by Willa Okati
Anthony pointed with his straw. "Love, or lust?" When Seth shook his head to stop him, he ignored Seth and plowed on. "There's a big difference, buddy. I know how you think. Sex equals good. Most of the time you lead with your small head. And in the interest of protecting my best friend, I have to ask the question." He leaned forward. "So?"
Seth took a deep breath. He sipped at the complimentary ice water to stall for time, but under Anthony's gimlet stare, felt his cushion melting away. "I don't know," he admitted at last. "I look at Clay, and I want to protect him. I want to do these strange things, like take him by the hand and just hold it."
"Do you want to kiss him? He's the kind of guy who could make you want to change your stripes."
Despite himself, a smile tugged at Seth's lips. "He is something else, isn't he? Back when I was interviewing for roommates, he stood out like a gem. Honest face, good hands, open attitude, and friendly. We clicked, you know? The gay thing didn't throw me for a second. We even joked about curfews and when someone could bring someone else home for the night."
"Love at first sight?" Anthony asked.
"No. Definitely not. But there was…" Seth frowned. "Something. An instant connection. I felt like I'd known him for years, and I'd only been around the guy for thirty minutes."
"And since then?"
Seth rolled his eyes. "God, Toni, you're in and out of our house all the time. Answer that question yourself."
Their food arrived, and Anthony made noises of appreciation at the crispy potatoes, fluffy eggs, chewy bacon, and massive plate of crepes with butter. Seth's own stomach grumbled in appreciation at the savory smell of his own two pancakes and one egg over easy. Picking up a fork, he dug in, taking a savory bite.
"You want him," Anthony said decidedly, taking a big bite of bacon. "A blind man could tell that much."
Seth choked on his egg. The waitress, hovering nearby to make sure everything was okay, looked at him in alarm. "Does he need the Heimlich maneuver?"
"Nah, he's fine." Anthony leaned over to thump Seth on the shoulder. "He's coughing, so there's oxygen getting through. Probably just what I said to him."
"Yeah," the waitress muttered, her eyes wide. "Don't ever spring that on a guy when his mouth's full."
"Depends on what it's full of, sweetie," Anthony said kindly. "I've got it from here. Go on and serve some other customers now, okay?"
The waitress scuttled away. When she was out of earshot, Seth leaned over and took Anthony's hand. "Come on," he begged. "Tell me what to do."
Anthony shook his head. "Only you can decide," he said, patting Seth's arm. "I can tell you this much: Clay cares about you, and you feel the same way. Sounds like the basis for a good relationship to me, no matter what orientation you might happen to be."
"Anthony…" Seth sighed. "I'm not good enough for him, okay? He needs someone who knows what they are. Someone who's comfortable with liking other men."
"You don't have to like other men. Just Clay." Anthony popped a chunk of potato into his mouth, chewed, and swallowed. He made a noise of appreciation. "I really have to start coming here more often. This is delicious."
"Anthony, leave the food alone. We're talking about serious stuff here."
"So am I. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day."
"Anthony!"
"Okay, okay." Anthony wiped his fingers on a napkin. He leaned forward, his face kinder than Seth had ever seen it. "All I'm saying is that maybe you do need more time to think about things. But you need to think about this, too: there's a tie between you. Maybe it's strong enough to bridge the gap between friends and lovers. Maybe not. But you don't get out of this by saying you're not good enough.
"I know you, too, Seth, and I know you're a good man. You give your whole heart to someone you love, and it hurts you like a bitch when things don't work out. Like Sophie. Don't tell me you don't have regrets about ending it with her, everything regardless."
Seth looked down, dejected. "I didn't treat her right," he mumbled. "I should have just been honest with her."
"In retrospect? Probably so. We were too caught up with the idea of the joke at the time to understand what it would do to her. But that's done, in the past, finito. Now, what you have to focus on is moving forward. You have to choose whether or not you want that to be alone, or with Clay."
Seth slumped in his seat. He picked at the edge of one crisp, golden-brown pancake. Giving him an arch look, Anthony went back to inhaling his eggs and bacon.
After a minute, Seth looked up. "Say that I do want to pursue this. What would Clay think?"
Anthony swallowed. "Truthfully? I think he'd feel like the luckiest man on Earth. I told you, he's wanted you since he moved in." He frowned. "Well, no. Wanting sounds like lusting, and that's not the point. What I'm trying to say is he's felt something for you. A thing that could go all the way, if you'd been willing."
"He's been carrying a torch all this time?"
"Flaming." Anthony lifted his glass of tea and tilted it at Seth. "So once again, I say: it's up to you, my friend. Take the time you need, but do make a decision."
The door jangled, and Anthony glanced up. "Uh-oh."
Seth stiffened. "Uh-oh? Uh-oh what, Anthony?"
"Your time just decreased by an infinite amount," he said, his face grim. "Don't look now, but Sophie just came in, and she looks like she's loaded for bear."
"Shit! How did she know I was here?"
"She's definitely looking for you. Oh, crap. She's spotted us. Don't look now -- I said, don't look now! Seth, you goon!"
He'd turned around to peer at the woman in question. He felt his face pale. "Toni, who is that with her?"
