by Willa Okati
Clay, still reeling a little from his experience with Michael, shook his head twice before the words sank in. Relaxing, he reached out to grasp Adam's hand. Ooh. Hard and calloused. This was a guy who worked for his living. Worked hard, probably. Those muscles didn't come from any health club.
And he did love a good strong man. Even if the man in question happened to stand a few inches shorter than him. Close to six, but who was he to judge? "I'm Clay," he said with a grin. "So, what's a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?"
Adam laughed, albeit a little ruefully. "Funny thing," he said. "The more open society gets about guys like us, the harder it is to find a date. Especially if you're not twenty and built like a brick shithouse, you know?"
Clay rolled his eyes and nodded. "God, tell me about it. I had this little blond guy, barely legal, tell me he wasn't interested because I didn't have a six-pack and my hair was messy."
"Did you go out and buy a case of beer?" Adam joked.
"Wiseass." Clay grinned. "Nah, but I did get someone to tell me what a six-pack was. Then I went to work and grew my own."
"Yeah? Not bad. Can I see?"
Clay blinked, but then again, what the hell? Untucking his T-shirt, he raised it so that Adam could cop an eyeful of his midsection. The man nodded, definitely approving, then raised his own loose T-shirt to show off a chest that put Clay's to shame. Yeah. Definitely a guy who did some seriously hard work for his living.
Hey, he wasn't a snob. Nothing wrong with a good blue-collar guy if he'd be faithful and come home at night instead of going out with the boys. Clay nodded appreciatively at the sight of Adam with his shirt half off. His cock gave a slight twitch, as if to say that it approved, too.
"Now that we've shaken hands and beat our breasts, what happens next?" Adam asked.
"You don't know?"
"Nope. This is my first time in the joint. I'm a virgin." Adam winked. "Treat me gentle, big boy. What do you feel like we should do?"
Clay shifted, feeling the crinkle of Michael's phone number in his pocket. "You seem like a nice guy," he said honestly. "What do you like to do? What do you do? For a living, I mean."
"Mechanic." Adam held up his hands, grimacing at the dark dirt that had worked its way into the cracks on the skin. "I work down at the auto plant. But when I’m not on the job, I love going down to this pool hall close to the beach."
"You're good?"
"Damned good." Adam gave a grin that almost stopped Clay's heart. God, the man was gorgeous when he smiled. "You and me, let's play a game sometime, huh? Doesn't matter if it's a date or just two guys hanging out."
"It doesn't? Matter, I mean?"
Adam shrugged, getting up. "People told me this speed dating thing was nuts," he said frankly. "I figured it'd be a way to meet people, you know? Folks who aren't all about cars or how many bottles of beer they can drink before they forget their crappy day. You and me, I think we could get along. Even if you don't like what you see enough to sleep with it, maybe we can have a few laughs." He pulled a slip of paper out of his chest pocket. "Here. My number. You ever feel like shooting a game, give me a call."
With that, he turned his back and headed for the door. Clay half-stood, wanting to ask Adam to stay. Gorgeous, and friendly to boot. Still… something stopped him. He wasn't sure what, but when Adam turned around to give him a good-bye grin, Clay didn't ask him to stay. Instead, he waved as the man left.
Then, somehow uncomfortable, he slumped down at the table. He could hear Jeri outside, bidding Adam goodbye. Another good guy, a could-have-been. Why hadn't he jumped at the man?
Slowly, Clay slid the phone number into his pocket. It nestled against Michael's, feeling like two strikes against him.
What would happen with the third?
* * *
If Adam had been short, the next guy who came in the door was large enough to make Clay's eyes bug out briefly. So tall he had to duck through, and just about as broad. Muscles like they didn't make outside of horses, arms like knotted wood, and legs like beer barrels. Workout queen? Clay couldn't tell.
The big guy turned the chair Adam had sat in back around and plunked himself on it. The wood gave an ominous creak, but no untoward accidents happened. He offered Clay a hand as big as a plate and grinned. "Name's Jefferson," he said. "So you're Clay, right?"
Clay nodded, wincing a little as Jefferson squeezed his hand. Jesus! He wasn't any ninety-pound weakling, but a grip like that could bend steel. "That'd be me."
Jefferson spread his hands. "So, here I am. You want to check out the goods?"
"Uh, isn't that kind of my job? You're the one here to try and score with me."
The big guy cracked up. "All right, point for you. You're the first guy who hasn't started stumbling and stammering when I laid that line on them." He leaned forward, amiable as a tame grizzly bear. "Look, here's the thing. I'm fuckin' huge, right? So I intimidate people. That's why I do things like this speed dating service. I've been hunting for someone who isn't too put off by the size to think about taking on the whole package."
Clay grinned. "Got to admit, as plans go that one isn't bad. How many times have you gotten lucky?"
Jefferson's eyes grew warm. "As of now? Once."
"Oh." Clay drew back a little, but then, remembering himself, settled into an easy pose on his chair. "Yeah, you are a bruiser. How'd you get that way? Luck of the genetic draw, or maybe working out?"
