Coda Books 04 - Strawberries for Dessert (MM)

and I didn’t go out for beers with the guys. I did my work and I kept to myself. It was my own self-imposed version of “Don’t ask, don’t tell.”
    And although I knew some of my co-workers had their suspicions, nobody had ever had the nerve to question me.
    Cole was looking at me for help, and I was standing there like an idiot, trying to figure out what to say. Saying he was just a friend seemed like an insult. Saying he was my partner was vastly untrue.
    Saying he was my lover would certainly embarrass Marcus.
    Cole finally gave up on me and turned back to Marcus. “What Jonny seems unable to say is that I am his date.”
    “Oh,” Marcus stammered, as his face turned even more red. “So the two of you are, ummm… a couple?”
    Cole smiled at him, actually batted his eyes a little, and I worried that Marcus’s imminent heart attack might be even closer than I had anticipated. “I guess you could call us friends with benefits,” Cole said.
    “Oh,” Marcus said again. He was starting to sweat a little, and I could see him frantically scanning the crowd. I assumed he was looking for his wife to come and rescue him.
    “Cole!” I said in alarm.
    “Do you object to that definition, love? How exactly would you classify our relationship?”
    “Marcus, thanks for the drink offer, but we really need to go—”
    “Of course,” Marcus said with obvious relief.
    I grabbed Cole’s arm and steered him toward the door. Once we were outside, he pulled away from me angrily. “Let go of me! I’m not a child!”
    “Why in the world did you say that him?” I snapped.
    “I waited for you to answer him, and you were just standing there with your mouth hanging open! I thought the man at least deserved a response.”
    “You couldn’t have been a little less obvious?”
    “Was I supposed to lie to him? You’re the one that invited me out! You’re the one that obviously has a problem with this. Maybe you’d like to make me a list of all the things I’m allowed to say when we run into people you know. Maybe you’d like to inform me of exactly how I should classify our relationship, in case we’re ever asked again. Lord knows I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”
    He turned and walked toward the car, and I trailed along behind him, fuming the entire time. We drove back to my place in stony silence. I couldn’t believe how angry I was. I fought back the urge to lash out at him. I knew it would only make matters worse. The best thing would be to get back to my house, where his car was parked, and go our separate ways, at least for a few days. At least until I could look at him without feeling rage welling up inside of me.
    We got to my house, and I expected him to head straight for his car. Instead, he followed me to the door, and I realized that he had probably left his keys inside, on the table by the door. I opened the door and we went in. He didn’t pick up his keys and leave, but I knew he wasn’t planning on staying by the fact that he didn’t take off his shoes the minute we were in the door.
    “Well,” he said, crossing the room and turning to stare at me challengingly with one hand on his hip, “let’s hear it, then.”
    “Hear what ?” I asked through clenched teeth.
    “Whatever it is that’s got you in such a lather. You’re obviously furious at me. You’ve been completely unbearable all night, and now you’re practically foaming at the mouth. So quit stewing in your own juices, and let’s just get this over with, shall we? What the hell is your problem?”
    I wanted to tell him that it was nothing. I wanted to tell him to go home before I said something cruel. But his attitude only made me angrier. Every aspect of his flamboyance was worse now. Every layer of his affectation was accentuated: the cadence of his speech, the way he stood with his hand on his hip as he flipped his hair out of his eyes, and the way he managed to look down his nose at me, even though I was taller than him by at least two inches. “You really don’t know?” I asked.
    He turned away from me, flipping his hair in theatrical dismissal.
    “I have my suspicions, but we may as well work with the cold, hard facts, don’t you think, love?”
    “Fine!” I said, fighting to keep from yelling. “You want to know what’s bothering me? You’re bothering me! I can’t believe the way you acted tonight. With my boss ! And last night, with my father! It’s embarrassing—”
    “Last night was your fault,