Building Us: A Gay Romantic Comedy and Adventure (Marketing Beef Gay Romance Book 2)

by Rick Bettencourt

  “Really. I didn’t know.”

  Deet lifted a leg on a snowbank besides us and left a yellow stain. The man looked at him, then removed his shovel from where he’d parked it.

  “Nice meeting you,” I said to him.

  “Enjoy your day.” He unhinged the gate to the pool and trudged through snow up to his hips until he got near the Jacuzzi and shoveled a path from the tub to the lobby’s rear entrance.

  Chapter 15

  Evan

  We drove in silence, save Detritus snoring in the back.

  “I’m sorry if I was a crabapple,” I said to Dillon, who gazed my way and smiled.

  “It’s okay.” He tapped my knee and returned his hand to the wheel. “We’ve been together for almost five years now. I know your quirks.”

  Quirks? I sighed and told myself to let it go. I hated when I got anxious, like I had the day earlier. Crazy, but I usually took it out on Dillon. Someone once told me you sometimes hurt those you love most when stressed. I hated to be that way, but perhaps they were right. I needed to steer this ship called the McCormick-Deiss Household in the right direction. Fixing our balance sheet was the only way I knew how. Dillon had held up his end of the bargain, or at least tried to like hell, by pounding the pavement and, at least, getting us this gig with the studio. Me, on the other hand, I got cancer and invested in an IPO, both of which cost us a fortune. I can’t even run a PowerPoint. I sighed as we drove up the ramp to the highway. The 4Runner picked up momentum a lot faster than my Explorer had.

  By noon, we neared Settlement, New Hampshire. Signs touted its small-town charm, which made me long for home. I disliked traveling, and with the car stolen I longed to return.

  Dillon grimaced and groaned. “Oh, nature’s calling.” He farted and rolled the window down. His bowel movements were so regular, you could practically set a clock to them.

  “Pull over at the next gas station.” I rolled mine down and faced the fresh air.

  “You know I hate going in public.” He fidgeted.

  “Well, why didn’t you try going before we left the hotel?” I knew the answer.

  “It wasn’t ready.” The truck sped up, and a mile later we pulled off at a Burger King. “I’ll be right out,” he said, slamming the car into Park and running inside.

  Deet moseyed over and put his head over my shoulder.

  “God, your breath is awful.” I rubbed behind his ears. “We need to clean your teeth when we get home.” I hadn’t thought to bring his toothbrush. I undid my belt and turned to him. “Maybe the studio will brush them. Huh? Polish you like an Academy Award.”

  He crooked his head into my scratching hand.

  A knock on my window startled me. Dillon stood outside it. I tried to roll the window down but with car off it didn’t budge.

  “There’s someone in there,” he yelled through my closed window.

  “What do you want me to—”

  “Let’s go next door.” He opened my door and pointed with his head across the street to the convenience store. “Can you drive?”

  I got out. “Sure.” I knew when he was in this situation he couldn’t even think straight, let alone drive. I rushed to the other side, hurried in, cranked the ignition, and peeled out of the lot.

  “Mother of Moses.” Dillon gritted his teeth and held on to door’s grab handle. “I’m prairie-dogging”—Dill’s term for his “nature call” rearing its head.

  I rolled my eyes. “We’re almost there.” At the fast-food lot’s intersection, I floored it, and we rambled over to the other side of the street. I barely got into the parking lot, and he had the door open. I found a spot.

  He bolted out, leaving the door open, and a trail of flatulence in his wake.

  “Good God.” I reached across to shut the door and waved away his foul stench.

  Dillon’s phone buzzed in the cupholder. Adam’s name flashed across its display. I figured I’d answer it to tell him we were on our way. “Hi, we should be there soon.” I hated Dill’s Android compared to my iPhone. It felt odd in my hand.

  “Great,” Adam said. “Can’t wait to see you again, hot stuff.”

  “Hot stuff?” He must’ve thought I was Dillon.

  “Don’t play hard to get.”

  My mouth dropped. “Hard to get?” I thought about telling him who I was, but Adam rushed into details about hotel arrangements, where to meet, and other things my mind couldn’t comprehend because of the outright flirting. Hot stuff. Dillon wouldn’t…would he?

