Page 43 of Praised
Me.
CHAPTER15
FLYNN
“Doyou think my couch is boring?”
Standing in my kitchen with a glass of wine in hand, I posed the question to Dalton, who sat at the island. He’d only had a sip of his drink, so when he looked over his shoulder toward the couch in question, I knew I’d get an honest answer out of him. Or at least out of his face. The man was a horrible liar—it was one of the things I liked the best about him.
“It’s…” His brows drew together, expression making it evident he was running through a mental thesaurus as fast as he could without looking suspicious.
“Boring,” I said.
“Utilitarian,” he countered.
I scoffed and chased the sound down with a drink of wine.
“Is this about Rose?”
“Is what about Rose?”
Dalton pursed his lips, unimpressed. “You’ve lived here for years and you’ve never once asked my opinion on your furniture.”
“The fact that you immediately assume the question has to do with a man is proof enough that you’ve harbored less than savory opinions about my couch for as long as I’ve had it.”
Dalton raised his hands in surrender and laughed at me. “Guilty as charged, but it’s not such a glaring problem that I felt it necessary to call you out on it. But now that we’re on the topic, did you want to talk about the dining room table too?”
“Oh, my God!” I snatched my wine glass from the counter and stalked past him into the dining room, glaring at the teak table designed to match the wall panels. I stared at the extremely expensive piece of custom furniture, another frown deepening as I tried to see my house through Rose’s eyes. “Oh, my God.”
The second iteration of the phrase had a decidedly more resigned feeling than the first, and as soon as I felt Dalton at my back, I turned and weaved around him, heading for the back yard. He followed after, laughing the whole time, then joined me at the loungers with a sigh.
“It’s not the end of the world, Flynn. It’s just furniture and you can afford to replace it.”
I glared back at the pieces inside my house before turning my attention to the lush—albeit also utilitarian—landscaping against the far wall of the yard. The space was still mostly concrete with soft grass between the pads and a well-manicured wall of ivy and some other kind of greenery I’d never bothered to learn the name of. It gave the house some color without being bold or brash, and I tried to think back to the version of myself who’d bought the house thinking that either of those was something to be avoided.
“How long have you known that you’re attracted to men?” I asked, deliberately changing the subject.
Dalton barked out a surprised laugh. “That answer is probably going to take more wine than you have in this whole house, but in summary, just since college.”
“Was it Barclay?”
Our friend group was very close—had been for many years—and while I’d met them all due to my association with Archie, Dalton and Barclay had known each other just as long on their own. While none of us had ever shied away from sharing toys or partners when the situations called for it, Barclay had always had some kind of way about him. He was a natural flirt, older than most of us, and more good-looking than most men had any right to be. He’d been in a holding pattern with another man, Val, for what felt like years, but neither of them had made any sort of commitment to the other beyond the promise of a good time.
“Believe it or not,” Dalton started, gaze going soft as he stared off into the distance. “When he and Dennis were together, they were quite the monogamous pair.”
Dennis, of course, being Barclay’s former long-term partner, a man who’d stumbled into bed with a professor at the college, promptly breaking Barclay’s heart and changing the entire trajectory of his life.
“I remember. But I meant before.”
Dalton shook his head. “When he’s committed, he’s all in. But no, even before he met Dennis, he and I…”
The way he trailed off convinced me there was a story, but I also trusted he was right in that I didn’t have enough wine to get it out of him.
“Enough about Barclay,” I said.
Clearing his throat, Dalton took another swallow of his wine and asked, “How long have you known?”
“Forever, I think, but it’s been a struggle. People don’t seem to really like bisexual men so I don’t talk about it much.”
