Tell Me It's Real

by TJ Klune

  I scowled at him.

  He waited.

  “Fine,” I said. “Yes. I told them what happened and that you’d need a few days off. Everyone says they are thinking of you, and they called me a jerk for putting you in the hospital. Tad told me to tell you that he hopes you get better soon so he can take you in the supply closet next time. I fucking hate that guy so fucking much. He’s such a little bitch.”

  “Paul and I made out in the supply closet,” Vince told Doc Hal. “I think hitting me with his car was kind of his revenge. Or maybe foreplay. He might be into some kinky shit, I dunno.”

  “Like he needs to hit things with his car to get off?” Doc Hal asked, glancing at me. “That brings a whole new meaning to the word ‘autoerotic’.”

  “Are you even allowed to say things like that?” I growled at the doctor.

  “I don’t get it,” Vince said, sounding confused again.

  “I spent twelve years going to medical school,” Doc Hal said to me. “And I still have over a hundred grand in student loans. I’m allowed to say things like that because if I didn’t have a sense of humor, I’d be sad.”

  “You’re not funny,” I retorted.

  “I still don’t get it,” Vince said. “But now I’m really fucking tired.” He looked at me, and I could see all the humor had fallen away. “Can we go home now?” he asked me quietly. His words seemed a bit slurred, whether from exhaustion or narcotics, I didn’t know. All I knew was that my heart thumped a little beat in my chest at the sight of him like that. I tried to fight down the urge to wrap myself around him and shield him from everything and to take care of him forever.

  Jesus, I’m such a fucking girl sometimes.

  I looked to the doc, who nodded at me. “Yeah,” I told Vince. “We can go.”

  He looked at me gratefully before looking down. “Don’t have a shirt,” he mumbled, as if suddenly embarrassed. “They cut off my cycle jersey ’cause it hurt too much to pull it off over my head.”

  “I can get you some scrubs,” Doc Hal offered.

  I shook my head. “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. I unbuttoned my dress shirt and took it off, almost but not quite self-conscious about only wearing the white T-shirt underneath. I walked over to Vince and hesitated for a moment, but then I found some bit of resolve buried deep in me and wrapped it around his shoulders.

  He sighed softly and pressed his forehead against my shoulder as I fussed with the collar. I grazed his skin with my fingers and he was warm. I had to stop myself from going any further.

  “Here’s a scrip for some muscle relaxers,” Doc Hal said. “Only have him take them if he absolutely needs them. He should try to stick to over-the-counter stuff if possible.”

  I nodded and took the scrip and shoved it in my pocket.

  “Ready?” I asked Vince.

  He moaned softly but nodded, and I helped him to his feet. With my arm around his shoulders, I steered him out.

  Chapter 7

  My Two-Legged Dog Is A Big, Fat Traitor

  I WALKED him toward the car, though part of me wondered just how much he really needed to be hanging onto me like he was. He was acting like he could barely walk and kept leaning against me, his face going into my neck, brushing his lips against my skin every few steps. I tried to ignore the sassy black administrative professional as we walked by her desk, but she narrowed her eyes as she watched him “accidentally” kiss my neck again, and she shook her head as we passed by. I thought about saying something snarky to her (“I’m gonna have me a piece of my brother, sassy-face!”), but then Vince squeezed against me a little bit tighter and I forget about everything else as I focused on being able to put one foot in front of another.

  I got him in the car slowly, carefully, and then walked around front and got in the driver’s seat. I closed the door behind me and silence fell. It hit me then that this was the first time he and I had been alone, actually truly alone, that didn’t involve supply closets or ambulances. I thought of about six or seven different things to say, each one involving some kind of apology for putting him in the hospital and also trying to make myself sound cool at the same time. But then the silence stretched into minutes and became awkward because I could feel his eyes on me as I stared straight ahead, gripping the steering wheel.

  “So,” I said.

  “So,” he said.

