Where Nerves End

stretching, he groaned.
And Ill be damned if Michael didnt do a goddamned double- take.
I mean, I couldnt blame him. Seth and I were, and always would be, just friends, but the man had a smoking hot body. The colorful tattoos covering his arms, most of his chest, and about three quarters of his back created the perfect excuse to stare at his lean, nearly hairless, flawlessly sculpted torso. Low-slung jeans over hips that narrow could drive any man out of his mind, so how could I blame Michael for sneaking a look?
Aside from the fact that he was, you know, straight .
Maybe he just hadnt seen Seths more recent tattoos. The elaborate ink work spanning Seths shoulders and extending down the center of his back was all fairly new. Only a year old or so, if I remembered correctly. Michael had known Seth for years, and I supposed he just hadnt seen him shirtless in a while.
Then again, Seth was one of Michaels patients. Surely hed seen the tattoos by now? More than once?
As Seth disappeared into the UHaul, Michaels eyes flicked toward me, and in the same instant I realized Id been staring at Michael, he probably realized hed been staring at Seth.
“Hey, Mike!” Seth called from inside the van. “Give me a hand with this thing.”
Michael exhaled, undoubtedly as relieved as I was for the diversion, and disappeared into the truck with Seth. The side of the truck muffled their voices and movement, but in my minds eye, I still saw Michaels reaction to Seth.
I had to have imagined it, right? Michael was straight. And just because hed looked didnt mean hed, like, looked . Except he totally did. He did. I fucking saw him!
Didnt I?
Wishful thinking, man. Wishful thinking.
Shaking my head, I went into the house to see if anyone needed any help in there.
It only took a couple of hours to get everything out of the halffilled truck. Then Michael and Seth left with the U-Haul to get everything else out of Michaels old place. It was all boxed and ready to go, just needed to be loaded up and taken to his storage unit.
While they were gone, the rest of us hauled the remaining boxes and furniture to their respective rooms. Without Michael to keep an eye on me, I carried a few boxes. Nothing too heavy, just enough to make me feel like I wasnt entirely useless. Though I wasnt sure how wise it was to set myself up to possibly be sore later when I lived with the damned acupuncturist whod told me to take it easy in the first place.
I backed off rather than give Michael a reason to get on my case, but my lack of involvement certainly didnt slow anything down. By two thirty, everything was where it belonged, furniture had been assembled, and all that remained was for the boxes to be unpacked. Michael and Dylan would handle that part, which meant everyone else was done.
Out in the backyard, everyone dived into the cooler of beer while I fired up the barbecue. Right about the time the charcoal had hit that perfect temperature and I was laying burgers and steaks on the grill, Michael and Seth returned.
“You allowed to drink beer in your line of work?” I asked, gesturing with my own beer as Michael dug one out of the cooler.
He laughed. “Just dont tell any of my other patients, all right?”
“As long as you dont tell my acupuncturist.”
“Not a word.”
Michael had just managed to take a seat and crack open his beer when his phone beeped. He glanced at the screen, then almost jumped out of his chair. “Sounds like my kid is here. Ill be right back.” He set his drink and plate on the plastic table beside his chair, and then disappeared into the house.
A moment later, he returned, flanked by a petite brunette with a pig-tailed toddler on her hip, a sandy blond guy who was even taller than Michael, and a kid who was unmistakably Michaels son. If Id seen a picture of the boy, Id have sworn I was looking at a picture of Michael in his youth. Same brown eyes, same dark hair that wanted to curl, and when he got older and lost some of the roundness in his face, hed probably have the same sharp features.
“This is Daina,” Michael said. “Her husband, Lee. Their daughter, Amanda. And”—Michael beamed—“my son, Dylan.”
I shook hands with Michaels ex-wife and her husband.
Daina handed Amanda off to Lee, then looked down at her son. “You have something to ask Jason, dont you?”
Dylan looked up, shrinking back against his mom.
“Go on.” Daina nudged her son gently.
I squatted so we were more or less eye level, and he drew back a