by Jerry Cole
“I’d appreciate that,” Brent said immediately. He’d done as much advertising as he could, but even that would only go so far. People weren’t inclined to trust a stranger with their dog. Still, Brent had been lucky with three of his clients, perhaps trying for a few more wouldn’t hurt. “Whatever you can do to help me out would be great.”
Brandon shrugged easily. “Can’t promise it’ll help, but I’ll do my best.”
Brent settled on the armchair and gave Juliette the cursory scratches on the back of her head as she headbutted his hand. “So, when it comes to hanging out,” Brent started, meeting Brandon’s eyes. “Is there anywhere in Chicago you prefer?”
It took Brandon a minute to answer, but when he did, he looked genuinely surprised by the question. “I can’t believe your landlord hasn’t given you the rundown of the city, Brent. What have they been teaching you?”
“Nothing,” Brent said with a snort. “My landlord’s just grateful he’s got someone in his apartment. Not sure he wanted to give me the tour of the city.”
“We’ll definitely have to do something about that.” Brandon finished the rest of his beer and placed the bottle on the coffee table. “Anywhere you’d like to see?”
It was the moment Brent could take the out. He wasn’t in the habit of revealing his sexual orientation to his clients on a whim, but he wanted friends in Chicago, and he had to start somewhere. Brandon seemed like a cool guy, but if he wasn’t, Brent could deal. “I hear from my sister I should check out Boystown.”
“But why would you…” Brandon started, and then his eyes widened. “Oh. Oh. Well, yeah, but that doesn’t mean you have to be a cliché.”
At least there was no screaming or yelling, Brent thought with a smile, and he hadn’t been kicked out yet. “Not to be even more cliché, but I’m guessing you don’t have a problem with it?”
“Can’t say I’ve really thought about it,” Brandon said with a shrug. “Besides, none of my business who you’re attracted to, dude.”
Brent nodded quickly, smirking. “So, not Boystown?”
Brandon huffed out a laugh. “If that’s where you wanna go, fine, but gay guys don’t stick only to Boystown, you know.”
Brent didn’t ask how he knew that or why, just let Brandon list off many places in Chicago where they could go for a good time and potentially run into gay guys. Not that Brent was averse to Boystown—and would probably visit there at some point—but right now he wanted friends more than he wanted to celebrate his homosexuality.
“So, if you’re free at any point next week,” Brandon said when he was done. “You should tell me now. I can give work the heads up.”
Though he wasn’t free on weekends, Brent had a couple of evenings a week he wasn’t dog walking, so they managed to get next Thursday at seven.
“I’ll pick you up,” Brandon said, raising an eyebrow. “I notice you don’t have a car.”
“Why bother having one in Chicago?” Brent shot back. “I can get everywhere I need to and not spend half my life in traffic.”
“Touché,” Brandon said, tossing off a mock salute.
Juliette looked up as Brent clapped his hands together, immediately shooting to her feet.
“I should probably get going,” Brent said, grabbing Juliette’s leash from the counter. “Thanks for the beer.”
“You can make it up to me on Thursday,” Brandon said, leaning against the doorjamb. Saskia was at his feet, whining at the loss of her friend, but staying put. Brent was impressed and wished Juliette would at least learn some obedience, but he loved her anyway. Of course, he wasn’t a complete idiot; if she was being unruly to the point of detriment, Brent would fix it.
Once leashed up, Juliette by contrast seemed eager to leave, already tugging Brent over to the door. He rolled his eyes and gave Brandon a rueful smile. “Guess I’m leaving.”
Brandon laughed. “Later, man.”
As soon as they were outside, Brent glared down at Juliette, who stared back unrepentant. “One of these days I’m taking you to obedience classes.”
Juliette was unphased and trotted happily alongside him as they left the apartment building. It didn’t take long to get back to his own apartment, though he paused outside for a minute when Juliette decided she needed the bathroom right then and there. Brent was still cleaning up after her when a familiar figure came around the corner, his own dog close at heels.
Juliette immediately perked up, tail wagging a mile a minute, and it was all Brent could do to hold her still.
