by Tom Collins
Problem was, what I’d done last night hadn’t sated the beast. I was still hungry—starving—for Liam.
Understand, I don’t do well with free time on my hands under the best circumstances, and I do a good deal worse when there’s something I’d like to do with free time and I can’t. What I wanted, what I couldn’t stop thinking of doing, was to go back to Irish Eyes Pub, find Liam, throw him over my shoulder—well, maybe not. He was taller than me and he’d probably bump his head—drag him someplace private and have my way with him.
And have him want it and like it. A lot.
It was crazy. Whacked. This wasn’t me. I didn’t fixate on men. I saw them, I had them or they had me, and we parted amicably and happily. Yeah, sometimes I got to know a guy, even dated. Men, however, couldn’t be trusted, especially the black-hatted ones, and I half-included myself in that. The black-hats were selfish, unreliable bastards who did what they fucking pleased. As for the white-hats, most of them were after an adrenaline high. White-hats wanted to accomplish great things and pound their chests in pride, not go through the drudgery of real responsibility. Leave that to the women.
I mean, yeah, I had a vague idea in my head of one day finding some solid, emergency room doctor and maybe settling down with him. A soul as orderly and driven as me, who understood my job and could share the downtime. So what in hell was I doing fantasizing about a dreamy artist? A kid, yes a kid, who was clever and talented and had the world as his oyster? He’d be bored within a week with someone like me, who’d never traveled and only been to vocational school; who didn’t know how to have a good time, and wouldn’t know the first thing about keeping someone that smart and imaginative happy.
This was the sort of shit that went round and round my brain all of Friday and Saturday—which was my birthday—in between visions of ravishing Liam in a dozen different ways, some of which even I wasn’t limber enough to manage. Quick and dirty sex having failed, I tried other things. I went to the gym and worked out until I was half blind and drenched in perspiration, but every move I made had me envisioning Liam’s body, the bare torso he’d displayed. I day dreamed about him working out, sweat slicking down his hair-covered chest and belly.
I tried cleaning my apartment; organizing and polishing was like soothing meditation to me. Problem was, my new place was tiny and already clean. All I had to occupy me was laundry and only one load. After ironing and folding it all away, I called my stepmother, who wished me happy birthday and promised that we’d celebrate. I told her we didn’t have to, but she wouldn’t hear of it. It was a point of honor with Sandy to never neglect my birthday. She hinted that she had a special present for me initiating a vision of Liam with a bow around his neck.
There was a gift I’d love to unwrap.
I told her about my job and my new partner, and generally engaged in as much mindless chatter as I could dredge up. She suspected something, of course, but I wasn’t ready to spill yet.
I dreamed of Liam both nights. He made love to me; I made love to him. Sometimes he faded away, laughing at me for believing he’d actually wanted me.
Sunday again. Thank God for work. Or, maybe not, as I was going to have to face Gabe. First thing I noticed when I arrived for my seven a.m. shift was that everyone working at the barn greeted me as if I were an old-timer. It seems my stint with Gabe at his worst had been an automatic trial-by-fire cum fraternity hazing ritual. I was now one of the gang.
The second thing I noticed was that the two of us had a new nickname: Sutton and O’Shaughnessy, “S.O.S.” they called us. Cute. Gabe was already out at the rig, and as I walked up to him I ran through some things to say like, “Hey, Gabe, that nephew of yours still forgetting the special? Speaking of which, has he got anyone special in his life?” I winced; too corny. Maybe, “Your nephew is a great artist. I’d like to commission a picture from him. Can I have his phone number?” Yeah. That’d go over like a lead balloon. “So Gabe, your nephew like men?”
Hopeless. I stepped up, my mouth open, uncertain what to say. Luckily, at that very moment we got a call.
“I’ll drive,” Gabe said, and we were off. Fortunately or not, it turned out to be one of those crazy Sundays that had us barreling all over town, from a skate park where a twelve-year old boy had broken his arm performing some crazy bike trick, to a high rise where an elderly woman was complaining of chest pains, to a street fair to check on two cases of heat stroke. No sooner did we drop one patient off at the ER than we were crisscrossing the other way to check up on another.
