It wasn’t that Erik wasn’t attractive. He was really pretty cute — naturally wavy red hair and the accompanying freckles, a big sweet smile, sparkling eyes. He was a little shorter than Ace, and he had a very nice body, compact and trim. Having worked alongside Erik for months, Ace knew his friend was strong and smart and funny and kind — a truly great catch.
But he didn’t make Ace’s heart race. Not like Paul. Not like Friday night. Ace looked at Erik and saw a good friend, someone who was incredibly important to him.
When Ace looked at Paul, all he could think was: gimme.
It would be so much easier if only Erik did that same thing for Ace. As it was, dating Erik wouldn’t be fair to either of them. And Ace would risk losing his one true best friend when things inevitably went sour. Not worth that risk.
Ace knew exactly how lucky he was to find a single guy friend his age in a new town, especially considering he worked from home. Making friends in your single thirties is so much harder than in college. With all of Ace’s college friends married off and scattered to the four winds, life could be pretty damn lonely. Hence Sparks. And hence Erik.
Erik’s friendship, more than any house project, helped keep Ace sane this last year. This friendship was sacrosanct.
“So,” Ace said with a grin, hoping to change the course of the rest of this conversation, “what you’re saying is that you don’t want to hear about how hot the guy was at Sparks?”
Erik rolled his eyes and huffed. “Well, of course I want to hear about super hot men. Just ignore the shade of green I’ll be turning.”
“Oh, there’s a hot guy out there for you,” Ace said brightly. “You just need to put yourself in places to find him. Places other than your office and my house.”
“Yeah,” Erik said softly. “The only viable option in my office is Tanner.”
“Christ, what a mistake that was,” Ace groaned. “I shouldn’t have hired him to do my Web site. It keeps giving him reasons to see me.”
“More accurately, you probably shouldn’t have let him blow you after you hired him to do the site,” Erik reasoned. “He’s a good choice for your Web site. Bad choice for your dick.”
Ace huffed. “Just for that, I’m going to tell you about Mr. Hot in great detail. I think green suits your ginger Irish coloring.”
“I’m going to need a lot of beer for this,” Erik grumbled. He pushed himself off the couch and headed for the kitchen.
Ace leaned back in his chair and stretched deeply. He knew that Erik was right about Cameron — and probably about that magnet in his dick. He’d been avoiding thinking about stuff like this for the better part of a year now.
Everything was finally starting to feel settled in his life — his home, his new town, his work. Nothing pressing, nothing to press against.
Just one nasty little itch. And a lingering memory of a delicious moment.
That would have to do for now.
*************
On Wednesday, Ace pulled up to his latest referral from the ever-helpful realtor David and opened the thin file the realtor had provided.
Steven McDonnell, his first home. Engaged to be married, hence the move.
Single straight guy. This ought to be interesting, design-wise, anyway.
Obviously David thought there was a need for Ace to step in. Which could mean either a design nightmare awaited him, or else this Steven was a very motivated seller.
He prayed for the latter.
In his experience, men – particularly straight men – didn’t always respond well to another man telling them how to decorate, especially if it involved admitting they were wrong about, say, a paint color or a monstrous entertainment center. Even though a well-staged house tended to sell four to six months faster, any criticism was often met with affront.
Ace didn’t really care what a homeowner’s taste was. Didn’t care how cute their children’s school photos were. Wasn’t impressed by the complete collection of Boyds Bears in glass curios. He cared about making a house sellable.
The house in question today was a wide ranch-style home in a typical south Kansas City suburb. White aluminum siding, two-car garage, new driveway, big yard and overly ambitious vines climbing the wrought iron railings.
Nothing terribly wrong with it. But nothing terribly right, either. Houses today needed to seduce buyers, and acting indifferent wasn’t going to cut it.
The first thing Ace wanted to fix was the jungle of foliage in the front yard. Somebody must have thought the clematis vines and tall prairie grass and explosion of black eyed susans gave the house character. With a dedicated gardener in residence, it might have, but these plants had clearly gone to seed without much interference.
This is going to take more than a new slipcover, he thought.
Ace grabbed a notebook and his digital camera before he left the truck, knowing he needed some before and after photos for the Web site. He almost always forgot to snap the before pictures, as Tanner kept chiding him. He was determined to remember this time. He couldn’t always rely on David’s referrals for his entire livelihood, after all.
The door opened and a tall, trim man with light brown hair and startling blue eyes appeared. Ace blinked, thinking he looked vaguely familiar, though he knew they had never met. Something about those eyes…
“Steven McDonnell?”
Steven frowned. “Yes?”
“I’m Ace Hoffman. David sent me over to stage your house?” He offered his hand to shake, puzzled by the other man’s demeanor.
Steven shook his hand briefly. “Ace. I thought David said you’d be an Allison. Or something like that.”
“He probably gave you my full name. It’s Acelin. Easy mistake to make.”
“So, Acelin is a man’s name?” Steven sounded skeptical.
“Really old German,” Ace said. “I’m the only Acelin anybody knows.”
“I thought it was a girl’s name,” Steven persisted.
“Nope.” Ace shrugged. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“Isn’t this more of a woman’s thing?” Steven said. “Decorating and swatches and stuff?”
Ah, a traditionalist. Lovely. “Statistically, I’m sure most home stagers are women, but it’s not a job requirement,” he said cheerfully. “Men are allowed to do this, too.”
“Well, at the very least, you should be gay,” Steven said with an embarrassed huff.
A pause followed. Ace briefly debated laughing it off, being one of the guys.
But he was never one of those guys.
“Um, actually, I am,” he said.
An even longer pause followed.
I wonder if I should tell him his realtor is gay, too?
“Well, OK,” Steven finally said. “Good. This is probably better.”
Ace quirked an eyebrow. “Better how?”
“I’d been worried about some chick making me put flowers everywhere or painting things mauve or something.” He eyed Ace critically. “You don’t look like the swishy kind, so I think I’m safe.”
Ace bristled internally. Gay doesn’t always mean swishy, you asshole. Gay means a lot of things.
He swallowed a sudden annoyance for this man and put on his professional voice.
“Safe as houses, as they say,” he said brightly. “And just so you know, I don’t usually add anything to someone’s house. I try to work with what you have and sort of judiciously edit.”
Steven nodded at him with a confused frown.
“How much did David tell you about what I do?” Ace said.
Steven blew out a breath. “Just that you’ll make the house look better. Rearrange stuff.”
Ace nodded. “That is definitely a part of it. My job is to make sure that people can see themselves living in your house.”
“So, it doesn’t involve flowers?” Steven asked, eyes narrowed.
“I get the sense that flowers are quite the issue with you,” Ace said slowly. “So, I’ll definitely avoid all things floral. Or mauve.”
Poor little heterosexuals. So scared of girl things. Hell, probably scared of the girls themselves, too.
They were still standing on Steven’s front step, and Ace was eager to get to work.