Secretly Dating the Lionman

by Sue Brown

  “Not really,” Bennett admitted.

  “What do you do?”

  “I’m in construction, like Mikey. Our family runs a construction company out of Greenpoint.”

  Cris snapped his fingers. “Petrovski Construction. That’s why I know your name. My father did some work with your company years ago, on the Hammond building.”

  “You have a good memory.”

  “I think my father would rather forget that building ever existed.”

  “My parents feel the same way about it. I think the architect must have been high when he designed it.”

  They both laughed over unexpected shared memories. Cris struggled to reconcile the man who insisted his brother wasn’t gay with the man sitting before him, relaxed and happy to share family information. He was about to say something when Bennett suddenly looked at his watch.

  “Oh hell, I really have to go. I promised Mama I’d pick her up and take her out to lunch. Is the laundry finished?”

  Cris looked at Bennett’s washing machine. “I’ll finish your laundry. Do you want it dried?”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I’m here for mine. It won’t take much longer to do yours as well. I can drop it back to you, or you could pick it up from my place later on. I’m not working today, so I’ll be around this evening.”

  “Thanks.” Bennett looked sheepish again. “I spent all weekend trying to deal with Mikey, and I forgot my own chores. Let me take down your address.”

  He programmed it into his phone and then drew out a handful of quarters and gave them to Cris.

  “I don’t need this money.”

  “Take it anyway.” Bennett’s smile was warm and friendly.

  Cris bit his lip and then decided to take the plunge. “I’ve gotta ask, Bennett. For someone who hates gays, you’ve been very friendly to me this morning.”

  “I don’t hate gays.” Bennett ran a hand through his hair, which left it sticking up in all directions. “I just know Mikey.”

  “If he’s isn’t gay, then he’s bisexual.”

  “It doesn’t matter what he is. My parents—”

  “He can’t spend his whole life hiding who he is because of your parents,” Cris said gently. “He’s already screwed up. You can see that, can’t you?”

  Bennett’s expression was bleak. “Of course I can see it. Who do you think’s been trying to help him all these years?”

  “Making him get engaged to a woman is not helping him.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Then help me understand, Bennett. Because from where I’m sitting, one gay son is not the end of the world. One gay son who’s going to do something real stupid soon unless he gets help could make it the end of the world.”

  “My parents.” Bennett held up a hand as Cris started to speak. “My parents haven’t got one gay son.”

  “Mikey’s not straight.” Cris raised his voice in exasperation, and a hipster who’d been carrying on an animated conversation on his phone glowered at him.

  “I know,” Bennett admitted surprisingly.

  “Then—?”

  “Don’t you get it?”

  “Get what?” Cris demanded.

  Bennett scrubbed through his hair. “I’m gay too. My parents have two gay sons.”

  “Oh fuck,” Cris whispered.

  “Succinct and to the point.” Bennett gave him a bitter smile. “And before you ask, they don’t know about me either.”

  “Does Mikey?”

  “No, and I’m not going to tell him.”

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  “I just haven’t found the right girl yet.” Another bitter smile. “I have to go, but I’m trusting you. If Mikey or my parents found out….”

  As far as Cris could see, it would be good for Mikey to find out he had a brother like him, but now was not the time to tell Bennett. “I’ll see you later.”

  Bennett left him more confused than ever, and Cris’s book slipped to the floor forgotten as he stared unseeing at the machines. Why the hell was he getting involved with a family more screwed up than his own?

  Chapter 6

  CRIS SPENT a couple of hours at the gym. In the locker room, he nodded at a couple of guys he recognized, and they nodded back, but that was the extent of their interaction. Cris liked his gym because of the location—close to his apartment but far enough away from Forbidden Nightz that he wasn’t likely to meet too many patrons of the club.

  He changed into shorts and an old T-shirt, plugged in his headphones, and put on his workout playlist. Then he did his usual workout, ignoring the admiring looks that came his way from men and women. Cris knew he stood out in a crowd. His bright red hair was hard to miss.

