Not that things were all that bad at home. I mean, I made sure I gave my parents money while I worked for this, although there was a--I don't know--tension. My parents said they were okay with my sexual orientation; however, I could tell they wished I was straight. I wanted them to accept me completely for who I was, but it never seemed like they could.

Well, enough about that.

My house was a two-story three-bedroom townhouse in a reasonably nice neighborhood. Of course the moment I signed the papers, there were a shit-load of "offers" for roommates. Don't ask me how I managed to be nice about turning them all down. The last relationship I'd had ended badly, and I wasn't eager for anything else. So I thought, why not focus on myself for awhile? At least that's what I kept telling myself. It was the only thing keeping me from losing it.

I was living in my home for a few years before I could persuade a bank to give me a loan to furnish it. Until then, I had to beg, borrow, and um--appropriate--whatever furniture I could, and it made for a very interesting mixture. So once I'd built up enough equity and was able to obtain the aforementioned loan, I went searching the classifieds for a new living room suite. You can only look at ratty mismatched sofas and chairs for so long before it plucks at your last damn nerve and you figure anything is better.

Someone advertised a complete set in leather, no less, for three hundred dollars. So I called, and this guy who said his name was Jackson answered. He had an accent I didn't recognize. He said he knew why I'd called and after a lot of back and forth, I made an appointment to drop by his house to have a look. He told me he lived with his lover, and they'd both be there to meet me.

After driving and getting lost about three times, I finally found the place in one of the more upscale neighborhoods. They liked their privacy if the high hedge and gate with an intercom system was any indication. Even before I saw their home, I was wishing I had dressed in something more formal than black shorts and a navy t-shirt.

A man a few years older than me answered the door, and I had to admit he was hot. And I don't normally go for older guys. I couldn't quite place his nationality--maybe Cuban or South American--but his warm skin tone made a nice contrast to his dark hair.

"Hi." He smiled. "I'm Jackson. Please come in."

"Nice to meet you." Seeing the expensive furniture and decorations made me wonder what these two did for a living.

"My lover, Ethan, is waiting for us in the living room."

When I saw Ethan, I wasn't surprised that he was as hot as Jackson. I mean, his voice alone got to me. I could think of two words that described it and him: dark chocolate. Ethan reminded me of that male model, the one from Africa with all those muscles... I can't think of his name right now.

"You had no problem finding our home?" With his voice and the way he moved, I could easily picture Ethan living in some palace in Egypt and sitting on a golden throne, his naked torso shining with oils and gold. Now there's a nice fantasy for you.

"Not too much." They both made me more conscious of my state of dress and what the humidity had done on my clothes and hair. "Thanks for letting me drop by on such short notice."

"No problem."

I liked Jackson immediately. He had one of those personalities that made it impossible not to, with a perpetual smile on his face. Although Ethan wasn't quite as cheerful, he was friendly enough. He just seemed a lot more reserved than his lover. It made me wonder how the two of them got along. Well, there must be something they loved about each other.

They led me into the living room and as soon as I saw the set, I knew I wanted it. Hell, it would be the nicest furniture I owned. "Man, this is sweet. You sure you want to sell it?"

Jackson said, "We're selling a lot of our old furniture right now." He nodded at Ethan. "Ethan just sold six paintings. He's got an offer to do a show next month." He made a wide gesture with his arm to the various works of art on the wall. "He made a nice sum, so we're redecorating. We figure, might as well make a little more selling off the old stuff."

So much for the "starving artist" stereotype. I had to give an appreciative whistle while I moved my head around, following Jackson's motion. "They're fantastic. You're very talented." I could tell Ethan was pleased, even though it looked like he'd had no reaction at first glance. I had this half-smile on his face, and he relaxed a little back into the chair. "Thank you."

They offered me a snack, and I almost refused, but both of them had a laugh when my stomach growled. I hadn't eaten since leaving the house that morning. Ethan went into the kitchen.

Jackson sat on the loveseat and indicated I should sit on one end of the sofa. "It's not something he did overnight. It took him decades to get this far."

"He deserves it."

"I think so." Jackson folded his arms behind his head. "That's how we met. He was selling some of his works at this art festival. I took one look at him and well, that's all she wrote, if you'll pardon the cliche."

"I don't blame you." I was hoping I wasn't out of line with that remark.

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "You think so."

It wasn't a question, and I wasn't certain if he was insulted. The way he was looking at me made me shift a little nervously. How could I describe it? The look was intense.

"So what do you do?"

I was halfway glad he'd changed the subject, but on the other hand, I thought it couldn't possibly be as important as whatever he did. "I work for an online discount travel agency."

Jackson's eyes lit up. "Really? That's exciting."

"Now you're being facetious."

"I'm not," he said. "I never travel. I'd like to see the world, but I'm too afraid to fly. You've been all over, haven't you?"

"I've been to lots of places, yes," I said just as Ethan re-entered the room with a tray of vegetables and dip plus a bottle of wine and glasses. I thought it was a little too early for wine, but what the hell.

"He won't even fly to New York with me to see my shows." Ethan had the cutest pout.

"That doesn't mean I don't love you."

Right then, I got kind of jealous. I knew I shouldn't be, but I could only think about how my bastard ex had dumped me. I'm one of the unfortunate few, who did not get the "let's be friends" consideration. He was all "I'm damned if I do, damned if I don't." "How do you think this makes me look?" "You should be happy I'm letting you down this easy." "Do you know how difficult this is for me?" Like I had no right to be upset that he'd dumped me for someone else in a very public place.

Seeing these two together just brought back how lonely I was. Not to mention effing embarrassed. As much as I loved my home and everything in it, sometimes it was still so damn empty.

But it wasn't long before I pushed the whole incident to the back on my mind again. Ethan poured us each a glass of wine and for the next hour, I told them of my travels. They seemed to hang on my every word. The snacks weren't enough, we found out, so we made our way into the kitchen. Ethan cooked up a quick meal of shrimp scampi. After awhile, I completely forgot why I had come, and the three of us were talking like old friends. Eventually, we made our way back to the living room. I didn't even notice how late it was.