by Kris Ripper
“Exactly. For me it’s all in the bearing. A woman who can walk in the room and command all eyes on her without even speaking? Mm. Lady-crush.”
“Oh, like you don’t want to have sex with women like that.”
“Well, no, but like, usually they’re straight or my boss or running for office or married to the president or something, you know? So it’s not a real have-sex-with-them thing. That’s just a sort of corollary to how much I want to be them when I grow up.”
“I’m through with this topic now.” Ed waved the hand not on his beer. “How’s the Rhein?”
I was not through with this topic. And I could only come to one conclusion about why we were discussing it in the first place. I made my voice light and nudged him. “You have a man-crush on me?”
“Everyone can shut up.”
“That’s very flattering, Ed. And the theater’s good, I think. I’ve been talking to Keith Whelan—you know, half of the QYP team—about continuing promotions and things like that. He wants me to do projections and track my spending for events better, which I think is probably exceptional advice. And he can make sense of Mom’s databases, which is a bonus.”
“That’s really great.” Ed, apparently sensing we were done messing with him, took the stool next to mine. “So I heard kind of a funny rumor about the QYP guys.”
“Oh yeah?” I’d never been inside the rumor loops deeply enough to feel the flow of them, but I’d never heard of anything good coming out of rumors.
“Totally my cue.” Alisha kissed my cheek, then kissed Ed far less casually. “Dancing now.”
“I’ll be out there when I’m done with my beer. Good?”
“Gorgeous.” She spun around, and the scarf wrapped around her hair trailed softly in the air after her as she walked off.
“Don’t you want to hear the funny rumor?”
I focused on Ed and braced for whatever the grapevine had invented about Josh and Keith. “What?”
“I heard”—he made a design in the condensation on the side of his glass—“that the QYP guys have been seeing a lot of movies at the Rhein lately. And that sometimes they stay after and accompany the owner to his apartment. I told you it was funny.”
Every bit of moisture in my mouth dried up. “Where did you hear that?”
He grinned. “So not revealing my top secret sources. Obviously I’m willing to believe that you and them are just friends, if that’s what you tell me is true.”
“I hate the phrase ‘just friends.’ What does that mean about friendship, that we’re so quick to dismiss it?”
“What does it mean about you and the QYP guys that you haven’t dismissed it at all?”
I glanced around, but no one was near us and if Tom could hear, he’d take it to his grave. “We aren’t ‘just’ anything. We are friends. Please don’t say more about this. It’s up to them what they want to share with people.”
Ed turned fully toward me. “Oh my god. There’s something going on between you and the QYP guys. I had no idea, Cam. I was really only playing.”
“I know. And it’s fine. But I—” I had no idea how to explain. Or how much. “It is a—a casual thing, but I don’t want to make anything difficult for anyone.”
“I won’t say anything, obviously, but you—” He paused, as if he had to be careful about his phrasing. “You don’t do ‘casual,’ do you?”
“Not historically. But that’s what they need.” Or at least, it seemed like it was what they’d asked me for in the beginning. Though of course, they didn’t like the word casual much either. And I couldn’t reconcile the way Josh had put his hands on my shoulders the other night to calm me down with a sense of “casual” that included Alisha’s flippant cheek-kiss.
“What do you need?” Ed asked. “I’m serious. Casual or not, it’s not just about them.”
“Nothing. I don’t need anything. And I like both of them very much, so any effort you can make to ensure that no rumors spread, I’d appreciate.”
“Sure, Cam. Of course.”
“Thank you.”
After a moment, Ed added, “They seem like good guys.”
“They are.”
“Well, good, then. Anyway, tell me more about the theater. How’s the film festival going? I keep running announcements on the Times-Record’s social media for them, but maybe I should talk to Keith about how I can help more. I feel like there are a lot of people in La Vista who’d love to support the Rhein. We just have to give them simple ways to do it.”