Anthony popped another bite of something into his mouth. "Judging from the suit, tie, and Bible under his arm, I'd say a minister. How she found one around here is anyone's guess."
"Oh, shit." Seth sat down, shaken. "She's tracked me down to make me marry her."
"It might not be that bad." Anthony raised up a little. "Then again, she is wearing white."
Seth's stomach twisted up in knots. "Do they see me?"
"Oh, yeah. And they're headed this way." Anthony looked at Seth with extreme seriousness. "Time to choose, Seth. What do you feel for Clay? Enough to tell Sophie off a second time, or are you going to back down?"
Seth swallowed hard. He searched for words, but none were forthcoming. He felt himself begin to tremble. God, a man shouldn't have to answer questions like Anthony's right off the bat.
But what else could he do? What other choice did he have?
"There you are," Sophie said, her voice vicious, as she pulled up to the edge of the table. "I knew I'd find you here when I didn't see your bike at the house. Where else do you go when you have something on your mind?"
Seth made himself look her in the eye. She was beautiful as ever, but twice as cold. Her eyes almost snapped with ice as she glared at him. "Seth? Have you changed your mind about this whole 'gay' thing yet?"
Seth's mouth opened to answer her question, while his brain was still stalled in neutral, and said…
Chapter Seven
Clay lay alone in his bed, one arm flung out to the side where Seth would have lain the night before. His fingers idly stroked the sheets, as if he could pick up some residual warmth. A hair or a fiber. Something tangible, beyond his memories, to prove that Seth had stayed with him the night before.
Heaving a sigh, he brought his hand back up to his chest. What kind of fool was he, anyway? If Seth had hung around, it wouldn't have been out of any kind of romantic motivation. He'd just wanted to make sure his buddy was okay.
His buddy. Clay laughed softly, bitterly, since no one was around to hear. He'd admit it to himself -- he was so gone on Seth. Heart, soul, lock, stock, and barrel. He didn't want just friendship from Seth. He wanted love as well. Wasn't it his luck to have set his sights on a straight man?
Clay extended one leg and waggled his toes. He half-closed his eyes and let himself drift into
a dream of how it could have been, how he'd have liked it to be…
"Hey, good morning." Seth elbowed the bedroom door open. He carried two plates, one in either hand. "Gotta go back for the coffee, but there was no reason to let all this get cold."
"Breakfast in bed? Isn't that a little girly?" Clay joked.
Seth blushed. "Yeah, well, I have a sentimental side. Don't ride me too hard about it."
"How about I ride something else?" Clay sat up, accepting the plate and then putting it on his nightstand. He reached for Seth's hand, trapping it between both of his own, and tugging. Laughing, Seth only just managed to deposit his own breakfast on a flat surface before Clay managed to pull him down onto the bed -- and more importantly, onto Clay.
The two men looked at each other, eye to eye, from a distance of inches. "Morning," Seth whispered. Clay could feel the tickle of warm breath on his face. Could almost taste Seth's lips on his own. "How'd you sleep?"
"Like I was a kid again, without a single worry in the world."
"Mmm." Seth dipped down to kiss Clay as lightly as a butterfly's wing. Not nearly hard enough or long enough. "And how do you feel now that you're awake?"
"Like I can do anything, long as you're by my side. In my bed." Clay shifted, bringing his morning erection up into contact with Seth's groin. He felt a matching hardness there, and began to grin. "I know what you woke up feeling like," he teased.
Seth half-closed his eyes. "Oh, God, you're gonna kill me."
"Do you want me to stop?"
"Never." Seth rotated his hips slowly, grinding into Clay with a touch that was almost enough to bring them off. "I want you to lie right where you are. Don't move a muscle."
"Not even one muscle?" Clay brought one leg up to hook his foot around Seth's calf. "How about that one?"
Seth groaned as his erection in its loose sleep shorts slipped down between Clay's thighs. "I'll give you one freebie."
"Only one?" Clay brought his other leg around to Seth's upper leg, hugging him tight. "What about if I push my luck, like this?"
"You might push it all the way to very lucky," Seth breathed before kissing Clay again. A good kiss, just right for two men -- rough, bruising, and as filled with passion as a plum was with juice. Seth broke away to murmur as Clay began to rock, setting up a rhythm and friction between them. "Oh, yeah. Just like that. Keep doing it for me."
"Always," Clay whispered. "Always…"
Clay blinked, coming out of his daydream. A small beeping had woken him. Not his alarm clock, so what…? He frowned, flailing around on his bedside table until he found a small timer. "Why did I have this here?" he muttered to himself, turning it around and around. Then --
"Oh, shit!" The speed dating service! He'd set the timer as a back-up precaution against sleeping in too late. Usually, he'd turn off his alarm and roll right back over.
Not this morning, though. Today he had to be up and moving if he was going to get there in time. "Jeans, jeans, where are jeans?" he chanted as he shucked out of last night's clothes and dove into his closet, hunting for a fresh pair. It took some serious digging, but at last he unearthed a soft, worn pair from underneath a stack of T-shirts that had been loved and worn not wisely but too well.
