by Jay Hogan
I barely caught my groan of envy in time. “Oh dear God, spare me the details. Date night, I’m guessing. Haven’t you two been married, like, two freaking seconds? A bit early to be trying to keep the romance alive, I’d have thought?”
He narrowed his gaze. “Hush your mouth. With a twelve-year-old in the house, we never turn down a babysitting offer when our shifts line up, not ever. Are you fucking crazy?”
He had a point. “Then go. You’re fogging up my eyeballs with all this sex talk. See you after your days off.” I shooed him away with my hands.
“Yes, boss.” He leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek before he left, and I may or may not have smiled fondly at the casual affection. Not. Definitely not.
I shook my head and got back to making some sense of my desk before I headed home. If I could at least get the shit into common piles, I’d consider it a win. Picking up spilt paper from the floor, I nearly concussed myself on my desk lamp when my phone chimed with a text from Reuben. A song lyric.
I grinned and typed a reply. Green Day, “Jesus of Suburbia.”
He answered two seconds later. You suck.
I chuckled. You wish ;)
We’d managed to meet up for coffee twice in the two weeks since our first at the beach. Once with Cory at a park close to the garage, and the second in a downtown café before Reuben attended a Blues VIP dinner. He’d had another good game following the Highlanders one, this time against the Crusaders, landing two tries and holding nerve to catch some great high ball. The media attention had notched up, and a couple of reporters had even shown their faces at his brother’s garage, so we’d been circumspect about where and when we were seen together.
We weren’t hiding—we were just friends, after all; there was nothing to find—but it was simply easier. A mousy wallflower I wasn’t, and there was no way I was passing for straight any day soon. That alone could get tongues wagging, especially to his dickhead father. It wasn’t like I wanted the attention either, and I suspected it could make things awkward for Mathew. Knowing most of the journalist sport hounds would be in or outside the VIP venue for the night, we’d chosen a small quiet café at the opposite end of town.
It was a good idea, right up until the minute he walked in the freaking door. All that muscle and bound-up energy dressed in a steel-grey dinner suit, white shirt, and silver tie left my mouth dry and my dick scrambling shamelessly for attention. I, of course, revealed none of that. Instead I lazed nonchalantly in my chair, looking impossibly cool in my cropped black leather jacket, black mesh shirt, black jeans, leather boots, and heavy guyliner. I kept my gaze neutral, told him he scrubbed up nicely, and did he want a coffee and cake with that. At no time was any of that said in anything resembling an unmanly squeak, absolutely not.
A few patrons sent us curious looks, but no one made any overt move or grabbed their phone to snap a pic. It was one of the great things about New Zealand. You had to be a pretty huge celebrity to have fans bug you in your personal time, and in rugby circles, for the most part outside of an actual game, that meant you really needed to be an AB. Something Reuben wasn’t… yet.
He graciously ignored my poorly concealed lusting, although there was definite amusement in those silvered eyes, and I’m pretty sure I detected the trace of a smirk as he struggled to squeeze all that muscle into the chair opposite. I kicked him under the table and told him to get over himself, I just had a bit of a cold. He asked if I needed to visit a pharmacy for some supplies to help with that, and I blushed furiously for what was probably only the second time in my life. How he did that to me remained a mystery, but it was one I intended to remedy for my own sanity.
Mathew was attending the same VIP function, and he’d invited me as his plus-one, but I’d begged off as it wasn’t really my scene. I loved watching him play, and attended the occasional aftergame celebration, but the official stuff left me wanting to stab my eyes with my fork. He was taking our sister, Jasmine, instead, giving her the rare opportunity to doll it up and let her mad-smart-lawyer hair down for the night. I winced. I still hadn’t mentioned the friendship between Reuben and myself to either of them, and I wasn’t entirely sure why.
At the café, we’d spent an easy hour talking about anything, everything, and nothing too serious, a welcome change after the last two coffees. I learned Reuben loved pizza and KFC, hated burgers and fish and chips, that Japanese and Indian rated a yes, Chinese and Mexican a no, Italian fine but not risotto. He was a Star Trek and Transformer fanboy of the highest order, a movie slut in general, and we both shared an almost obsessive love of bands from the nineties and noughties and spent ridiculous hours with our earpods in—him during his weight and gym sessions and me in the evenings when I preferred it to parking my sad carcase in front of the television.