"Six of one, half dozen of the other." Jefferson shrugged. "If a guy my height lets himself run to fat, I'd end up not being able to fit through doorways. More than I already don't, that is." He winced. "Man, the number of times I've whacked my head on lintels, let me tell you."
"Lintels?"
"Yeah. You know, the top of a doorway." Jefferson made a gesture to indicate what he meant, then gave Clay a suspicious eye. "Say, what do you do for a living?"
"Radio DJ," Clay answered, no apologies.
"You ever do trivia contests?"
"On occasion."
"And you didn't know that?"
"As a matter of fact, no." Clay found he was enjoying himself, batting questions and answers back and forth between himself and this mountain of a man. "What do you do, Jefferson?"
White teeth flashed in Jefferson's tanned face. "I teach architecture at the local college."
"Oh, now see, you cheated." Clay reached out to shove Jefferson. Felt like pushing at a brick wall, but Jefferson laughed and swatted back -- thankfully, pulling his punch. Clay grinned, sizing the guy up. He couldn't imagine himself in bed with this man without being crushed, but he had a way about him that made Clay want to get to know him better.
A ting sounded from the timer. Clay gave it a dismayed glance. Their time was almost up already? "Got a phone number?" he asked, trying not to sound desperate. Didn't want to give Jefferson the wrong idea. "Maybe we could get together some time and go running."
"On the beach?" Jefferson challenged, pulling a slip out of his hip pocket.
Clay took it, feeling the warmth of the paper. "Best kind of workout, running in the water," he came back. "I'm game if you are."
Jefferson looked him up and down, then gave a nod and another one of those rich smiles. "You're all right, Clay. Maybe we can get to know each other better."
"I'd like that," Clay said honestly. He reached out to shake again, wincing when the buzzer interrupted their contact. "Just friends, though. For now," he amended.
Jefferson looked a little disappointed, but nodded. "You got it, man," he said jovially. "Who knows what can happen with a little bit of time?"
"Who knows?" Clay sat back in his chair as Jefferson made his way to the door. He had to duck under the lintel again, but he managed to wave back at Clay as he exited.
The intercom buzzed, startling Clay. "Jeri?"
"You're done for the day, sugar," Jeri said in her whiskey-smooth tones. "Three's the limit. Just like in a bar."
"I think it's two in a bar."
"You'
d know better than I would," she said archly. "I have my man to go home to." Her voice turned secretive and interested. "So? Did you find a Prince Charming today?"
Clay thought back over the men he'd visited with. Michael, gorgeous but weird. Adam, short, but as open and friendly as a good summer day. Jefferson, a challenge in every sense of the word. "I met three very different guys," he said. "I have to say there was a certain something about each one of them. Hell, even the first contestant had some potential."
"No winners, though, huh?"
"I got three phone numbers. Does that count?"
"It's a start, sweetie. Now you get off your duff and go home. Make some calls tonight and see what happens!"
"Yeah," Clay said absently. "I might just do that. But would you put me down for another session, say, tomorrow afternoon? Just one more."
"Just like a man," Jeri tsked. "You have to squeeze all the fruit before you decide what's ripe."
Clay's mind's eye flashed on a vision of Adam's taut, tight buttocks in his hard-worn jeans. He cleared his throat. "Something like that. One more, tomorrow?"
"You've got it. Be here at ten a.m. Now, clear out of that room. We're busy today, and there's someone else just waiting for their chance to meet Mr. Right. Chop, chop!" Jeri clapped her hands together.
Nothing left to do, Clay got up and pushed his chair back in. He headed back out the door he'd come in, exiting into the outside world. Alone.
* * *
How long Clay stood there in the parking lot of the dating service, he couldn't have said afterwards. The salt breezes blew through his hair, mussing it even further and tangling it into elf-knots that would be a bitch to comb out later. He felt like there was something missing, but he couldn't have said what it was.
No amount of self-examination was giving him any answers -- that was until, impatient with himself, he reached for his car keys.
He stared at them, lying warm in his palm, his mind's eye flashing back to the Post-it note they'd been wrapped up in that morning. Clutching them lightly, then tightly, Clay sighed. Yeah. Michael, Adam, and Jefferson had all been great guys -- okay, maybe not Michael. He could have hooked up with either A or J, though, no problem. So why hadn't he?
The answer lay in his palm. Seth. He hadn't wanted any of them because none of them were Seth. Seth, the straight man. Seth, the guy who was even bad at pretending to be gay.
Seth, who didn't love Clay the way Clay loved him.
Closing his hand into a tight fist, Clay raised himself away from the sun-warmed bricks of the building and headed for his car. He'd take Jeri's advice. Go home, make a few phone calls that night, at least two, and see what he could set in motion. A game of pool with Adam, a run with Jefferson. He was two friends richer, three if you counted good-time Mikey, and hey, who didn't want to have a good time every now and then?
If the thought left a taste like ashes in his mouth, that was his own affair.
He started to unlock his car, the key halfway into the slot, when he heard -- "You!" The shout was all the warning he had before two small fists had grabbed him and slung him around with his back against the hood, his face toward the Wrath of Sophie.
