Free The Mating of Michael by Eli Easton

on the sofa in the living room. I’ll be right there.”
    Michael stepped into his little kitchen, giving Mr. Peterson a chance to decide to take off his coat and sit down without any pressure. Michael’s living room was cozy and warm, with deep orange and red Oriental prints, an electric space heater, low lighting, and a few lit candles and incense. He hadn’t gone all out with the candles, didn’t want to scare Mr. Peterson off, but a few were always nice to create a relaxed ambience. Soft instrumental Hindu music played in the background.
    When Michael brought out a tray with a pot of tea and two Japanese cups, Mr. Peterson was sitting at the far end of the couch, pressed up against the side. He’d removed his coat but not his scarf. Michael put the tray down on the coffee table and took a seat in the middle of the couch. He poured tea into both cups.
    “Cream or sugar?”
    “No, thank you.”
    Michael held one of the cups out to Mr. Peterson. The man hesitated, then took it quickly, as if afraid to get too close to Michael’s hand. Michael made no comment.
    “So you’ve been working with Dr. Halloran. What do you think of him?” he asked, sitting back casually.
    Mr. Peterson sat with his thighs close together, leaning forward with both elbows on his knees. He was not a small man, at least two hundred pounds, and the position looked uncomfortable, poor guy. He held the small teacup with two beefy hands.
    “I like Dr. Halloran,” he said quietly. He darted a glance at Michael. “I’m very nervous. I’m s-sorry.”
    “Don’t be sorry,” Michael said softly. “You can be whatever you want with me. You’re safe here.”
    “But, I mean, you’re so….”
    Mr. Peterson chugged his tea in a single gulp, then turned redder. Damn, the tea was hot. That probably hurt.
    Michael spoke lightly. “I’m just me, and you’re just you. I hope we can be friends.”
    Peterson darted a look at him and nodded once. “That would be nice.” He shifted his shoulders uncomfortably. “I’m really sweating. I’m sorry.”
    “Are you hot? Sorry about that. I get chilled.” Michael got up and shut off the floor heater.
    “It’s okay, I—”
    “Can I take your scarf or would you like to keep it on?” Michael stood in front of Mr. Peterson, smiling.
    Mr. Peterson’s eyes got stuck at Michael’s waist, darting back and forth as if fascinated by his sweater.
    “Okay.” He swallowed loudly, took off the scarf, and handed it to Michael. Michael put it on the chair with Peterson’s coat and sat back down where he’d been before.
    “What exactly makes you nervous about being here? Would you like to talk about that, Mr. Peterson?”
    “Please call me Lem.”
    “Thank you, Lem. You can call me Michael.”
    “Okay. Michael.” Lem reached out and poured himself more tea, which Michael counted as a win. “You’re very… handsome. It makes me nervous to be around… men. I mean any man who…. you know, isn’t really old or a child or something. My mother… she was a wonderful person, but she didn’t approve of s-s-sexual feelings of any kind.” Lem blushed again. “Not that I have sexual feelings for you,” he said hurriedly. “I just get nervous around anyone when it’s even a possibility.”
    Michael could tell Lem had been working with Jack. He seemed to have a handle on what the issue was, at least.
    “I understand. But I think that’s sad, that your mom felt that way about sex. Sex is a part of love, and love is the nicest part of being a human being.”
    “That’s what Dr. Halloran says.” Lem looked down at his cup. “I’d like to get better. I’d like to be able to maybe… m-meet someone. Or maybe be with someone I’ve already met.”
    Michael perked up. “Oh? Do you like someone now?”
    Lem tittered nervously. “Not exactly but… I have a client named John. I do his taxes. He… he seems to like me. I think. But I have no idea how to… I mean, I get like this when he comes to my