That common ground had morphed into an ongoing contest over who could guess the most songs from a couple of random lyrics. From there it spilled into a game of spot text quizzing. We’d given up keeping score, but I enjoyed the safe excuse for contact and the to-and-fro banter more than I probably should.
To that end I fired one back. “Slip in and hold on for the ride”
…and got an immediate reply: Cam!!!
We had a rule about no flirting that I regularly flouted just to fuck with him. I grinned and sent: Oops my bad ;)
A few seconds later I got… You did that on purpose. The Yellow Crows. “Consent” :)))
Ugh. Bastard. He was crazy good at this game. I considered sending another challenge but my office clock read 5:00 p.m. and I was done. I shoved my phone in my pocket and stared at the half-dozen paper piles crowding my desk—better than the untidy mountain that had come before it. Reuben didn’t have a game tomorrow and so had agreed to a meeting with Kelly and a guy from the child developmental team at seven, and I wanted to be home with a beer in hand to hear how it all went when he called.
The hope that he’d be able to take Craig and/or Cory along had died a thousand painful deaths early on, since Craig hadn’t wanted a bar of either option. Ostriches hadn’t a thing on Reuben’s brother, and the fact that his own son would inevitably suffer because of his selfish apathy seemed to mean less than zip. I couldn’t get my head around it and wanted to slam the idiot’s skull against the nearest wall.
With Craig furious at Reuben for interfering in shit that supposedly had nothing to do with him, the discussion had quickly degenerated into a shouting match, and eventually Craig threatened to call their father. Reuben had backed off, and then suggested that since it was all set up anyway, maybe he could go along since there might be some free stuff, or even some funding that Craig could tap into. And those magic words had at least gotten Reuben the doctor’s notes and a reluctant nod of approval, though I suspect it would’ve been easier pulling the dick from a drag queen’s tuck.
Home by five forty, I found Jake chilling out on the couch. I grabbed a beer, parked myself at the opposite end, and swung my legs into his lap, nudging his iPad with my toes.
He rolled his eyes. “Want something, cuz?”
“Chris Hemsworth, but I’ll settle for answers,” I said flatly, brows peaked and head cocked at an I’ll-torture-you-if-I-have-to angle. I’d had nearly two weeks of him hedging around me, avoiding any conversation remotely related to that morning. We’d been best friends since childhood, and I was done with the brush-offs. He knew everything about me from my first boy crush at seven on Robert Savea, a dreamy Samoan kid on our street, to the fucked-up shithead of my last boyfriend, Dominic. Well, everything except Reuben, a voice reminded me. Yeah, I probably should have that conversation soon.
It went without saying that Jake was a grown-arse man with the right to make his own decisions. He didn’t have to explain himself to anyone, and I’d defend his right to refuse to do so with my last breath, but none of that crap applied to me, of course.
“Cam, it’s really none—”
“Stop right there, mister.” I indulged in an overly dramatic sniff worthy of Shakespe
are’s Globe. “If that sentence is about to end with something ridiculous like none of my business—” I gulped, following it up with a quick fan of the face. “—then we are over, done, kaput, see you later alligator. I just can’t take any more of you ignoring me,” I wailed, throwing my forearm over my face. “After everything we’ve been to each other.”
He laughed, grabbed the pillow beside him, and threw it at me. “Shut up, idiot.”
I peeked at him coyly from behind my arm. “Toad.”
“Frilly-panted frog bastard.”
I glared. “How dare you use that against me? It was only once, and they were on sale. But yes, I’ll admit the lime green was possibly a bridge too far.”
He laughed and put his iPad aside. “They weren’t that bad.”
“Really?”
“No.” He laughed, and his eyes rolled skyward. “God, they were awful.”
I drew my lips down in a pout. “Duly noted.”
