by L. A. Witt
I swallowed. “Because they don’t know me? Or because I’m….”
“I didn’t tell them you’re gay.” His fingers tapped even more rapidly. “They, um, assumed you were. Because I’m living with you.”
My heart stopped. “I beg your pardon?”
He kept his eyes fixed on the mountains. “My folks are convinced I’m gay.”
Good thing I wasn’t taking a drink right then or I’d have choked on it. “Seriously?”
Michael nodded.
“What gave them that idea?”
“I guess they….” He paused, shifting uncomfortably. Nervousness and Michael were such a bizarre combination, two incongruous things that shouldn’t have existed on the same plane, and yet here they were.
He took a deep breath and pressed his hands down on the railing like he needed its support to stay upright. “Seth’s parents and mine were really close when we were kids, and his folks, for whatever reason, were convinced I was gay. One day it was the way I dressed, the next it was the music I listened to or the fact that I’d gone camping with three other guys from school. If I dated a girl, she was a beard. Daina was a fucking beard as far as they were concerned.” He rolled his eyes. “They were obsessed with the idea.”
“Why did they even care? You’re not their son.”
“No, but I was ‘influencing’ their son. I think they were in deep denial about him but saw the writing on the wall, so they projected it onto me so I could be the gay one, not him. That or they thought it was catching and assumed I had it, so they were worried about me being around him.”
“Even though you hadn’t given them any reason to believe you were actually gay.”
“That’s how scared his parents were of something or someone turning him gay.” Michael swore softly. “You know, a lot of people thought it was poetic justice that parents like his wound up with a gay kid. I just think it’s fucked-up that Seth got stuck with jerks like them for parents.”
“You’re not kidding.” I’d never met the assholes, but Seth’s parents were two of the very, very few people on my “please die in a goddamned fire” list.
“So, his parents were suspicious of any guy Seth hung out with who wasn’t a linebacker giving off enough testosterone to be visible to the naked eye.” He exhaled. “And since he hung out with me more than anyone and I wasn’t so great at the whole macho thing….”
“So it was because of Seth and his parents?” I asked. “Yours didn’t…. You weren’t….”
He faced me. “Did I give them a reason to think I was gay?”
“Basically, yeah.”
Michael gave a quiet laugh. “Let’s just say after my dad caught me in my bedroom with the head cheerleader when I was seventeen, he mostly let it go.” His laughter faded. “Well, okay, he let it go for a week or two.”
“So they still ask?”
He nodded. “Sometimes. They’d spent so long hearing Seth’s parents question everything I did or said, even catching me with a girl wasn’t enough to convince them. I swear, when I told them Daina and I were divorcing, my mother was sure it was because I was gay.”
I gulped. “You mind if I ask something personal?”
“Go for it.”
I hesitated but finally asked, “You are just into women, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” he said quickly, almost sharply, but then laughed again. “The head cheerleader isn’t convincing enough?”
“Some guys go both ways.”
Michael stiffened slightly. “Do you think I do?”
“I don’t know. I’m just curious.” I cleared my throat. “Obviously it’s none of my business. Just, you know, like I said, curiosity.”
Michael stared out at the dark yard, something unreadable tightening his expression. “I’ve never really gotten an answer out of them. If there was something specific about me, I mean. At least they never sent me to one of those camps.”
We both shuddered.
“Was that ever suggested?”
“A few times,” he said through his teeth. “My parents were even less comfortable with those places than they were with the idea of me being gay, though, thank God. But they never stopped second-guessing me. Even now, whenever I ask them why they thought I was, they sort of pause and give me an uncomfortable ‘just wondering’ and change the subject.” He turned toward me. “When did you figure out you were?”
I played with the cap on my water bottle. “When I was twelve.”
“That young?”
I nodded. “Yep. Well, I didn’t completely understand what it meant to be gay. All I knew was that when one of my friends swiped a Playboy from his dad and showed it to us, it didn’t do nearly as much for me as the boy band posters my sister had wallpapering her room.” The memory made me laugh. Michael laughed too, but it was a forced, uncomfortable sound.
I went on, “Anyway, I was sixteen when I figured out I was gay and what that meant. Came out when I was seventeen, never looked back.”
Michael said nothing.
A question crossed my mind, and it wasn’t until a second too late that I realized I’d said the words out loud: “Does it bother you?”
He looked at me in the darkness. “Does what bother me?”
“That I’m gay?”
“No, of course not.” He smiled, but it seemed as forced as his laughter a moment ago. “Have I ever given you a reason to think it did?”
“No, you haven’t,” I said. “I don’t know; I guess I’ve just wondered. Ever since you agreed to move in.”
“Would I have moved in if it did?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I mean, we’re both in kind of dire straits these days. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that. So I wasn’t sure if it bothered you. Especially having your son living with me.”
“Why should it?”
“Well, it….” I caught myself, gnawing the inside of my lip as I debated how to finish the answer.
“Hmm?”
Though it was barely visible in the darkness, I watched my thumb trace the edge of the label on my water bottle as I continued struggling to put my thought into words.
“Look,” Michael went on, “if I had any issue with people being gay, Seth and I wouldn’t have been friends this long. He wouldn’t have put up with it.”