  “Vilhelm wants you in a union suit,” Adam said.

  “Huh?”

  “You know, those old-fashion, red one-piece suits with a flap on the ass.” He laughed.

  I swallowed. “He does?” My heart pounded. “What…what for?”

  Adam chuckled. “See you in a few, sexy.” He hung up.

  “Sexy?” The phone slid out of my hand and back into the cupholder. I turned to Detritus. “Do you know about this?” I sat there contemplating the situation and tried to rationalize the situation in my head. Deet offered no answers.

  Cars pulled up beside me. Their occupants entered, returned with their items, and left.

  Finally, Dillon exited all smiles. He opened the driver’s door where I still sat. “I won five hundred dollars!” He held up a scratch ticket. “Lucky shit, huh? Last buck…decided what the heck…kid behind the counter….”

  I got out of the car still dazed as he headed back into the store and cashed the ticket. I should have been thrilled—we needed the cash—but other worries vexed my muddled brain.

  The next thing I recalled, we were exiting the highway for Settlement, New Hampshire.

  Remorse hung over me. “Wasn’t I supposed to blow you last night?” I grabbed his thigh. If I put out more often this wouldn’t happen. I had been an ass last night.

  “Excuse me?” Dillon’s face reddened.

  “I didn’t like sleeping in separate beds.” We’d gone to bed angry, not something either of us particularly liked to do. “Yesterday on our travels, I told you I would blow you. We never—”

  “I remember.” He adjusted himself down there. It didn’t usually take much to turn him on. “But now is not good.”

  “I know.” I let my hand travel downward to verify my assumption. Yup, hard as a rock.

  “You know I’ve got a hair-trigger dick.” He held back my hand from playing. “Stop,” he mumbled, but I knew he wanted me to continue.

  I sighed. I wanted to please him and make this whole thing with Adam—and Vilhelm Strom?—go away. “All right.” I returned my hands to my lap. “But promise me tonight.”

  He chuckled. “Promise.”

  We drove slowly through snow-lined streets and stopped at a red light.

  “Adam called?” I swallowed.

  “Huh? When?”

  “When you were in the bathroom.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” He picked up his phone.

  “I already talked to him.”

  “Oh.” He returned it to the cupholder.

  “I took the call.” I stared out the window, refusing to look into his eyes to glean the truth.

  “Great. What’d he say?”

  “He wants you…he wants you in a union suit.”

  “A what? He wants me in a union suit?”

  Smoke rose from the chimney of a house at the corner.

  “You know. One of those old-fashioned—”

  “Oh, for the walk-on role, he must mean.”

  I faced him. “Is that what it’s for?”

  His brow wrinkled and a car behind us beeped. The light had turned green.

  Chapter 16

  Dillon

  Off the highway, I followed signs marked Filming, which led us to the town center of Settlement. A country store with a porch kept clear of snow from its overhang housed a wooden barrel, a newspaper stand, and bench along its grayed planks.

  We parked in an abandoned lot across the way and lumbered out.

  “Are yo
u sure this is where we’re supposed to meet?” Evan asked.

  I finished my text message to Adam and sent it. “What did Adam tell you? You talked to him?”

  Evan made his way to the store. “Hey, wait up. What about Deet?” I pointed back to the truck. Evan had been acting strange. I assumed his new medication had something to do with it. I let him go it alone and proceeded to let the dog out to pee.

  While Deet investigated and did his business, a kid—no more than eleven or twelve wearing boots a couple sizes too big—approached, feet sloshing through the mud. “Can I pet your dog?”

  “Sure.”

  Deet waddled over to him—tail wagging eagerly.

  “Hey, fella,” the boy said. I told him Deet’s name and the story behind it, though I don’t think he quite understood the meaning of detritus.

  “You look just like Hot Dog,” he said to Detritus.

  “You know Hot Dog?”

  “Yeah, of course.” He scratched Deet’s neck under the collar. “Can I take him for a walk?”

