Learned Reactions

by Jayce Ellis

  “So, just fucking isn’t an option?”

  “Unc!”

  He shrugged. “Look, it’s college. People get their rocks off and it doesn’t have to mean anything. There’s no shame in that, for you or her. And it doesn’t mean you can’t be friends after.”

  “Being friends with girls is so messy,” Trey grumbled.

  Being friends with boys is no better. Carlton’s mind wandered over to his best friend, like it often did.

  “I wouldn’t know,” he said with a shrug. “I’m gay. Being friends with girls has been way easier for me.”

  Trey snickered. “Well played. But look,” he said, sitting back like he was getting ready for real conversation, “how’d that go with you and Uncle D? Y’all have been friends for twenty years, and you’re both gay. You never wanted more?”

  Now, how in the hell had Carlton let himself get talked into this conversation about Deion? This was the definition of something being better left unsaid.

  “No. Me and Deion knew pretty early on that we were better off as friends.”

  Carlton paused, waiting for lightning to strike him dead. Because that was the boldest-faced lie he’d ever told. Deion had wanted more, and had been pretty open about it. And Carlton, bless him, had wanted to give it to him. Had wanted to give Deion everything. And at eighteen, what the hell did that even mean? He hadn’t been ready for it, ready for the responsibility of a full-on, serious relationship, and it didn’t matter that Deion hadn’t asked for all that. That’s the only place things could’ve gone with Deion, and he’d known it from the first time their lips met. One night with him? Was all he could handle before realizing he’d jump headfirst into the rabbit hole and do anything in his power to keep Deion around.

  And now Deion was dating. That was the one thing from their text conversation a few weeks back that had stayed lodged in Carlton’s brain. Deion was going to download one of those apps, go through the whole process of putting his information into some SEO algorithm or whatever, and find someone to spend forever with. Because Carlton had never manned up. Motherfucker.

  “Unc?” Trey asked from across the table. “I feel like I said the wrong thing, because you’re in your own little world.”

  Carlton shook his head and smoothed a hand down his face, pausing to let the memories of that one night fade before he answered. “Nah. You’re good. I was just thinking. D will be here for homecoming. He’ll give you all the reasons he couldn’t be bothered with my ass.” The only reason he’s still around is because I kept us in that box. That earnest little voice had been Carlton’s constant companion, but truth be told, he wasn’t sure that line worked anymore.

  “So maybe me and her, we should stay friends too?”

  Carlton grinned. “Don’t be like these little boys out here who’re only friends for the chance of getting in some girl’s pants. Be friends with her because you like her, because you like her company, not because you’re hoping one day she’ll change her mind and let you hit. Ain’t no one got time for that.”

  Trey blushed furiously, which was saying something because Carlton was pretty sure he’d never seen his nephew go that color. Wasn’t sure Black folks that shade could blush. Huh, he learned something new every day.

  “I won’t, Unc. But what if she really does like me? Like, as more than friends?”

  “Then you decide if you feel the same, and both of you remember why you’re here. She’s not here to catch a man, and you’re not here to catch a woman. If y’all decide you want to be together, that’s great. But focus on your priorities, and then you can work around all the other stuff. Don’t make it a bigger thing than it has to be.” That was so goddamn adult of him, he wanted to pat his own back. Carrie would be proud.

  Trey nodded, then suddenly looked like the eighteen-year-old he was. “Mind if I catch a nap? The bed here is way better than the dorm’s.”

  Carlton laughed. Sounded like some things never changed. “Go for it,” he said, inclining his head toward the bedroom door. Trey took off like a flash.

  He should check on Olivia, Trey’s sister, who lived with Carlton’s parents, and make sure things were still good with her. Hell, if Trey was going to stay the weekend, maybe Olivia could come up. He didn’t get to see her often enough, and she’d just started her freshman year of high school. She could have his room, and Carlton would sleep on the couch for a few nights. Wouldn’t be the first time.

