by Chris Scully
“That’s great, Peter.”
“I thought so too. But now….” He shook his head. He’d been so proud of himself, but the guilt had begun to set in as soon as he stepped back in the diner. “What will Pop do? They need me.”
“What about what you need?”
Peter felt a sudden stinging behind his eyes. Where the hell had that come from? Louie gave his hand a brief, sympathetic squeeze. As the house lights lowered and the orchestra struck up, Peter wished he hadn’t let go.
He enjoyed the first act, felt himself relaxing and getting into the play. The narrow seats made it impossible to escape the heat of Louie’s body next to his, and frankly Peter didn’t try. Louie’s right knee kept bouncing, and soon the friction began to drive him crazy. Several times Peter snuck a peek at his companion out of the corner of his eye and found Louie gripping his program tight, his attention focused on the stage. What was he thinking? Was he going to ignore this thing building between them? Or did he just not care? By intermission Peter’s stomach was tied up in knots.
“Want a drink?” Louie asked, jumping to his feet as soon as the house lights came up. His crinkled and torn program fell to the ground.
“Sure. I’ll get it,” Peter said.
“Oh no you won’t. I invited you, so it’s my treat. You can get it next time.” They filed out to the lobby, and Louie joined the long line before Peter could argue. He found himself grinning at the prospect of a next time.
Peter leaned up against the wall, trying to stake out some space in the milling crowd. He checked his phone. Annie hadn’t called, which hopefully meant she had everything under control.
“Peter?” He started at the light touch on his arm, turned his head and found himself staring into familiar green eyes. He felt his world tilt precariously.
“Jason?” he croaked in horror.
“Oh my God, it is you,” the other man cried delightedly before wrapping him in a hug.
Peter froze in the embrace. His eyes frantically searched out Louie in the crowd. Please, oh please, don’t let him look over here.
But Louie was still inching closer to the bar, and all Peter could see was a sliver of shoulder and the back of his head.
“I can’t believe it,” Jason marveled, still grasping Peter by the arms. “What are the chances of running into each other here, after all this time?”
“Yeah,” he muttered, forcing the words out from numb lips. “Imagine that.” He tried to casually change positions, so if Louie happened to look over this way, all he’d see would be Peter’s back and not who he was talking to.
“What are you doing here?” Jason asked.
“I think he’s here to see a play, like everyone else,” voiced another man as he joined them. He was tall and bearded, and with a smile, he handed Jason a glass of red wine in a tiny plastic cup.
“Thank you, hon. Harrison, this is an old friend of mine. Peter. We used to go out.”
Peter could feel the sweat trickle down his back as the man named Harrison shook his hand with a hearty grip. It had only been two dates, he wanted to clarify. Two dates and one hurried but incredibly hot hand job in the front seat of his car.
The very next day he’d gotten the call that his pop was in the hospital and, well, you couldn’t ask for a bigger message from the universe than that. The whole short-lived affair had left him with more questions than answers. Could he be gay? Was he bisexual? The sex, such as it was, had been good, but he hadn’t felt the connection he’d hoped to. Truthfully, he’d been more than a little relieved at the time—it made things a lot less complicated.
“How’s your dad doing?” Jason asked. “I never did hear from you after he left the hospital.”
Peter winced. “I’m sorry. I meant to call you, but there was a lot going on—”
“Relax, Peter. I’m not angry. I think we both know we were never going to go anywhere. And besides, it was right after that I met Harrison, the love of my life.” The two men smiled at each other.
Peter cast a glance at the bar. Oh hell, Louie was at the front of the line, ordering. Any second now he’d be done and looking for him. Peter began edging away. “It’s been great seeing you again. I’m glad everything worked out. But I… my friend….” He pointed vaguely over his shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of the show.”
With his heart still in his throat, Peter fought through the crush of people, materializing at Louie’s shoulder just as he turned away from the bar.
“Couldn’t wait any longer?” he teased and handed Peter his own plastic wineglass. “Sorry it took so long.”