Between talking with dispatch, caring for the wounded, dealing with the ER and filling out the eternal paperwork, I never got a chance to bring up Thursday night’s dinner. Our shift finally ended and I took the subway home to collapse, exhausted, on the bed.
And dreamt of making love to Liam.
Shit!
Monday, and I couldn’t bear it any longer. I had to know if there was even the remotest chance that Liam might be interested in me. We got a call first thing once again, but it turned out to be a false alarm. Some little kid ringing up 911 because she thought her grandma was in trouble, making funny noises from the bedroom. Turned out grandma had, er, invited home an unexpected guest. Their morning whoopee had worried her little granddaughter.
On the way back we got caught in a traffic jam, one of those bad ones that’s like a parking lot. Gabe sighed and, as it was hot out, shut all the windows and cranked the air conditioning. We weren’t needed anywhere else, and so couldn’t put on the siren and escape. We were going to have to wait this out along with the rest.
I took it as a sign, and made my opening gambit. “So, your son’s with you?” I ventured, figuring that would put him in a good mood.
“Yeah,” he smiled fondly. “My ex dropped him off Friday morning and we had both days together.” He lifted his foot off the brake as the cars ahead of us rolled forward a whole two feet, then stopped again. “Family picnic, and then I took him to the comic book store. Saturday we went out on the lake, boating, swimming. We talked for hours.”
“Wow. I’m envious.” I was. Maybe if my dad had been more like that? Yeah, well he hadn’t been. “So. Um…family picnic. Was your nephew there? The one who waited on us the other night?”
Wrong thing to say. His eyes locked on me. “What about him?” he asked quietly.
“I was just impressed by him,” I said as innocently as I could. Was his jaw locked up too? “I mean…the cranberry juice and the blueberry crumble…that was really considerate of him.”
Nothing. I glanced at the wheel. Gabe’s hands were tight on it, the knuckles white. This was not a good sign.
“Yeah, considerate,” Gabe echoed. It was almost a growl. “He’s nineteen, you know. And he has a lot of growing up to do, if you ask me. He inherited the O’Shaughnessy-head-in-the-clouds artistic gene instead of the one that keeps the rest of us on the ground. An’ he got it in spades. He’d forget his own name if there wasn’t someone around to remind him.” A pause. “A real romantic, too. Every time he gets with a new girl, she’s the love of his life…until she breaks his heart. And they always do.”
My own heart sank.
“So, he’s had a lot of girlfriends?”
“Some,” a rough clearing of the throat. “Now he says he wants to give men a try.”
I perked. “Really, “ I murmured. My cock gave an excited twitch. Down boy!
“Says he’s curious,” Gabe muttered.
Curious—meaning he’d probably never done anything with a man. Not even asked one out. Oh. Shit. Things clicked into place, like a rubric’s cube coming around. It explained everything. He’d approached me as a guy would approach a girl, of course. What other model did he have? Eye contact, flirt, talk, talk some more, exchange numbers. Only he hadn’t known which of us ought to ask the other for the number. Click. Everything lined up. A guy interested in asking a girl out on a date didn’t follow her into the bathroom for a blowjob. Duh.
With this new insight in min
d, I replayed the evening’s highlights yet again, and this time felt my face go hot with embarrassment; I almost giggled with a weird mixture of relief at the absurdity of it all. Liam hadn’t been jerking me around; he’d been wooing me! Fuck me sideways. I’d never encountered that before. It was flattering, pleasing and uncomfortable all at the same time.
The traffic moved and we inched along. I stared out the window.
“How would you feel if I—” I sucked in a breath and hesitated. The bad news was, we were stuck in traffic together and there was nowhere to run if Gabe decided to turn on me. The good news was that we were in an ambulance. Oh. What the hell? “If I said I was interested in giving him a try? Would you…be open to that?”
His hands gripped the wheel again, and this time when he edged us up he stepped too hard on the brake, giving us both whiplash.