  No one answered when he dialed his parents, which was less than surprising. Unless it was a birthday, holiday...or death, Carlton did not hear from them. It’d been that way since his sophomore year of college, and he didn’t know why he’d thought having custody of one of their grandkids would change that. He sighed and left a message, letting them know Trey was at the house and Olivia was welcome to call or come over, then clicked off.

  Carlton wished like hell he could be like Trey and climb back into bed for a dreamless rest. But he knew better. If he got in that bed, the only thing he’d think about was Deion. More specifically, about that night, now that Trey had inadvertently pulled that memory to the forefront. About how soft his skin was, how responsive his body had been to every touch, that elephant schlong Deion called a dick that both terrified Carlton and made him want to know if he was a size whore.

  Fuck, that had been almost nineteen years ago, and Carlton had kept a tight lid on his emotions since. After all that time, Deion was doing the thing Carlton refused to do—move on. And he needed to keep a tight lid on his emotions and play like it was cool, great even, else he’d never make it through Deion spending a week up here for homecoming.

  Chapter Three

  Deion released a long breath as he waited to disembark the plane. The past six weeks had been enlightening, to say the least, and made him wonder how anyone found someone special in the digital age. He’d had four dates, one with a guy who wanted to “get down with the swirl,” two men looking for a sugar daddy, and one who insisted on calling him “pet” instead of his name. He’d also gotten more dick pics and seen more variations of assholes than he’d ever thought imaginable, and there wasn’t enough bleach in the world to cleanse his brain.

  He’d almost deleted the damn thing after two weeks, but decided against it at the last minute, moving it to the last page on his phone and turning off notifications. He’d tried to nestle into his solitude, but that left way too much time to think, something his previously hectic schedule had interfered with. And all his thoughts had come back to the same thing—Carlton. Deion had made some serious decisions regarding their relationship and what he needed to do going forward, but with ten days surrounded by the man laid out ahead of him, he wasn’t sure he’d have the nerve to stand his ground.

  And he’d have to figure it out later, as he finally walked out to the holding gate and through the terminals to get to the baggage claim. He shot Carlton a text to let him know the plane had landed, and figured he’d meet him outside the arrivals doors. He turned the corner toward the carousel assigned to their flight number, focused intently on his phone. And ran smack into a pair of crossed arms.

  “You never did learn to watch where you’re going.”

  Deion stumbled back and swallowed his gasp. Damn it all to hell, Carlton’s voice shouldn’t still have this effect on him, low and bordering on sultry and enough to make him want to drop to his knees. He sucked in a breath, coughed, then looked up into his friend’s broad smiling face. Carlton waited until he’d gotten it together, then engulfed him in a strong hug.

  “I missed you, man,” Carlton whispered, his voice velvet in Deion’s ears.

  Deion wrapped him up hard, then tried to pull back. But Carlton didn’t let go, tightening his arms and drawing him back in for a split second before finally releasing him.

  Deion cleared his throat and smiled. “I missed you too, old man.”

  That got a hearty laugh out of Carlton. “I’m thr
ee days older than you, jackass.”

  “Three days of you being decrepit.”

  “Really? So what happens when your age matches mine?”

  Deion smiled at the familiar banter. “Not a damn thing. I remain youthful and glowing at all stages.”

  “And I’m what? Chopped liver?” Carlton’s eyes danced with amusement and...fondness? Which was not a look Deion was accustomed to.

  “Your words. Not mine. Remember that.”

  Carlton looped his arm around Deion’s shoulder and squeezed him. “You’re an asshole, and I’m glad you’re here. Things are already in full swing.”

  They walked toward the carousel, Deion quickening his strides to match Carlton’s longer ones, and he scanned the crowd. The baggage claim throbbed with activity, easily hundreds of people wearing Howard Bison shirts and hoodies or, just as common, fraternity and sorority paraphernalia. Chances they were all here for homecoming was high, and Deion swallowed down the apprehension that bubbled up.

