“I do like the way the pants have to beg your thighs for mercy.” Jeff disposed of the condom, cleaned himself up, and returned to the bed to wipe Carter down.
“Your face is doing a thing,” Carter accused.
Jeff glanced up and took in the pursed twist of his lips. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Carter had come spattered all the way up to his shoulder.
Now Carter laughed outright. “You’re sosmug.”
“Oh, look who’s talking,” Jeff scoffed as he tossed the washcloth in the direction of the bathroom. “Mr. Looks Like a Lumberjack, Fucks Like a Porn Star.”
Carter cackled. “I should put that in my Twitter bio.”
“Can you even say ‘fuck’?”
“Not where my mom will see it.”
Jeff remembered being a teen, trying to remember to keep it clean around Carter’s parents even though Jeff’s dad didn’t care. He hated being on the receiving end of those disappointed looks. “Do you think I can convince her the radio edited out a bunch of times I said ‘fudge,’ or has that ship sailed?”
“She’s seen you in concert, so I’m afraid you’re out of luck. Unless you were on your best behavior that night.”
Jeff didn’t have a best behavior. “What’s plan B?”
Carter snorted and nudged him with his good leg. “Go bring me my boot. I heard you were making dinner.”
THE THINGwas, Jeff knew he and Carter had a lot to talk about. He and the rest of Howl were still working out what they wanted to do—a discussion that essentially had to wait until Max’s therapists decided they weren’t a threat to his sobriety. He didn’t think Carter would particularly care if Jeff went from his rock-star boyfriend to his kind-of-sort-of-unemployed rock-star boyfriend, but he should still tell him.
And then there was—well, he’d told him what went down with Tim, but he hadn’t filled him in about Max, or Joe’s news. Or that he’d had his lawyer call a Toronto real estate agent. The market for selling a condo could be volatile, but whatever. Jeff had paid cash; he wasn’t going to be upside-down on his mortgage or anything.
And he wanted to get up to speed on Carter’s life too—he wanted to know if they’d found the bear cub that had chased Jeff under the porch and how the T-ball team was doing with their coach still laid up with a broken foot and if Carter had sorted out the research data problem and how many hours of sleep he was getting a night.
Except of course Carter was still doing too much, especially now that he’d decided it was okay to drive if he wore an ugly sandal, and while Jeff thought he was actually a pretty good communicator most of the time, he felt like he was falling down on the job because neither one of them could keep their hands to themselves.
And then there was the whole thing where selling your condo and moving back to your hometown at thirty because you’d finally admitted to yourself (and anyone who had a working internet connection) that you were in love with your best friend was kind of a huge, terrifying deal. Jeff was pretty confident Carter felt the same—like, sometimes the way he looked at Jeff made Jeff want to pinch himself, because Carter went all-in on the heart eyes—but he didn’tknow.
How did you even say to someone,By the way, no pressure or anything, but I’m upending my entire life so I can be close to you. Please don’t think I’m clingy?
It wasn’tjustso he could be close to Carter—there were other factors—but still. Communication was important and Jeff was going to make an effort, damn it. So, the day after he got back from Winnipeg, after his welcome-home-from-work kiss had turned into welcome-home-from-work riding Carter on the couch until his legs were jelly, he gingerly repositioned himself—he was going to have to start stretching his hip flexors before sex now—and then rested his head on Carter’s shoulder. “Hey. How was your day, honey?”
Okay, maybe his delivery needed some work. Carter laughed silently, and his body shook with it as he tilted his head back on the couch. “Really?”
Jeff was offended. “What?”
Carter slouched down until their heads were touching. He basically had to sprawl halfway across the couch to manage it, because he was offensively tall. “It’s getting better all the time.”
Jeff took it back; he wasn’t offended anymore. “Sweet talker.” But he actually wanted a serious answer. “For real, though. I know you’re worried about Winnie’s cub. I didn’t want to ask over the phone….”
Sagging a little more, Carter said, “No news. Winnie’s tracker’s not working, so we can’t just stalk her across the park. It’s all wait and see.”
Damn. “Sorry.” Jeff squeezed his hand. “Sucks.”
“Yeah.” Carter sighed. “I’d like to go look for her, but I can’t exactly scooter around in the wilderness, off-road tires or no. Plus there’s”—he waved his hand—“the general clusterfuck that is the national and provincial parks’ data collection.”
Jeff had heard a few variations on this theme by now, but this time it sounded more pointed. “So that’s, like, the fact that not everyone’s tracking the same things, or presenting the data in the same way, stuff like that? Or is there more?”
“It’s a little more complicated,” Carter said. “So, Parks Canada hires ecologists to work in the national parks, and they’re responsible for tracking populations and climate change and things like that. Ontario Parks has ecologists too, but there’s no real oversight. Everyone’s just out there doing their own thing, and none of the data is accessible to anyone. Of course scientists can apply for a research permit to come out and study what interests them on their own, but… the data is already there, so, I mean, it’s kind of a waste of everyone’s time and resources, and the reason it’s a waste—”
“Is because scientists hate sharing data?” Jeff guessed.
Carter snorted. “So you’ve been paying attention to those rants.”
