Tommy had been livid. He couldn’t remember ever being that upset with Ton…ever. He’d seen red, blue, green, yellow, purple…he was so upset with his mate in that moment that he’d seen every color of the damn gay rainbow flag and he’d known that one of two things had to happen in that moment in order for him to not wind up in prison, wearing a horrible orange jumpsuit. Either Ton needed to apologize or Tommy needed to leave. So when Ton hadn’t apologized to him, had merely folded his arms and smirked, Tommy had turned on his very expensive heel and left. He’d gone to the bedroom, slamming the door in a way that even the goddess, Barbra, herself would have been proud of. Then, after making sure that said door was locked, he’d put on his heartbreak outfit and turned on his Cher cd, because while Lady Gaga sang about self-empowerment and Barbra sang about love, no one could sing about idiot men and heartbreak like Cher.
He’d foolishly believed that after a few hours Ton would realize the error of his ways and return to him to apologize.
He was wrong…again.
Dammit, he should really start getting paid for every time he was wrong about his mate. He’d be a fucking millionaire by now.
So since his dumb mate couldn’t pull his head out of his ass long enough to realize his mistake and apologize, Tommy refused to cook for him, refused to clean for him and absolutely refused to put out for him. Nope, no ass for Mr. Anton Forrester. No mouth and no dick either. Tommy had been firm with himself; he’d shaken his finger at his reflection in the mirror with determination.
Okay, so he’d caved the first time Ton knocked on the door. Sue him. It wasn’t his fault that Ton’s cock had him completely hypnotized.
Gods, he was so weak when it came to his mate and Ton’s delicious muscles. However, his resolve did stick in certain areas. While he was still cooking for the big idiot, he wasn’t making his best meals. He’d been making things like meatloaf, casserole and his favorite Fuck-you-idiot meal, Hamburger Helper. He’d done a happy Irish jig inside when Ton had looked at him in horror and asked if he was sick. He merely shook his head no and picked up his fork to eat. After Ton had eaten and gone into the bathroom to shower, Tommy pulled out the beef stroganoff he’d made for himself. He wasn’t a completely heartless harpy like some people though. He’d gone out on the porch to eat it.
A part of him felt bad that he wasn’t giving his mate his best. He felt bad that he was, in fact, being the spoiled brat Ton had accused him of being. Then his mind would return to their argument and he would replay Ton’s horrible words. That was all it took to renew his resolve and help him continue with Project-Chop-Down-An-Idiot-Tree. At least that’s what he called it in his head; he’d merely told the other mates that he was going to make his man regret ever saying a bad thing about New Yorkers for the rest of his overgrown, stupid Texan life. Okay, he knew that Texans weren’t stupid, Tommy liked Texans, it was just that his Texan seemed to get underneath his craw on a repetitive basis.
Horrified that he’d just thought the word “craw” and still upset over his mate’s idiocy, Tommy sniffled and looked around the room for the box of tissues that he kept in the room to help remove his fingernail polish. When he heard his phone buzz and then start ringing Adele’s “Set Fire to the Rain,” Tommy hummed along and picked up the phone with a smile. It was Maurice calling. He and the other mate had grown extremely close since Christmas. Maybe it was the fact that they’d both been abused. Maybe it was the fact that they both were extremely short and slim. Maybe it was that neither of them wanted or had children. Maybe it was even the fact that out of the five mates, they were the only two who didn’t work outside of taking care of their mates… and in his case, looking fabulous for said mate. Whatever the reason, the two of them were thick as thieves and he knew Maurice would be thrilled Tommy had a puppy now. He picked up the phone with a smile in his voice all ready to hear gossip and to share his own.
“What up Reesay?” Tommy said with a chuckle. He heard Maurice’s soft and breathless laughter and felt his heart squeeze. His friend had endured so much and every time he made the younger man laugh, Tommy felt as if a little piece of the Earth healed itself and you know, angels sighed and babies were born…all of the good shit romance writers wrote in cheesy books about people falling in love and starting a family. Yuck, he was all about two men falling in love but sometimes those romance writers took things a little too far. Tommy nudged the bottom drawer of the nightstand closed. That particular drawer might or might not hold all of his gay romances. He cleared his throat as his eyes flicked over the names William Neale, Cherie Noel, MJ O’Shea and Damon Suede.
“Nothing Tom-Tom, ‘cept...I got a little situation,” Maurice stated hesitantly.