“No problem.” Peter slammed the thimbleful of wine back like a shot and grimaced when it burned a path down his esophagus.
Louie raised a brow. “You okay? You look kind of pale. And sweaty.”
“Too many people, I think.”
He was tempted to grab another drink—he desperately needed one, even if it was cheap stuff—but just then the lights dimmed, indicating the end of intermission. He saw Jason and his boyfriend near the doors, and purposefully slowed their pace to put some distance between them.
Once back in the theater, he couldn’t stop scanning the darkened heads as he waited for the curtain to rise. Fuck, that had been close. His heart still hammered with the fear of discovery.
The crazy thing was, he didn’t understand why. Maybe he wasn’t as ready for this as he thought. He wasn’t ready for Louie to know. Not yet. Not when Louie said he wasn’t interested in another relationship right now, and especially not with someone like him. Not when there was still Demetra to deal with.
Louie knocked knees, snapping Peter back to attention. He leaned over in his seat to whisper, “If you snore, I’m going to have to pinch you.” At the slightest tickle of Louie’s breath against his ear, his skin prickled.
It was a long second half. Little by little he relaxed again. Every now and then, he would glance over at Louie’s rapt face, his lips moving silently in time with the songs. The man clearly loved his musical theater.
Peter was sorry to see it end, not so much because of the play itself, but because it meant his night was drawing to a close. They filed out of the theater, hanging back to avoid running into Jason again, and Louie linked arms with him, still humming songs from the play as they walked to the subway. It seemed so natural, Peter didn’t even question it. “Okay,” Louie said with a knowing grin, “you can tell me—how bad was that for you?”
“Not bad at all,” Peter replied honestly. Except for his encounter with Jason, he’d had an awesome time, but very little had to do with the musical.
Louie regarded him speculatively. “Mmm.”
“No, seriously.”
“Yeah? How do you feel about ballet?”
“Okay, that’s where I draw the line.”
Louie laughed and held his arm tighter.
A baseball game or some other event must have just let out, because the train was already standing room only when they boarded. Peter grasped Louie’s sleeve so he wouldn’t lose him in the crush as he fought his way through the crowd and carved out a place for them to stand in the corner near the doors. At the next stop, another load of passengers pushed their way into the train. “There must be something on tonight. It’s packed,” Louie complained as he was jostled from behind and pushed into Peter. “Sorry.”
Peter wasn’t sorry at all. He laid a hand on Louie’s back and pulled him in closer, until they were almost chest to chest, their bodies occasionally brushing as the carriage swayed on the tracks. Louie’s fingers overlapped his on the pole they clung to, and with all the little explosions suddenly going off in his stomach, Peter felt like he’d swallowed a handful of Pop Rocks. His heart thundered in his ears. Just when he thought it was about to jump out of his chest, his eyes locked with Louie’s—wide, dark, and slightly dazed—and he knew he wasn’t the only one feeling this.
It was the same electric pull that had snared him the other night, only stronger. He couldn’t stop looking, not eve
n when Louie’s eyes skittered away and the slightest tinge of pink swept up his cheekbones. He bit his lower lip and Peter wanted to moan. Wanted to lean in and touch his lips to Louie’s. Boldly, his hand slipped a fraction lower, from the platonic safety of Louie’s lower back to just above the flare of his ass. Louie’s swift intake of breath made Peter’s heart soar. What if he went further? Would Louie let him? His groin pulsed. He felt safe and anonymous in the crowded car—there was barely enough room to breathe, let alone for anyone to see what he was doing.
The train shuddered to a halt in the tunnel, sending Louie stumbling fully against him. He clutched the front of Peter’s shirt to stabilize himself. He was slow to let go, and when he did, it was only to drag his palm down Peter’s chest. His fingers came to rest at Peter’s belt, curling into his belt loop. The backs of his knuckles pressed into Peter’s stomach and he stopped breathing.
“Sorry folks” came a voice over the crackling loud speaker. “There’s a mechanical problem on the train ahead. We’ll be holding here for a minute. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
The sardine-packed passengers groaned in unison. Peter suppressed a grin. Best night ever.
