Toronto Tales 1 - Cop Out (15 page)

Turning around, he surveyed the room. Davy’s patchwork quilt, one his mother made, was draped across the back of the sofa. Which also sported plump, fuzzy red pillows he’d never seen before. The bookcase now had several books, instead of catalog-style knickknacks. From the well-worn spines, it was obvious Davy loved to read. Kurt didn’t remember Ben ever talking about books.

He strode over to the shelf to peruse the titles. Some were cookbooks, and there was a distinct gap, in the middle, about the width of the burger book he’d given Davy. Others were novels, some authors he recognized, some he didn’t. Primarily fantasy, sci-fi, and a few thrillers. One of the ones he didn’t recognize, he pulled out. His face flushed when he saw the two nude male torsos on the cover. Carefully he slid that back into place and stepped away from the shelf.

This room had transformed into a living room where someone actually lived. The pristine, sterile neutrals of walls and furniture were somewhat mitigated by the new touches Davy added to the room. Had to be a sign of healing—the place was no longer a shrine to Ben’s compulsion to remain hidden. Good for Davy.

Adding a fire to the fireplace would be a nice touch. Did Davy have any firewood?
Davy bustled into the room bearing a couple bottles of beer. “Here, dinner will be ready in about ten minutes.”

“Smells good.” And it did. Kurt couldn’t distinguish the scents, but Davy brought with him the delicious scent of meat cooking. Davy smiled, dimples flashing, sending an unexpected and unwelcome spike of heat to Kurt’s groin. God. Was that going to happen a lot as Davy steadily let go of his grief and smiled more and more? Getting over this insanity couldn’t happen too soon, and judging by the number of nights he’d jerked off to thoughts of Davy, it was getting worse.

No. Not worse, exactly. Just working through its course. Worse before it got better.
They sat on the couch and listened to the announcers listing the starting lineup of players.

Yet another commercial started. There were always too damned many of them. “You got any firewood?”

“Firewood? No, are you cold?”
“Not really, just wondered if you ever used the fireplace.”

“Never. Ben didn’t like the smoke—too dirty—and he said firewood was filled with bugs.”

A muscle in Kurt’s jaw tensed. Who didn’t like fires? They were especially great on snowy days where it was cold and blustery but there wasn’t quite enough accumulation to require shoveling. Days where there was nowhere you had to be and nothing to do but relax. At least there was a screen and utensils, but it seemed a pointless waste if you were never going to use them.

“We’d have to check the flue, make sure it’s clear, but if you want one, let me know. My brother Dylan has a huge spread outside the city and always has deadfall for firewood.”

Kurt glanced at the plush white rug in front of the couch. Davy didn’t like having a coffee table in front of the couch for some reason, so the low table they used when they needed one occupied a corner with a couple of chairs, creating a little nook by the bookshelves. Since neither of them had dragged the table over in front of the couch yet, the area in front of the fireplace was open. He envisioned a warm orange glow emanating from the hearth, the stark white of the rug softened by the fire’s light. Against his will, he imagined a lithe, naked Davy spread out on the rug, basking in the warmth. Oh, God. This had to fucking stop.

He hunched over, hoping to hide the twitching of his stupid, brainless cock. Of course, he was assuming Davy was looking. Which he wasn’t. The man was in mourning, and he’d never given Kurt any indication he was attracted or anything. Which was good. It was. Davy knew Kurt was straight.

“Thanks, I’ll think about it.”

A high-pitched beep had Davy slamming his beer on the end table beside the couch and rushing out of the room. Kurt let out a sigh. Maybe the fire thing wasn’t a good idea. Not until he was through this phase, anyway. He sure as hell wasn’t going to bring it up again. Dinner was almost ready, so he stood and pulled the table over in front of the couch. Good thing it wasn’t too heavy.

Sinking back into his seat, Kurt stared at the TV, but not really seeing it. The clatter of a tray on the table made him jump. “Hell, I could have helped you with that.”

 

Davy shrugged. “No problem. I used to wait tables during university, like you. Never really lost the knack.”

 

“So, what are we eating?”

