North Shore

by Santino Hassell

  Charles’ chewing slowed. “You tried to fuck Ashton?”

  Uh-oh. There was some fire brewing in that gaze of his, which was just so fascinating. “Calm yourself. It was like almost a year ago, and he’s pretty as fuck. Also, I liked making Val mad.”

  Charles rolled his eyes and changed the subject. “You were always closeted then?”

  “Pretty much. I knew it wasn’t gonna go down well with my friends and even my family. The only reason I knew my mom wasn’t a hater is because she has a trans sister so was aware of LGBT issues when she was mad young. Every time we go to my grandparents’ place, they say some shit about it and my mom is the lone one standing up to them. Yaneris, my aunt, just stays away.”

  “That sucks,” Charles said. “I fucking hate people.”

  “Yeah, me too. That’s why I’m on Shitty Island instead of in the BX where I belong.”

  I shoveled a healthy forkful of rice, peas, and pernil into my mouth. Comfort food and Charles’ warm body so close to my own prevented me from clenching up the way I almost always did when thinking about home.

  “Am I allowed to ask what happened at the gym?”

  I swiped my tongue over my lower lip. “Yeah. But then do I get to ask about you?”

  “What about me?”

  “Everything. You’re a mystery.”

  Charles scoffed. “Not really. Everyone on the block knows me and Landon used to fight like animals.”

  “I’m not talking about that,” I said quickly, looking at him. “I want to know about you. Not you and that dick. He’s not worth your time to even talk about in the retrospect.”

  Charles nodded slowly, his fork clutched in one hand. “I like that plan better.”

  “Good.”

  “And we don’t have to talk about your stuff it it’s upsetting,” he said. “I don’t… want to ruin this. For either of us.”

  “Ruin what?”

  He set the fork down and tilted his head against the wall. “This night. Us hanging out? If I’m being honest with myself, this is probably the best fucking night I’ve had in a long time. Is that weird?”

  “Nah. I’m pretty quality company.”

  Charles laughed, but this time he didn’t try to cover it. “I swear to God, Luis. I’m supposed to hate you but you’ve been my defibrillator.”

  “Sexy.” I smiled when he laughed again, and squeezed his shoulder. “What about with Ashton and that whole crew who came through the other day? They seem fun.”

  “They are. But…” Charles grabbed the bottle and guzzled champagne. “Even when I’m with them or my best friend, Caleb, there was always shit I was keeping to myself because I didn’t want them to realize I was even more of a disaster than they already knew about. So, I hid most of the Landon thing. How… angry and depressed I get. That I’m super fucking jealous of all of them, and that I hate my life. It was always me being me but not entirely. Like acid-washed Charles. The trendy version that’s kinda cheap and shitty.”

  “I get it.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Do you really?”

  “Yeah. You pretended to not hate people, and I pretended to be straight. Equally cheap and shitty versions of ourselves.”

  This time when Charles laughed, he was mid-sip of champagne and choked on it. I slapped his back, snickering, and grabbed the bottle before he spilled the last of it.

  “Okay, but for real, I will tell you why I left boxing if you tell me what’s up with you and dancing. Because…” I wagged my finger at him. “I can tell there’s a thing there.” He didn’t deny it, or refuse, so I continued. “Basically, I’ve been stripping since I got this body. I love to dance, and I love having people look at me when I’m naked, so it seemed to make sense. The place I stripped at was this fucking hole in the wall farther up the Grand Concourse, so I didn’t think anyone would find out except who I chose to tell. But… a guy from the block showed up one day and word got around.”

  “He admitted to being at a strip club with male dancers?” Charles asked incredulously. “Or he made up some shit?”

  “Said he heard I was giving dudes lap dances and made up this whole dumbass story.” I rolled my eyes. “No one believed him, to be honest. I mean people had jokes sometimes, but the way my friends reacted—trying to force me to fuck the dude up for making up supposed lies—pretty much showed me it was better off I stayed closeted. This kid Bronson basically wanted to go stomp the dude out. Like fucking kill the guy. He’s a total maniac.”