“Oh, no, of course,” I said. “I didn’t mean to imply straight men are, by default, homophobic. You’re obviously not. But I’ve, in the past, known some guys who were completely cool with it until sleeping arrangements came into play.”
Michael laughed. “Well, it’s not like we’re sharing a room.”
“No, that’s true.” Unfortunately. “I, fuck, I don’t know. I guess it was a stupid question. I’m kind of used to straight guys being… uncomfortable with the idea.”
“Nah, it’s not a stupid question. If you’re used to weird reactions, I can see being on guard for anyone to react that way.”
Silence fell again. After I’d given our now-deceased conversation an awkward turn, I wasn’t sure what to say to get us back on a more comfortable topic. Maybe it was better to let it be. Go inside, call it a night, and see if the awkwardness followed us into the next day.
I took a breath, fully intending to bow out, but he spoke before I could.
“Do you ever question it?”
I furrowed my brow. “Question what?”
“The fact that you’re gay?”
“Not anymore.”
“But you did?”
“Of course I did.” I laughed. “Who wouldn’t? I don’t think anyone volunteers for the crap we put up with, so I had plenty of ‘are you sure about this?’ conversations with the mirror.”
“But you always came to the same conclusion.”
I nodded.
“Were you ever….” He paused, gazing out at the yard again instead of at me. “Did you ever date women?”
“No. A lot of guys do—shit, didn’t Seth date the prom queen when you guys were in high school?”
“Yeah, he did. Lucky son of a bitch.”
“I think I’d have preferred the prom king, but hey, more power to him.”
“Yeah, really,” Michael said quietly. “You know, I’ve always wondered if he was experimenting or if he knew and was trying to hide it from his parents.”
“He was out to you by then, wasn’t he?”
Michael nodded. “Me, and no one else that I’m aware of. But he kept dating girls, so I….” He went silent for a long moment. “God, he was so scared of his parents finding out. It was hard to tell whether he was trying something for his own curiosity or as a cover story.”
“Maybe it was a little of both.”
“Maybe.” Michael tilted his head back and stared up at the stars. “So you never experimented with women?”
“Nope.” I followed his gaze upward. “By the time I was even interested in dating, I knew I had zero interest in women.”
“That must have been… I don’t know, a relief, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
“Knowing for sure.”
I rolled the comment around in my head. “I guess it was. I mean, I still questioned it just because I wasn’t keen on the idea of coming out, but I never could convince myself I was attracted to women.”
“What happened when you came out?” he asked. “Was your family supportive?”
To this day, it choked me up a little, thinking about how scared I was before and how relieved I was after I’d said those two unretractable words to my parents. I’m gay, my younger, slightly higher voice still echoed in the back of my mind. I’m gay.
My parents had been stunned. Totally taken aback. Never had a clue. It definitely blew their minds for a few terrifying minutes. But after those minutes, when the truth had sunk in, my parents told me they loved me and that had not and would not change.
“They were saints,” I whispered.
“You’re lucky,” he said, his voice no louder than my own.
“Believe me, I know.” I turned toward him. “I remind myself of that every single day.”
Michael said nothing.
Chapter 11
WHEN I came home one evening from running errands, Seth’s truck was in the driveway. I found him and Michael in the living room, talking shit over a video game with beer bottles—one in front of Michael, three in front of Seth—on the coffee table.
They looked up as I came in, and Seth gestured with his controller. “Hey, man. You want to play?”
I shook my head. “No, I think I’m going to go out and—” My eyes darted toward Michael, and warmth flooded my cheeks. I cleared my throat. “I’ve been putting off some admin work I need to finish at the club. I should go get it done before it keeps me awake for another night.”
Michael glanced at me, eyebrows up, but quickly focused on the game again.
I turned to go, adding over my shoulder, “I’ll see you guys later.”
“You work too much,” Seth called after me as I started toward the stairs. “Going to be an old man before your time.”
“That’s why I have mature friends like you,” I called back. “Keeps me young and stupid.”
“I live to serve!”
Chuckling, I headed upstairs and into my bedroom, where I changed into something a little more presentable than faded jeans and an old T-shirt. Still jeans, but with a button-up shirt and a silver chain that rested across my collarbones. My lucky chain, as Wes had always called it. Don’t know about that—after all, I was wearing it when I met him.
I went downstairs and made a quick exit, but when I drove out of the quiet cul-de-sac, I didn’t go anywhere near Lights Out. Yeah, the books needed attention, but I wasn’t behind on them for once, and concentration wasn’t happening tonight. I needed an evening to myself to clear my head.
So instead of driving to Lights Out, I went to the opposite end of Hacktown, to Jack’s. This place might have been one of my biggest competitors, but I could be less covert about being on the prowl here than in front of members of my payroll, where I could certainly hook up as long as I was very, very discreet.
I parked on the street and walked the half block to the club. At the door, a bouncer took five dollars for the cover charge and gestured for me to go on in.
