Finding Home at Randy’s (Diner Days)

Chapter 9

I ’m making coffee when Rory slinks into the kitchen, dressed in a polo shirt and pajama bottoms, his hair is still damp from his shower. His eyes are open, but it doesn’t look like he’s alert quite yet.

I gesture to him. “This is why we don’t stay out past our curfew,” I tease.

He glares at me, and in retaliation, swipes the mug I just set on the counter.

“Hey!”

“People who are mean don’t get the first cup,” he grumbles before taking a long drink, only to make a face at the straight black brew.

Snickering, I turn back to the Keurig and change out the pods, setting a new mug under it. “Someone woke up on the cranky side of the bed this morning.” Turning to face him again, I offer the small container of sugar as a peace offering.

“It was just a late night.”

“So I can see.” I flick my gaze down to his arms, where there are shadows of bruises around his wrists. “I hope you’re planning on changing shirts before going into the office.”

“Working from home today,” he replies, setting the coffee down and doctoring it to his preferences before turning one of his arms over and showing me the distinct, if somewhat light, marks of ropework up and down his forearms. “Bertie wasn’t planning on tying me up, but one thing led to another and I stayed longer than I should have.”

I watch his face carefully. “You let her take care of you?”

“Of course, it’s why I didn’t get home until stupid o’clock. Neither of us are novices, Grae.”

“I know, sorry. It might have been years since we’ve done anything, but it’s still ingrained in me to take care of you.”

That softens him. “I know. I appreciate it, you know I do. You’ve always taken such good care of me.”

I drink my coffee because there’s no way I can respond to that without getting sappy, and it’s far too early in the morning for that. Besides, whatever was I supposed to do? We met when we were fifteen, became best friends right away, and then started sleeping together a year later, after confessing we liked each other as more than friends. We also discovered all the queer and kinkiness together at a young age.

Even when I came out and we tried to navigate what that meant for me as a man, and for our relationship, we’ve always stood side by side. Through my family’s outright transphobia and despair, to accidentally getting pregnant with our son.

Our romantic and sexual relationship may have fizzled out as we discovered that while we love each other, we’re not in love with one another, but that doesn’t diminish what we’ve built over the last twenty years together.

Rory is my best friend, my son’s father, and the person I’m probably going to grow old and die with. Of course I’m going to worry about him and his…extracurricular activities.

“You should try it, Cher,” he says into the lapsed silence.

“What? Rope play with Bertie? No thanks, I'm pretty sure we’re not each other’s types.”

“You know what I mean, you asshole. How long has it been since you’ve been on a date? Let alone a playdate.”

I grimace and hide behind my mug.

“Uh-huh. You know the Pancakes and Pronouns munch is coming up next week. I’m sure they’d love to see you.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because, unlike you, I pay attention. Plus, Cin told me, they thought you might be interested. Since they haven’t seen you there in a while, they told me to tell you that nothing’s changed, you can show up if you just want some company.”

I shrug and shake my head at the same time, unsure how to respond. “I don’t know. You know it’s awkward going to those things by yourself.”

He sighs but nods in agreement. “Well, I’d offer but I’m too cisgendered for them.”

I snort, but he’s not wrong. It’s not a bad thing, but Cin specifically hosts the munch they’ve dubbed Pancakes and Pronouns for non-cis people because nobody else is going to, and having a space that’s just ours is very much appreciated.

“Doesn’t Denver usually go?” Rory asks with a wry grin.

“Ugh,” I groan. “I always seem to forget how spunky you are after a scene.”

He laughs. “You know, asking them out won’t make the world end, Cher.”

My face heats, but I’d like to pretend it’s from the still-hot coffee I’m holding close to my mouth. “I think our interests are too similar for that, and if I was looking, I’m not sure that’s what I’d want, at least not right now.”

Rory makes a noise and mutters, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

I choose to ignore him because it’s far too early and I haven’t had enough coffee to try to parse what that means.

It’s not that I’m opposed to dating or playing with another Dom, but the only time I’ve tried was when I was still with Rory, the slutty submissive absolutely eats that shit up. On my own, though? I wouldn’t rule anything out in the future, but…it’s been a long time since I’ve been on the scene—dating or kink-wise. I’m not saying two Dominants couldn’t make it work…but if Rory is right—and the dick usually is—then for my first foray back into having a love life, I’m not sure that’s the direction I want to go.

Which, of course, is the whole reason I’ve kept my stupid fucking crush on Denver on lockdown for…a long time now.

Luka’s quiet curiosity of the munch, and all it entailed, when Denver brought it up, flashes through my mind, but I shove the thought down. I don’t know him, and while the insidious little voice in my head—that sounds suspiciously like Rory—says a munch is the perfect place to start getting to know him better, I don’t jump at it.

I saw the way Luka and Denver watched, touched, and reacted to one another yesterday. They may have only known each other a short time, but I could see the attraction and want simmering under the surface. And I respect Denver too much as a person to try to step on any toes there.

Rory sighs, bringing my thoughts back to him and the matter at hand. “At least think about it?”

I nod and give him what I’m sure is an unconvincing smile. “I will.”

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he says sternly. “I need to go log in. I should at least pretend to work today.”

I snort at that. “Hey, you know what we should do with the spare bedroom?”

“No,” he says, already turning to leave the kitchen. “We’re not turning it into an office when there’s a perfectly good functioning one downstairs that was built for that purpose.”

I make a face at his retreating back. “Whatever! See if I take the kid with me today so you can have some peace and quiet!”

Rory continues to ignore me, disappearing into his bedroom, where I’m presuming he’s gathering his stuff to take downstairs.

Alone in the kitchen, I lean against the counter to finish my coffee, my thoughts spinning a million miles an hour as I admit, reluctantly, that Rory may be right. Getting out, even for just a few hours of good conversation, might be beneficial for me.

I just wish everything that came with making and keeping relationships—romantic and otherwise—wasn’t so fucking complicated.