Awkward silences are never my thing, so when Jake’s gaze slid off mine and he went to pick up his iPad again, I prodded his thigh with my toes. “So, still experimenting with the alphabet options, kemosabe?” I asked. “Seen the light? Come to your senses and succumbed to the pleasure of deep voices, hairy legs, and awesome blowjobs? Tripping on the gay side? Just curious? All of the above?”
He clocked my gaze and held it nice and steady. “Bi. I think.”
“You think? I’m guessing that train left the station a while ago. You seemed pretty doggone comfortable with the guy sleeping over and macking on you.”
He grinned. “Yeah, I’m sure.” He dropped his gaze.
I prodded his thigh again with my foot till he looked up. “Hey. Why didn’t you say anything? You know, phone a friend. Kind of a specialty of mine, after all.”
He grinned and absently picked up my right foot, kneading at its sole. The man gave a damn good foot rub. But when, after a minute in, he still hadn’t answered, it finally dawned on me he was genuinely nervous. I touched his arm lightly and he jumped. “Jake, come on, it’s me here.”
He sighed. “Truth was, I didn’t know if you’d be cool with it.” He eyed me warily. “Are you… cool with it?”
I opened my mouth to spit out the glib answer hovering on the tip of my tongue, then closed it again. Was I okay with it? I wanted to say yes, but… did it change things between us? I didn’t think so, but Jake deserved more than a pat answer.
“It’s a bit weird,” I ended up saying. “Not that I have a problem with you being into guys. It’s just that… well, I’ve known you since forever, and you’ve always been such a damn card-carrying, straight, boring, hetero guy, and now…?” I blew out a sigh. “Well, it’s gonna take a bit of getting used to, but, yeah, I think I’m fine with it.” I narrowed my gaze. “But there is one crucially important gay/bi law you need to know, especially if we ever go clubbing together.”
He rolled his eyes. “A ‘bi’ law?” He chuckled. “Of course there is. It’s not about not looking better than you, is it?”
I snorted. “Pshaw. As if that would ever happen. Although if you mess with my guyliner or silky unmentionables, we’re gonna have words.”
His eyes widened. “Ah, I don’t think there’ll be any problem with that. I’m bi, not certifiably insane, you dropkick.” He caught my glare and flushed. “Not that it doesn’t look great on you—it’s just not my style.”
I patted his hand. “Good save. Not to mention you don’t have the arse to carry the latter off.”
He glared. “What the fuck?” Then he caught my sneaky grin and groaned. “Alright, what’s this rule, then?”
“It’s simple, really. If we’re out, and it comes down to us cruising the same guy, then duration of card-carrying, gay/bi service takes precedence—and that means me, sugarplum.”
He snorted so hard he had to wipe his nose on his sleeve. “And this is a rule?”
“No, Jake, it’s a law. A. Law.” I held out my hand. “Pinky swear?”
“What are we—six?”
I left my hand extended.
He sighed and wrapped his pinky around mine. “I swear.”
I grinned. “Excellent. Now the other foot, please.”
He fired me his best don’t-push-your-luck scowl, which I ignored completely, and as expected picked up my left foot.
“So….” I kept a straight face. “Can I be of any other service in this brave new journey you’ve embarked upon? Offer you some advice, some wisdom—some technical assistance, maybe? Are you playing safe? Do you need help with the sexy bits, what goes where and shit?”
His hand poised midrub as he eyed me in horrified disbelief. “Are you out of your freaking mind? I live here, remember? I’ve been traumatised on a regular basis just by the sounds that come out of your bedroom. I’m taking this in baby steps, and your bed wouldn’t know what to do with vanilla if its sheets were washed in the stuff.”
I swallowed a grin and batted my lashes coyly. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
He slapped my thigh. “You’re an idiot, but the answer is still no. I’m doing just fine muddling through on my own with nice, normal, man-on-man sex. No optional extras… yet. But I’ll be sure to let you know.”
I laughed. “Awesome. And one more thing?”
He shoved both my feet aside in irritation. “What?”
“You and, um…. Mr Red Briefs?”
“Trent, Cam. His name is Trent, as you damn well know.”
I smiled sweetly. “Ah, yes. Trent. Well, if you two should ever want to expand your horizons, there’s a guy in radiology….”