  After the weights, the rowing machine, and the cross-trainer, Cris did his usual ten-mile run on the treadmill. He appreciated the mindless monotony. It gave him a chance to think. Usually he focused on his latest painting and spent his time considering angles and perspective. He didn’t paint by instinct. Before he laid one mark on the canvas, he planned the painting from start to finish. Running gave him the chance to think and plan. But today, as he pounded through the miles, his thoughts were elsewhere, tied up with a solemn-eyed, brown-haired man who seemed to have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

  Cris knew he shouldn’t focus on Bennett Petrovski. He was complicated, and Cris preferred his relationships simple. He didn’t mind excitement, but he preferred his men to come with less baggage. There was nothing simple about Bennett, and he came with a whole set of luggage.

  A young man suddenly wandered over to the window directly opposite him. Cris watched him curiously. He was dark-haired, like Bennett, but much younger. Cris suspected he’d have a whole lot fewer complications too. Their eyes caught for a moment and connected, but then the man looked over his shoulder as though someone had called him. He looked back, gave Cris the briefest of smiles, and walked away. Cris sighed and slowed the machine. He thought of Bennett again and the way he’d brought coffee to apologize for being an asshole.

  Dammit, he wanted complicated.

  After the gym, he moved on to the salon for his usual facial and waxing session. He didn’t have much body hair, and the fine red strands that covered his chest and groin were ripped out on a regular basis by Hans the Torturer. Cris found it ironic that he spent a good deal of money on his physical appearance to make himself look great for women. As a byproduct he looked great for men too, but still, as Hans ripped off a strip of wax and Cris gasped in pain, irony was at the front of his mind.

  After the workout and torture, Cris felt he was owed a burrito and a coffee, so he stuffed his face with a chicken, red peppers, and onion burrito from his favorite stand and washed it down with strong coffee as he walked to his apartment.

  He left Bennett’s bag of clothes by his front door and took his own into his tiny bedroom to put away in the old oak dresser his mom had given him. He preferred modern furniture, but the oak dresser was a leaving-home present from his mom, and he couldn’t bring himself to part company with it. He considered moving it to his studio, but he would have to pay to get it there, so that never got further than a distant thought.

  Feeling strangely restless, Cris lounged on his sofa for an hour, but the psychological thriller he was reading didn’t hold his attention, even though he’d been waiting anxiously for its release. He didn’t need to probe too deeply for the source of his anxiety and he worked up a rather unfair resentment toward Bennett for ruining his book.

  Finally he huffed, threw his book on the sofa, and laughed at himself for being an asshole. It was time he danced out his frustration. Although they were very popular, he was bored with his current set, and he’d been promising himself for weeks he would work out new routines. He opened his closet and looked at the colorful costumes that took up the length of one wall. He had more costumes than he had jeans and T-shirts stacked on the other side.

  Cris scanned the leather and hats that
adorned the wall, and then he smiled. He knew just the thing to shake himself out of his funk. It had been months since he’d done his cowboy and biker routines. He didn’t need to buy anything new, and he quickly found the items he needed—zip-up brown leather pants, cowboy boots and hat, and a plain white, form-fitting T-shirt for the cowboy, and identical black leather pants, biker boots, and leather jacket for the biker. And the essential jockstrap. He had hundreds of them. Dancers like Raymond managed to tease the women for hours just taking off their clothes, but Cris wasn’t that coordinated and got all tangled in the fabric. He did his teasing with his come-hither attitude and a few props.

  Cowboy or biker first? Cris hovered his hand over the costumes. Biker it was. He stripped off his jeans and shirt, zipped up the black leather pants, and stomped into the boots. The biker boots were well-worn from hours of dancing, but they fit like a glove. He spent a fortune on good boots.

