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

by Rick Bettencourt

  “Well, strike that idea.” Dillon’s cologne—sandalwood and hints of cedar—met my senses. “How about the old Grapevine?”

  We’d passed it on the way over. “It looked busy,” I said.

  Dillon shrugged. “Worth a shot.” He pressed his hand to the small of my back.

  I smiled. He hadn’t touched me that way—an unconscious public display of affection—in months. “Sure.” Mesmerized, I stared at his sea green eyes.

  “What?” His teeth gleamed.

  “Nothing.” I walked, hoping he wouldn’t stop holding me. He didn’t, and we backtracked once again.

  Unfortunately as we approached the Grapevine, throngs of people gathered. Dillon returned his hands to his pockets.

  “It’s not called the Grapevine anymore.” Dillon looked up at the sign—some Italian trattoria—he pronounced incorrectly.

  We slipped through the crowd anyway and into the lounge. An elegantly dressed woman told us it’d be a two-hour wait.

  “Two hours!” Dillon said. “Should we get a drink at least?”

  Blue martinis dotted a gray granite bar, and people conversed on stainless-steel stools while others milled about boisterously.

  “Let’s try someplace else,” I said. “It’s too loud.”

  “Huh?”

  I jutted my head toward the door.

  Outside, the cool air hit us.

  “If it’s that crowded, the food must be good,” Dillon said. “I don’t want to wait that long though. I’m starving.”

  “Me either.” I tried not to let this series of hiccups seem like an omen and ruin our so-far-so-good date.

  We meandered down the Salem Harbor Walk. Dillon pointed to a fast-food joint. “Honestly, a good burger sounds delicious.”

  “I’ve got the perfect spot.” I touched the small of his back and led him forward. “And not Wendy’s.”

  At Major Magleashe’s, we snagged the last available table at a corner in the back. The waitress who’d served me the day Joey was born set menus down and took our drink order.

  “A gin and tonic?” I said to Dillon as she left. “You know what?” I called her back. “Make that two.”

  “No Miller Lite?” she asked.

  “Changed my mind.”

  “Waters though,” Dillon shouted.

  She winked and proceeded to the bar.

  We sat with our backs along a brick wall. A dart board, an arcade game, and a lottery machine were opposite us.

  “This is perfect,” Dillon said. “How come you’ve never taken me here?”

  I’d been concerned Dillon wouldn’t like it. The atmosphere couldn’t compare to some of the finer establishments we frequented. Major’s was fun, casual, and friendly. “I used to come here all the time back in my Salem State days. I was afraid you would something fancier.”

  “No.” He leaned back and stretched an arm along the table. “I’m tired of all the stuffy restaurants in LA, New York, and Boston. It’s nice to chill out…low-key.”

  The drinks arrived. We toasted and drank. The kitchen was backed up, but the waitress brought us bowls of chili to hold us over. We drank more, and I tempered my booze intake with plenty of water.

  Two large tumblers of gin later, our food arrived. Juice from Dillon’s burger dripped down his face when he bit into it. And I reveled in a steak-tip salad with feta cheese and onion.

  Dillon dipped his fries into ketchup. “This is delicious.”

  “I told you.” I drank the last of my water.

  Dillon slurped his gin and tonic and ordered another round for us.

  “Dill, another?” I asked.

  “We’re celebrating.”

  The waitress cleared our plates, and only our drinks remained. Two college-aged guys threw darts.

  “Reminds me of the time we met Pike.” Dillon’s foot tapped mine like he used to do when we first started dating. “You remember that trip?”

  “Of course.” I beamed. “The L.L. Bean excursions I used to go on.”

  He wobbled drunkenly yet cutely. “We fucked in the tent so hard that—”

  “Shh!” I smirked.

  “Okay. Okay.” He drank. “We met Pike that trip. He was playing darts at a bar similar to this.”

  “I remember. God, how time passes…so quickly.”

  We watched the dart players until my bladder got the best of me. “I’m gonna use the boy’s room.”