His eyes flew open. “Oh my God, Cam!”
“Just saying….”
“No.” Emphatic and… yeah, possessive.
I grinned. “Does that mean you two are, like… together, together?”
Jake fixed me with a cool stare. “No.”
“Cool. I can tap that, then?”
“No!”
Hah! Gotcha. “So you are together?”
“Yes. Maybe. Cam, shut it!”
I threw up my hands. “Okay. I get the message.” My pocket vibrated with an incoming call, and Jake seized the opportunity to bury the conversation and leave. “Not over, cuz,” I said to his retreating back as I took the call.
“So, so over, cuz,” he grumbled and headed to his bedroom, face scarlet.
Mission accomplished.
Reuben’s voice was riddled with frustration at the other end of the phone. Craig, the tool, hadn’t turned up to collect Cory as promised, and Reuben was going to have to cancel his informal meeting with the developmental expert at the hospital. Like hell he was, I fumed. “I’ll sit with him.” My less-than-well-thought-out offer was greeted with silence at the other end.
“There’s not enough time for you to get here,” Reuben countered.
Not a straight-out no.
“And maybe they’ll let me reschedule.”
I said nothing. We both knew cancelling an out-of-hours appointment made purely as a favour wasn’t going to win Reuben any friends, or another appointment.
“Drop him here.” Apparently not thinking was becoming a habit with me.
“What? No.” Reuben dismissed the idea.
“Why not? He’s good with me.” It was true. At the park, Cory had been happy enough to stay with me while Reuben left somewhat reluctantly to get our coffees. I’d told him to deal with it, that we’d be fine, and we were. Cory even allowed me to touch his toy truck—the equivalent of handling the Crown Jewels, according to Reuben.
“This is different. He doesn’t know your place, and that was only for, like, ten minutes. He’ll freak out.”
He had a point. “Okay, idea. Swap cars when you get here so I have his car seat and a familiar car. That way I can drive him to you if the shit hits the fan. And if you leave right now, you’ll have fifteen minutes to settle him before you go.”
He hesitated. “It won’t work.”
“Then take him
with you and to hell with Craig. You need this, Reuben.”
“I can’t do that. What if Cory says something to Craig?” Reuben’s pissy voice was all kinds of sexy, and I could almost see those gorgeous granite eyes flash with irritation.
I sighed. “So leave him with me. I’m a fucking ER nurse, Reuben. I’ve got this.” Did I? Of course I did.
“All right,” he caved. “In case Craig turns up, I’ll leave a note saying Cory’s with a friend, but I won’t tell Craig where.”
“Fine, now get going. You need to be here ASAP if you’re going to have time to settle him.”
IT WENT better than expected, considering I’d envisioned something akin to World War III, and anything less meant we were golden. Jake was primed to stay in his room for the hour Cory was there—much easier than exposing the kid to yet another unknown. My cousin stared at me as if I’d lost my mind, a point I tended to agree with him on, then proceeded to quiz me relentlessly about whose kid it was and why I was being so helpful and adding how much he looked forward to meeting the father. Yep, he really, really needed to stay in his room.
Cory took a bit to calm down after Reuben left, but I was armed with a bag of all his favourite toys and treats, and between that and my seemingly endless sad rendition of “Dancing Queen,” he finally settled enough to give my hearing a break. I couldn’t say I relaxed, and the hour passed slower than any previous hour in the history of humanity; still, we survived better than I’d expected.
Having said that, I’d never been happier than when I heard Reuben’s knock on my door. It was all I could do not to kiss him senseless in gratitude, although the fact that I pretty much always wanted to kiss him senseless undercut that rationale somewhat.
“How’d it go?” I asked him, though the answer to that was already evident from the bright glint in his eyes.
He pulled a wad of papers from his satchel and set about waving it in front of my face as he talked excitedly about all the information he’d gleaned. Bubbling with enthusiasm, he set about packing Cory’s bag on the back of an endless stream of chatter, and I watched entranced. He was too fucking adorable, all over his nephew’s seemingly bright future like he was the kid’s dad himself. It pulled at something deep within me that I barely recognised… hope.
