Page 59 of In at the Deep End
The walk next door took barely a minute, but it gave him far too much time to think.
Casual. No promises. No expectations. A house full of gay men who laughed together, flirted with each other, slept together…
…and apparently all understood the rules.
It was a world he’d never imagined existed.
And one he’d been invited to step into.
What on earth was that?
Owen wasn’t even thinking about Matt’s mortified expression when he’d realised he’d been caught. What stayed with him was the conversation after.
His private life had always remained exactly that—private—and yet tonight…
He stroked his beard. Somewhere between talking about old films, Cynthia, Ben, porn, and parties, he’d quietly dismantled half the walls he’d spent years building.
Why?
Matt hadn’t coaxed or manipulated him. He hadn’t even asked that many questions. He’d simply listened. Really listened.
Owen frowned. Perhaps that was the difference. Most people listened because they were waiting for their turn to speak. Matt listened because he wanted to understand.
He wandered back into the lounge and looked at the stack of DVDs waiting to be shelved. Then his gaze drifted to the cardboard box that had briefly concealed another box.
He laughed aloud.
“I really must stop leaving temptation lying around.”
He opened the box, picked up Summer Rain, turned it over in his hands, then slid it onto a shelf.
“I hope you enjoyed the ending, Matt.”
And why do I want that to be true?
Matt headed upstairs after calling out goodnight to his parents. Once his bedroom door clicked shut behind him, he leaned back against it and let out a long breath.
Curiosity had made him open one DVD.
Now it was opening something else entirely.
He was honest enough to admit Owen intrigued the hell out of him. He’d painted a picture of his life that made Matt yearn to know more, even though he wasn’t sure why.
He was also honest enough to admit he’d been turned on by the film.
The house settled around him, familiar creaks marking the cooling timbers. Somewhere downstairs, he heard his dad cough. A door closed. Then silence.
Matt had intended to climb into bed and fall asleep the moment his head touched the pillow.
Instead, he lay staring at the ceiling, sleep refusing to come. Every time he closed his eyes, another image drifted back.
Two men standing shoulder to shoulder in a kitchen, laughing over burnt pasta.
A hand brushing another across a café table.
A slow kiss.
The way one of them had stopped halfway through making love to ask, Are you okay?