He felt the whisper of Louie’s chuckle against his neck as he ducked his head. “Shit,” he thought he heard him say.
The train started up with a jerk. Peter slammed against Louie with a grunt of surprise. This time Louie let his hand linger on Peter’s waist. Their lower bodies pressed together briefly, time enough for Peter to feel the unmistakable bulge of Louie’s erection. He was hard.
Elation made him bold. Louie wanted him.
When Louie’s gaze flew to his face, silently questioning, Peter met his eyes confidently, daringly, the hint of danger making his heart pound. This time he wouldn’t hide. He shifted a fraction, letting Louie feel his arousal.
Louie’s nostrils flared in response. He swayed slightly, deliberately; the slight brush of his hips made Peter suck in a breath. His arm tightened around Louie’s back, holding him in place. Peter’s surroundings, the crush of people packed in around them, disappeared. There was only the heat of Louie’s body, the warm cloud of his breath, and the flickers of electricity racing over Peter’s skin.
“I think this is where we get off, Peter,” Louie said, his lips mere inches away from Peter’s.
Yes, get off. He so wanted that. He nodded, his fingers tightening on the curve of Louie’s ass.
Louie clutched his shirtfront and gave him a shove. “I mean it, Peter. This is our stop.”
“Huh?” Peter found himself bodily dragged off the train and onto the platform seconds before the doors closed behind them.
They stood there, staring at each other as the train whisked out of the station. The air still crackled with awareness, but it was fading now as reason set in. What now? Peter wasn’t sure how to proceed from here. This wasn’t how he had envisaged coming clean.
As he watched, a sweep of panic stole across Louie’s face. That couldn’t be good. What was he thinking?
Peter took a step forward, ready to explain. To his surprise, Louie turned and walked away before he could utter a word.
TEN
HE WAS on a date—a real date—with his sister’s boyfriend.
Louie’s heart thundered in his ears as he stormed out of the subway station, Peter on his heels. The realization had hit him hard. His body tingled with the need to drag Peter home and up to his bedroom, while his mind screamed at him to run while he still could.
After movie night, Louie had spent a lot of time convincing himself things hadn’t happened the way he imagined they had. That half of it was in his head, and the other half… well, they’d both had a couple of beers that night. Still, he hadn’t been able to stay away. Tonight had been its own kind of torture, though. In the end, he had followed Peter’s lead, resolving to act like an adult and ignore it for the sake of the friendship—because he really wanted to keep that friendship.
A mutual grope on the subway was a lot harder to ignore. Who had started it? Him? Peter? Did it matter? They’d both been turned on. Right now, Louie didn’t know who to be angrier at—himself for asking Peter out tonight when he knew he had feelings for the man, or Peter for messing things up.
It all seemed so obvious now—the flirtatious texts, the late-night visit, the touching. Why hadn’t he seen it before?
Because Peter was supposed to be straight and dating Demetra—that’s why.
One thing was for sure, Peter hadn’t seemed the least bit shocked or surprised or uncertain by any of it.
“Louie?” Peter’s voice cut through his thoughts.
“Yeah?” Louie kept walking. He and Peter were the only ones on the street, and the sharp strike of Louie’s heels on the sidewalk echoed loudly.
“Shouldn’t we maybe… talk? About… that.”
Talk? Louie didn’t want to hear Peter make excuses. He’d already heard so many of them from Aaron: I’m not sure what I want; I’m attracted to you, but….
“You’re angry,” Peter exclaimed after another moment of silence.
“Yes, I’m angry,” Louie snapped as he turned the corner onto his block. Only a few more houses to go.
“Because of what happened?”
Because I don’t know how to deal with what happened, Louie wanted to shout. He stopped and finally swung around to face Peter. “Have you forgotten you’re dating my sister?”
Peter blew out a breath. “No—”
“Then there’s not a lot to say.”
“I—okay, I know things seem a bit… complicated.”
“Complicated?”
