Page 2

Porter George

My skin itched with the needs to surge into motion. Instead I was lounging on the couch, watching Desmond, my tailor, fit Nash for the tux he’d wear on Saturday. I’d known the man for years, worked with him since I was a preteen—hell, he special made all my pants because hockey players had thighs and asses that didn’t fit in off the rack trousers—but right now… Right now, I wanted to smack his hands away from Nash and shove him and his God damn measuring tape out the front door. Maybe after I’d strangled him with it.

My teeth gritted and I bit back a growl as he measured Nash’s inseam. Every touch seemed intimate to me and excessive. I wouldn’t even be able to work off this steam when the guy finally left.

Nash for his part appeared tomato-red and as uncomfortable as I was worked up. He wasn’t as used to being as measured, poked and prodded.

“I think that’s all I need,” Desmond said, rising from where he was crouched before Nash in a way that elicited dirty pictures in my mind. I wondered how Nash would feel about being gay for the day, exploring what it would be like to be with a man.

Which was a completely out of bounds thought for me. Sure, I admired good looking men, the same as anyone would, but I didn’t consider dragging them over to my own personal dark side. I knew what boundaries were and I respected them. I had to if I didn’t want to get my ass kicked by my teammates. Thankfully, those who knew about me weren’t homophobic, but still… I didn’t test their tolerance.

“Thanks, I appreciate you squeezing us into your schedule like this,” I said, shoving quickly to my feet and thrusting out my hand.

I will not punch him. I will not punch him… I chanted in my head.

He grinned as if reading my thoughts, his eyes dancing with his ill-suppressed mirth. Asshole. That last inseam measure was to mess with me. I almost pulled away my hand before we could shake, but I didn’t hide my thoughts as I met his eyes. Nash was mine. Desmond’s grin only widened.

“Bought time you found a guy,” he muttered.

My chin lowered. “ What?”

“Your tux is all set for tomorrow?” he asked without answering me, pretending as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

“Yeah, fine.” It had only been a couple weeks since the last time I’d had to wear it and it was still wrapped in the cleaner’s plastic.

He nodded, stepping back and gathering his things.

“I’ll have your clothes here tomorrow morning, Mr. Higgins,” he told Nash. He looked back at me. “I’ll courier them over midmorning, so they’ll be here in plenty of time.”

“Thank you,” Nash said. “I appreciate you doing this. I know it’s a rush.”

“No worries at all, Sir. I imagine we’ll be seeing each other again soon. Have a good night.”

With that, he was gone and I sucked in a relieved breath. I liked Desmond or I would have demanded someone else do my apparel, but I really didn’t like him so close to Nash. My Nash, even if just in my imagination.

“Pizza?” I asked him as soon as we were alone. I had to do something to get my libido and temper under control. Food seemed like a good detour.

“What did he mean by that?” Nash said, clearly not on the same page as me. Of course, he wouldn’t be. He was just a straight guy getting fitted and not feeling the vibes of the room. Which were probably just in my head due to sexual frustration. Wanting something I couldn’t have.

“What do you mean?”

“That I’d see him again soon.”

“Oh. Um. I’m pretty sure that he meant, if we,” I swung a hand back and forth between us, “are together, that he’d be tailoring more clothes for you. All my suits and trousers are bespoke and even my off-the-rack stuff gets fitted. I’m sure he figures I’ll have him do the same for you.”

“But…” The flush in Nash’s face deepened.

“I know,” I sighed, tamping down my regret. “But he doesn’t. I guess, get used to it for the next twenty-four-ish hours, right? Playing the part?”

“Oh. Yeah. Right,” he said. “Dating. Boyfriend. Just…weird to me, you know? I’ve never…”

“Pretended to date a guy?”

“No,” he laughed. “Never done that. Never dated a girl, either, if you must know.”

“I didn’t ask.” But it made me feel damn smug to know I was his first date. Wow. His first fake date, but I wouldn’t dwell on that.

“It’s the whole nerd thing, yeah?” he said. “I’m not exactly on people’s radar. Plus my life is kinda…” He shrugged. “Well, you know. I’ve kept my head down to get the best grades possible, so I could graduate and not fuck up.”

“Because of your dad?” I knew there was something there, that his dad was some sorta deadbeat loser, but Nash hadn’t ever elaborated to me.

Nash’s eyes widened, his nostrils flaring. Shit! I shouldn’t have said anything.

“So, pizza?” I asked, playing off as if I hadn’t just stepped into a can of worms. I was shutting the top on that real fast. And if hockey had taught me anything, it was redirection and subterfuge. I was real good at both.

Watch me hide the verbal puck and shoot it somewhere else…

I pulled out my phone. “Or do you want Chinese? Or subs? Or that new burger place is on delivery too. Don’t know how great the fries will be by the time they get here.”

Nash swallowed, and I could literally see his internal battle. Ask me what I knew or let it go. I hoped he’d let it go. I didn’t want things to be any more awkward than I was already making them with the fake date thing. I really did need him as a shield.

“Burgers,” he said, his head bobbing as he spoke. “But I want rings. Not fries. Those should be alright.” His shoulders lighted with his breath. “I’m just gonna go work. I have to try to wrap up the programming tonight.”

“I thought it was due next week?”

Besides school, he and his nerd patrol—his words, not mine—ran a company that developed apps and software. A company called…drum roll…Nerd Patrol.

“It’s not, but you know I like to finish things early in case I run into an issue or there are bugs. Can’t really rush a deadline and get the job done right.”

“Fair enough,” I agreed, but he was already headed away to his computer desk that took up a corner of his bedroom. I watched him go, hoping I hadn’t just screwed things up with my big mouth—not just for tomorrow but for our roommate relationship, in general.