Acrobat

by Mary Calmes

  He hugged me tight and was back taking a seat beside his wife seconds later. He looked at me expectantly.

  “What?” I asked.

  “I don’t know. How the hell should I know? You’re the one who said ‘Don’t tell Ben.’”

  “How did you even hear that?”

  “I’ve got good ears.”

  The man had bat ears, apparently.

  “So give.”

  “Just never mind.”

  “Are you guys having an affair?”

  I squinted at him, and he burst into laughter.

  “Sorry, that was stupid.”

  “Hey,” Melissa Qells Ortiz scolded her husband. “I could be having an affair.”

  “Not with a gay man.” He snickered, turning to look up at the waitress hovering over our table. “Ice tea, and we’ll be ready to order when you get back. Thank you, dear.”

  And the waitress puddled into goo under his big warm brown eyes and sexy smile. Melissa and I were silent as he turned back to us.

  “What?”

  “I dunno.” I shrugged. “Are you done flirting with our waitress?”

  “I—what?”

  Melissa lifted one golden eyebrow.

  “Oh c’mon, I get to take a goddess home, why would I want anything else?”

  “Nice save,” I grumbled as his wife, my ex-wife, leaned forward and kissed his cheek. They were a great couple. I was glad when we divorced, when Jared was ten, that she had then found the love of her life. She was a great stepmother to Ben’s three kids, and they adored her. Ben was a wonderful stepfather to Jared, and they got along well. Not as well as he and I, but I was kind of secretly happy about that.

  My son had grown up understanding that his father was gay. He recognized that this was the reason we were getting a divorce. When Melissa and I had sat him down at ten, he was too young to understand the specifics, but he knew I loved men. It had never been a secret. I was thrilled when she remarried, and because I was, Jared was. I had worried as he got older that perhaps he would turn away from me and toward his stepfather, as they had the love of women in common. But as it turned out, a lifetime of love and devotion actually counted for something. My kid, rowdy and rude at eleven, rebellious and full of angst at thirteen, even apathetic and snarling at sixteen and undecided about what he was going to do with his life at eighteen, still never lost the ability to laugh at himself or love his parents. Even now, at twenty-seven, the first thing I got when I met him at the airport was a big hug followed by a sloppy kiss on the cheek. And at home, on the couch, he would still stretch out, put his head in my lap, and fall asleep. It turned out that who I slept with didn’t matter in the least. When he was a teenager, I had been called a douche, but my sexual orientation had nothing to do with that, only my rules. I was his father, and him believing I was antiquated and unfair was the only factor in our arguments. Our shouting matches never included what I did in my bedroom.

  When my ex had walked out of my life a year and a half ago, the first thing my son did was whoop for joy over the phone. Just like everyone else, he had not liked Duncan Stiel. The second thing he did was suggest I find someone new. But I doubted he would want that someone in his father’s bed to be just a little bit older than him.

  “So what are you going to do?”

  I came out of my thoughts to find both Melissa and Ben staring at me. They really did make a nice couple, her with her mane of blonde hair pulled up into a french twist, diamond studs in her ears, classic and elegant and radiant. Ben was tall and dark and handsome, dashing in his dark charcoal-gray suit and black turtleneck. They were a matching set. Me in my jeans with a Henley over a long-sleeve T-shirt and hiking boots, I definitely looked out of place.

  “I’m going to go buy a bottle of wine, drown myself, and try and think of something interesting to say about Shakespeare tomorrow.”

  “Seriously.” Ben squinted at both of us. “What are we talking about?”

  “Never—”

  “Nate has a little crush.”

  “Really? Finally.” He sighed. “Enough with moping around over Duncan Stiel already.”

  “I haven’t been—”

  “Yes, you have,” they both said at the same time.

  “Oh jinx.” Melissa laughed, and her husband rolled his eyes at her.

  “You guys wear me out.”