  All the music he needed was on his phone. Cris scrolled through a few tracks and smiled when he found the one he wanted. Yeah, he could start off with “Highway to Hell.” It had been that sort of week. He pushed back the sofa and the coffee table, pressed the button to start the music, and pumped his fist up into the air. Oh yeah, that was just what he needed. “Highway to Hell” led into “November Rain,” and Cris was lost in a world of his own as he pounded out his frustrations. He was almost at the end of his biker routine when the doorbell rang. Startled, Cris looked at the clock. He hadn’t expected Bennett for a couple of hours, but he jogged over and opened the door.

  Bennett’s smile faded as he took in Cris’s state of undress. “I….”

  Cris suddenly realized he’d opened the door wearing nothing but a red jockstrap and biker boots. “Oh hell, hold on.” He jogged back to his bedroom and shrugged on his navy toweling robe. Back at the door, he smiled at Bennett. “I’m sorry. I was practicing my routines. I kinda forgot….” He waved at himself.

  “So you don’t always answer the door dressed like that?”

  Cris sighed at the accusing tone. Whatever goodwill had been kindled between them earlier seemed to have vanished. “You saw me dressed like this at the club. I’m sorry if my skin offends you.” He picked up the bag of laundry by the front door and handed it to Bennett. “Here are your clothes. Goodbye.”

  He tried to shut the door, but Bennett held out a hand to stop him. Short of breaking the guy’s hand, there was little Cris could do except wait for Bennett to get whatever it was off his chest.

  Bennett huffed but then gave a rueful grin. “I’m being an ass again, aren’t I?”

  “Yeah. And I’m not in the mood for another Petrovski lecture.”

  “I’m sorry. Mikey and Julianne had a huge fight in front of my parents. I think Mikey was on the point of telling them.”

  “Good,” Cris said shortly. “It’s about time.”

  Bennett pressed his lips together, and Cris expected an outburst. Instead Bennett merely asked, “Are you always so blunt?”

  “When it needs to be said.” Because God knew, someone had to tell this family they were screwing up.

  “It’s none of your business,” Bennett snapped.

  “You boys keep dragging me into your family affairs, and I’ve had enough. Tell your parents, don’t tell your parents, I don’t care. As you said, it’s not my business.” Cris went to shut the door again, but once more Bennett stopped him.

  “Goodbye,” Cris said firmly.

  Bennett stayed where he was with one hand on the door. “You don’t understand. It’s not as—”

  Cris growled under his breath. “If that sentence is going to end with ‘easy as all that,’ I’m going to thump you on the nose. We’ve had this conversation already. Let go of my door before I break your hand.”

  Bennett barked out a laugh. “Everyone tells me you’re the warm friendly one. Except to me.”

  “Everyone else isn’t getting me involved in their family life.” Cris gave up trying to shut his front door. He turned his back, walked away, and left Bennett standing there. If Bennett wanted to come in, that was up to him. Cris didn’t care one way or the other, or at least that’s what he told himself. He headed over to his fridge and pulled out a couple of bottles. When he heard the snick of the front door closing, he popped the tops off both beers and offered one to Bennett, who had followed as far as the sofa. “Beer?”

  Bennett hesitated but walked over to Cris. “Thanks. Uh… are you gonna stay in that…?”

  Cris looked down at his robe. “Does it bother you?”

  “Some,” Bennett admitted. “I’m not used to being around half-naked guys, except in the gym.”

  It would have been easy to make a sarcastic comment, but Bennett had been honest. Cris placed his beer bottle on the counter.

  “Take a seat. I’ll go change.”

  It took a moment to pull on the jeans and shirt from earlier, but Bennett visibly relaxed as Cris came back into the room. He was like a wire pulled so tight he was ready to snap. The only difference between him and Mikey, it seemed, was that Bennett wasn’t pretending he wanted to get married.

  Cris grabbed his bottle and sat at the other end of the sofa. It was the only seating in the whole place, so Bennett could suck it up or leave. There was a long, awkward silence, and then Bennett spoke.

  “You’re in good shape. Do you go to the gym every day?”

  Cris appreciated it for the attempt to find a neutral subject. “Most days. Dancing keeps me in shape, but I like working out at the gym. It gives me a chance to think. What about you?”

