Page 39 of Wrestling with Daddy

Maybe it did.

“And this is why that talk is necessary. Lead the way, Nathan.”

“S-sure.”

If he was more unsure of his feet on his way up the street, Ken didn’t mention it.

Nathan was glad of the fact, too.

He would’ve been more glad if his house had been farther away and not literally on the same street, not giving him enough time to prepare any sort of argument.

“You didn’t leave your keys inside, did you?”

“W-what?” Nathan spluttered.

He hadn’t realized he’d stopped by his building because muscle memory was a thing at the worst of times.

Fumbling, he hurried to get the keys from the hidden pocket in his jacket—where they’d been the whole time because he wasn’t as messy as some wanted to believe.

Nathan would’ve given Ken the stink eye if he wasn’t still too alert and wary of the talk and whatever Ken had to say.

Of course, he had an idea of where the conversation would go. Ken didn’t like brats, which was frustrating because… Well, he was there, and Nathanwantedhim.

It didn’t make sense, either. Nathan thought that if he didn’t believe someone’s kinks were compatible with his, he wouldn’t drive two hours—or any length of time, really—to meet them in person.

Keeping a sigh to himself, he pushed the door open and led the way up the stairs. He lived on the third floor and didn’t have an elevator.

Maybe he should’ve told Ken that, but the older man didn’t seem to be struggling to keep up with him.

“Welcome to my humble home,” Nathan teased, letting Ken walk in first.

The apartment had an open floor concept with the exception of the bathroom and his bedroom.

It was definitely better than some of the places he’d seen when he’d started apartment hunting, refusing to share a room any longer.

“It’s nice,” Ken hummed, eyes drifting from side to side.

Nathan wondered what an architect would be thinking of his place.

Suddenly, he was very curious about seeing where Ken lived.

Hopefully he wouldn’t blurt that out when it would come across as awkward and definitely too forward.

Nathan already felt like he was on thin ice.

“The couch is comfy,” he promised, pointing to the kind of too-large-for-the-room sectional couch with at least six blankets draped on top.

He could’ve done a better job at tidying up the place, that was for sure.

“The couch it is, then.”

“Oh!”Shit. He really needed to step up his game. “Do you want water, or a beer, or…? I’m actually not sure I have more options.”

The only reason he had a twelve-pack of beer was because of a friend who couldn’t function without it.

“You’re a journalist and don’t have coffee?”

“Oh.” Nathan wanted to hit his head against the nearest wall. “Sure, I have coffee. And tea, too. I can never have it after lunch or I get too hyper, but I can start the machine.”