  Ben smiled. “How many girls, would you say, fall in love with you every quarter?”

  “What does—”

  “And they have no idea you’re gay, do they?”

  It took me a minute. “What are you talking about?”

  “The girls all go nuts for you because you look the same now as you did when I met you at twenty-eight. And while once you were a struggling grad student working three jobs to support himself, help pay child support, and actually eat on occasion, now you’re a tenured professor with a doctorate in English literature—”

  “And I’m still poor,” I cut him off.

  “I actually kind of like your loft in Lincoln Park,” Melissa assured me. “It’s much less fussy than my house that I have to have a maid to clean.”

  “Excuse me?” Ben asked her, sounding just slightly put out.

  “She didn’t mean it,” I chimed in, kicking her under the table.

  “Owww, you shit,” Ben grumbled, which sent Melissa into peals of laughter.

  I couldn’t help laughing when she did; her laughter was infectious, just like my kid’s.

  “I just meant to say—” Melissa chuckled, blowing her nose on a napkin. “—that your loft is warm and homey and I love it.”

  “It is nice,” Ben grumped as the waitress returned to take our order.

  When she left us with bread, I sat there in the chilly November air and wondered what my life would look like to a thirty-two-year-old man.

  “You’re a catch, Qells.”

  I turned back to look at Ben.

  “You are. You have great friends, and I don’t just mean us. Your kid loves you—hell, my kids love you—you have a really nice home, a wonderful job, and hair that any man would die to have. You’re in possibly the best shape of your life, and your interests are so varied I can’t even keep up with you. I had no idea you could change the oil filter on your own car.”

  “This is not something to put on your résumé,” I assured him.

  “Yes, but I can’t do it,” he told me. “I can’t do crap with my own car, and I’m the CEO of my own company, for crissakes.”

  “You have people to do it for you.”

  “Yes, but the point is that you can go to the ballet with me or a baseball game or a concert and wherever is fine. You’re like the Swiss army knife friend; you have an attachment for everything.”

  I did a slow pan to Melissa. “Did that sound filthy, or was it just me?”

  “Oh no, that was filthy,” she assured me, her eyebrows lifting as she surveyed her husband.

  “Wait.” He thought about it. “I just meant—”

  “Thanks, buddy.” I smiled, reaching out to pat his shoulder.

  “Just call Sean,” Melissa ordered me. “Don’t let the whole thing squick you—”

  “Squick? I’m sorry, I’m not familiar with this word.”

  “You know, freak you out, weird you out, gross you out—squick?”

  “How old are you again?”

  She smacked me really heard, and when I looked at Ben for help, he just shook his head.

  “No hitting,” he told his wife.

  She swatted him next.

  “What the hell?”

  “Oh, I know.” She brightened. “Why don’t you just call Jare and ask him how the kids ask each other out these days?”

  “Oh God. Kids.”

  “You know what I meant.”

  Great idea. Call my son and ask him for advice with asking out a younger man. That was brilliant.

  “It couldn’t hurt.”

  Good God.

  Chapter 2

  BEING a hero s
hould have been less painful. I was thinking that as I sat on the small hospital bed on Monday night, waiting to see a doctor. I had saved a woman from getting mugged or worse—she had been more worried about the “worse” than the contents of her designer handbag—but I had succeeded in getting smashed in the face and then, when I was down, kicked in the ribs. Suzie Rais was very appreciative—so was her husband, when he met her at the hospital—and they told that to my friend Douglas Kearney, whom I had called instead of Melissa or Ben. Doug would be cool about it. Melissa and Ben would blow it way out of proportion.

  “You might look like a superhero,” Doug said from the chair by the door, “but you’re not, buddy. Take it easy.”

  “Just sit there and get ready to take me home.”

  “In like ten hours.” He yawned, getting up. “You know that time stops when you’re in the emergency room just like when you’re watching a basketball game.”

  I grunted my agreement.

