Love Is Proud

by JMS Books Authors

  I can meet you there.

  Jack’s mind raced with the possibilities. Stop!

  Jack repeated the Serenity Prayer in his head and stopped thinking about a future with Kerry. This was only a first date. Jack vowed to himself not to repeat past mistakes and stake his entire future on this first meeting outside the casino bar.

  Jack laughed to himself as he remembered advice he got from friends when he and Gerald first broke up. “Find yourself a young hottie to take care of you!”

  “One day at a time, one day at a time.”

  It didn’t take Jack long to find a suitable outfit. He got ready to go and arrived at the restaurant twenty minutes early. Soon it was five minutes after six and Kerry had neither arrived nor texted that he was running late.

  Typical.

  Other men had stood Jack up before, and it upset Jack to think Kerry was like them. This is why I don’t date, Mother.

  Jack set a timer for ten minutes. If he hadn’t heard from Kerry in the next ten minutes, he’d go back home. The premier on HBO was recording on his DVR and he could watch that.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Kerry said when he finally arrived. His hair looked like he had literally just rolled out of bed.

  “Are you all right?” Although miffed that Kerry was thirty minutes late, his appearance was cause for concern.

  “Yes, I’m fine. I laid down to take a short nap and overslept is all. I’m really sorry, I’m just exhausted.”

  Jack relaxed. “You’ve got a lot going on. How’s your dad?”

  “He’s doing good. Almost back to normal.”

  “Good.”

  “He renewed his vow to stay away from the cigarettes.”

  “That’s good news.”

  “He’s said this before. If I can just get him to remember how awful he feels when he exacerbates his COPD…”

  Kerry held the concern for his father in each fine line on his face. In the dim light of the restaurant, Kerry looked even younger than he did at the casino.

  “Well let’s talk about something more cheerful. Tell me a bit more about yourself.”

  Even though it was dark, the color in Kerry’s cheeks deepened. “Oh, there’s not much to tell. I’m not a famous writer like you.”

  Jack’s cheeks warmed. “I’m really not that famous. I have a loyal tribe of a few thousand people who buy my books and keep the lights on.”

  “So you’re not like Anne Rice or Stephen King?”

  “Oh God, no. Publishing is very different now. Instead of a few superstars, there are lots of little players at all different levels. If you think of writing like acting, I’m just a star in a regional theater. I pay the bills, am able to travel to two or three cons a year. I use that as my sightseeing and vacation time before and after the cons.”

  “Cons?”

  “Conventions. The cons are where I meet the majority of the readers.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “Writing gives me the time and flexibility to be at home with my mom.”

  “That’s really nice. I wished I could find something like that.”

  “Well, believe me, it’s not always ideal.”

  Kerry chuckled. The server interrupted to take their orders.

  “So when you’re not writing or doting on your mother, what do you like to do?”

  “Oh, when I’m not writing, I’m thinking about writing.” Jack scoffed at himself. “I watch a lot of documentaries for research. I spend most of the daytime hours writing or devoted to research or promotion of my writing.”

  “What about at night?”

  “I have a variety of shows that I watch. My favorite during the summer is America’s Got Talent.”

  “Nice. I don’t seem to have much time for TV, and when I do, Dad still rules the remote.”

  The server brought their meals. They both started eating and the conversation waned.

  Jack’s mind flashed to his first date with Gerald. Eating at a buffet, they spent most of the meal in comfortable silence. Jack sensed then that they would be together, hopefully for the rest of their lives.

  Stop. This is just a first date.

  They continued to eat in silence, Jack shutting off his internal thoughts and vowing to stay in the moment.

  “How’s your burrito?” Kerry interrupted Jack’s mindfulness meditation.

  “Good, not too heavy for such a hot day,” Jack repeated his meditation out loud. “How’s yours?”

  “Delicious, thanks.”

  Their focus went back to their meals.

  When they finished eating, they pushed their plates to the side.

  Jack hailed the server.