  “Okey-dokey, Captain,” Dillon slurred. “Mention my name and you’ll get a good seat.” His face flushed from the alcohol.

  I chuckled. “For the record, I’m not going to be sitting.” I rose.

  “It’s not a prairie-dog moment?”

  “No.” I eyed circuitously—not that anyone knew his code word.

  “I love you,” he said, rather loudly.

  The college kids didn’t notice. Unfazed, they played on. “Love you too,” I said to Dillon and proceeded to the men’s room.

  Chapter 56

  Dillon

  Waiting for Evan to finish peeing, I sank back the rest of my gin and tonic. Damn, those things were good and went down like water. As I reached for Evan’s cocktail—knowing he wouldn’t finish it—the phone he’d left behind flashed a notification.

  I didn’t want to eavesdrop, but the message pinged ominously:

  I’d like to see you. I miss you!

  While the cocktails blurred my vision some, I had no doubt about what I’d read. A series of emoticons followed. “Miss you?”

  The dart players glanced my way, and I returned Evan’s phone to its righted spot by his empty water glass.

  I took out my phone and ordered an Uber to pick us up. Neither of us was in a position to drive.

  Evan returned. “I mentioned your name.”

  “Huh?” I slurped the remnants of his drink. I tried to downplay the text message’s intent. Javier and Evan had neared death together. While I understood the bond, jealousy seeped from my pores.

  Evan rambled on, but I paid no attention and waited to catch his expression as he read the message. When he picked the phone up, he sighed.

  “I ordered an Uber.”

  “Why?” He placed the phone into his coat hanging from the back of his chair.

  The waitress dropped off the billfold, and he handed her our credit card after a quick peek at the ticket.

  “Neither one of us should drive,” I said.

  “I hate to leave the car overnight in the parking garage.”

  “It’s safer.” I slurped the alcohol off his ice cubes.

  “Well, certainly you aren’t.” He put on his jacket.

  Outside, a white Nissan Maxima met us at the curb. A Hispanic man, with jeans torn at the knees and a gold cross hanging off a red turtleneck opened the back door for us.

  We climbed in, and while he drove us through backstreets that whittled their way down to the old train station, we learned he originated from Santo Domingo and lived on The Point.

  Evan fiddled with his phone, presumably texting Javier. Drunkenly I tried to catch the message, but he thumbed into three phones. I closed an eye to focus.

  I miss you too.

  Evan hit the Send button.

  “Jesus,” I said.

  The driver pronounced his name. “Is Jesús.”

  I caught the driver’s six eyes glancing at me in the rearview mirror. “So what does a hot guy from Santo Domingo living on The Point do for fun?” My drunken jealousy reared.

  “Dillon.” Evan elbowed me.

  Jesús chuckled. “Is okay. I have gay friend. You are a gay?”

  “Yup, we’re a gay,” I said.

  “Gay no problem.”

  The drunk, no-holds-barred side of me unleashed further. “Well, you’re kinda hot.” One of his noses had a cute point to it. And all six profiles were scruffy like Adam.

  “’cuse me?” he said.

  “Don’t mind him,” Evan said. “He’s drunk.”

  “No sick in de car, please.”

&n
bsp; “I’m not going to be sick.” I turned to Evan. “You don’t think he’s hot?”

  Evan rolled his eyes. “Stop,” he muttered. “You’re embar—”

  “Do you want to fool around with him?” I whispered to Evan, obviously a little louder than intended.

  “I no gay.”

  “That’s not a problem.” I popped my head up. “We can take ’em straight.” I’d read an article online about all these so-called straight men who found it perfectly normal to accept a helping hand, or other body part, from a buddy in tough times. “Things have changed. It’s not as immoral as when I was a kid.”

  “Oh my God.” Evan stared out the window.

  My alcohol-flooded brain had concocted the brilliant idea of a threesome with the driver in order to rectify things between Evan and me. “Maybe we need to bring someone else into the relationship.”

  Evan’s heads spun faster than a dreidel on Hanukkah. “Stop.”

  “Maybe you’re just sick of me.”

