by J. D. Walker
Marco had insisted that I not embarrass him and wear something other than a T-shirt and old, frayed, washed out blue jeans—my attire of choice, usually—which meant I was now wearing black jeans and a purple short-sleeved shirt that I’d forgotten I owned, since my brother had dug into the back of my closet to find these items. Both articles of clothing were snug, and as the room was stifling with all the bodies around me—I ran hot, anyway—I was sweating through everything.
It didn’t help that some of these folks were eyeing me like I was a Lamborghini Veneno. I hadn’t come here to get laid, but I had enough offers for a quickie to last a week, if I were so inclined. And I wasn’t, unless a certain someone offered, which was the road to bad decisions.
Speaking of the host, I hadn’t spoken to Wayne since he’d greeted me at the front door after Marco and Brian had barreled past us and disappeared upstairs to do God knew what. Marco was spending the weekend here and would return home on Monday night as he had to work on Tuesday morning, bright and early.
Wayne had been dressed in a dark red shirt made of a slinky material that seemed to shimmer in the light. It had clung to his body as he moved, and I had to will myself not stare at the part of his chest that was bared, since the top two buttons were undone. His pants were black leather and hugged his legs in distracting ways. The eyeliner and sparkly eyeshadow around his gray eyes made them shine, and his smile had punched me in the gut. Again. The whole package left me off-kilter for the rest of the evening, and it had been downhill from there.
And now, I was drinking a soda and forcing myself to be pleasant and not smack the daylights out of the fool standing in front of me with his hands on my arm, uninvited.
“So, what do you do, tall, dark and handsome? I bet it’s something really hot and sweaty, huh?” Seriously? This was pickup material?
I removed the “leech” from my arm, none too gently. “I’m a mechanic.”
“Oooh, I have a broken tailpipe I bet you could fix right up.” He patted his ass and leered. God, no.
I stared at the dude, who was almost my height and wearing a baby blue Lycra-type material bodysuit that was a perfect match to his hair, and sighed.
“That’s not my specialty, sorry.” Take a hint, doofus.
The guy gave an affected laugh. “Oh, you. You know what I mean. There’s a bedroom upstairs with our names on it.”
“Not. Interested.” I moved away quickly before he could try again, and almost ran over Wayne, who was carrying a tray of dessert bites in one hand.
“Whoa, there,” he said, laughing as he barely kept hold of his cargo. “Having fun?” he asked and grinned at me. Then his smile faded. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing,” I lied. “Just need some air. Uh, excuse me.” I walked around him and headed out to the back deck where no one was around, thankfully. The temperature was still hot, but I could breathe easier.
I wandered out into the yard, spying a wooden bench underneath a far tree, tiny lights strung above. I sat there and finished my soda, wishing I could just go home. Was it rude to leave a party after only an hour? As I hadn’t been to that many in my life to date, I really didn’t know, and was close to not caring.
“Everything okay, Logan?” a voice asked, and I startled to see Wayne before me. I hadn’t even heard him approach.
“I’m not much of a people person, sorry. And I got tired of being hit on every ten seconds.”
It was bright enough I could see his grimace. “That can be annoying, I know. I apologize for my guests.” He appeared concerned.
I shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. It just…made me uncomfortable. Maybe I’m getting old, or something, but some of those pickup lines are atrocious.”
Wayne sat across from me. “I’ve heard some of those, too, and I just turned forty recently, so I get it.”
“You don’t look it,” I offered in reply. Even with the gray strands in his hair that I remembered from the day I met him, he could pass for a man in his early thirties, his skin clear and smooth, begging for my touch. Damn it. “Thanks for the invitation, all the same. My brother’s been bugging me about being a stick in the mud a lot lately.” I spread my hands. “So, here we are.”
Wayne chuckled. “Brian’s not as bad, though he wouldn’t let up after my breakup until I started at least going out every once in a while, again. I moved back home since my ex threw me out of the house and I had nowhere to go. I’d sworn off men after that fiasco, and became a hermit of epic proportions.”