He held one of them up to the light for a moment before spotting a hole right through the Myrtle Beach logo and discarding the thing.
Another hoodie? Nah, too warm. He could already feel the day heating up, and it might not be a scorcher but he'd sweat to death in terrycloth. Definitely tee weather. Catching up a simple white one, no emblem, he paired it with a loose, light blue overshirt. There, layers. Who said he couldn't be preppy?
Halfway through his rushing to get dressed, however, Clay screeched to a stop. He groaned and thumped himself on the forehead. Ten minutes ago, he'd been lying in bed dreaming of his one true love, and now he was running around like a crazy person trying to get ready to meet some fresh cattle on the hoof? Shouldn't he have paused for some kind of reflection, a sad goodbye to his dreams, or at least a promise to the dreamed-up Seth that he'd never lose his place as number one?
Clay slowly shook his head. He had to face up to the fact that no matter what he wanted, Seth was straight. He himself was not. Never the twain would meet, pranks and initiation rites notwithstanding. He couldn't lie around and mope over Seth like he had been for the past however many months.
Time to get out there, find that horse, and ride its cowboy off into the sunset.
No matter what his traitor heart had to say about it.
Clay shook his head again, pulling the shirt on. A little wrinkled, but it'd do. A quick trip to the bathroom to clean his teeth, swish with something astringently minty, and tousle his hands through his hair. He still smelled like a smoky bar, but he splashed on a little cologne (the kind Seth liked, his mind whispered to him) and decided it'd be good enough.
Out to his car, then, after finding his keys on the kitchen table desk with a post-it note labeled: HEY, CLAY. NEED THESE? Grinning, he snatched them up and headed for his beat-up old clunker. He even managed to whistle a tune as he went, something that probably didn't belong to any actual song, but sounded pretty good to him.
He loved Seth. Always would love Seth. But he couldn’t wait around forever. Clay started up the car and put it in reverse, looking out the rearview mirror, backing away from his own personal Heartbreak Hotel and on to bigger, better things.
* * *
Clay slid into his seat behind the desk, running a hand through his hair and offering a sheepish grin. "Hey, uh, Michael. Sorry I'm late. The roads are just packed; well, you know what traffic is like with the tourist season just starting, and I should just shut up now and let you introduce yourself, shouldn't I?"
Michael, or so his name tag announced, stared at Clay through two kohl-ringed eyes. His black hair stuck up in spikes, and he had more piercings than Clay could count. Definitely two through each eyebrow, a bead on his nose, one on his chin, two through either cheek, but when it came to a tally on the earlobes, Clay gave up.
There were some definite points of interest to Michael. For one, the collar he wore. If Clay wasn't mistaken, it had originally been intended for a dog and adapted to one of the less selective S & M sets. Michael ran a finger under it as he stared at Clay, his mouth quirking up into a half-grin. Not exactly a friendly look on old Mikey, either.
Clay swallowed and tried to look away, but no luck. Michael sort of sucked everyone's line of sight to him, like some kind of black hole that demanded attention instead of matter. To give him credit, he earned it. His hip jiggled to some beat only he could hear, setting some chains swinging from his belt -- also good, sturdy leather with a wicked-looking buckle. He stroked his hand down tight thighs, letting Clay get a good look at the two leather bracelets he wore.
Without any clue as to what he should say, except why the hell are you doing speed dating? Clay stared at Michael and waited for him to make the first move.
Silence dragged on between them.
"Come here often?" Clay cracked after a minute or so of the staring contest.
Michael nodded.
Okay, it was a start. Clay spread his hands wide. "So. See anything you like?"
Michael eyed Clay up and down, then narrowed his eyes and nodded. Miracle of miracles, he opened his mouth and spoke. "Do you want to get out of here?"
"Excuse me?" Clay blinked.
"Out of here, you and me." Michael looked impatient. "I've got the afternoon off and the apartment to myself."
Oh, that's tempting. Sad thing was, it actually kind of was enticing. Underneath the spikes and the eye makeup, Michael had a sharply attractive face that would have been stunning and drawn every eye, no jewelry necessary.
"I don't exactly do…" Clay started to demur.
"Why? You scared?"
Clay's head snapped up. "Okay. Thank you for coming by," he rapped out sharply. One finger reached for and unerringly hit the button for Jeri. "Hey, sweetie?" he called. "Next one up
, okay?"
"This is only used as a panic button," Jeri chirped.
"Call this an emergency." Michael leered at Clay and adjusted himself in his frighteningly tight leather pants. "There's a definite urgency to the situation."
"Your loss," Michael said, standing up. He offered his hand to Clay, who, startled, took it. A piece of paper was suddenly nestling in his palm. "My number," Michael said, tossing Clay a wink. "In case you change your mind. Any time you want some action, give me a call."
Clay nodded weakly, awash in Michael's sea of testosterone, then hammered on the button. "Jeri? Next. Next!"
* * *
"Hey, friend. The name's Adam." The short, muscled man swung the dating service's chair around and sat in it backwards. Arms crossed on the back, he leaned his chin into their support and grinned at Clay. "How's it going?"
