“Wow, okay, what a surprise.” Vassilios looked over my shoulder at his street. “Come in.” He made sure no one had seen me on his porch and ushered me inside his house. “You didn’t call?”
I hadn’t been inside his home but three or four times, and only at night. I glanced around a little. The living room was a mess, and from what I could see of his bathroom, it was worse in there. So much for gay men being neat freaks. “I wanted to surprise you. Not good?” I raised a brow.
“No, it’s great,” he said, not convincingly, throwing stuff off the couch. Shirts. Papers. “My neighbors—”
“No one saw me.” I grabbed a beer bottle off the coffee table. One of many. I shook the bottle. “Any more of these?”
I’d gone from a married man to a paranoid closet case. Was I condemned to live in the shadows?
