Page 5 of Balance

Troye opened the container with the alfredo and unwrapped the disposable fork with a grimace. “I miss when these things were plastic. I know that the wood ones are better for the environment, but they taste like… like trees.”

I hadn’t counted on the third way Troye might end his tantrum. With defeat and a profound sadness that was directed at the fork but probably went deeper than having to eat off a piece of wood.

Nonetheless, I carefully lifted the container with my food off my lap and swapped it out for his alfredo. I took the fork from his hand and then motioned to the burger and fries that were now in his lap. “Eat up.”

“Are you sure?” He blinked like he was trying to keep tears at bay, and I pretended not to notice.

“Eat. You’ll feel better when you have some food in you.”

The blush on Troye’s cheeks deepened. “Thank you,” he said quietly as he reached for a fry.

I ate off the weird-tasting wooden fork, and Troy happily ate the fries, and then the burger, and then a slice of the pizza.

When he was done, he carefully wriggled so he was lying down. We were currently on top of the covers, separated by a stack of half empty takeout containers. We knew nothing about the other person, and yet I felt strangely close to him. We’d gotten off on the wrong foot, and maybe we’d still go our separate ways as adversaries who formed a temporary truce, but for now, a peace had settled between us. I tried not to read too much into it, but he just checked so many of my boxes that I found it hard not to let myself daydream a little.

Troye was a brat but not without cause, and not for the sake of being a pain in the ass. I think he just…was himself. And sometimes he got a little wound up in the moment. He clearly lacked impulse control as evidenced by the way he’d thrown himself into my lap. Something I hadn’t thought about until now because I hadn’t let myself. Because I’d really liked the way it felt to have him in my arms and that wasn’t the kind of thoughts you were supposed to have about a stranger causing a scene on a packed airplane. But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. And worse was that I didn’t want to.

CHAPTER 3

TROYE

Even showered and fed, I still felt like I was going to lose it. These acts had only delayed the inevitable meltdown that had been brewing all day long. Nothing about this trip had gone right. My luggage had been lost on the way there, and they still hadn’t found it, leaving me with nothing but a backpack. By the mercy of the universe, my friend had an extra suit I could wear to his wedding.

It was a small affair, intimate, beautiful. And it made me even more lonely than I’d been before I flew clear across the country to watch them get married. I was happy for them. Truly I was. It wasn’t easy to be gay, and it wasn’t easy to date, and it wasn’t easy to meet your soulmate. Yet they’d been smiled on by some kind of gay guardian angel because they’d had each other since they were both fifteen-year-old baby gays. They grew up together, and now they were going to grow old together, and I was single and stuck in an airport hotel with a stranger. On Valentine’s Day of all days.

I scoffed at the knowledge that at least I wasn’t spending it alone, and either way I’d have been with strangers. I’d just hoped to be on an airplane.

But I guess there were worse things than sharing a bed with a hot stranger on Valentine’s Day. Even if nothing was going to happen with said stranger. Said hot stranger. He’d ditched his hat. His hair was mussed up and I hated that he still looked good. Maybe even better than before.

I shifted positions and found myself frowning because of how uncomfortable I was. Because my luggage had been lost, I only had one change of clothes, and they were both jeans.

“Are you okay?” Matthew asked me.

It was almost like his concern was genuine. Like maybe he really wanted to know instead of just asking because he thought he should. I considered giving him a bullshit answer, but something in the way he patiently waited for me to answer, his attention never wavering, made me tell him the truth.

“No, actually. It’s been a shit weekend.”

“Mine hasn’t been so hot either. After four days of soul-sucking meetings, I was supposed to be on a flight home. But someone got me kicked off the plane.” Matthew should’ve been angry with me still, but he managed to make it sound like maybe he didn’t mind so much after all. Like maybe he’d already gotten over his anger and had now crossed over into finding it amusing.

He should hate me, but he did buy dinner. Although that was likely because he invited himself to stay in my hotel room. In my bed.

Nope. Not going to think about that right now. I’d cross that bridge when I came to it. Ugh. Don’t say came, my stupid body urged, because suddenly I was a fourteen-year-old boy and everything was a sex joke.

“Well, maybe someone had to wear an ill-fitting borrowed suit to his friend’s wedding because the airline lost his luggage. And maybe that someone is now facing the fact that they’ll have to sleep in jeans, which is a fate worse than death. So maybe karma came for that person in advance.”

Without a word, Matthew set his food aside and climbed out of bed. He rummaged around in his suitcase and pulled out a pair of pajama pants. They were cornflower blue, my favorite color, and they looked like they’d be soft as hell.

“Here.” Matthew held the pants out to me. “They’re clean, I promise.”

“Honestly, at this point, even if they weren’t, I still might chance it.” I slid off the bed, careful not to disturb our feast, and I took the pants. They were every bit as soft as I’d thought they’d be. “Thank you.”

Matthew smiled at me, a hint of… something in his expression. Like pride or some shit. Like he was proud that I was going to wear his pants. I didn’t try to decipher who he was proud of—himself for helping an uncomfortable stranger or me for taking the offer without any fuss.

I quickly disappeared into the bathroom and changed out of my jeans. The instant I put those pants on and the softness cocooned my legs, I felt better. Almost good enough to cry. Which was dumb. Why did I want to cry because I felt good? Because someone I’d treated awfully had been nice to me? That was almost as ridiculous as the hard-on I was in danger of getting.

Not wanting Matthew to see me pop wood in his pants, I hurried back out to the main room. I ditched my pants by my backpack and climbed into bed again, hurriedly using my takeout container with my half-eaten burger to hide my burgeoning erection.

The thing about my dick was that it wasn’t trustworthy. It had horrible taste in men, and it had gotten me into more trouble than I could shake a stick at. Time and time again, I’d let it lead me on. Each time it tried to convince me that this guy was different. This guy wasn’t like the last guy.