“We seriously just talked about this,” Brent told her sternly. Though her tail was still wagging, Juliette at least sat back on her haunches, the perfect picture of innocence.
Marc was smirking, Stanley as obedient and calm as ever, and Brent wished again Juliette would at least copy traits from these dogs she hung around with. Not that she hung around with Stanley. Brent would like it if she did, because he’d like to be hanging out with Marc. Who was staring at Brent weirdly?
“Sorry, did you say something?”
Mouth quirking again, Marc gestured at the bag in Brent’s hand. “You tossing that?”
Brent realized he was holding a bag of poo and groaned internally, feeling his face flush with embarrassment. “In my defense,” he said quickly, “I literally just finished picking it up.”
Why were they talking about it? Brent needed to throw it away and stop embarrassing himself in front of Marc. It was becoming a problem.
“Yeah, I was watching.” This time Marc looked a little shamefaced, cheeks red. “Not picking it up, but you were, and I came around the corner.”
Juliette and Stanley cocked their heads. Brent briefly entertained the thought they were exchanging a conversation about how ridiculous their owners were.
“Listen, I wanted to say the other day,” Brent said, aiming for another subject that might be received a little better than his dog’s business. “When I asked you for a drink, I didn’t mean going out or anything. I meant inside. If you want. If it was no because you don’t want to, that’s fine, I just—”
“Brent,” Marc said smoothly, cheeks still pink but smiling genuinely. Most of his smiles were small, honest, but small, and Brent wondered if he ever full on grinned, ever looked really happy. Given he had a fuck ton of issues—you didn’t have a panic attack on the stairwell or own a service dog for no reason—he seemed pretty great. Brent hoped he did have occasion to smile. “I’m free Tuesdays and Thursdays.”
Brent was out with Brandon on Thursday having literally just made those plans and cursed himself. He had a client on Tuesday, but it was Alonya and he was sure she would allow him one day. Before Marc could take his silence for reluctance, Brent said, “How about this Tuesday?”
A little surprised, either by Brent’s agreement or the quickness of their meeting, Marc only hesitated a fraction before saying, “Sure.”
They stood there a little longer than was necessary, a little awkward, when Juliette headbutted Brent’s hand and reminded him that he still had a bag of dog poo in his hand. “Uh, I should get rid of this. Meet at my place?”
“Sure,” Marc said again, and this time, the smile reached his eyes.
Chapter Six
It was Tuesday.
Brent wouldn’t be anxious about that on any other occasion, but this was Marc, his next-door neighbor, and the guy he kind of had an inconvenient crush on, and was there protocol for a first date kind of thing? Brent hadn’t really done that before. He’d slept with people obviously, but dating? He’d never had time and it wasn’t even a date really, just two guys hanging out and sharing beer. Marc probably wasn’t even—
Not that Brent wanted to make assumptions about people.
“Fuck it.” He grabbed his phone from the dresser and dialed his sister’s number. Rachel, because he wasn’t an idiot; Jack was probably doing whatever it was she did when she had free time and wasn’t stuck in front of a television, and Polly would mock him forever. At least Rachel would do h
er best not to laugh at him.
“Wow, you remembered I exist,” Rachel said immediately, and Brent groaned.
“I’ve been busy,” Brent said.
“Too busy for your family?” There was a teasing note in Rachel’s voice, but Brent knew it wasn’t all for show.
Dropping down onto the edge of the bed, Brent stared at his closet, daunted by the amount of clothes he actually possessed. Why did he think this was a good idea? “I think about you.”
Rachel laughed gently. “I know. Call more often, Jack wants to yell at you for taking your console with you.”
Brent snorted. “As if I’d let her have access to another gaming system. She needs new hobbies.”
“So, Polly tells me,” Rachel said. “Is this a social call? Or do you have a problem?”
“I can’t just be calling?” Brent asked, a little defensively. He was aware he was giving everything away to Rachel but couldn’t stop himself from doing so. He sighed. His sisters really were evil. Or maybe just knew him too well. Sometimes it was difficult to tell.