  Charles drew his knees up to his chin and wrapped his arms around them. He looked vulnerable that way, as if he was trying to shield himself. “So, he thought this guy saying you might not be straight warranted him being… murdered?”

  “Yeah, I mean he didn’t say it outright, but I could tell he was ready to put the dude down. So, when I finally came out, no big surprise that Bronson threatened to put me down. He really can’t handle being around queer people. That’s why I tried to keep Val and Ashton the fuck away from him. It’s why I’m here now. I can’t deal with watching my back all the time, waiting for this dude to try to convince people to jump me since he’s too chicken shit to fight me on his own.”

  “Jesus, Luis,” Charles hissed. His hand shot out to cover mine, fingers tightening. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” I squeezed his hand in return, loving that they were rough like mine. “Anyways, I only came out because of the shit with Valdrin. Word had gotten around about him and Ashton, so Bronson was harassing Ashton while me and Val were in the ring. I didn’t realize it at the time, and knocked him out. I felt like shit after, and refused to accept the win. And I let them rile me up during an interview while they were pressing me on why I wouldn’t accept, and I said he wasn’t the only queer dude at Cadet’s, and that people needed to stop acting like him and Ashton being together was the fucking distraction and not some piece of shit homophobe.” I dragged my thumb against Charles’ hand, thinking about that day and how the shit had gone viral in the amateur boxing community. “I get too hotheaded and run off at the mouth. I regretted it at first, but now I’m glad it’s done.”

  “Even though you quit?”

  “Yeah.” I shrugged, like it didn’t matter, even though it did. Not because I missed fighting but more because I hated that the choice had been taken out of my hands. “My trainer dropped me, and I knew no promoter would really be into me, so why the fuck should I get my face beat in while making no money to no end? It’s bullshit. I was going to start up with a new trainer here, but by the time I moved the story had spread. I was done. You know? I’m not too good at taking shit and there was no way I was going to suck up the hate just so I could keep fighting.”

  “So you started dancing,” Charles said. “And… planning to be a personal trainer?”

  “If I can ever get the money together to start renting a space. Shit’s not easy, you know? Money’s hard to come by when you’re on your own.”

  “Oh, I fucking know that.” Charles whooshed out a disgusted breath. He didn’t pull his hand away when I brought it to my lips and kissed the back of it. In fact, he shot me a tiny smile. “So, apparently we have more in common than dancing and living in this house. And Landon. My parents were super homophobes, and I haven’t seen them in years. I really don’t even care anymore. I was closest to my grandmother. She knew I was gay even before I knew, and would encourage me when it came to dancing and dressing how I wanted. Being me.”

  “She’s the one who gave you that little statue?”

  Charles nodded. “She also left me a fortune for school when she died. That’s how I got into Julliar—”

  “You got into Julliard because you’re crazy talented. You paid with the money.”

  “Don’t interrupt,” he chastised even while smiling slightly. “Anyway, the money she left me only paid for two years, then I couldn’t finish. And I didn’t know what to do with myself. So, I panicked and started working random jobs to get by and let dancing get away from me. Then I met L
andon, and… I was so desperate for validation from someone after being so down on myself that I sucked up every drop of attention he gave me. And back then, he gave me a lot. Toted me around like arm candy.”

  I shifted closer to him, protectively. He leaned against me, letting me put my arm around him.

  “I used to think his possessiveness was a sign that he loved me. Didn’t want to share me. After being lonely and miserable, the idea of someone wanting me that much was fucking gold. I was so hungry to have attention. But then he got controlling and started talking me out of everything I wanted to do, all while twisting it to make it seem like he was saving me from disappointment. He talked me out of auditioning for tons of roles until I gave up on dancing altogether. Then he’d try to… turn me against my friends by overanalyzing situations or things on social media to make me feel like people were subbing me or doing things without me.”

