Cherry Pie by Samantha Kane Page A

turned the tap on.
    “I’m sorry.” John’s words were soft. The words were perfunctory, but the sentiment behind them wasn’t. Conn could hear the sympathy in his voice.
    “Just another memory sneaking up on me.” Conn brushed it away and turned with a smile. “So I’ll make a pie.”
    “All right,” John answered. “I’d like a pie.”
    Conn sat back down and watched John eat the dinner he’d made.
    * * *
    “You are not wearing that to church,” Conn said Sunday morning as John walked into the kitchen. He almost had to avert his eyes, John’s shirt was so pink. He had on a gray pinstriped suit that looked like it had been custom-made and a wildly striped tie that somehow managed to match his pink shirt.
    “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” John asked, looking down at himself. He had on a Rolex too. And a pinkie ring. Did he always wear a pinkie ring?
    “I’m not sure you could look more gay.”
    John slowly raised his head, and then his eyebrow went up as he stared at Conn. “Oh, do not doubt me, my man. I could look a lot more gay. I could go put on the pink-and-white striped seersucker jacket in my closet upstairs. It looks great with this shirt and tie.”
    “Jesus,” Conn sighed. “Have you always been this gay?”
    “Yep.” John whistled as he grabbed the car keys. “And don’t even pretend you aren’t pretty damn happy about that, Skippy.”
    “Skippy?” Conn asked with a grin as he held the back door open.
    “It sounds like the kind of guy who would hang out with an ultra-gay like myself,” John answered with an expression of mock seriousness.
    “Yep, that’s me all over,” Conn agreed, patting John’s ass as he walked by. John just kept on whistling right on out to the car.
     
    “I thought three pies would be too much,” John said a few hours later as he walked back into the kitchen with two more empty plates. “I was wrong.”
    Conn looked over his shoulder from the sink where he was washing dishes. John had his jacket and tie off, and his sleeves were rolled up his forearms. He was more muscular than he’d been just a couple of weeks ago. You could see it in the muscles of his lower arms. With his gleaming silver Rolex on his wrist and his pink sleeve pushed up, his arm looked very tan and strong. Conn found it sexy as hell. Even that damn pinkie ring. He turned back to the sink before John figured out what he was thinking. “Yep.”
    “Church went pretty well, don’t you think?” John asked as he put the plates down next to the sink. “I wasn’t expecting all your old friends to be there.” He sighed. “I hope I didn’t embarrass you.”
    He was serious. Conn shook his head in disbelief. “Not you. Them. I’m the one who’s sorry.”
    John looked completely confused. “What the hell are you sorry about?”
    Conn slammed the handle of the faucet down with more force than necessary, turning the water off. He grabbed a towel and dried his hands, trying to control his anger. “It was the Conn and John show. Everybody trying to find out where I’ve been for eight years, wondering why I’m living here with you, dying to know if we’re fucking.”
    John was clearly taken aback. “It’s to be expected that they’d be curious, Connor. But I didn’t think any of their questions were malicious.”
    “They put you on the spot.” Conn was still so angry about that. He wished he was only angry with his old buddies. But the truth was, he was angry with John. Because he wanted everyone to know he and John were involved, except they weren’t. And it was clear John didn’t want them to know and didn’t want to be involved. Conn threw the dish towel across the room at the table and missed by a mile. “Why aren’t we fucking, John?”
    John took a step back. “What?”
    Conn shook his head. Now he was angry with himself, and he knew from years of experience that that never solved anything. “Nothing. Never mind.” He brushed past John, who let him