  At their table, she asked, “Would you like something for dessert?”

  “I don’t. Kerry, would you like anything?”

  Kerry shook his head. “Couldn’t eat another thing. Thanks anyway.”

  “We’ll take the check.”

  They settled their bills separately and left the restaurant.

  “There’s a new frozen yogurt place down on the Plaza. Do you want to get some?”

  “How come you turned down dessert in there?”

  “I like the frozen yogurt better and it’s quieter.” Jack soaked in Kerry’s mischievous grin. “I can drive and that way we both won’t have to deal with parking on a Saturday night.”

  Jack agreed and they went in Kerry’s late model pickup, the interior impeccably clean. After Kerry pulled out of the parking lot and made his way down Broadway, he reached over and grabbed Jack’s hand. Warm and cool, strong and soft at the same time, Jack marinated in Kerry’s attention. Cautiously, Jack squeezed Kerry’s hand to return the affection.

  “Are you okay?”

  Am I that transparent? “I’m fine. Having a great time. Why do you ask?”

  “You look a little nervous. Your mom do all right when you’re not there.”

  “She’s fine. We have one of those medic alert pendants that she wears when I’m not around.”

  “That’s good.”

  “I’m nervous because I haven’t had a real date in fifteen years.”

  “Wow. That include the time you were with your ex?”

  “Yes, we were together ten years, and have been divorced for five.”

  “You haven’t had a date since then.”

  “Not a real one.”

  “But you’ve been with other guys since then, right?”

  The air conditioning blew cold in the cab of the truck, yet the air remained thick. “I am a single gay man, I have needs. Yes, I’ve hooked up, but not really gone on a normal date.”

  Kerry chuckled. “Normal? What’s normal.” His grin and playful banter comforted Jack.

  “Isn’t that the truth? Honestly, I’ve been scared of dates.”

  “Scared?”

  “I got so caught up in Jack and Gerald as a couple when I first met him, that I lost myself along the way. When he decided to leave, I vowed to take care of myself better, so I’ve avoided anything that resembled a date since then.”

  “For five years?”

  “Yup. I went out to a few movies and concerts with guys I met on Grindr and Scruff. I always explained my situation up front, set the expectation of no expectations. But I never allowed myself to enjoy myself.”

  “Once bitten, twice shy.”

  Jack chuckled. “For sure. But there’s got to be a middle ground right?”

  “I’m always trying to find that, too. Again, what’s normal?”

  Kerry pulled the truck into a parking spot in front of the frozen yogurt place. They got out and prepared their bowls. Jack selected a few favorite ingredients while Kerry piled a mish-mosh of yogurt and toppings in his container. They grabbed their bowls and found a bench outside. The frozen yogurt kept them cool on the stifling evening.

  Kerry settled in next to Jack. “So tell me, how old are you?”

  “I’m forty-five—”

  “Forty-five! I thought you were more like thirty!”

&
nbsp; Jack said a silent thank you to his friend Kathy in Coconut Creations who had taught him the importance of moisturizer.

  “What about you? You look thirty yourself.”

  “I hope to look as good as you when I’m forty-five. I’m thirty five.”

  “You look great. I said thirty, but I really wanted to say twenty-seven or twenty-eight, but young guys sometimes get upset when you say they look young.”

  Jack savored the red velvet while Kerry rolled his eyes and took a bite of his yogurt.

  “So how long have you taken care of your dad?” Jack broke the silence.

  “Let me see, not long, couple years maybe? What about you?”

  “Five. After Dad passed away, Mom’s health declined more than before, so I had her move in with me.”

  “That’s sweet.”

  “A family trait I guess you could say. My parents took care of my mother’s folks as well.”

  “You evidently get along.”

  “We’ve always been close, even when I was a teenager.”

  “Even better.”

  “I might have used taking care of my mom as an excuse not to go out on a date or continue dating someone.” The strain of suppressing a grin settled in Jack’s cheeks.

  Kerry’s eyes sparkled when he returned the grin. “You are horrible.” Kerry couldn’t contain his laughter.