  Charles laughed dryly. “It seems so stupid now, but back then those things were so important. The idea of my dancing friends moving on and forgetting about me was a massive blow, and now I don’t even know if it was true or if he just gaslit me into thinking it was true? Either way, he used that to alienate me from everyone until I started bartending and met some of my current friends. Michael Rodriguez, David Butler, Caleb Stone… Through them, I met everyone else. And without them, I don’t know where I’d be.”

  Without thinking about it, I started rubbing his shoulders—digging my fingers in and trying to work the growing tension out of them. I should have known that he’d be unable to divorce talk of his past from Landon. And I should have known better than to push for more info about someone who was reluctant to show something as small as a smile.

  “I don’t even know where I am now,” he said quietly. “Just… drifting. Wishing I could dance but knowing I only have a couple of months before I’m totally out of money. So I’ll have to go back to juggling multiple jobs and hating my life and feeling worthless. And being dramatic about my failures in the process.”

  “Ey,” I said, bopping his ear. “You didn’t fail. Life just got in the way. Same for me and boxing, right? I didn’t quit because I’m a failure. I quit because it wasn’t the right time for me to fight. And now I’ve found something else I want to do.”

  “But I haven’t. I thought I’d want to do the cruise, but it was awful. I honestly would rather not dance than dance with zero creativity or vision. I felt like they were collectively ruining everything that dance means to me.” When I nodded, Charles glanced over at me, expression wry and smiling again. I was winning the jackpot here. “You have no idea how nice it is to be able to talk about this with someone who gets it.”

  “Same.” I snuck a kiss to his cheek. “I appreciate you talking to me at all. And I hope that means we’re past all of that shit that happened?”

  “I am.”

  “You promise?” I asked warningly. “Because…”

  “I promise,” he said, rolling his eyes. “What do you want me to do? A fucking blood pact? Pinky swear?”

  “Yup. Pinky swear.” I held up my pinky, and he looked at me like I was an idiot. “Yo, this is serious shit. Pinky up.”

  Charles shook his head, but he held up his pinky and cinched it with mine. When I squeezed hard, he broke out in snickers.

  “God, you are so weird.”

  “Yeah, the weird neighbor,” I said through a yawn. “That’s all you had to say about me?”

  Charles lifted his eyebrows and flicked his gaze away. “I said some other stuff too.”

  The lower pitch of his voice stirred my interest. I traced his profile, the high cheekbones and shape of his wide lips, and had to stop myself from asking him whether he’d told them about how we’d ground our dicks together in the basement. How sloppy we’d kissed while clutching each other.

  “I’m gonna go to sleep,” he said, pushing his empty plate away. “It’s like four in the morning.”

  “You could sleep here.”

  “If I stay here, we won’t end up sleeping, Luis.”

  I just grinned up at him.

  “No, boo. No.” Charles got to his feet, and in the brief moment when he was in front of me, I saw he had a semi of his own. We were in total sync, and needed to fuck each other. Soon. “I want to leave things like this for now. It feels good.” He paused, arms crossed over his chest. “It feels comfortable and safe.”

  And… there went any plan to seduce him into staying. I got to my feet, standing close to him but not all up in his space, and nodded. “I get it. But just so you know, I’m gonna be tight as fuck if you go back to ignoring me and pretending like… There’s nothing going on here.”

  “I won’t.” He laughed sardonically. “I can’t. I told you—you’re my defibrillator. I said before I didn’t know what I’d have done without my friends. And these past few weeks? I don’t know how it would have played out if you hadn’t been around.”

  I clutched my hand to my chest. “Stop. You’re gonna kill me. Even more so when you come down the stairs tomorrow and play me by giving me all that attitude again.”

  Charles shoved my shoulder. “I won’t!”

  Grabbing his arm, I pulled him closer. “You swear?”