  My phone chimed. I nodded to the kid, who circled Deet about the lot while Adam’s deep voice informed me about a ride to some island. “An island?” I asked, but he didn’t hear me and kept on talking.

  When I hung up, the kid stepped forward. “Was that Adam?” He peered over my phone. “You with the film?”

  “Sort of.”

  “Adam and Javier let me walk the dogs sometimes.”

  “Dogs?” I asked. “As in many?”

  “Yesterday, I even gave Hot Dog a bath. Detritus could use a bath,” said Mikey—as the kid introduced himself. He wore a black stocking cap, tufts of red hair sticking out from under it, and freckles dotted his rosy cheeks. “I can wash Detritus for you for only twenty dollars.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Mikey bent down beside Deet, who gave him his paw. Mikey laughed.

  My stomach rumbled. I was starving. Opposite Settlement Country Store, a placard for Mario’s Italian Café advertised all-you-can-eat spaghetti and meatballs. “How’s the food over there?” I pointed to it.

  The kid looked over. “Good.” He continued petting Deet. “My mom took me there for my thirteenth birthday.”

  “Thirteen, eh?”

  “Last month.”

  Evan stepped out from the store holding a newspaper.

  “All right, kid. Take Detritus.”

  Mikey’s eyes widened. “Sure!”

  Evan neared. “What’s going on? Are we in the right place?”

  I took out my wallet. “Yeah, Adam said they don’t need us ’til four.”

  Evan gazed his watch. “Four? I thought we were late.”

  Mikey rose. “All they do is wait. I’ve been watching them make this movie all day. It’s boring. They just sit around.” He put out his hand to Evan. “Hi. I’m Mikey.”

  Evan took it. “Evan. Glad to meet you.”

  “I’m gonna wash your dog.”

  Evan looked at me. “You are?”

  I handed Mikey a ten. “I’ll pay you the rest when you get back.” I pointed to Mario’s. “We’ll be over there having lunch.”

  Evan and I asked for the small table by the window so we could see the boy’s house. A waitress, about our age, poured Chianti from a plastic carafe and left it on the edge of our table. Our red-checked tablecloths matched about ten others scattered about the small establishment. Ev and I were the only customers.

  Italian music came from a stereo wedged onto a shelf behind the bar. On high notes, a bottle of wine vibrated beside it.

  “And you trust that kid with our…with Detritus?” Evan leaned back in his chair

  “He lives right there.” I bent my head down to better view the two-story apartment we’d left Deet and Mikey at. “For twenty dollars, it’s a bargain. He needs to be all spiffy for his big debut, anyway.”

  Evan sighed. “He needed a bath.”

  I held out my glass. We toasted and drank. “Besides—” I swallowed “—we need to kill time. We’ve got a built-in babysitter.” The wine had a vinegary aftertaste. “The ride to the island doesn’t leave for hours. And Deet liked the kid.”

  “Island? We’re in the middle of New Hampshire.” Evan scrunched his face, looking at the wine. “Detritus would take to Jack the Ripper.”

  I ignored the Deet comment to avoid furthering Evan’s worry. “There’s a lake north of town…from what I hear.”

  Evan returned his glass atop the cardboard coaster.

  “Wine’s not that great, is it?” I wrinkled my nose.

  “No, not really.” Evan traced a finger over the windowsill and stared out the window. “Can I ask you something?”

  I sipped more wine. “Of course.”

  Evan’s eyes darted away from me. “Am I enough for you?”

  My face flushed—whether from bad wine or dread, I wasn’t sure. “Why…why do you— Of course you’re enough for me.” I grabbed his hand. “I love you.”

  “I know I’ve been a pill lately.” His eyes moistened. “And sometimes I don’t—” He gazed behind him. “—put out enough.”

  I sat back. “Stop. There’s nothing wrong. Why do you doubt yourself?”

  He shrugged a shoulder and looked at the floor.

  The door to the restaurant burst open, startling us both. Mikey rushed in and slid to a stop by the hostess’s booth. He breathed forcefully. “They…they took Detritus!”