  Homecoming wasn’t really his thing. Swells of people squeezed together like sardines, laughing and talking and sharing inside jokes Deion had spent a lifetime on the outside of. It was Carlton’s element—he quite literally thrived in those situations. Over the long years they’d known each other, Deion had gotten better at playing the game, but he needed a few days alone afterward to decompress, and Carlton always whined that they had so little time to begin with. Deion planned to brazen through and schedule his downtime for while Carlton was at work, and enjoy their evenings together.

  “You good?” Carlton asked next to him. His eyes trailed over him in a way that was simultaneously perfunctory and ravenous, and Deion shifted under the perusal. Something was off with his friend, and Deion wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was, so he cleared his throat and nodded.

  “Yep.” He pointed to his luggage as it came off the conveyor belt, muscling through the crowd to tug it off. He wheeled it over, then looked at Carlton expectantly. “Following you.”

  Carlton stared at him for a beat, his mouth tipping up into a grin, before he jerked his head, turned, and started walking. Deion drew in a slow breath. He’d been tongue-tied as a nineteen-year-old sophomore when he’d walked in to find Carlton lounging on the bottom bunk he’d arranged before Deion arrived. Back then he’d been lanky, exacerbated by the XXL shirts he insisted on wearing, but his smile and nonstop flirting had been downright infectious.

  Now he wore that same smile, but his broad shoulders didn’t look like they’d falter with a stiff breeze. Between the faint specks of gray in the messy fro he wore, and the laugh lines that popped in the corners of his eyes when he smiled, it was almost too much. Time outside had just slightly darkened that rich brown skin, but he’d never match Deion’s complexion. Put it all together and Deion wasn’t sure how the man had gotten finer with age. The decisions he’d made on the plane were slapped with the reality of how the man continued to take his breath away. He was a goddamn Berlin song in this bitch.

  The walk to the car was short, but Deion still scoffed. “You actually paid for short-term parking?”

  Carlton craned his head to look back at him. “How else was I gon’ meet you inside?”

  “You ain’t have to do all that.” Lord knew he hadn’t expected it. Hadn’t been ready for it or had time to put his guard up. He’d walked smack into the man he’d been in love with for nearly twenty years without running through the list of reasons it hadn’t worked, couldn’t work, would never work. Without fixing his face to feign indifference when Carlton launched that body Deion longed to touch at him, for manly—friendly—hugs that meant nothing to Carlton and everything to Deion.

  And now, Carlton laughed that husky laugh, the one that seeped into his bones and made him quiver. God, he was a mess for this guy, who was talking. Focus. “Deion, this is the first time I’ve had ten days alone with you since I could remember. I’m taking every minute I can get to kick it with you.”

  From the apex to the nadir, just like that. Ten days. Alone. To kick it. Way to remind me where I stand. Not that he could be mad. Deion knew exactly where he stood with Carlton. Where he’d always stood and had long since accepted. It wasn’t Carlton’s fault his heart was a pining fool for the guy.

  He coughed to clear his throat. “I’m assuming you’ll be at work next week?”

  Carlton hummed. “Yeah, not much choice in that. But I’m trying to leave early, or at least on time, while you’re here.” Because Carlton lived by the mantra of work hard, play harder. Or at least he had until a year ago.

  They climbed in the car and Carlton eased out of the lot and onto the highway. “How’s Trey doing?” he asked. Carlton had been a mess when his sister died, and the proverbial deer in headlights when Trey had shown up to Carlton’s office and asked if he could stay with him for a little while. Deion knew Carlton had locked down his “dick dates” once he had Trey, and refused to think about how much Carlton was probably making up for lost time now.

  “Good,” Carlton said, his smile widening with a fondness Deion didn’t think he’d ever seen. “I know he’ll be on the Yard today,” he went on, referring to a staple event of homecoming, “so hopefully I won’t see him.”