  He searched my face with those dark eyes of his, then pulled me in for a kiss. Maybe it was supposed to be short and sweet, maybe not. Either way, it turned into us pressed against the wall while tonguing each other until we were breathless all over again. If I had one wish in that moment, when his fingers were digging into my shoulders and my hand was gripping one of his thick ass cheeks, it would be for him to realize we could stay safe even if we went to bed together. But I had no guarantee of that. No way to make it a real promise. And I had no desire to talk him into something he’d regret.

  So, I pulled away from him, licked his taste off my lips and adjusted my dick, and nodded at the door. “Go to bed.”

  He exhaled slowly, a shuddering sound, then grabbed his leggings. “I’m taking the champagne. I need more alcohol.”

  No, he needed my dick in him, but we were not going to discuss such obvious things.

  “See you later, lindo.”

  Charles snagged the last platano from my plate and wiggled his fingers. “Bye Luis.”

  North Shore ch 11

  Chapter Eleven

  Charles

  Catching glimpses of my downstairs neighbor had become one of my favorite activities in the past couple of days. My time basically consisted of me curling up in the sunroom while smoking pot and idly looking at inadequate job listings, or my rapidly shrinking bank account, and straining to see him out the window if I heard his voice. As much as I told myself that getting invested in the happy-feeling that expanded in my chest when I spent time with Luis, it didn’t change that the feeling existed.

  So, I chased it. Discreetly.

  Luis was a busy boy, so I heard him coming and going a lot. To the store, the gym, to work… He was always on the move, unlike me. For some reason, I could still not bring myself to venture too far from the house. However, despite always going here or there, Luis didn’t have many visitors.

  That was probably why it stood out so much when a white sedan pulled up outside of the house, and a group of people got out. There were two women, and a guy who looked like an older but less muscular version of Luis. One of the women was carrying a large bag, and the other had a case of beer.

  “Luis,” one of the women called as she approached the stairs. “Open the door, papi!”

  I leaned against the screen, trying to see more, but was thwarted quickly. The entire house creaked when Luis opened the front door, and everyone disappeared inside. If I had to guess by their appearances, and the fact that they were now downstairs excitedly speaking Spanish to each other, I would guess they were family. The man had definitely been his dad or an older brother.

  This was usually the point in time when envy would put the whammy on me. Parental jealousy didn’t happen often since most of my friends had equally disastrou
s relationships with their folks, but every now and again I turned into the green monster when someone got to bragging about their family. It had happened a lot with Landon, but now part of me was starting to wonder if he’d talked about his amazingly supportive parents to twist an invisible knife in my gut. He’d known my story, and had constantly compared it to his own. If I grew agitated by the conversation, he’d only lay it on thicker.

  The thing about Landon was that he’d grown up super privileged. He’d come from a family of white preppy liberals who’d acted like their only son was a golden ticket to a special afterlife if they constantly paid him tribute. Shit you not—those people had ensured Landon would never need to work a steady job through high school or college, had paid for his apartment for a few years after college, and had continued to float him money until his late twenties roared in with the same freight train of entitlement. The terrible thing was that they’d been shocked at his blunt refusal to work a steady job even though they’d helped to create that monster.

  After they’d pulled back, he’d often whined about them “cutting him off”. That was the part that had always made me twitch. My parents had literally disowned me after realizing me liking makeup and tight clothes wasn’t just a phase. What Landon meant by being “cut off” was that they still floated him cash, but had revoked his access to their credit cards.

  What a hardship.

  He’d started selling weed and pills on the side to keep his lifestyle going and, because I’d been so in love, I’d accepted his major flaws and picked up the slack. His whole family situation had been a different breed of screwed up than mine, but still I’d gritted my teeth and fumed whenever they sent him gifts or called. Three times a week without fail. They were always checking in.

  My parents hadn’t called me since they’d realized my grandmother had left her money only to me.

  And now I was jealous and bitter all over again. I’d bet anything that Landon was at their house right now—the huge colonial in Connecticut not too far from Brown University. Maybe his dad, the professor, was once again wasting his brain cells trying to figure out how to get Landon back into college. As if he’d do anything but hawk his petty drugs to the students.