We retreated into the easy familiarity of our usual conversations, and I resolved to at least broach the subject of what Josh and Keith wanted me to say, should anyone ask me about them. Clearly I could lie. I was willing to, if that’s what they wanted. (Or at least to deflect, which was far more my style.) But we should have anticipated that in a community as small as ours, with a healthy vein of gossip, people would talk.
If I’d wanted to be ironic, I could have shown People Will Talk. But the plot of that one had always bothered me, and it wasn’t Cary Grant’s greatest work, so I’d decided it went in the no pile. Before my brain could distract itself with a lecture on his best and worst films (and considering that the world was starting to look a little gray), I texted Keith and asked if I could come over after I left Club Fred’s.
His answer, of course, was yes.
Both of them were in pajama-type clothes. Josh in long cotton lounge pants and a T-shirt, both blue. Keith had on a black-and-white striped matching set, which he told me had been a joke gift from Josh.
“Prison motif, you know. Though I kind of like them.” He stroked down the arm of his shirt. “I usually get super cheap pj’s, but these are really nice.”
“Only the best, babe. Or, you know, the stuff you get at the slightly higher-quality discount store.”
I felt a little strange, standing there in my usual suit, while they were clearly ready for bed. “I hope I didn’t disturb you. I know it’s late.”
“We’re old, but we’re not that old.” Keith tugged my hand so I’d follow him to the sofa.
“Twenty-one is ancient,” I agreed.
“What’s up? Not that something has to be up for you to spontaneously visit us, but I bet something is.”
To my surprise, Josh took a seat on my other side, sandwiching me between them. We were not all equally distributed. Keith had sat himself somewhat on the line between “his” cushion and “mine,” leaving him and me quite close together, especially owing to the fact that he still held my hand.
He still held my hand.
“Ed told me that he heard a rumor that you two have been seeing a lot of movies and spending time with me lately.”
“Hell yes we have.” Keith grinned. “What, you didn’t notice?”
“I wasn’t sure what you wanted me to say. Or if—if I should pretend I wasn’t aware what he meant. Or perhaps I should have deflected the topic.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Just that . . .” Actually, I didn’t know. And nothing I could think of to say really made sense.
Josh shifted, drawing my attention, and his expression was serious. “Is this about our privacy or yours, Cam?”
“I don’t really know. I thought it was about yours. But maybe it isn’t. I don’t think I’ve ever been the subject of a rumor before, and although Ed meant nothing by it, I can’t say I’m that comfortable with the idea.” I searched Josh’s face for judgment or censure and found none. “I’m sorry. Am I making a big deal out of something that isn’t?”
“That depends. Do you want the fact that you spend time with us to be a secret?”
“No. No, not in the least.”
“Then what part makes you uncomfortable?”
Keith played a little beat on my palm with his fingertips and it made me want to arch into him; I was hungry for more touch, more sensation.
More Keith, more Josh.
I swallowed. “Forgive me. I’m so sorry. He asked if we were
‘just friends’ and the baldness of that phrase sent me to strange places in my head.”
“It’s a stupid phrase, anyway,” Keith said. “I have friends, but you’re something else entirely, Cam, you know?”
“I suppose I overreacted.”
This time Josh moved forward, sliding over to sit on the coffee table, his knees brushing mine. “It’s okay. We don’t think of you as ‘just’ anything.”
“If you view it objectively, it’s more complicated. I only mean that it isn’t true that we’re having a deep, romantic love affair, which is I think the impression I may have given Ed by the way I reacted to ‘just friends.’ So if I did, I’m sorry.”
Josh’s eyes shifted to Keith’s, then back. “We haven’t broached anything to change our arrangement with you because it’s been working, but we’re open to expanding things between us.”
“Uh, yeah.” Keith smoothed a thumb over my palm. “Josh means you can touch me more.”
“I—” Yes. I remembered Keith’s pale skin stretched out under my fingers. My heart beat faster.
“I have some thoughts,” Josh said. “Thoughts I think both of you would be into. But no pressure, Cam. And Ed’s your friend; you can tell him everything, or nothing, or whatever you want.”