  Dumbfounded, Evan’s mouth opened but nothing came out.

  “I don’t want you to fuck Javier.” I hiccupped. “And I don’t want Vilhelm or Adam to get their hands on you.” My idea seemed brilliant. “This guy’s cute. He’ll do.” I tapped the driver’s shoulder, surprised my hand landed on all three.

  Jesús laughed nervously.

  “Don’t mind him,” Evan said and picked up his phone, which rattled against a metal clip on the seat from a text message.

  I pressed my forehead against the cool glass. “You love Javier.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  We approached the car wash on North Street. “Take a right,” I pleaded. “Evan.” I turned to him, “I want to show you that house.”

  “Fine.” Evan motioned for the driver to turn.

  “You’ll like it. I promise.” Seeing my brilliant idea of a threesome wasn’t going anywhere, I let it go. I’m drunk. “Jesús, drop us off here, please.” We approached the park Deet and I played at.

  He looked to Evan for approval.

  “Well pay you extra,” Evan said to him. “Besides, I think the air will do him good.”

  “I don’t need to be done good to,” I mumbled.

  Jesús’s Maxima stopped alongside Furlong Park.

  Evan handed the driver some money.

  “Is no necessary,” Jesús said.

  “Take it.” Evan waved a ten—or a twenty? That, plus the Uber fee automatically deducted from my app paid him well.

  Jesús took the bill.

  Evan opened his door. “We’ll call for another car in a bit.”

  Embarrassed, I stumbled out without saying anything. To my surprise, Evan had gotten around to my side already and helped me over the curb.

  “I can’t believe you,” he said as the car pulled away.

  The cool air sobered me some. “Walk this way.” I pulled out of his loose hold on my belt and exaggerated my steps into a march, to be funny and lighten the moment. I turned, expecting to find Evan mimicking my walk, or wobble as it turned out. Instead, his phone’s light illuminated his cute-as-a-puppy face as he typed.

  “Evan.” I stopped. I wanted to cry. What did that man have that I didn’t? “Evan, all I want is to love you.”

  Ignoring me, he continued texting.

  “Evan! I have done nothing. With no one!” I balanced myself against a signpost. “I’m sorry about coming on to the taxi driver…that Uber man.” My arms floundered upward. “So what if he’s hot. There are plenty of hot men out there.” I extended a hand toward the river. “I wouldn’t fuck that man…that hot little Dominican driver…with your dick.”

  “Dillon, what are you…?” He put his phone away.

  “Who is more important?”

  “You are.” He pecked me on the cheek. “Now show me this house.”

  I staggered toward Dearborn. “You’re gonna fucking love it.” I hated being drunk. There was nothing more annoying than one who imbibed to excess. I rarely got this way. “Evan, Major Magleashe’s makes strong d’inks.”

  “They do.” He chuckled.

  The next thing I knew, I lay on the newly sodded lawn of the renovated Victorian I loved. I made snow angels, despite no snow, on the fresh grass.

  Evan laughed, standing above me next to a sign: Open House on Sunday.

  I crawled on all fours toward the three-bay garage, which had miraculously been completed since my day with Deet. “Evan, I want it.” I plopped cross-legged onto the ground to face him. “Let’s buy it.”

  “Are you kidding me? They probably want a fortune for it.”

  “We can afford it.”

  A white car turned onto the street.

  “Oh, shit.” I rose to my knees, fearing the police, but as it approached, I recognized Jesús’s Maxima.

  “C’mon.” Evan extended a hand.

  “I promise I won’t flirt with him.”

  Evan opened the back door.

  “I promise I won’t tell him how cute he is.” I fell into the backseat.

  “Lord, help me.” Evan closed my door.

  “You no make it too far,” Jesús said.

  Evan got in.

  “We will buy that house,” I told Jesús.

  “Buckle up,” Evan said to me.

  “Is nice house.”

  “It’s very nice.” Evan beat me by strapping himself in first.

  I fumbled with mine. The car accelerated, and I slumped backward. I snapped my buckle in and snuck one more peek of the house. “I think we should go to the open house tomorrow.”