  Jack shrugged and focused on his bowl.

  Kerry wiped a smear of strawberry topping off his chin. “So why did you agree to go out with me tonight?”

  “I’ve enjoyed our Tuesday afternoon visits.”

  “So have I.”

  “I have to admit, I was a little disappointed earlier this week when you weren’t there.”

  Kerry laughed again. “Is it bad that I was mad at my dad not just for smoking and putting himself in the hospital, but also for making me late to work to see you again?”

  “That’s sweet of you to say.”

  Kerry shrugged. “It’s the truth.”

  Jack scooped up the last bite of yogurt and ate it. “Should we go?”

  “Sure.”

  They walked through the Plaza back to Kerry’s truck.

  “Thanks for coming out on such short notice,” Kerry said.

  “I wasn’t doing anything anyway. Probably would have just watched a movie.”

  “Can we get together again?”

  “When?”

  “I’m off Wednesdays and Thursdays.”

  “Perfect. On Wednesdays, the movie theater by my house plays movies like Dirty Dancing or Pretty in Pink or, you know, movies that aren’t that old, but are classics to me. Let’s go next week.”

  “It’s a date.”

  They climbed into Kerry’s truck and drove to Jack’s car in comfortable, yet electric silence. Once parked, Jack grabbed the handle, but before he got out, Kerry grabbed his left hand.

  “Can I kiss you?” As if playing out one of his romance novels, Jack basked in Kerry’s chivalry.

  Jack leaned in, opened his lips, and kissed Kerry. Tender and tentative at first, soon Kerry’s tongue invaded his mouth and found his own.

  Jack pressed down on the erection straining in his shorts and broke their connection. “You’re a good kisser.”

  Kerry’s cheeks turned a deeper shade of red. “Thanks. So are you.”

  In the silence that lingered, Jack held Kerry’s hand and rubbed it with his thumb.

  “So Wednesday night, movies?”

  Jackpot!

  “Definitely.”

  * * * *

  ABOUT DEAN FRECH

  With inspiration from historical tourism sites, the love of reading, and a desire to write a novel, Dean started crafting his first novel in 2008. Dean lives in Kansas City, Missouri with his two cat and is currently working a standalone title, Sartin, a merman romance. For more information, visit deanfrech.blogspot.com.

  Something More Like Love by Francis Gideon

  Craig always watches the door before Darren goes to work in the morning. The apartment is in need of a paint job and Craig could probably tell the man in the paint store the exact shade of butter yellow he’d need to replace it from the stare down he has on the edge of his seat every morning. Sometimes, Craig’ll glance furtively from the silver knob back to Darren as he shaves and slides his large arms into his suspenders—but Craig’s gaze always returns to the door. He knows no other way to keep his secret safe.

  “Well, darlin’.” Darren’s long, southern drawl breaks into Craig’s thoughts. “I’m off to work now.”

  Darren and Craig met at the diner where Darren waited tables when Craig was passing through Lafayette after a graduate conference. The story is rather simple, Craig knows. Boy meets boy, they have a fling and then can’t stop texting one another and racking up phone bills until a fling becomes something more like love. They moved out of Louisiana with Craig’s university grant. Now, in their one bedroom apartment in San Francisco, Craig spends his days writing his dissertation while Darren works as a short order cook in another diner during the day.

  Craig shifts his focus from the door, to meet Darren’s blue eyes, and then back down to Craig’s cup of black coffee. He sips, burns his tongue, and wonders if the creak of the floorboard is actually from outside their apartment door. Instead, it’s from Darren’s feet as he bridges the gap between their bodies and pulls Craig into a bear hug from behind. Darren kisses the crown of Craig’s head where his brown hair comes up in small spikes.

  “I can get up,” Craig says. “You always try to hug me as if you’re running away and don’t have time.”