“If it’s going to screw things up between us,” I added quickly, though it sent a pain through my chest to do so, “then I won’t.”
He sighed. “That’s not what’s got me wound up,” he said. “See, it’s like this: my family has always been more open, more progressive than most. But me—me and my sister Rosie, actually—I guess you could say we’re the conservatives. The prudes. My own elderly Mam and Pop are more permissive and liberal than we are. So Rosie and I have always taken it on ourselves to see that things are kept proper, if you get my drift, especially when it comes to our nieces and nephews. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yeah.” I fought down the bitterness in my voice. “Yeah. I get it. Message received loud and clear.”
“No!” he snapped, and hit the wheel. I sank back against the door as he glared at me with real anger. “That’s not it, and don’t you dare dismiss it that way. My youngest brother’s gay, and his partner’s as much my brother-in-law as those married to my sisters. Believe me, I got no problem with any of my nieces or nephews dating their own gender. But my baby brother used to be as starry-eyed about love as Liam is now, and I saw firsthand the hell he went through trying to find men who had more on their minds than just busting a nut.”
He paused for a breath then continued, “That’s what I’m talking about. Liam’s the sort to wear his heart on his sleeve and give it away to whoever asks for it. So if you’re the type to fuck ‘em and leave ‘em, then bugger off. That’s not what Liam’s after and it’s not what he deserves. And it’s certainly not any sort of life experience he needs to learn, not from man nor woman. I don’t give a shit if you’re both legal adults and can do what you like, you hurt him just to get your jollies and I’ll fucking kill you! Now do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Damn right, and I couldn’t even say he was wrong. Fuck ‘em and leave ‘em was my modus operandi, as Thursday night more than confirmed. If Liam had taken the bait and gone into the men’s room after me, that’s exactly what he would have gotten. No argument, guilty as charged. I half-wanted to ask Gabe what would happen if Liam left me after getting his jollies.
I figured it was a stupid question.
The traffic chose that moment to loosen up, and we soon saw why. A stalled and smoking truck had evidently been finding its way from a middle lane to the shoulder. It’d gotten there at last. Cars still slowed as they passed it.
“Fuckin’ lookie loos!” Gabe grumbled, still steaming himself. “So,” he added, in that gruff way of his, “you wanna come to the pub tonight and decide if you can be serious about Liam?”
I hesitated, caught up in this absurd vision of myself and Liam on either side of a couch with Gabe in between as chaperone. If I said “no” I was as good as telling Gabe that I’d only been interested in getting into Liam’s cargo shorts. If, on the other hand, I said yes—
“Who’s buying dinner?” I asked.
He grinned like a poker player who’d gotten some sucker to lay down a huge bet. “We’ll go Dutch.”
*Liam*
Monday’s early dinner crowd had been swinging, because the kitchen staff cleaned out the fryer reserved for fish that morning and put in fresh oil. This meant that from about four-thirty to seven the place was packed, even to the barstools, and nearly every one wanted the fish and chips. They were always in such demand that the pub had stopped making a special on Mondays and just had the fish be the special.
Jill and I were raking in the tips. It didn’t start slowing down until a little before Mister O’Brian came gliding in; he didn’t so much lift his feet as slide them forward.
I was setting his drink in front of him when my iPhone rang, startling us both.
“Do ye know yer trousers are playin’ a jig, lad?” Mister O’ asked me with a confidential mien.
“Yes, sir,” I laughed. “It’s my phone.” I pulled it out and checked the caller ID. My heart and stomach fluttered toward one another; it was Uncle Gabe.
“Ack, one o’ them things.” He made a sort of sneezing sound of contempt.
“It’s my uncle, sir, excuse me,” I said, answering it. “Hey, Unc,” I tried to sound casual, “S’up?”
“On my way,” he said, sounding gruff and unhappy.
I wondered about it, but had to ask, “He’s coming in with you?” I felt like someone had stolen all the air from my lungs.
“Yeah, say…fifteen?” I knew Oliver was hearing the same words I was hearing and that gave me a weird sense of being in the car with him.