"What the hell?" Clay struggled to stand back up. "Why are you here?"
"I saw your car." Sophie kicked at a tire with one daintily sandaled foot. "No one else drives a P.O.S. like this. It just screams 'Clay'. You know, I bet this was once a nice automobile, until you drove it into the ground."
"Living near the ocean is hell on a vehicle, Sophie." Clay tried to edge away from the small woman, not liking the look in her fierce blue eyes. "So, you found me. What do you want?"
"What do I -- oh, that's rich." Sophie almost laughed. "I want my boyfriend back, you thief."
"You what, now?" Clay sputtered. "Oh! Seth. You want Seth back? That's why you're assaulting me in a public place?"
Sophie kicked him hard on the shin. "There! Now it's assault." She stood back, folding her arms. "Are you going to have me arrested?"
When Clay shook his head, she tossed her hair, silky golden waves falling down around her shoulders. "I want Seth back," she said warningly. "If you don't hand him over, I'm going to make both of your lives hell."
Clay closed his eyes against an incipient headache. It wasn't that he didn't think Sophie could do it, but it was more than he couldn't face up to her at the moment. "I can't give Seth back," he said quietly. "He's not mine to give or take."
"But you did take him!" Sophie socked him in the chest. "There! Aggravated assault. Do you want to call the cops on me?"
"Jesus, no. Would you calm down?"
"I'm calm as ice." Belying her words, Sophie's eyes blazed. "I just want to make sure we understand each other. You let Seth go, and send him back to me. Otherwise, you pay. Am I being clear?"
"Crystal. But Sophie, he's a grown man. You can't tell him what to do."
"Oh, really?" Sophie turned to stalk away. "I have, I can, and I will. He just needs to see that he belongs with me. Give me time, Clay. And give him back." She turned to glare over one honeyed shoulder. "Did you ever honestly think you could make him happy?"
Clay found he didn't have a single thing to say. Not one word hopped onto his tongue. Frankly, there wasn't anything he could have added. Seth wouldn't have been happy with him, so Sophie was right. But send him back to this crazy bitch? No way.
"He's better off," Clay surprised himself by shouting. Sophie froze in place, shooting daggers at Clay. "He is. He's happier now. You should see him. With me. He can be himself. And he's a good man, Sophie. Do you want him back if all he's going to be is miserable?"
Sophie glared a moment longer, then turned on her heel and clacked away. Clay leaned against his car, staring after her. He shivered. God, no wonder he was gay. Women were insane! How had she found him, anyway? Driving around, his ass. She'd been hunting him.
Hunting…
"Oh, God," Clay muttered. "Seth." He jammed the keys into the door lock, flung it open, and hurled himself into the car, barely pausing for his seatbelt before peeling out of the parking lot.
Whatever the hell she had done to Seth, she was going to regret it.
Chapter Eight
Seth lay down on the soft blanket spread across springy grass, let out a deep breath, and gazed up at the sky. The sound of waves and seagulls filled his ears, lulling him into a sense of serenity. He was grateful for it -- after a day like his, he needed all the peace he could get. There was just something about watching the sun set over the ocean which made a man forget all his cares and woes.
Clay's feet came into vision, treading close to Seth's ear. He turned, examining them idly. For a guy, he had nice feet. Big, sure, but smooth and tanned. Good ankles, too, tapering up into strong legs.
"Hey," Seth said quietly.
"Hey, yourself." Clay replied. "Is there brooding space on this blanket for two, or should I go somewhere else?"
"There's room," Seth's mouth said before his brain caught up. Ye gods. The last thing he should have wanted was Clay getting close and cozy -- wasn't it? Clay plus close equaled greater confusion, and he'd come outside to get his head straightened out. Thing was, he couldn't say no. He couldn't deny Clay anything, he realized.
Clay was looking at him doubtfully, as if he didn't quite believe Seth. "Come on," Seth urged, now that the deed had been done. He scooted over a few inches, feeling the soft sedge beneath his back. "Have a seat."
There was a pause, and then Clay nodded. "Thanks." He crossed over Seth and folded down Indian-style on the blanket. A bottle of juice in his hand glistened with condensation. "You want some?"
Seth considered the notion. "Yeah. Thanks."
The bottle was passed over, and Seth sipped. Pomegranate. Not his favorite, but it had a tart bite that his tongue appreciated. Just sweet enough to combat the sourness. "It's good," he said, wiping off the mouth of the bottle before passing it back over.
Clay took a swig. "Not bad," he agreed. Dangling the neck betwe
en two fingers, he let it hang between his knees. "Kinda sour."
"That's how it's supposed to taste."
"Catch me listening to Anthony's recommendations again, then."
Seth winced. Then, pushing Anthony from his mind, he concentrated on the sound of the waves. Rushing in, ebbing out. He envisioned himself walking across the salty, hard-packed sand, his feet leaving tracks that the water filled as he passed by.
He envisioned a scene out of "From Here To Eternity", starring himself and Clay, and winced again. Okay, point one, he didn't have a clue as to what two guys did together. Two, who said Clay would be interested? Three, did he want to play those games himself?