  I cleared my throat and willed myself not to blush. I failed. “Your place? Or….”

  “I want to go to your house,” Vince said. I could hear the smile in his voice, but I didn’t turn to him because I knew that his dimples, even if they weren’t out in full force, would most likely cause me to do something sexually stupid. Like ask him if I could touch his penis. I didn’t think that would be polite.

  I squeaked. Or grunted all manly like. I don’t know which, though if I had to place a bet on it, I’m sure I sounded like Mickey Mouse getting anal. “You do? Why?”

  “You have to watch me, right?”

  “Uh. That’s what the doctor said.”

  “And you’re shy and shit?”

  I winced. “That’s fun.”

  “What?”

  “That my entire being can be reduced down to ‘shy and shit’.”

  He waved his hand at me. “Well, you are. So I figure we go back to your house because you’d be more comfortable there.”

  I thought on this for a moment. “You’re the one who’s hurt, and you’re thinking about what would make me comfortable?”

  “What can I say? I’m pretty awesome.”

  I couldn’t take it anymore and turned to look at him. Vince was pale and it looked like he was grimacing slightly, as though he was in pain. But even through all of that, he smiled quietly when I looked at him, and those dimples made an appearance, smacking me across the face. Don’t ask if you can touch his penis. “Can I touch your….” Oh sweat balls.

  “Touch my what?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

  I blushed furiously. “That’s not what I meant to say. You’re going to be fine going to my house? You don’t want your own bed or anything?”

  “Why? Do you want my bed?”

  “Vince.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m trying to be serious here.”

  “Me too.”

  “You’re hitting on me.” And I have no fucking idea why.

  “You’re the one who wants to touch my something.”

  Christ. “My house it is, though you should be warned….”

  “That sounds a little creepy. Do you have a sex dungeon in your house?” But his eyes didn’t show he thought that idea was creepy. If anything, it looked like he’d be very happy if my house had a sex dungeon. I felt slightly disappointed that I hadn’t invested in one. I didn’t think it would add to property value, and it probably would be hard to explain to potential buyers if I ever had to move. That and the fact that my elderly swinger next-door neighbors would probably ask to use it regularly, and I didn’t want old people having sex in my house. I’m kind of a prude like that.

  “No,” I said, kind of regretfully.

  “Do you have dead bodies buried under your house?”

  “No.”

  “Is your house haunted?”

  “Er….”

  “No fucking way!”

  “Well, I don’t know for sure it’s haunted. This guy I—” I stopped abruptly.

  “This guy you what?” He looked interested and weirdly jealous all at the same time. Or, rather, that’s what I wanted to see. For all I knew, he was stoned and hallucinating that I had black balls hanging from my chin.

  I sighed. “This guy I… dated… once said he was psychic and that I have a ghost in my house who is always on her period.”

  His nose wrinkled. “You have a ragging ghost in your house?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never seen her, but I put tampons out once just in case.”

  His eyes widened. “Did she take one?” he whispered excitedly.

  I felt bad that I
was going to ruin his joy of my fake period ghost. “No,” I said, and his face fell. “But that doesn’t mean she’s not there!” Now all I wanted was to see the vaginal-bleeding ghost in my house just to make him happy again. What’s a little spectral menstrual blood when a hot guy is smiling at you? “That’s not what I wanted to warn you about, though.”

  “Then what?”

  I took a deep breath. “I have a two-legged dog named Wheels who pretty much hates everyone in the world except for me. And Sandy. Sometimes he likes my mom, but most of the time he just shits in her shoes when she comes over. I don’t know why he has anger issues. He’s just really… selective about who he does and doesn’t like. It doesn’t mean there is anything wrong with you. It just means you’re not good enough for my dog to like you.” And that came out way wrong.

  He stared at me. “You have a two-legged dog?”

  “Yeah.” I looked away.

  “Named Wheels.”

  “Uh. Yeah. Because he has a wheeled cart attached to his butt that helps him get around. It seemed appropriate.”

