Page 4 of Among Friends
“Clifford is a big orange-red cat who thinks he’s a golden retriever.” Tennessee’s tone turned fond. “He plays fetch and loves going for walks on his harness.”
“That’s too perfect. I’ve got a dog?—”
“Can’t imagine you without one. What did you rescue this time?”
“A dainty little terrier named Mouse, who’s afraid of everything and rather aloof, but we’re working on it. I joke she’d make a decent cat, actually. She’s probably asleep on the back of my couch right now.”
“Aww.” Tennessee’s gaze caught mine, and the direct eye contact gave me pause. I liked him like this, warmer and looser, less anxious than he’d been at first. And the warmth and caring in his baby-blue eyes made me wonder what else I could do to earn his affection.
“Johnson?” A nurse I vaguely recognized called me from near the double doors leading to the back with the examination cubicles. “Let’s get your vitals and get you off to radiology.”
“Quick. Give me your number.” I flicked my phone open to my contacts screen.
“My number?” Tennessee’s eyes went wide like I’d asked his underwear preference.
“Yeah. For after we’re both done. I’ll give you a ride and help you with the cat food. And anything else.” If I was going to be out of commission as an EMT for a while, I’d have plenty of time on my hands, and there was nowhere I’d rather spend it than getting to know Tennessee all over again.
Chapter Three
Tennessee
I didn’t truly expect Tate to wait for me. Sure, he had messaged several cheery updates while we were in separate exam rooms. And we’d passed in the hall on the way to radiology with our respective attendants. But somehow, I expected him to have better things to do than follow through on the ride home and the help he’d offered. However, there he was, waiting on a bench near the main lobby when I finally emerged.
As I approached Tate, I held my arm up. I had an ugly black cast with Velcro straps stabilizing my wrist, the same as him. “We match.”
“We do.” He held his own cast aloft. “Hairline fracture of the radius.”
“Buckle fracture.” I made a face. “I have to see an orthopedist next week for a consult.”
“I know a good one.” He smiled broadly at me. “Mine should be fine in six weeks, but six long weeks of light duty, damn it.”
“Poor baby. Less work and taking it easy sounds miserable for a go-getter like you.” I smiled back. Despite all the years that had passed, he was still delightfully Tate. “The doctor said mycast should take six weeks as well. Maybe we can meet up again for a cast-off celebration?”
I hoped that sounded friendly and not suspiciously date-like. We might be old friends and both queer, but that didn’t mean anything.
Tate snorted. “Ha. You’re kidding yourself if you think I’m letting six weeks go before I see you again.”
“I guess we do have some catching up to do,” I said slowly. I wasn’t entirely sure how to take his enthusiastically possessive reply.
“And it sounds like you might need help feeding Clifford.” Standing, he pointed in the direction of the signs leading to the parking garage.
“You remembered my cat’s name?” I wasn’t sure why I was surprised. Tate had always had a good memory. “And I really can get a ride back to my place. I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”
“It’s no trouble.” He continued his confident march to the parking facility, leading me to a bright-orange midsize truck.
“And you’re okay driving one-handed?”
“Of course.” He gave me a withering look as he used his left hand to dig out his key fob. “My truck is automatic, so hopefully, shifting won’t be a hassle. Hurt a bit driving back from the mountain, but I managed. And I better figure it out because no way am I going six weeks without driving.”
“I might,” I admitted. I’d almost volunteered to help shift, but that sounded way too suggestive even in my brain. “I suck at anything left-handed.”
“Is that so?” Tate sounded more than a little flirty, but then he shivered and tugged his ski jacket closer. Maybe he was simply cold. Or something. People didn’t usually get flirty with me, hence looking on the Heart2Heart app for my soulmate. Before I could figure out Tate’s intent, he unlocked the truck. “Come on, get in.”
“This is definitely your vehicle.” I laughed as I glanced around. Of the two of us, I’d always been the neater one, using order in my room and belongings to mask the chaos of my home life. Tate, like his siblings, had done his share of chores, but his room had been comfortably messy. Likewise, his truck wasn’t filthy, but it featured a dog seat harness and open gym bag in the backseat, several hoodies next to the bag, and a few assorted energy drink cans on the floor.
“Yup.” Wincing slightly, Tate put the truck in gear. “Now, where to?”
“525-A Prospect Place. It’s downtown in an older home converted into a three-plex.” I reached for Tate’s navigation screen, but he waved my hand away.