“I love you, Brent,” Rachel said easily. “But as much as you promise to call us at home, you usually forget unless you want something.”
Brent felt a little chastised at that but managed to hold his tongue. She wasn’t wrong, and he resolved to fix it, but knew he would probably end up failing to do so. “So, there’s this guy next door.”
“Oh, my God,” Rachel said immediately, and he could hear sheets rustling in the background. “Is this a date call? Wait, I need to call Polly and Jack—”
“No,” Brent said immediately, startling Juliette so much she ran to the doorway to see what was up. When she realized he was just on the phone, she sat in the doorway, judging him. He flopped back on the bed so he could get away from her stares and closed his eyes. “Sorry, but I rang you for a reason.”
Rachel could have been mad about that, but she laughed instead. “Wow, I feel honored to be the date advice this time.”
“I haven’t dated before,” Brent protested, and then realized how lame that actually sounded. “Not that I—”
“Brent,” Rachel said carefully. “I meant Polly and Jack. But thank you, I guess.”
“Shut up,” Brent said immediately. He could feel the heat in his cheeks and rubbed at his forehead. “So. It’s not actually a date.”
Rachel sighed, but she was still smiling; Brent could hear the amusement in his tone. “What is it then?”
Brent explained how he had met Marc, not about the panic attack because some things should be kept private, but about them being neighbors and their awkwardness over meeting up.
“So, effectively Marc’s a guy who wants a drink with you, but you want it to be something more?” Rachel made a humming noise.
“I want it to be something more,” Brent said, feeling like a child. “But I don’t want to pressure him. I don’t even know if he digs guys.”
There was a pause. “So just treat it like you’re hanging out with a friend or whatever. Don’t treat it like a potential date.”
Brent threw an arm over his eyes, wishing that it was that simple. “I could tell myself that, but I think my heart and head have different ideas.”
“Are you sure it’s not your dick?”
“Hey,” Brent said immediately, sitting back up. “What the hell?”
“I’m kidding,” Rachel says quickly. “I just want to be sure you don’t wanna bang Marc and then run.”
Brent rolled his eyes. “I think I know the difference between the two, Rachelica. Of course, I wanna bang him, but that’s not the only thing I want.”
It was awkward talking to his sister about this, but Brent forced himself to be honest. It wasn’t like he could expect her to help him if he couldn’t put his feelings into words. Besides, it was good to remind himself. Being anxious about Marc coming over was ridiculous; he didn’t even really know the guy aside from a few quick run-ins. If he took today casually, it would be easy to part if Marc was a dick. If he was actually a nice guy, maybe something else would happen.
“Thanks for the talk,” Brent said, some of the tension bleeding from his shoulders.
“I don’t think I actually did anything,” Rachel said. “But you’re welcome. I’m glad you’ve found someone you actually wanna date.”
“You’ve only just found out I haven’t been,” Brent pointed out.
“Please,” Rachel told him quickly. “As if we didn’t know. We’re your sisters, Brent.”
Brent had no idea what that had to do with anything, but Rachel had already bid him goodbye and hung up. Staring at his phone, Brent let out a slow breath. He loved his sisters to death, but sometimes he left phone calls with them feeling more confused than anything else.
“Okay,” he told himself, smirking when Juliette immediately followed him into the kitchen, sniffing around for some food. As if. She was going to have to wait, just like Brent.
Chapter Seven
Brent managed to distract himself enough that when Marc actually knocked on the door, he jumped so hard he dropped his phone. Cursing, he swiped it from the floor and jogged to the door before finally getting a grip on himself. He was in his twenties, not a child. Expelling a breath, he tugged open the door, grinning.
Marc looked good.
He was dressed in jeans and a button-up shirt, with Stanley at his feet. “Hi.”
“Hey,” Brent said, standing back and gesturing down the hall. “Come in.”
Thankfully, Juliette seemed to pick up on his nervousness, because she was hovering in the doorway, tail thumping against the carpet.
“I know I met her the other day,” Marc said, lips quirking up into a smirk and Brent tried not to think about the bag of poop in his hands at the time. “But what’s her name?”