  “And you think your house is haunted by a ghost on her period?”

  “Well, no. I don’t think so. That one guy did.”

  “But you put tampons out for her.”

  “I thought she might need them,” I said defensively. “You don’t know how much courage it took for me to go buy those things. I felt like an idiot when I had to ask a woman in the aisle the difference between the ones with applicators and the ones that looked like those bath toys we played with as kids that you’d drop them in the water and they’d expand into animal shapes. I told her I couldn’t take it if it was going to blow up to look like a bloody duck-billed platypus. That would have been way too much for me to deal with.”

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way.”

  I tried not to flinch. Here it comes.

  Vince sighed. “I think I’m going to fall in love with you.” He made it sound as if it was inevitable. And wonderful.

  I choked on air. And my tongue. And my saliva. And my thoughts.

  It took all that I had to turn back and look at him again, my heart thundering in my chest.

  He was asleep, his head against the window. A soft little snore escaped from his mouth. I didn’t think anyone died from going to sleep with a concussion no matter what doctors wanted us to think, so I let him be.

  My hands shook as I started the car and headed for home.

  WHEELS turned out to be the biggest traitor of all.

  We got back to the house and I woke Vince gently, letting him know he had to wake up. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at me as he awoke, and it was all I could do to keep from taking off my clothes right then and screaming, “Take me!” Somehow, I was able to restrain myself.

  Barely.

  I helped him out of the car, and he leaned on me far more than was necessary, but for some reason I let it slide. What can I say, I’m a nice guy.

  I could hear Wheels even before we got to the front door, obviously overly confused and excited as to why I’d be back so early in the day. His thrilled yips made it sound like he was giving birth to a dog twice his size, and I knew if it went on, most likely his heart would explode

  “He’s a little dog, isn’t he?” Vince asked as I fumbled with my keys. His arm went around my waist as he leaned in and nuzzled my neck. I cursed under my breath as I tried to put my car key in the lock on the door.

  “Er. Yeah.” I suddenly felt the need to defend my tiny dog. “Kind of. I was going to get a golden lab, but he was a jerk.”

  “The dog was a jerk?”

  I almost dropped the keys. “Yeah. I guess. He thought he was better than everyone else. And he was mean to Wheels, so I picked Wheels over him instead.”

  “You picked your little dog as revenge to another dog?”

  “Not revenge. Wheels needed a home.” I finally found the right key and opened the door.

  Wheels attempted to spin in circles when he saw me walk through the door, his cart rocking up onto one wheel as he turned. He spun three times before he stopped, becoming painfully aware that there was someone with me. He froze, glaring up at me as if I’d betrayed him completely.

  “Don’t you give me that look,” I scolded him as I helped Vince through the door. “I don’t have time to deal with you right now.”

  Vince started laughing quite hard. “Ow!” he said, holding his side as he huffed out laughter. “Ow!”

  “What’s so funny?”

  “He doesn’t have a tail!”

  I scowled. “That’s not his fault. He got hit by a car.”

  “He looks like he hates me already.” He chuckled.

  “You’re laughing at him. You got hit by a car and I didn’t laugh at you.”

  Vince smirked tiredly. “Nah. You just made out with me.”

  “I was trying to give you mouth to mouth!”

  “Dude, I was still breathing.”

  “I panicked,” I defended myself.

  He squeezed me tighter. “You can panic on my tongue anytime.”

  I helped him to the couch rather than say anything in response. It seemed safer. Everything felt all topsy-turvy, and I didn’t want to risk opening my mouth and making it worse. I tended to do that quite often, and this situation felt perilous.

  I could hear Wheels following us, his toenails clacking on the tile, his wheels squeaking as he rolled behind us. He was sniffing in these short, tiny bursts, and I knew he was smelling Vince, trying to figure out who the fuck I’d brought into his house. I also wanted to sniff Vince repeatedly, but that was something I figured I’d better keep to myself. He wasn’t cocaine, after all. Well, not that I did cocaine or anything. I’d seen Scarface. I knew what it did to people.

