Second Hand: A Tucker Springs Novel 2

so.” He opened the door.
Then he picked up MoJo and headed up the stairs.
I followed, forgetting I’d ever had a hangover and wishing like hell for a bottle of rum.

chapter 20
    E

    l fussed with MoJo as he led Paul into the apartment, trying not to let on how panicked he truly was.
    He’d been bouncing off the walls ever since he’d sent the text, alternating between wearing holes in his floorboards and obsessively checking his phone to make sure the ringer was on, that the ringer still worked, that the phone worked, period, that it was loud enough for him to hear even in the bedroom if it rang, and most importantly of all, that Paul hadn’t called or texted him and he’d missed it.
    Whether it was because Paul appearing at his door wasn’t part of his plan or because he’d appeared spouting the four most ominous words in the universe—we need to talk—El couldn’t say. Maybe it would have been this way on the phone, too. Maybe it had always been destined to head here. Maybe—actually, no maybe about it—he should never have opened this can of worms in the first place.
    Except he knew all the way down to the soles of his shoes that he would do this all again in a heartbeat, even if Paul was about to kiss him good-bye. Without so much as a kiss.
    Paul, he realized, still hadn’t said anything. Glancing over to check, El saw his guest holding up a wall near his small dining table at the edge of the room that was his cooking, living, and eating area. Paul looked as terrified as El felt, all but begging with his eyes to be let out of this conversation.
    El let out a huff of air and swallowed a grimace. The hell he would coach Paul through cutting him loose. He plunked down on the corner of the couch and motioned for MoJo to jump up in his lap—a useless gesture, as she was already halfway there. “Have a seat. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
    The only seats available were the recliner, which was practically to El’s back the way he was sitting, and the other end of the small couch he already occupied. It depressed the hell out of him when Paul chose to drag a chair over from the table. “I—I’m sorry. I know you said to call.”
    “It’s fine.” El smiled, but it felt like something strange and constipated. He gave it up and focused on rubbing behind MoJo’s ears. “So. You said we need to talk.”
    He could practically feel Paul’s discomfort radiating across the room. “I— Yes. I mean, don’t you? About last night? I—” He stammered a moment, and when El gave in and glanced up, Paul’s face, neck, and ears were red. “Or maybe you don’t. Maybe that was normal for you and no big deal.” Paul’s eyes weren’t closed, but they were focused so hard on a spot on the floor that El figured there’d likely be a hole by the end of the conversation. “It was a big deal for me.”
    Hell. With a heavy sigh, El displaced MoJo and scooted forward on the couch, bracing his elbows against his knees. “It was for me too. Except it looks like it’s upset you, so I’m sorry. Like I said last night, you were drunk, and I knew better. I’m sorry.”
    “No.” Paul’s gaze lifted quickly, urgently, then fell to the floor in a new wave of blushing. “I mean—” He began to worry his fingers, tugging at them and bending them into contortions that made El brace himself for the crack of bones. “I was drunk. Very drunk. But I think I remember everything. Including how you tried to get me home, and—” Now his eyes did fall shut, and the wind seemed to go out of him.
“I’m sorry,” El whispered, feeling shitty and helpless.
    Paul laughed, a strange, tortured sound. “That’s . . . that’s just it. I don’t know that I am.”
The weight of dread over El froze and lifted slightly. “Oh?”
The fingers launched back into their contortions. “I’ve been thinking about it all day. Trying to. Mostly I feel confused and panicked and something else I can’t figure out how to describe except that it’s why I ended up over here. I mean—I thought I was over this. I hadn’t thought about this. Not in a long, long time.”
“Thought about what?”
Paul was almost sweating. “Being—being—” Those fingers were never going to make it.
“Gay?” El finished for him.
Paul shook his head, then stopped as if he were confused. “Yes—well, I mean, I don’t know that I am. All the way, I mean. It’s not like I had to talk myself into sex with Stacey.”
El could do without hearing