My body reacted and my mind followed. For a brief second I was in the passenger’s seat with Oliver, him down on me, my hands clutching his head, but Uncle Gabe was there driving and that creeped me out. The fantasy snapped and I shook it off like a dog.
“Cool, thanks,” I croaked, and heard him hang up.
Everyone at my tables had either already had dessert or didn’t want any, so I was set. I headed into the back through the kitchen and over to the changing area; an alcove with a few tiny lockers. This morning I’d stashed a black, cargo-style kilt in mine. I was wearing a jock strap under my pants, a compromise. I didn’t feel right about wearing underwear with a kilt, but didn’t feel right about going commando while at work either. I switched my pants for the kilt, being careful to arrange the large pockets along the sides for easy access. I already had on knee-high, white socks and it took only a moment to slip on my boots. I put my apron back on, got out a button, which read, “Kiss Me, I’m Irish!” in green lettering with shamrocks all around, and pinned it to the middle pocket, hoping the location might be suggestive to a certain hotty.
I was ready.
I stood and headed back through the kitchen. As I walked, I enjoyed the swirl of warm air over my bare thighs and buttocks. I wished I could’ve done without the jock, but there was no way I was going to take the chance of the monster getting out of its cage in public.
I didn’t know what it was, but I always felt more like myself in a kilt. It was as if I were a throwback to the icy winter moors of my family’s homeland. Erin gave me a thumb’s up as I went past, but I didn’t make it past the bar. Jillian caught me coming out and hauled me back into the kitchen. She dragged me over to the spice rack and hunted for a second.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Helping,” was all she said.
She plucked a dark-brown bottle from amongst the extracts kept there for when a touch is all you need. Turning and opening it, she put her fingers over the mouth and tipped the bottle. She reached for me and I dodged.
“What is it?” I demanded.
“Vanilla, to make you smell good. I do it any time I want to really get Bren’s attention. It works like a charm, believe me, and it’s a scent that no one will object to.” I hesitated, uncertain. She growled, “Trust me, it works!” with impatience and smeared the extract at the base of my neck, rubbing it in.
She leaned close and whispered, “He’s a guy, Liam. He’s not that complicated. He wants his dick sucked just as bad as you do. Keep that in mind.” I felt like my face was on fire. She laughed. “What?”
“I don’t know. This is just sort of�
��weird, you talking to me this way.” I felt disconcerted by the whole thing. “Isn’t this at all weird for you?”
“Yeah,” she laughed and nodded, “but isn’t it cool too?”
Her smile and attitude were infectious. “Yeah, it is kind of.” I kissed her cheek. “Thanks, Sis.” She flushed and hugged me. It made her feel good when I called her that, being an only child. I saw the door to the pub open through the pass through behind her and in walked Uncle Gabe and Oliver. My heart revved. I checked my watch; fifteen minutes, just like he said.
“Well, show’s about to start,” I said and headed for the front. Jill followed behind me to check on her customers. Oliver’s eyes wandered around the room, restless, but locked on like lasers as soon as I came through the swinging door. I tried to act cool, but I couldn’t not look at him. There was something different about his face tonight. It seemed more open somehow, or possibly, he was more direct in his gaze. In either case, he struck me as more approachable and the Kamakazi bumblebees tapered off to butterflies.
I came around the end of the bar and got two simultaneous reactions to the kilt. Uncle Gabe looked surprised for a second, then amused. Oliver was goggle-eyed.
Uncle Gabe had deliberately chosen to sit in my station tonight. I walked over, my stride feeling loose and easy compared to Thursday night, pulling an order pad out of my apron pocket and taking the pencil from behind my ear. They sat facing each other so I stepped up to the empty side between them.
“Decided to go formal today, I see,” Uncle Gabe said straight away. I wondered if he thought he was alibiing me and grinned.
“Yep.” I licked the pencil lead and set it to the pad. “We’ve got some organic, green tea now if you’d like it,” I offered.
Oliver blinked, opened his mouth, closed it again, and then said, “You do?”