  “You want something from downstairs? I need a soda or something.”

  “No, I’ll buy you dinner after this.”

  “A steak?” He sounded hopeful.

  “Yes, if we must.”

  “Oh yes, we must.”

  “I’m thinking I wanna go bowling or something this weekend. Maybe we can—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “Me and Dave and Jackie are hitting the clubs this weekend.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “Did my invitation get lost in the mail?”

  He looked at me like I was nuts.

  “What?”

  “For starters, you never pick up anyone at the club, you just talk everybody to death, and second, I don’t feel like looking like chopped liver standing next to you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Dr. Qells?”

  We both turned toward the voice, and there, standing in the doorway, was Sean Cooper. Dr. Sean Cooper, MD. The smile I was getting was really nice.

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m talking about,” Doug said drolly, rolling his eyes.

  I quickly returned my eyes to the vision in front of me. The long, thick golden eyelashes were just beautiful, but the eyes were an even bigger thrill. Really, what did you call that color, brilliant summer sky? With his big blue eyes and golden honey-blond hair, the man looked good enough to eat.

  “I thought it was you,” he breathed out, crossing the room to stand in front of me, his eyes everywhere before they met mine and stayed. “When I saw your name on the board, I got here as fast as I could.”

  “Well, that was really nice of you to worry about your ex-English professor,” I observed.

  He squinted, pressed his lips together, and then excused himself for a moment.

  Doug cleared his throat, walked over to me, and punched me in the arm.

  “Shit, I’m hurt, you know,” I groused, rubbing my bicep. “I might have a concussion.”

  “You obviously have a brain tumor, you idiot,” he snapped, slapping me on the back of the head.

  “I will seriously beat the crap outta you.” I shoved him off me.

  “For crissakes, Nate,” he growled. “That fuckin’ gorgeous-ass doctor is dyin’ to get his hands on you, and you go and bring up the fact that you used to be his teacher? What the hell?”

  “He—”

  “Nate”—his eyes got big—“try not to be a total imbecile right now, okay? Christ, I’m outta here.”

  I sighed. “I’ll see ya in a bit.”

  “No.” He shook his head, gesturing to the clipboard sitting beside me. “Have the good doctor take you home.”

  “What are you—oh, you’re back.” I smiled at Sean as he walked back into the room. “This is my buddy Doug Kearney—Doug, Sean; Sean, Doug.”

  They shook hands, and Doug explained how he had to go and he was sure I would be well enough to take a cab home. He was gone before I could say another word.

  “Your friend bailed fast, huh?”

  “Yeah.” I forced a smile. “So you think I’ll live?”

  “I need to look at you first.”

  “I… uhm—” I cleared my throat. “—thought you worked at County.”

  “I do. We’re doing a trade this week, cross-training in different conditions. They do it a lot since Mercy Glen and County are partners.”

  I nodded. “Got it.”

  “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Did you not want to run into me?”

  “No,” I blurted out, “just the opposite.”

  “Opposite?”

  Shit.

  He was waiting, stepping closer so that the white hospital coat brushed my knees.

  “Dr. Qells?”

  “You’re the doctor.”

  “So are you,” he assured me, and I couldn’t help but notice the breath he took.

  “Sean, I….”

  “Yes?”

  He stepped closer, between my legs, and his hands—those finely boned, long-fingered hands of his—rested on either side of me on the bed. I swallowed hard.

  “I kept thinking,” he said, one hand reaching up, and the first touch of his fingertips to my jaw made me shudder, “when I saw you the other night at the grocery store that if I kept running into you, then maybe you’d eventually invite me over for dinner. I’ve been going there every night since.”

  Dear God in heaven.

  “I had the biggest crush on you when I had you for freshman English, Dr. Qells, but you knew that, didn’t you?”

  “No,” I said and smiled at him. “Not at all.”

  “No?” He seemed surprised. “Christ, I must be the shittiest flirt ever.”