I opened my mouth, then closed it. “Um, hermits can be epic?”
“You have no idea. I made it into an art form never before seen by humanity.”
I smiled reluctantly. “Well, you are an artist.”
He threw his hands in the air. “See? That’s what I told Brian! But he didn’t think it was funny.” He chuckled, resting his arms on the table. “Neither did our parents, frankly. Thus, after a mild intervention where they hid my paint, brushes, and easels—because those things mean the world to me—my moping fizzled after a day and I began socializing again, but I still don’t get out as much as I used to. I’m not a big party boy anymore, but I don’t mind throwing them. All the fun, with my bed right in the back of the house where I can crash. Until I move out, that is.”
I laughed. “Perfect world, I guess.” I played with the soda can tab. “You say you’re moving?” Why did I feel…sad that he might be leaving town?
“In a month.” Was it weird that I felt relief upon hearing that? “I have an apartment lined up a few miles from here, now that I’ve saved up enough money to make a down payment. That bastard took everything, and I was more dependent on him than I’d come to realize, way too late. It’s a really sad story.” He cleared his throat. “What about you? Dating?”
“Never had the time, with taking care of Marco. A quickie is all I’ve ever managed, and not that often. And the guys I’ve met over the years were all shallow, you know? The mere mention of being a parent of sorts would send them running as fast as their legs could take them. Marco needed stability, and I thought it best to just maintain the status quo. Who knows what I’ll do after he finishes high school? And if what I encountered at this party is what I have to look forward to, I shudder at the thought of trying to date anyone. I just…want to be there for Marco, is all. I want him to have the best of everything that I can manage, because he deserves it. Losing our parents was hard on me, but devastating to him. I can’t do anything else.”
“Sounds like it’s been tough. You’re a good brother.”
“Eh.”
Wayne stood. “Come back inside. Hang with me and we’ll face the flirting morons together.”
I grinned, relaxing for the first time that evening as I followed him into the house, realizing that I hadn’t laughed this much in a really long time.
* * * *
I texted Marco right before I left at midnight, telling him to behave and I’d see him in a couple of days.
He quickly sent back: Did you at least have fun, you stubborn shit?
My reply was, Language! And yes, I did. Good night.
The rest of the evening with Wayne had been entertaining, as he gave me a running commentary about the people around us, which was hilarious, as I’d come to expect. He had a wicked sense of humor, and no one was immune. I didn’t think I could ever imagine a sad, closed off Wayne, so his ex must have done a real number on him. That kind of love and devotion was something I hadn’t realized until now that I really, really wanted. And it was too soon to even be thinking about things like that with a man I barely knew.
Wasn’t it?
* * * *
By the middle of the second month as a model for Wayne’s art class, I had, reluctantly or not, formed an attachment to the man. I wouldn’t be sharing that with him anytime soon, if ever. He was damaged goods and far be it from me to impose my desire on someone so vulnerable. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I hurt him.
I fixed the air-con
ditioning issue in his car at the end of the first month of class, for which he was grateful. I truly enjoyed his company—too much, probably. And Marco, the runt, teased me mercilessly about it, because he could read me like a book. Brothers. The guys at work? They asked me which dude I was sexing up, since I was actually smiling, every once in a while. I flipped them off.
Wayne and I had begun a routine of going out to eat after class on Tuesdays and Thursdays. I didn’t have a preference for where we went—food was food—so I typically left it up to him. Our conversations were diverse, and, though he had to work to get me to talk about myself, he was free with his revelations about growing up, and the men in his life, up to this point.
Turned out, the most recent ex, Jermaine Leonne, who’d been older than Wayne by ten years, had left him six months ago for a younger man, as in, twenty years old. Jermaine had actually had the nerve to tell Wayne that he was getting too old and he needed someone younger and more adventurous in bed. A talent scout and “hobnobber” with major and minor starlets, image was everything to Jermaine. They’d been together for ten years. Wayne had been tossed out on his ear, devastated.