  Chapter 17

  Evan

  Dillon paced the front porch of Mario’s Café. “What do you mean it wasn’t you?” he asked Adam on the other end of the phone. “The kid said a lumberjack-looking guy—” Dillon shook his head, elbow pointing to the street as he listened. “You don’t just…but I….” Dillon sighed and his elbow lowered.

  Mikey and I stood by while Dillon tried to get a word in. The wind howled and snow from the ground whisked up and into puffs of white.

  “Let’s wait inside,” I said to the boy, and we moved into the restaurant. “No use standing out there.” I let Mikey in under my arm and closed the door with a click of its patina knob.

  We ambled over to the bar and hopped onto two stools facing a mirror, lots of liquor, and a muted television. A commercial for a mortgage company flickered above a world market chyron.

  Dillon’s yelling filtered in. I had confidence he’d rectify the situation. His insistence always did. “You want something?” I asked the boy.

  He shrugged. “A Coke?”

  The waitress who’d served Dill and me a few minutes ago tended the bar. “Coming right up.”

  I held up two fingers. “I’ll have one as well.” I rarely drank sugary soda, but what the heck.

  “They said Detritus was late for the movie.” Mikey took a peanut from a wineglass full of snacks in front of us. Ice rumbled into glasses on the other side of the bar as the waitress prepared our beverages.

  “It’s all right,” I said, sensing his guilt. “It’s not your fault.” Bloomberg flashed news about a robust day expected for the New Zealand market. Men in suits smiled and silently bantered over candlestick charts that suggested a similar rally for Asia, Europe, and the US.

  “You rich?” Mikey’s feet rapped along the bar’s wall beneath us.

  I chuckled. “No. Why?” I used to be. I turned my back to the TV.

  The kid’s green eyes reminded me of Dillon’s. “Hollywood guys seem to have money.”

  “We’re not really Hollywood people.”

  He scrunched his brow and took another peanut.

  “Deet is just standing in for Hot Dog.” I didn’t mention Dillon’s walk-on role—in a union suit!

  “Rich people watch stock shows like this.” He pointed a pinky toward the TV and peeled a seed coat off a nut.

  The waitress dropped off our drinks, and I resumed watching the television. The upward trend on the Asian market’s spiked graph caused a rise in my posture. “Hmm.”

  “You read those things,” Mikey said.

  “Charts? I do.
You know, trading stock can be a smart thing to do for your future.” I felt all fatherly, dispensing investing advice. Then, watching Dillon argue out on the porch made me realize how I’d gotten us into this predicament with my crazy investment scheme. “But don’t listen to me.”

  Mikey sucked loudly from his straw, followed by clinking noises in his glass. “Must be nice to have money.” He slurped more. “Hey, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure.” The fintech section of Bloomberg started, my favorite part of the show.

  “Are you guys gay? Like in gay-married gay?”

  I tore my eyes from news about VeriPay, the Chinese IPO set to take on the burgeoning Asian cell-phone market’s payment systems. “Why do you—”

  “The kids at school sometimes…never mind.” He stared into his drink and stirred ice with the cocktail straw.

  I leaned against the stool’s back. “Do they make fun of you?”

  “No!” He swiveled in his chair.

  “I used to get picked on because I have a birthmark on my chest. I was very self-conscious about it.”

  Wind gushed in and Dillon entered. The door rattled behind him. “Cold out there.” He closed it with a bang, like he does at home.

  “Do they have Deet? Is he okay?” I asked.

  “He’s fine.” The empty stool at the corner of the bar scraped along the wooden floor as he wrenched it backward. “They needed to get a quick shot in before the clouds rolled in…or some crazy-ass thing.” He placed a foot on the stool’s rung. “What are you guys drinking?”

  Mikey swiveled more. “Bacardi and Coke.”

  Dillon grimaced. He knew I hadn’t touched rum since our honeymoon when I got sick from a slew of them.

  “Minus the rum.” I picked mine up. “We still owe Mikey here another ten.” I sipped.

  “Oh, yeah.” Dillon reached for his wallet, took out money, and slid it toward the kid.

  “Thanks, guys.” Mikey flitted through several ones, a couple fives, and a ten. He smiled. “Wow!”

  I marked my approval of Dillon’s generosity with a smile, but my husband was already into his phone.