  “I’m sure you’re very smooth,” I teased. “But you were very young.”

  “I wasn’t that young.” His eyes narrowed. “I was legal.”

  I laughed softly. “Just barely.”

  “Well, I’m all grown up now.”

  And suddenly I wasn’t laughing anymore.

  “Are you seeing anyone?” he asked pointedly.

  “No.” I tried to breathe around the lump in my throat.

  “Why not?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” he said with a shrug, “why not? A man like you, why aren’t you dating anyone?”

  “A man like me?”

  “You’re a catch, Dr. Qells; you don’t need me to tell you that.”

  I peered at him. “I wasn’t fishing.”

  “No, I know, I can tell. You were actually interested in my answer.”

  I cleared my throat as one of his hands settled on my knee.

  “So,” he prodded, “why isn’t there anyone special?”

  “I just got out of a relationship.”

  “How long ago?”

  And it was going to sound stupid. “Year and a half ago,” I confessed.

  He didn’t laugh or snicker or even smile, and I was surprised. “And it took you a while to get over it.”

  “Yes, it did.”

  “But now?”

  “Now I’m all fixed up.”

  He nodded. “So you’ve had the rebound guy, huh?”

  I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry?”

  “You’ve had a guy since him, right?”

  In what context?

  “Right?” he pressed me.

  Why would I play games and not just answer? “Are you asking me if I’ve been with anyone since my ex?”

  “Yessir, that’s what I’m asking.” He grinned.

  “Well, the answer is yes, Sean, I have.”

  The gorgeous blue eyes sparkled. “That’s good.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, Dr. Qells, I would love to take you home with me, but I do not plan on being the one-night stand rebound guy. I plan on being the guy who gets to take you out.”

  All the air was sucked from my lungs.

  His eyes followed his fingers as they traced over my jaw. “I know this is sudden for you, and maybe I’m freaking you out just a little, but Dr.—�
�

  “Nate,” I corrected him.

  “Nate,” he repeated. “Like I said, I know to you this is coming out of right field, but… I’ve been carrying this torch for close to fifteen years, and before I fall into something else, or you do, I would really like to have a shot at seeing you. I figure us bumping into each other at the store last week and now here… maybe I’m supposed to be paying attention.”

  I was concentrating on breathing.

  “And at least if nothing else, would you come home with me and get in my bed?”

  “I thought that wasn’t what you wanted?” I teased.

  “What?” He had stopped listening to me, too intent on my mouth.

  I chuckled because he was very good for my ego.

  “I’m usually better at this,” he coughed out, “but you’re kind of short-circuiting my brain.”

  Me? He was the walking, talking wet dream come to life. “Sean—”

  “Please.” He licked his lips. “Let me see you.”

  “Sean.”

  He made a noise in the back of his throat, and only then did I get that the overwhelming reaction I was having to him, he was having to me. God, he really liked me.

  I tipped my head, squinting at him. “It used to be hard for me to keep my train of thought when you asked me questions. I always got caught up looking at your beautiful eyes.”

  His breath caught, and it was adorable. “You’re kidding, right? All of us—the boys, the girls—we all had it so bad. The first day when you were up there talking nonstop about Milton and you were all into it, smiling and laughing, I kept thinking, Jesus Christ, I won’t learn a damn thing from this man if I get a boner every class.”

  I chuckled and his smile widened, heated.

  “Could you just let me take you out to dinner? This is me begging.”

  “The begging’s not necessary. I would love that,” I told him. “When?”

  “Tonight would be great, but I’m on shift until eleven. Would tomorrow night work? Tuesday night? You probably have plans, but—”

  “I have no plans.”

  He nodded. “How ’bout I pick you up at seven. Would that work?”

  “That would work.”

  “Can I get your number so I can call and get directions?”

  “Sure,” I said, pulling my phone from my pocket. “And I’ll get yours, but I could wait.”

  “Wait?”