  “We may have to go somewhere else,” Evan said, texting.

  “What are you—”

  His phone rang, and he answered it.

  Shocked that he would speak with Javier in front of me, I balked.

  “Mikey, are you all right?” Evan said. “Calm down. Calm down”

  “Mikey?” I spun, as did the car.

  Evan pressed a hand to his free ear with the phone in the other. “Did you call 911?”

  Chapter 57

  Evan

  Sunday morning at the East India Mall parking garage in Salem, Steven Renault dropped us off to get the Audi. Dillon and I headed for Settlement, New Hampshire, to rescue Mikey from a drunken mother.

  I chalked up Dillon’s mischievousness from last night to the three-too-many drinks he had. “Is your head still pounding?”

  Dillon slumped against the passenger-side door. “How long does it take for the aspirin to kick in?”

  “Oh, stop being a baby. You’ll be fine. I’ll drive slowly.”

  We drove past the train station. “That house is coming up. Do you want me to stop?”

  “We need to get up to Mikey,” Dillon said. “Besides, I don’t want to remember. Did I really make snow angels?”

  “Technically, grass angels.” We drove past HMA Car Care. “Last call.”

  “Last call. Don’t remind me.” He waved a hand forward. “Keep going. Besides, the open house isn’t until this afternoon. Maybe if we get home in time, we can pop in.”

  “It’s a long ride up and back.”

  “You don’t want to do it, anyway.” Dillon removed his head from the window, something about the bumpy road surely having an impact.

  “Well, it’s not that I’m not open to a new place. But…God…that’s some house.”

  “Five bedrooms, four baths, and a detached three-car garage with a studio above.”

  “You’ve investigated.”

  “We could put the office over the garage. It’s bigger than Mad’s old spot in the boathouse. In fact, the garage space is bigger than our house!”

  I put my directional on to take a left onto Gardner. “I’ve had that cottage for so long. Why do we need to move?”

  “We don’t but…well, it’s so small, Evan. I mean really. I have to go outside to fart sometimes because I don’t want you to hear.”

  “Oh, so we’ll buy five bedrooms so you can gas it up.”

 
“No.” He chuckled. “That’s not what I mean.”

  “Well, how much is it?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know.” A grassy island split the road in two. I spotted a mailbox and tried to recall if I’d mailed the taxes. Yeah, I was pretty sure I did.

  “It’s all about money for you.”

  “No, it’s not.” Well, kind of. He knew this was my weak spot. “How much is it?”

  “It didn’t state.”

  “How can they put up a listing without the price?”

  “I didn’t look.”

  I stopped at a red light. “You didn’t look?”

  “All right, I didn’t want to know.” Dillon worked under the assumption that if you had to ask, you couldn’t afford it, like his ordering a new Bergdorf Goodman tailored suit that now awaited his pickup in New York City. After a four-figure deposit, I dreaded the final bill.

  “All right,” he said, “let me find out.” He took out his cell phone.

  We were faring well. I’d recently paid off the equity line, which I’d tapped for that belly-up stock investment and for paying off my medical bills. “If it’s reasonable, we’ll look. I just don’t want to get your hopes—”

  “Forget it.”

  “What do you…? Why, how much?”

  He threw his phone onto the console. “It’s way overpriced.” He rested his head against the glass. “It was a dumb idea.”

  “Drinking? Or looking at the house?”

  “Both.”

  We continued down Route 114, and after a few miles, I hooked onto I-95 North.

  Dillon fell asleep somewhere past Newburyport. In silence, I wondered about Mikey’s safety. The kid worried me. Nearing the state border with the sun shining bright, I cracked open the window for ventilation and Dillon rustled.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “Are we in New Hampshire yet?” he asked, looking all hair-disheveled cute.

  “Almost.” I patted his knee. “I’m sorry if I was a crabapple.”

  “When? Which time? I mean…I didn’t mean it like that.”

  I chuckled. “No worries.”

  “So, Mikey…I think he might have a crush on you?”