Keith’s hand squeezed mine. “We totally trust you, or we wouldn’t have asked you in the first place. But if you’re worried about us, don’t be. We knew when we started this that there might be stories, or rumors, or whatever. We can’t be worried about that stuff, Cam. If you’d rather only meet us here for your own sake, that’s fine, too.”
“No, it’s not that. It’s more that I suppose I wouldn’t want anyone to think I was trying to come between you, or that I . . . was making a nuisance of myself.”
“No one’s going to think those things,” Keith said. “For real.”
“And if they do, fuck ’em,” Josh added. “That’s our motto.”
“It really is.”
“I think you’re both very brave.” I was humbled by them. They took chances with each other, and unlike me, they didn’t feel any need to put up a calm, unthreatening facade for anyone.
“Nah. Plus, why would we want to hide you, Cam? Look at how sexy you are.” Keith flattened his other hand all the way down my tie.
I went very still. Except for my pounding heart, and the other location in my anatomy that was registering an increase in blood pressure.
“Damn. We should make Cam uncomfortable more often.” Josh waved a hand. “Anyway, do you want to stay for a movie? Or a TV show?”
“Josh just rediscovered the magic of the DVD player,” Keith explained.
I wanted to stay. I wanted them to touch me more, even casually, because their casual touches held more gravity than any intimate caress I’d ever felt.
They were waiting for me to answer. “Maybe for a little while.”
Keith grinned. “Sweeeeet. You guys choose. I’ll make popcorn.”
We ended up with a television show called Project Runway, which I had no real interest in or understanding of outside the fact that the show’s “mentor” was a man called Tim Gunn, whom Keith said I reminded them of.
By the end of three episodes I had a definite man-crush on Mr. Gunn, who carried himself with such precision and such grace that I wanted to watch him walk and talk forever. It was very late by then, but Josh insisted I take the rest of the season one DVDs home with me.
Each of them kissed me good-bye. I felt warm all the way home.
Unknown number: You up to surprise Keith tonight? He’s a little messed up in the head over Thanksgiving.
Cameron: Of course.
Cameron: Assuming this is Josh. Not so much if it’s someone else.
Unknown number: Ha-ha, yeah, that’d be creepy as fuck. No, it’s me.
Josh: You aren’t busy?
Cameron: I’m redundant at the theater on Sundays. Tell me when to be there, and I will.
Josh: Timing’s gonna be a thing. I’m aiming for nine, but I don’t want you to come up until I text you. Is that cool?
Josh: You’re my surprise. :-)
Cameron: I will plan to be there around nine. And I’ll wait for your text.
Josh: Solid. This is going to be a little intense, but I think you’ll enjoy it. And if you aren’t into it, you can let me know.
Josh: Cam.
Josh: Confirm that if you’re not into it, you’ll let me know.
Cameron: Yes, I will. Though I’m not too worried.
Josh: You don’t even know. I can’t wait. This will be a good reward for putting up with Mr. Grumpy Accountant Guy today.
Cameron: . . . Are you talking about Keith?
Josh: Don’t leave him unsupervised with your books is all I’m saying. I have to because he’s my business partner, but man, dude’s like the Inquisition.
Josh: “Do you have this receipt? WELL, DO YOU?”
Josh: He’s calling. Probably I used the wrong color highlighter for something. See you later.
Josh: Get excited.
Cameron: See you later.
Cameron: :-o (That’s “excited,” right?)
Josh: Hahaha, yep. Sweet.
I didn’t know what to expect. I sat in the Volvo, trying to meditate on the rain.
Half of the experts were saying we were in for a doozy of a wet season; the other half, predictably, were saying it would be dry and the drought would only get worse. Raindrops. Water. The streetlight exploding into a dozen shards of white and yellow across my windshield with each new wave of rain.
Quarter after the hour.
Maybe Josh had forgotten he’d invited me over? But no. No. It had only been a few hours, and it wasn’t the kind of thing Josh would forget. I couldn’t imagine what Josh would forget, really, but I knew it wasn’t this. It wasn’t me.
He wouldn’t forget a surprise for Keith.