“I totally understand how some people feel when they’ve been discarded for someone younger or prettier or whatever,” Wayne said as we ate at his favorite Thai restaurant one evening. “If the reason for moving on is love, it’ll hurt, but okay, I get it. But if it’s just because of age, or money or image, chasing youth to somehow, I don’t know, gain a semblance of eternity? Jesus.”
“Sounds shallow and pitiful,” I said while dishing more rice onto my plate.
“Jermaine was, indeed, that, but sad to say, I didn’t realize this until it was too late, and I still have feelings for the asshole, though it’s primarily loathing.”
“So, you’re saying that dating anyone else, seriously, is not in the cards right now?”
“It would take someone really special. I’m still learning how to trust again, and I’m too old for games and complications. I just want something simple. Someone I can be myself with, through good and bad, and who has my back.”
Well, that had settled it, in my mind. I was no one special, and Wayne outclassed me in every way possible. Such an elegant, kind man, hooking up with a mechanic who barely kept a roof over his head and had a minor in tow? Not that I thought Wayne was a snob. Far from it. I just didn’t think I’d have much to offer and he truly did deserve something uncomplicated, after all he’d been through.
Which was why the last two weeks of the art course, I’d said “no” every time Wayne asked me out to eat. I was abrupt and grumpy, hoping that would hide my true feelings. It worked better than I had wanted it to, unfortunately. I could tell that Wayne was hurt, but he covered it up well, smiling in his easy way, though it barely reached his eyes.
I had kept my bargain with Marco, and when the class ended for the summer, Marco went to school as a senior when the term began, complaining the entire time. I told him to get over it.
My heart, however, had a hard time forgetting Wayne.
* * * *
“Okay, this cranky bear shit has got to stop,” Marco said as he slammed our dinner on the counter.
I had heard similar complaints from my coworkers at the shop, who’d said I was taking surly to a whole new level. I bared my teeth and told them to fuck off. They pointed to my response as proof.
I took the frozen pizza from Marco and removed the plastic, shoving it into the oven that had been warming up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied, not bothering to reprimand him for swearing. I just didn’t have it in me, right then.
“Please. You miss Wayne, so why don’t you go see him? I can give you the address of his new apartment.” Marco took a bag of salad out of the refrigerator and emptied it into a bowl.
“Why do you think this is about Wayne? I fulfilled my end of the bargain, and you’re back in school. Game over.” I took two cans of Coke out of the pack on the floor and set them on the table next to large glasses of ice.
“You like Wayne, and he’s moping when he’s not teaching classes at the university. Why’d you stop hanging out?” When I didn’t answer, Marco blocked me from passing him by the sink. “He’s hurting, you know? Brian said this is worse than when that fucker”—I scowled, and he amended—”idiot Jermaine broke up with him. Weren’t you at least friends?” Marco stared at me, and through his irritation, I saw concern.
“It’s none of your business.” Which was the worst thing for me to say, because Marco argued with me until the oven dinged and the pizza was ready.
As we sat to eat, Marco pushed some more because that was his way. He’d make a good lawyer, or detective, or something. “Tell me the truth, Logan. If you tell no one else, tell me. I’m your brother. We’re all each other’s got. Why’d you do it?”
I clenched my fists, then opened them slowly. “I didn’t want…I thought it was best to stop before…” I left the words hanging and focused on eating instead. How could I explain to Marco about my feelings? He was too young to understand.
“You never go out, unless it’s for a quickie.” When I glared at him, he rolled his eyes. “As if I don’t know. I’m not stupid. You do everything for me, and neglect yourself. While I appreciate all you’ve done, isn’t it time you did something for yourself? You obviously like the guy, but you’re afraid to try. Why?”
