"Stacy was a lawyer. You don't shout from the rooftops that you're involved with a lawyer, let alone that you're a bisexual involved with a lawyer. That's just an open invitation for a major ass-kicking." Greg finished his brandy and stretched back out on the sofa. Freaking out Foreman had left him in a good mood. No room on the sofa, I sat and made myself comfortable on the coffee table.

"You could never tell Stacy that you bat for both teams," I said. "But now you're going miles out of your way to tell anyone who will listen that we're involved."

"We're here, we're queer, and they better get used to it real damn quick," he said with that damnable grin. "I'm telling everyone because I simply want to. It makes me happy. Isn't a happy House a nice House to have around?"

"There's more to it than that."

"Is there?"

"Yes, Greg, there is," I said. "You've been here for years and years. Now all of a sudden you want the world to know you're queer?"

"Mr. Pot...meet Mr. Kettle."

"What are you talking–"

"You came after me," he reminded me, as if I needed reminding. "You're the one who wanted a relationship with me. Three marriages later, you suddenly decide that happiness means living with another man. That makes you queer in every sense of the word. And in case you haven't noticed–we're out, there's no turning back now."

"There's a fine line between being open about it and being obnoxious about it," I said, leaning forward. "You enjoy the shock value a little too much."

He smiled. "Shock value...that's an interesting way to put it." He sat up and turned to face me. Our knees were touching.

"How so?" I asked, admiring how the light brought out the crystal and royal blue highlights in his eyes.

"You're talking about this morning and Foreman, am I right?"

"Yes."

"So are you really and truly concerned that he's so traumatized that he'll have to sleep with the lights on for a week," he said dryly, never blinking. "Or are you just upset that you didn't notice Foreman was in my office and I kissed you first."

"No, not hardly..." I shrugged out of my jacket and tossed it on his lap. He spared it a glance, then turned back to me."

"Of course not," he smiled. "Being as you admitted to getting a kick out of it. The only thing worse than being a hypocrite is being a queer hypocrite."

"Greg..."

"Then what is it, Jimmy?"

"After all this time...I still can't figure you out." I smiled weakly, then suddenly couldn't look him in the eye. "You're the human equivalent of Chinese algebra."

"Hmm...If I were Chinese that would be the perfect description."

I snorted at that, tried to hide it, and was utterly and miserably unsuccessful.

He put his hand under my chin and turned my head until our eyes locked again. "Jimmy, you don't have to figure me out right this second. I'm hardly going to hold that against you."

"Are you telling me the truth or just sparing my feelings?"

"Both." He let go of my chin, and didn't bother to tell me what he meant by saying 'both'. Maybe I'd find out in a few years, or never. "The fact that you're up to the challenge is a victory in itself."

"I can at least say I tried."

"And I can never say you didn't."

"I lied," I suddenly blurted out as if confessing a deadly sin. "I lied about Foreman."

"What about Foreman?" he frowned.

"Well, not exactly a gigantic lie...I kinda wish that I had noticed him so I could kiss you first instead of the other way around. You beat me to it."

"Interesting," Greg chuckled. "Whatever the case, don't a lose a second of sleep over it. Besides, there's always Cuddy."