Davy arranged the plates to his satisfaction. Kurt loved eating in front of the TV, and he bet Ben would never have allowed it.
“They’re Greek style. Ground lamb, stuffed with feta and topped with tomatoes and some very garlicky tzatziki.” The accompanying salad looked Greek also, filled with olives and tomatoes and feta cheese.

Ooh. “Homemade tzatziki?”
Davy nodded.
Fantastic. Whenever he went to a Greek restaurant, he slathered

everything in the tasty cucumber-yogurt sauce.

Davy snatched up a plastic yellow bottle. “Now, I brought this out for you, but will you at least try it without mustard first?”
Kurt snorted. “Okay, okay, I know I like mustard on burgers. But most places don’t have tzatziki to put on them.” Although he might put a little mustard on anyway, just to exasperate Davy.

Davy reluctantly placed the bottle on the table, but looked poised to grab it away from Kurt.
“Relax. Smells great.” Kurt took a bite. “So fucking good, Davy,” he mumbled around a mouthful. Davy was a great cook. Even with the ready access to his mom’s cooking at Finn’s, he was going to get spoiled. And he’d have to hit the gym more often.

Relaxing, Davy dug into his own food, and when the game started, there wasn’t anything to do but eat and yell at the screen.

K
URT
sat at his desk waiting for Simon to return from a meeting. He flipped through the most recent set of baby pics Davy had sent him. He’d almost think Davy was Oliver’s dad, instead of doting uncle, but then, he’d been terrified of losing another person he loved, and it wasn’t a crime to love your family. Kurt did, even if they frustrated him sometimes.

The birth had had an unintended side effect. Davy now felt comfortable enough to send him texts. Often. Kurt was reminded a little of passing notes in class, but that didn’t stop him from eagerly checking each time his phone bleeped. And he saved them all, going back and rereading them, like an obsessed idiot. This phase had to end soon. Problem was, he didn’t know how to stop it without cutting off from Davy altogether, and he couldn’t bring himself to take that step.

“Hey. Got something good on there?”
The phone clattered to the desk after a guilty fumble.

“No, just a friend’s baby pics.” Kurt willed himself not to flush, but he didn’t think he succeeded too well.
Simon rolled his eyes. “Don’t show Jen those. She’s been making noises about wanting a baby. I’d like to be a little more settled first.”

Kurt slid his phone back into his pocket “Speaking of Jen… you two free Saturday night?”

 

“Maybe. Why? Wanna go on a double date?”

If Kurt hadn’t been blushing before, he sure as hell was now. Mostly because he was reminded of the night he took Davy out for his birthday. With Simon and Jen there, it could have been a double date.

Simon leaned in and lowered his voice. “Sorry, man, didn’t think.”

Kurt shook his head. “No, uh, my parents are throwing a party at their restaurant for my brother’s birthday. They’d love to meet you and Jen.”

“Oh, cool. Yeah, I’ll see what we can do. You ready to head out? I got those addresses we need to check out.”

 

Oh thank God. No more talk of dating. Between Tiffany and Davy, his head was so messed up.

 

“Let’s go.” Kurt pulled on his coat and followed Simon out to the parking lot.

 

Chapter Eleven

 

K
URT
saw Simon as soon as he stepped through the door, dusted with snow. He was taller than everyone else. Presumably Jen was beside him, but she was so tiny, the crowd swallowed her up. Saturday was always a busy night at Finn’s.

He waved an arm above the crowd, and Simon nodded before heading toward him. It was a full house tonight, but most of the other guests had been to his parents’ parties often enough to know the party was in the back room.

“Hey, how’s it going? So this is the family business.” Simon clapped Kurt on the shoulder.

“This is a great place,” Jen said as she leaned in to hug him. “Yeah, it used to be an old brewery that my parents bought shortly after they emigrated here. They fixed it up, named it after my grandfather, and never had thoughts about doing anything else. But it sucked growing up because we were always enlisted as waitstaff or

busboys. When business stabilized, they were able to hire regular staff, and now we only occasionally help out, mostly to give mom or dad a break.”

Kurt turned and led them to the back.

“Oh, Kurt, love, who’s this now?” As always, his mom was the first to spot a new face.
“This is my partner, Simon, and his wife, Jen. Simon, Jen, this is my mom, Deirdre.”