Though I hadn’t been to this particular club all that often, it was familiar in the way all clubs eventually became familiar. The same neon signs for the same beer brands, from Budweiser to the local microbrews. The crack of pool balls occasionally punctuating the constant murmur of chatter and the thumping bass from the music playing beside the dance floor. Loners by the bar, couples in the corners, everyone else somewhere in between.
Empty booths and barstools outnumbered the occupied ones. Typical of a Wednesday. Friday or Saturday, there’d be far more options, but I couldn’t get away from my own club on those nights, so the midweek crowd would have to do. And thin or not, the crowd offered plenty of choices: the cowboy wannabe in tight jeans and a tipped hat, the wide-eyed and terrified college kid probably setting foot in a gay bar for the first time, the fortysomething with five-hundred-dollar highlights. Even after I’d weeded out the too young, the too aggressive, and the too married—hey, I had standards too—there was no shortage of the willing and the good-looking.
I was in no hurry. I had what I wanted—an escape from home—and I’d find someone before the bartenders called last call. For the patient man, this place was a one-night stand waiting to happen.
I took a seat at the bar and continued scanning the crowd. Some of these guys were familiar. Hell, most gay men in Tucker Springs had probably come through the door of Lights Out at one time or another, so of course I’d recognize some faces. Maybe they’d recognize me, maybe they wouldn’t. It had been known to happen. I almost always found out after the fact that they were more attracted to my wallet than me, but we both usually got a decent night out of the deal before I caught on that he was a gold digger and he realized I was severely lacking in gold.
I recognized the bartender, and apparently it was mutual, because his expression soured after a second’s worth of eye contact. Oh yeah. I remembered him. He’d interviewed for a bartending position at Lights Out a few months ago. I’d seriously considered hiring the kid until he opened his mouth and let his attitude show.
“Rum and Coke,” I said.
“Rum and Coke,” he repeated. “That’ll be four fifty.”
Even as I pulled out my wallet and withdrew a five and a one, I watched him mix the drink. He probably thought I was smugly scrutinizing his technique and reminding myself why I hadn’t hired him. In reality, I wanted to make sure he didn’t throw in a spitball or some pocket lint for spite. With the way his interview had gone, I wouldn’t have put it past him.
He finished making my drink and slid it across the bar on a square green napkin. I paid, tipping him properly, and with my glass in hand, turned to take in the scenery.
I didn’t need liquor to work up the courage to approach someone. As much as Michael could render me tongue-tied, I could hold my own when it came to the games men played between flirting and fucking.
The first to catch my eye was a guy with curly blond hair, over by the dartboards, but a tan line on the third finger ruled him out. Guy bending over the closest pool table? Cute ass, but way too young. I might have approached the one leaning against the wall, with the blue Mohawk and an “I’m too cool to be here” smirk, if I hadn’t recognized him. The Mohawk had been yellow and about an inch shorter when I’d barred him for life from Lights Out last year for threatening one of my bartenders with a broken bottle. Spending a night with him? Yeah, no.
I took another drink and kept looking around.
Ooh, he was cute. Jeans that were as tight—and probably as thin—as a condom. Meticulously messed-up bleach-blond hair. Lips that were made for making out, and don’t even get me started on blowjobs. He was more Seth’s type than mine, though: not quite femme, but close. He was the kind of guy who could pique m
y interest but would have Seth weak in the knees. I almost wished Seth was here with me; he made a great wingman, and it always cracked me up to watch him go from snark and shit-talk to speechless and stumbling when a cute twink caught his eye.
But Seth was at my place. With Michael.
Michael. Who was straight. And perpetually shirtless. And wouldn’t get the fuck out of my mind no matter how much I looked at other men.
I shook my head. As I took another long drink, I reminded myself there was no point in pining after my roommate. That was why I was here, damn it—to find someone who did play for the same team.
My gaze locked on a guy watching a game of pool, and my glass almost fell into my lap. Jesus. He was very familiar, but I couldn’t quite place his face. Probably someone I’d seen around, but who cared, because holy fuck. It wasn’t often I was willing to consider slipping out the back of a club and sucking a stranger off in an alley before I even knew his name, but a guy that hot? Show me to the door.
So, drink in hand, I crossed the club and joined him by the pool tables. He glanced at me, and a devilish smile said I might have a shot here.
“You look familiar.” I gave him a quick down-up. “Have we met?”
He laughed, revealing a row of gleaming, flawless teeth. “You use that line on every guy?”
Chuckling, I shook my head. “I guess it sounded like a pickup line, didn’t it?”
“Wasn’t it?”
“No, I was serious. I swear I’ve seen you somewhere before.”
He looked me up and down, grinning. “Well, I don’t remember seeing you anywhere before.” Our eyes met, and he winked. “What a pity.”
I smiled. “Definitely a pity.” I extended my hand. “I’m Jason.”
“Ray.” He shook my hand. “So at the risk of using a cheesy pickup line of my own, you come here often?”
“This place? No. I’m… not much of a club guy.”
“Neither am I.” He glanced at our surroundings. “It’s either clubs or the internet, though, and I haven’t had much luck with that.” He sighed, shrugging with one shoulder. “Which leaves either this place or Lights Out, and”—he grimaced—“yeah, I’ll take this place.”