  “I get to the gym enough to justify my membership, but that’s about all. It didn’t matter so much when I was doing more of the physical work, but now I’m stuck in an office….” He patted his stomach, and Cris couldn’t help but look.

  “It doesn’t show,” Cris assured him.

  Bennett’s lips twitched. So the man did have a sense of humor after all. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. You know all about my job. Tell me about yours.”

  “Tata—Dad—wants to retire, and he wants his sons to take over running the company. Since I left college, I’ve been working my way through all the departments, learning how the company operates. Mikey’s more interested in the remodeling side of the work. I don’t think he’s much interested in the business side of the operations, but he’s just amazing with his hands. He’s made some furniture that he’s sold for a lot of money, and he’s had some stores interested in selling his work.”

  Cris frowned. Mikey again. It seemed that Bennett had subsumed his wants and needs into taking care of his brother. Cris liked Mikey, but he wanted to know about the man in front of him. “Do you like taking care of business?”

  Bennett gave him a genuine smile. It lit up his face and made him look years younger. Cris couldn’t look away. “I do. I know I’m lucky because I’m going to inherit a successful business, but Tata got us working even when we were still at school. I don’t think there’s a department I haven’t worked in. I know how every element of our buildings come together, from purchasing the land to selling the end result.”

  “What did you study in college?” Cris asked curiously.

  “Architecture and design. Tata wanted me to do something more hands-on, but I always knew I wanted to design buildings.”

  “But you don’t want to be an architect now?”

  Bennett shrugged. “I had to make a decision—the business or becoming an architect. I chose the business.”

  Or did someone choose for him? Cris didn’t say it out loud, but he suspected the family had a big influence in his decision. He looked down at his empty beer bottle. He didn’t have anywhere else to be, so he waved the bottle at Bennett. “Another beer?”

  Bennett shook his head, somewhat regretfully. “I’ve got to drive home. Coffee would be great if you have it.”

  Cris got up to make the coffee. He was measuring out the grounds when he heard a strangled noise behind him and he turned to see Bennett s
taring into a corner. “You okay over there?”

  “Is that a pole?” Bennett’s voice cracked.

  “Yep.” Cris didn’t bother to look at the metal pole he’d installed in one corner of the room.

  “You’re a pole dancer?” Bennett sounded strangled and slightly breathless.

  “I’m a stripper,” Cris said calmly, “but I sometimes use a pole as part of my routine.”

  Then Bennett surprised the hell out of Cris. “I tried to learn to pole dance when I was in college. They were offering classes to anyone who wanted to try. I was hopeless. I’ve got two left feet, but I gained a whole new respect for pole dancers.”

  “Maybe I could teach you,” Cris suggested as he switched on the coffee maker.

  Bennett chuckled. “As I said, I’ve got two left feet… and two right ones.”

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Worse. I nearly knocked out my teacher and another student. They didn’t exactly ask me to leave, but I got the picture.”

  “I could show you.” Cris had a sudden desire to show him what he could do.

  “Go ahead, then.” From a man worried about jockstraps to an interest in pole dancing, once again, Bennett was a maze of contradictions.

  Cris flashed him a smile, loped over to the pole, jumped and climbed up hand-over-hand in one smooth movement, only using his feet when he got to the top so he could salute Bennett, who stared at him wide-eyed. Cris smiled and swayed down the pole so he could turn upside down. He heard Bennett gasp. There wasn’t enough room for some of his favorite maneuvers, but he went through a routine and felt the strain in his arms and shoulders. He wanted Bennett to admire him, but he finally lowered himself to the floor when his coffee maker beeped.

  “That was…. I… you’re amazing.” Bennett sounded completely genuine.

  Cris swept a bow and beamed at him. “I was just showing off.”

  “I’ve seen women pole dance, but it never affected me like this.” Bennett let out an unexpected raucous whistle.

  Cris couldn’t help the immediate sweep down to check… and sure enough, the bulge told him Bennett was more than a little affected. He looked up, and Bennett bit his lip.