you’d talk with him about that, make sure it’s all right. Maybe your being there would be help . . .” he narrowed his eyes at Dalton “. . . ful. Something happened, didn’t it? I should’ve known when you ordered the pasta. Are you eating carbohydrates for comfort?”
Sigh. “Sort of.” That stood as an answer to both questions. The rush of relief from admitting it encouraged him to go on. “We kind of, well, broke through the ‘friends with benefits’ barrier.”
“I knew it!” Sam couldn’t contain himself, bouncing and clapping, splattering drops of ketchup from the fry in his hand onto the table. “I knew you guys would get together.”
Dalton wiped up the mess with a paper napkin while Sam had his little fit of joy. Time to rain on his friend’s parade. “I’m not sure it was a good idea.”
“Um, I think it’s a good idea.”
“I’m not sure it’s going to happen again, either.”
“But it has to.” Sam gaped, paling, all excitement gone.
Dalton sighed and dropped the crumpled napkin next to his plate. “No, it doesn’t. This isn’t a romance novel.” He could swear he was repeating himself.
“Pffffft.” Sam waved that off. “It has to happen again because you like him. A lot.”
Now the napkin in his lap needed some attention. Dalton straightened it, then wadded it up, which meant he had to flatten it out with his palm once more. “Friday night was just . . .” He heaved out a breath. “He needed to talk to someone, and things just got out of hand.”
Sam studied him so long Dalton couldn’t avoid meeting his eyes. “You know,” he began, tilting his head and assuming his lecture pose. “This is a typical device in a romance novel, to have one of the protagonist’s friends act as a sounding board for the protag’s feelings. There’s this point where the friend has some wise observation to make that changes how he sees the budding romance with the hero.”
“I take it we’ve reached that point.” Dalton gestured “gimme,” then went back to pretending to eat.
Air swirled around Dalton’s face as Sam took a huge breath, then spit out, “Are you at all concerned that you might only be into him because you’re susceptible to needy men and he’s loaded just like the kinds of guys you used to, you know, ‘date’?”
“Yes.” When Dalton’s dropped fork clattered onto his plate, he didn’t even flinch. Leave it to Sam to get to the root of the matter. “I’m totally worried about that.”
Pushing his food away, Sam folded his hands on the table, expression grave. “Okay, then as the protagonist’s friend, it’s my duty to say that maybe you need to think about this seriously and make a logical decision. Like, one unaffected by your emotions.”
Well, yeah. He did. “So, if I’m going to do that, does that mean you won’t be machinating Thanksgiving night?”
“Of course I will.” Sam rolled his eyes and pulled his plate back toward him, picking up a fry to make his point with. “I’m totally sure you’ll make the logical, unemotional decision and show up with Tierney.”
“But what if nothing’s changed, and we’re just friends?”
“Please.” Sam snorted. “You and I are ‘just friends.’ He’s something else to you altogether.”
Lying in bed Monday morning, Tierney did what he’d been doing all weekend: he obsessed about Dalton, trying to line up what he thought with what he felt.
He thought the dude felt sorry for him. That’s the nicest thing the old Tierney would’ve done in Dalton’s shoes. It was wondering what the new Tierney would do that gave him some hope.
New Tierney felt like there was so much there between them. Like an ocean of possibility waiting for him to get his shit together and dive in. New Tierney believed Dalton liked him, and, in brief glimmering flashes, even thought Dalton might have feelings for him.
But what the fuck did he know? He was probably emotionally stunted. It sucked that gay relationships weren’t any easier to navigate than male-female ones had been. The ones between guys were worse because he had a vested interest in the outcome.
Staring at his ceiling for an hour after his alarm went off didn’t give him any more answers than he’d had last night, after he got off the phone with Emily. Though it did help him avoid dealing with the aftermath of Friday’s meeting.