“Juliette,” Brent offered. “I’m sure you’ve heard me screaming at her occasionally.”
Marc snorted but crouched down, offering Juliette his hand. She immediately butted her head to his, letting him scratch her, tongue lolling out. Such a sucker for a good scratch. Brent rolled his eyes and moved to the kitchen to grab some beers.
“Is beer all right? Afraid it’s all I have.”
“Then I guess beer will have to do,” Marc called back.
Brent smirked to himself and grabbed two bottles, shutting the fridge door with his hip. Pausing to get the bottle opener, he poked his head around the door to see Marc sitting on the floor, both dogs angling for strokes and pets. Something tightened in his chest, a feeling he couldn’t describe, and he had to stop for a moment.
“You’re such a beautiful girl,” Marc was saying, scratching behind Juliette’s ears. “Yes, you are.”
Stanley, who seemed to be content with his owner’s appropriation of another dog, perked up when he saw Brent in the doorway and trotted over. It drew Marc’s attention, and Brent immediately bent down, resting the beer bottles against the wall as he introduced himself to Stanley properly.
“Hi, Stanley,” he said, brushing his hands through the soft fur. Stanley was clearly a Spaniel of some kind, though Brent couldn’t place exactly what. He was beautiful, nevertheless. When Brent looked up to meet Marc’s eyes, he smirked at the raised eyebrows. “Guess we both lucked out in the gorgeous dog department.”
Marc’s lips quirked up into a smile as Brent collected the beers and led Stanley back into the living room. Handing over one of the bottles and the bottle opener to Marc, Brent perched on the edge of the couch opposite. The only other chair was the one Marc was currently leaning against and for all that he might want to, Brent wasn’t about to make it awkward by sitting right behind the guy.
“So,” Brent said, catching the bottle opener one handed when Marc tossed it to him. “How long have you been in America?”
Something subtle shifted over Marc’s face. If Brent hadn’t been looking at him, he might not have seen it. Taking a sip of his beer, Marc shrugged with one arm. “I’m a dual citizen. My father’s American, Mama’s Canadian
.”
Brent had lived in New York long enough to know that form of address for his mom. “French-Canadian?”
Marc smiled appreciatively. “What gave it away?”
“You called her mama and not mom or mother. My family live in Champlain,” he added, when Marc’s confusion didn’t clear. “We’re on the Quebec border, so most travelers are French-Canadian.”
Nodding, Marc relaxed against the front of the chair, Juliette practically sitting in his lap.
“You don’t have to keep spoiling her,” Brent pointed out. “Don’t want her to get too used to so much love.”
Marc made a sympathetic face at Juliette. “Does he not give you enough love? Such a mean owner.” He looked back up at Brent, softening his words with a smile. Brent didn’t think he’d meant them, but the softening helped.
“Clearly not,” Brent said dryly. “Can’t remember the last time I gave her any love at all, actually.”
“Stanley’s the same,” Marc said. “We just don’t love them enough.”
Brent laughed gently and stared at Stanley, who was more respectful than Juliette. He was sitting calmly off to the left, staring between Brent and Marc like he couldn’t decide whether to approach either of them or continue to sit in peace. Brent gestured for him, knowing he looked a bit ridiculous making kissy faces, but Marc wasn’t judging him for it; he was staring, small smile on his face, but there was no derision there. Brent’s face heated anyway, hoping he didn’t look as embarrassed as he felt.
Thankfully, Stanley came anyway, eagerly allowing the pets and scratches from Brent. Brent was a little bit in love with Stanley and tugged at the harness. “Is it all right to take this off?”
Marc paused but shrugged. “Sure. If we’re inside, he doesn’t need to wear it.”
Brent found the harness attachment and unclipped it, helping Stanley step out of it. Underneath, his fur was messed up and a bit sweaty. Brent scratched at his back and Stanley stretched, whining happily. “I’m guessing,” Brent said, meeting Marc’s eyes, “your dog being called Stanley and you hailing from Canada aren’t a coincidence?”