  Craig stands, facing Darren in his suspenders and dark blue pants. Craig still wears his pyjamas of green plaid pants and a black T-shirt. He faces Darren with a smile and kisses the man’s cheek before they lean into one another and hug properly. Even over Darren’s shoulder, Craig still watches the door. He prays that the mail is not on time. The two men often sleep late; Darren does not have to be at work until one or two pm for his shift and Craig can make his own hours now that all he has to do is write his dissertation on Moby Dick and Melville’s influence in queer history. Or something like that. He’s been stuck at the same part for the last two weeks, and to console himself he’s been shopping online again. He calculates the standard delivery time for his favorite shop online, realizes today is definitely the delivery day, and panics some more even as Darren’s trying to whisper all the sweet nothings the man normally does into his ear. The mail often comes in the afternoon, and anytime Craig expects a package it’s a delicate balance between loving Darren and making him leave on time.

  “You gotta go,” Craig says. “You know how your boss is.”

  “I know how to sweet talk a man in power. Even if that power is only in his head.”

  Craig wants to take the bait for a quickie before work, but the door mocks him. “I know you’re skilled, but the people still have to eat, and you’re the best cook.”

  “I see, I see. You always get me with flattery.” Darren smiles before he kisses Craig passionately once again. “You just seem awful captivated by that coffee anyway and I don’t wanna get in the way of that.”

  “You’re never in the way,” Craig says. “Not ever. It’s just with the PhD and—”

  “Husha now. I was teasing and if you don’t stop apologizin’ then I am gonna make my regulars starve.”

  Darren nods with a wry smile; the kind of smile that he gets when he sees his nieces sneak his keychain out of his pocket and try to hide it behind the couch just to see him laugh. Darren has always been perceptive—it’s why he and Craig fell in love in the first place. In addition to serving Craig pie and ice cream every night after the conference at the diner in Lafayette, Darren also saw the final conclusion for his graduate papers well before Craig even started to break out the secondary sources, all peer-reviewed.

  Craig walks with Darren to the door, opens it for him, and does a quick scan of the hallway. Nothing, no one. The tension is gone from his body long
enough to give Darren a final kiss and goodbyes for the day. Just before he goes, Darren grabs Craig’s hand in his once and squeezes it tightly.

  “Write me something, sweetheart?”

  Craig blushes. His work on American Lit and Queer Theory is often boring—but Darren wants to hear it, not because he really cares about Melville, but because he cares about Craig. Craig wants to confess every last secret he’s ever kept from Darren at that moment, believing that in the same way Darren gets his work, he’ll understand the clandestine parts of himself as well.

  “I’ll try,” Craig says instead.

  “S’all I can hope for.” Darren grabs his large black backpack and his ivy hat, before he gives another wave. He does not lock the apartment door when he leaves.

  Craig lets out a low breath and then listens closely to the sounds of the hallway. After the hum of the elevator, there’s nothing. No buzzer for the apartment, only the glug-glug of the coffee machine. He checks the balcony that looks over the parking lot and spots no new vehicles. No mail yet. He finishes the rest of his coffee and then sits down at his laptop, his cursor blinking at him, almost taunting.

  The last part of his dissertation had been on Ishmael, his relationship with Queequeg and the length of Moby Dick. Though certainly not the longest book in American literature, Ishmael, as a narrator, certainly manages to talk endlessly about things that do not move the plot along. While most scholars have been adamant that this is due to Melville’s personal history in whaling as a profession, I suggest that Ishmael’s monologues stem from the need to confess (and indeed, I argue Moby Dick should be considered part of the autobiography and confessional genre in American Lit) but because Ishmael cannot say he is gay, he must then talk about his secret through the use of the Whale as metaphor. On page 389, when….

  Craig sighs. He writes one sentence, then erases it. At this rate he wonders if he’ll ever finish.

  Five minutes later, the buzzer sounds. Craig is on his feet almost instantly. He pushes in the call receiver and waits.

  “Mr. Hoffman?”

  “Yes,” Craig says, his breath urgent. “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Package for you. Won’t fit in the mail slot.”