  “I’m glad, man.” Deion angled his body and settled in. He was. Glad, that is. Carlton had lived his adult life reveling in bachelorhood. He’d never, not in college, not in the sixteen years after, expressed a hint of interest in having a family. Deion was the opposite. He craved it to the point of pain, enough to lie to his mom, to make a futile promise, but they both knew that window had passed. And here Carlton was, taking to fatherhood like a moth to a flame and getting everything Deion longed for. He couldn’t be jealous. Not of his best friend, and damn sure not when Trey needed him so much. So Deion was glad for them both.

  He was also bone-tired. The creeping anxiety that’d gradually built over the last few weeks when he thought about the number of people he’d have to see and meet while here meant his sleep patterns had been shot to hell. That, combined with the exhaustion of his heart going from zero to sixty and back again, and he could conk out for hours.

  A hand landed on his knee, and he startled. “You going to sleep on me?” Carlton’s voice was low and soft and he needed to not move his hand, else he’d know exactly what his words—his touch—did to Deion.

  He shifted, but that hand didn’t move. “You know how flights do me. They knock me out.”

  That half smile again, then Carlton squeezed his knee and let go. “I know. We’ll be home soon, but close your eyes. I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  Home. That word sounded too damn good on his lips, but Deion refused to think on it now. His mind was still keyed in on the sensation of Carlton’s hand on him. Ten days of this might break what little resolve he had, and he needed a moment to get it together.

  Deion closed his eyes and prayed for sleep to pull him under.

  * * *

  Carlton pushed through the doors of Stadium, one of the remaining strip clubs in the city, Deion on his heels. His body was a live wire, on edge, and he hated it. He hated more that he’d been like this all afternoon.

  From the moment he’d spied Deion, his eyes firmly focused on his phone as he walked through the airport terminal, things had been off. Deion had walked with purpose, like he always did, but if there was one constant after nineteen years, it was that he was hyper-aware of Carlton. That’s what he’d expected—Deion to see him from afar and stumble, awed that Carlton had paid for parking for him. Yeah, he’d created that whole scene in his mind and been pissed when reality didn’t shake out like he imagined. Beyond that, Deion’d been nodding to himself, like he was solidifying a decision in his mind and Carlton had somehow interrupted. He hadn’t liked that feeling, that he was somehow an interloper in his own town, that something was...wrong, even if he couldn’t pinpoint why.

  That feeling hadn’t gone aw
ay after he’d gotten Deion inside and to the spare bedroom that would never again regain its former glory as a den. He’d woken up to get ready to go to the Yard, clearly still tired. Carlton sent him right back to bed, which Deion acquiesced to with no fight. That didn’t surprise Carlton. What did was how comfortable he was with that, how much he enjoyed having Deion in his space. How much he didn’t want Deion to leave.

  Carlton’d never had qualms about his reputation as a partier. Bachelorhood had been good to him, until Trey had begged to stay with him and not his parents. They were Trey and Olivia’s legal guardians, but they’d had no problem handing Trey off to Carlton. Something about him being too much for them. A nice way of saying Trey looked gay and femme and was unabashed about it. He was also shy, reserved, and just wanted to do his work. And given his interest in his classmate, Trey might not be gay. Maybe bi, or pan, or something else altogether? Who knew? Carlton honestly didn’t give a fuck so long as he stayed safe, strapped up, and kept his focus.

  They’d gotten along well because Carlton didn’t have much to do, but it had certainly tempered his inclination to be out all the time. He’d assumed it would go back to normal once Trey started at Howard, but so far, that hadn’t happened. And he hadn’t missed it. If anything, he’d missed coming home to the sounds of the TV on in the background while Trey muttered to himself in the kitchen, talking his way through whatever he was working on.

  Homecoming, Carlton assumed, would be the catalyst to get him moving back in that living-his-best-bachelor-life direction. Back to that easygoing, work-hard-fuck-hard person he’d been since his best friend decided to stay in Chicago and left him to his own devices. But he hadn’t been pressed to hit the Yard. Hell, he hadn’t even wanted to come here, and that was worse. The only reason he hadn’t given an excuse to stay in and chill was because he’d cajoled both Jaq and Lawrence into coming, and they were not the types to let him live it down if he didn’t show.