I was starting to contemplate turning the car back on to run the heater when my phone finally chimed a text message.
Josh: Sorry. He’s a beast. But everything’s taken care of.
Josh: Are you here? Come up. But be relatively quiet.
Josh: He won’t hear you, probably, but still.
Josh: Text up when you get to the door and I’ll buzz you in.
Cameron: On my way.
What did he won’t hear you mean? Only one way to find out.
He let me in, taking some care with the door, and I hung my coat on the hooks behind it, not sure if I should speak.
“I covered his ears with noise-canceling headphones playing white noise.” He wasn’t whispering, but his voice was lower than usual. “We’re probably fine to talk, but this scene pretty much hinges on him giving up all control.”
I blinked, not sure at all what that meant.
Josh smiled, took my arm, and led me to the door of their bedroom.
My stomach dropped to my knees. My balls tightened. My cock—
I shouldn’t think about my cock.
Keith was entirely naked, lying in the center of their bed, arms and legs spread widely out to the sides and tied there. A black band covered his eyes. The headphones dwarfed his head, looking more like earmuffs. And the rest of him . . . I shouldn’t think about his cock, either.
Josh pulled me away again, to the kitchen, where I stared down at the countertop, the afterimage of Keith’s body burned into my mind.
“We have to leave him there for another few minutes, until he feels like it’s never going to end. He fought me every fucking step tonight, so he’s got a lot of shit to work through before we can start this scene.” He set a glass of water in front of me. “Too much?”
“Oh, no. No. Unexpected, but . . . not too much.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “He is so beautiful. I’m sure he’d hate it if I told him that.”
“Yeah. I do anyway, but he doesn’t like it. He feels like it’s feminizing, and I get that, but there’s nothing about beauty that is innately female, you know?” He shrugged. “I can call
a sunset beautiful because it takes my breath away, and that’s not implying it’s girly. But if I call him beautiful because he takes my breath away, he gets offended.”
“You still do it?”
“Oh hell yeah. Because he knows it’s stupid. So you can actually see him lecture himself on how beautiful isn’t feminine, and how feminine isn’t bad, and how just because I see him as one doesn’t mean I see him as the other, but even if I did, that wouldn’t be a slight—basically, it’s a whole one-hour drama, played out on Keith’s face.”
I glanced back at the bedroom. I could see a corner of the bed and a side table, but not Keith. “He is breathtaking. That’s how I feel looking at him. I hope that’s all right.”
“Cam, hey.” This time Josh’s firm hand grazed my jaw, turning my head toward his. “This isn’t a thing where we need you to think of us exactly the same way. You’ll have different relationships with both of us because we’re different people. Man, I guess we should have gone over all this, but listen, you feel whatever you feel for Keith. I don’t even think I’m capable of jealousy, and if I were, it wouldn’t be for a guy who looks at him as sweetly as you do. I could never want him to have less of that, you know what I mean?”
I had almost a decade on Josh, but he managed to make me feel young and safe. “Thank you.”
“You’re so welcome. I’m glad you could come tonight.” The hand disappeared and he picked up my glass of water, offering it to me again. “We’re going over to Keith’s folks’ place for Thanksgiving. Or his dad and stepmom’s, but his mom and stepdad will also be there. It’s going to be a clusterfuck, but we always do Thanksgiving with his family and Christmas with mine.”
“Why will it be a clusterfuck?” The word tripped off my tongue. I didn’t know when I’d ever have an excuse to use it again, but I liked it.
“His dad is a macho douche bag, who’s probably the reason he hates being called ‘beautiful.’ His mom’s super micromanaging. His stepdad is the kind of guy who chuckles at things that aren’t funny and doesn’t have any read for when to let the joke go. His stepmom’s actually totally cool. Last year she took us aside and told us if we were slipping out the back door to go to Taco Bell and we left her there, she’d never forgive us. But he’s been dreading it since the plans were made and it’s still four days away, so I had to do something.” He checked his watch. “Every minute feels like about three minutes to me. To him, every minute probably feels like ten. Especially when he’s all messed up in his head like this.”