“Because he deserves better, damn it! I have nothing to offer. And there’s you to—”
“Don’t you dare make this about me,” Marco yelled back. “You’re chicken shit. What, you think you’re not good enough for Wayne? Are you a reverse snob, now? What’s that teaching me, parent mine? What would I be learning if you did this?”
I growled in frustration. “It’s not that simple. And who the hell forms an attachment to someone after only two months? And really, it’s less than that, when you count the actual days we’ve seen each other.” And I hadn’t counted them, either. I rubbed a hand over my face. “He’s vulnerable and he can do much better than me.”
“How the hell would you know what he wants if you don’t ask?”
“He said he wasn’t ready to trust again. I’m not forcing my feelings on him. It’s best for everyone. And that’s final.”
I thought I heard him mutter “dumb ass” as he stormed from the kitchen, leaving me to clean up the mess. Half the pizza was left uneaten, which was unusual since Marco was usually a Hoover when it came to food. I would normally shout at him to clean up, but I was too tired to care.
And while I put the kitchen to rights, my thoughts wandered to Wayne, and whether I was doing more harm than good by cutting off our friendship, and sparing my heart. He had never said anything to me, and I had assumed he was just being the kind guy he naturally was. Had I misread signals? Had he been trying to tell me something more?
Perhaps we were both idiots.
* * * *
Marco hoodwinked me into going with him to a Halloween party. Since everyone was still underage, chaperones were needed, and he came up with some slick story about some parent who couldn’t make it, blah blah. Right. He said I needed to wear a costume. I told him “no.” He got me one anyway. I was Ronon Dex from Stargate: Atlantis.
We ended up at a skating rink, and as it was a school night, the evening would end around ten. There were, maybe, a hundred teens in attendance, and I thought I saw five other adults present. The costumes everyone wore were mostly predictable, with a few unique representations of Game of Thrones characters, too. I saw a little too much skin, here and there, but hey, I wasn’t that kid’s parent.
I had taught Marco how to skate years ago, and I watched him, Brian and his friends go ‘round and ‘round, backward and forward, doing athletic things my body wouldn’t even dare attempt these days. My back was stiff and sore enough as it was, from what I did for a living.
There might have been a little bit of groping, here and there, including Marco and Brian—together—okay, I should have guessed that
one, by now, but aside from a few warnings, we, the adults let the teens have their fun.
After a while, I wandered over to the table that had been set up with all kinds of snacks and beverages, settling on a Sprite. I drank half the can and almost choked on the liquid when I heard a voice I hadn’t expected, but which still haunted my dreams.
Looking over my shoulder, I saw Brian arguing with Wayne, who was dressed in a snug white, sweaty tank top that clung to his well-formed chest, with black leather pants and boots completing his attire, his hair slicked back. He reminded me a bit of…well, Matt Bomer in Magic Mike.
Fuck. Me.
I set the can down on the table before I dropped it, and bolted to the other side of the rink, hoping I hadn’t been spotted. Seeing him like this…I was going to wring Marco’s neck. I now understood the smug smirk he’d had on his face right until we’d arrived at the event.
I needed to breathe, get a chance to clear my head, but before I could even make it to the door, a hand on my arm brought me to a halt. I stared into eyes that were burned in my memory, gray and soft and penetrating. Wayne’s vulnerability would be my undoing.
“Don’t go, Logan. Please.” I swallowed but didn’t move. I couldn’t. Wayne removed his hand slowly, watching me as he did so. “I know you don’t want to have anything more to do with me, but I didn’t realize what our brothers had done. I’ll go.”
As he turned, I reached out to stop him, unable to help myself. “No, it’s not…I just…I felt…” Growling in frustration, I shook my head, locks flying in my face. “I’m sorry about the way I ended things. I know you’ve been hurt and…” I sighed, not sure how to continue.
“Brian and Marco have been talking, and Brian shared a few things with me about a conversation you had with your brother, as to why you ended things. I know they were trying to be helpful, getting us both here together.” He quirked his lips. “Perhaps we should be happy they’re on the side of good, not evil?”