“But I can explain—”
“Dammit, Peter. I don’t want to hear it. Why’d you have to ruin everything?”
Louie gave Peter’s chest a shove, and Peter used the opportunity to grab him by the arms, pulling him in close until all that separated them was a few inches.
The heat from Peter’s body seared him. Peter’s breath dusted his lips and Louie’s heart jumped to his throat. Was Peter going to kiss him?
Then a flash of movement in the corner of his eye made Louie turn his head. The lights were on across the street in Mr. Kotsopoulos’s house, and a shadow stood at the bay window—watching. Peter must have seen it too because he released Louie and took a step back. It was like being doused with a bucket of cold water.
“Can’t we go somewhere and talk?” Peter pleaded softly.
Louie fought the urge to give in. If he went anywhere with Peter right now, he was likely to end up in bed with him. And that would only make things worse. “I can’t. Not now, anyway. Good night, Peter.”
“Louie….”
Louie ignored Peter’s plea, managing to hold his head high as he walked the few feet to his house and climbed the front steps. Inside, he pushed the stubborn wooden door closed, blotting out his last sight of Peter’s silhouette on the sidewalk. He slumped back against the door with a sigh. “Shit,” he told the empty foyer.
“Bad date?”
Louie jumped at the sound of Demetra’s voice. She stood at the top of the stairs looking down at him. Heat surged into his cheeks.
“You could say that,” he replied evasively, although it hadn’t been bad at all, at least up to the point he realized he was actually on a date. Louie tossed his keys onto the credenza, next to Demetra’s purse.
He couldn’t forget the warmth of Peter’s hand on the small of his back as they rode home on the train, that unmistakable hardness against his hip, and the soft look in Peter’s eyes as Louie stared into them. Peter wanted him. The burst of pleasure in his chest was swiftly followed by a flood of guilt and then anger.
Now he was trapped by his own belief in honesty, with this secret pushing at his throat. He should tell Demetra, shouldn’t he? But what would he say? Your boyfriend got a big fat chubby for me? Zelda saved him from making that decision, rubbing up against his legs with an irritated meow. “Didn’t you feed her?”
“She’s your cat,” D
emetra pointed out. “Besides, I only just got in myself.”
Zelda bumped his shin with her head, making Louie chuckle. “Okay, okay. I get it.” He toed off his shoes and headed to the kitchen, Zelda underfoot. Somewhere, a cell phone that wasn’t his rang.
Louie opened a can of cat food and filled Zelda’s dish. She attacked it as if it had been days since she had last eaten. He watched her, bemused. “What should I do, Zelda?”
She didn’t answer, of course. He was on his own.
Was Peter gay? Bi? If so, didn’t Demetra deserve to know what she was getting into?
Louie’s chest tightened as he rinsed the cat-food spoon in the sink. Had he done the right thing? Maybe he should have heard what Peter had to say. Wasn’t he the one who had asked Peter out tonight in the first place? And there was the problem. Louie didn’t trust himself. What if Peter was no different from Aaron—the subterfuge, the deceit? He wanted no part of that. Yet even as Louie thought it, a small, stubborn part of him refused to believe it.
The part of him that wanted Peter for himself.
Demetra entered the kitchen, scowling at the cell phone in her hand. “Have you talked to Peter lately?”
Louie froze. “Uh, yeah. Why? Was that him?” The fucker. Not half an hour ago, Peter was practically groping Louie’s ass and now he was calling Dee wanting a late-night booty call? Or was he calling to confess? Oh shit, what if Peter told Demetra and she blamed him for the end of her relationship? His head hurt thinking about it; he was trapped in a web of lies.
Demetra cocked her head and studied him. “Does Peter ever mention me?”
“How do you mean?”
“Like, our relationship?”
It took all Louie’s willpower to keep his expression neutral. “I thought you said everything was fine.”
“It is. It is.” Her smile was stiff. “But I’m not sure he feels the same way I do anymore. I get the feeling he might be thinking of ending it.”
She sensed that? “Maybe it’s for the best, then. I mean if things aren’t working out….”