  Vince groaned as I set him on the couch. I felt twinges of sympathy pain in my own ribs, but then I realized it was because he was still holding on to me, digging his fingers into my side. He was trying to pull me down onto the couch with him, and I didn’t want to go there. Not yet, I thought before I could stop myself. But wouldn’t it be fun?

  I worked my way out of his grasp, and he grunted, knowing exactly what I was doing. He finally gave in and let go, settling back against the cushions. “You want something to drink?” I asked him, trying to keep from wringing my hands in front of me. “You can’t take the muscle relaxers yet. We have to keep you up for a few hours to make sure you don’t have brain damage.”

  “I don’t have brain damage,” he assured me.

  “That remains to be seen,” I said before I could stop myself.

  He looked at me weird. “I could use a beer,” he said finally.

  I gaped at him. “It’s eleven o’clock in the morning! On a Wednesday.”

  “I’m on vacation, apparently.”

  “You can have water. Or juice.”

  He scowled at me. “We should have gone to my house. That way I could have done whatever I wanted.”

  “Too late. You wanted to come here. Water or juice.”

  “Beer.”

  I waited.

  He rolled his eyes as Wheels sniffed his leg, and I realized he was still in bike shorts and my shirt. That got me a little hot and bothered. “Water,” he said finally. He leaned forward with a slight moan and looked down at Wheels, who froze again, looking up at him.

  I left them to stare at each other, telling Vince to not touch the dog’s cart because Wheels tended to freak out if anyone who wasn’t me touched it. I clicked on the TV before I left, making sure it was loud enough that I wouldn’t be overheard. As soon as I hit the kitchen, I whipped out my cell phone, hit speed dial, and started to sweat profusely.

  “This is Sandy, how can I help you?” he said when he answered his work line.

  “I am so fucked,” I groaned into the phone.

  “Paul.” He didn’t sound surprised to hear from me at all. “You know, I’ve been sitting here this morning, looking at your em
pty desk, wondering at just what point in your life you were taught that it was okay to hit hot men with your car. Where did I go wrong with you? Was it something I did? Do you have unresolved issues with your father?”

  “I didn’t hit him!” I whisper-shouted. “He hit my door!”

  “Uh-huh. You don’t think it was your subconscious acting out?”

  “Now’s not the time, Sanford,” I growled at him.

  He chuckled in my ear. “Why do you sound so freaked out, baby doll? You said earlier that he’d be fine. You’re not going to get arrested or anything. I’ll make sure a claim gets filed for you here and his bills will be taken care of. It’s not a big deal. Nothing’s broken, right?”

  “No. Just a concussion and bruising.”

  “Then why do you sound like you’re passing stones the size of watermelon?”

  “He’s sitting on my couch wearing nothing but bike shorts and my shirt.”

  There was a clattering noise through the line. A moment later, “Sorry. I dropped the phone. For a moment, I thought you said that Vince Taylor was sitting on your couch wearing your clothes.”

  “And bike shorts.”

  “And bike shorts. Yes.”

  “You can’t forget the bike shorts.” Nor would I. Ever. “He was the one that wanted to come over here,” I said, as if that mattered somehow.

  “Paul?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You know I love you, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Why the fuck are you on the phone with me?” he snarled quietly at me. “Are you out of your goddamn mind? You get your fucking ass back into the living room, and you sit down next to him and you take care of his every single whim, no matter what the fuck it is. Do you understand me?”

  I replied with the only thing I could think of, the only thing that had been going through my head for the past thirty minutes. “I told him about Wheels, and he said he thinks he’s going to fall in love with me.”

  Silence.

  “Sandy?”

  “He said that?” Sandy finally said. He sounded funny.

  “Er. Yeah. Stupid, right?”