Simon pulled his mom into a big hug. She looked surprised, but giggled anyway. Jen rolled her eyes, but she wasn’t at all upset. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. O’Donnell.” Simon set his mother back on her feet.

“Oh, now, didn’t you hear my baby? It’s Deirdre.”
“Deirdre. Got it.” Simon grinned.

All of Kurt’s family noticed the arrival of Simon—how could they not? Mike was the first of his siblings to make his way over to them. His mom was making small talk with Jen when Mike arrived.

“This is your new partner, squirt?”

 

“Squirt?” Simon asked, a brow raised. Jen stifled a laugh with her fist.

 

“Simon, Jen, this is my big brother Mike, the birthday boy. He’s an old man today. Forty-three.”

 

Mike narrowed his eyes, but graciously accepted Simon and Jen’s birthday wishes.

 

“So, squirt?” Simon asked again.

Kurt groaned, and Mike laughed. “Yeah, well, we all thought the last of the litter was going to be the runt, but he ended up proving us wrong. Ended up the biggest of the lot.”

“It’s just because mom loves me best.” Kurt stuck his tongue out, and Mike made a move to grab him around the neck in a prelude to a noogie, but he stopped and settled for a quick squeeze.

Kurt hoped it was out of a sense of decorum rather than a lingering after-effect from his near-death experience six months ago.

“How you feeling, squirt? Haven’t seen you around much lately.” Nope, not decorum. “I’m fine, Mikey. Honest. Look, all healed up.” He pushed his sleeve up to reveal the scar on his arm. Only a hint of pink revealed how recent it was.

“Okay, okay.”

 

Kurt stared at it, remembering Davy’s fingers tracing its path, whisper light, and he smiled before he pulled his sleeve down again.

“I’m sure this fine young man will look out for my baby.” His mom squeezed Simon’s forearm. Kurt could hardly believe how different the dynamic was already between his family and his new partner, compared to their previous—and few—interactions with Ben.

“I will indeed, ma’am.”
“Good boy. Now, Mikey, I know it’s your birthday and all, but would you please take Simon and Jen to get a drink? Introduce them to the brood?”

“Oooh. You’re in trouble now,” Mike sang as he led Simon and Jen—grinning like fools—away.

 

Instead of berating him, as Mike clearly expected, his mom gave him another hug, as she’d done when he first arrived.

“So, when do I meet her?”
“Meet who?”
“Your girl.”

“Shi—I mean, shoot. Mom, have you been talking to Erin? There’s no girl.”

“No, I haven’t talked to Erin about this, but I will now. You’re lying to me, boyo. Only time I saw that look on one of my sons, Mike had just started dating Heather. I knew then he’d ask her to marry him.”

“Marry! Jeez, mom, I’m not even dating anyone!” As long as no one counted dinners and evenings with a man that were more fun than any date he’d ever been on.

His mom looked up into his eyes and rested her hand on his scarred forearm. “Oh, baby. I don’t care if you’re dating. You’ve met her. Something about this scar made you think of her. And I could see it clear as day. My baby’s in love.”

It was a
him
. And Kurt wasn’t fucking in love. His mother had to be crazy. Or drunk.

“I’m not, Mom, I swear.” Kurt hoped his mom didn’t know how to interpret the high-pitched, panicky squeak that prefaced his words. She had to believe him.

“Okay, baby, okay, don’t you worry. She’ll come around. You’re a fine catch for any girl.”

 

Shit. She had heard it.

“Just remember you can always talk to me. I may be your old mum, but I know a lot about girls.”
Kurt let out a breath of bitter laughter. She wouldn’t be so quick to see him settled if she knew what was going on in his head. His mom was a good Catholic. She’d hate him, not offer up advice, if she knew. His whole family would hate him.

“Hey, squirt.” Ian approached him and thrust a beer in his hand— the only reason he didn’t get a glare
and
get flipped off. “Met your partner. Seems a good guy.” Dylan stood behind him and nodded.

“C’mon. We’ve challenged him to a game of pool, and we need a fourth.”

Kurt let himself be dragged off, thankful to be away from his mom’s scary insight. God. If she even had a hint he was infatuated— not in love, for God’s sake, he wasn’t gay—but sexually fantasizing about another guy, she’d flip out. Probably disown him. As would the rest of his family.