by Inge Mayhem
He let Brad into the building and stood by the door as the seconds counted down. Finally, he heard a soft knock.
The moment he opened the door, Brad embraced him. Michael felt Brad’s strong hands reach for his waist, pulling him in to a kiss that felt long overdue. He felt Brad’s tongue, tasted his mouth, and he breathed in his scent as their bodies melted together. It only took a moment, and Michael knew exactly what the evening had in store.
They fell backwards into the house, and Michael pulled away for a moment to lock the front door behind them. Then he practically lunged at Brad, eager for his hands to be on him and to feel his body. In those few seconds, Michael got hard: as their lips pushed together, their hips did too. Michael imagined that Brad was throbbing in his jeans, and he ran his hands down his torso, wanting to rip at his clothes. But instead, he broke away.
“Well, hello,” Michael said, breathless. “Thanks for coming over.”
Brad laughed and looked slightly abashed. “Thank you for the invitation. I’ve been thinking about that kiss all day.”
Michael swooned. Brad was so handsome. His brown hair was somehow permanently tousled, and he always dressed well—dark colors and lots of layers. As they stood in the entranceway, Brad peeled off his jacket, and Michael took it from him.
“I would offer to give you a tour of the place, but there isn’t much to see.”
“It’s nice,” Brad replied. “I like the brickwork.”
Michael knew that Brad was reaching for a compliment, but it only made him all the more charming.
“Can I offer you a drink?” he asked, wanting only to kiss him again. He needed to do something with his hands and made a conscious effort not to look at Brad’s crotch.
“A drink sounds great. I’ll have whatever you’re having,” Brad replied.
Michael’s heart skipped a beat as Brad settled onto his sofa. For just one moment, it felt like everything was just right.
“Well, I was about to open some wine. Do you like red?”
“Yep. Perfect.”
Brad started to take off his shoes, making himself at home, so Michael scurried into the kitchen to find his bottle opener. He returned with two huge glasses and a full bottle of Malbec. Brad grinned, and Michael poured generously.
They clinked glasses, and both men took a sip. Michael wondered whether Brad knew much about wine and hoped his mid-priced bottle would be to his taste.
“So, how was your day?” he asked, sitting down.
“It was interesting. . .” Brad replied. “Not terrible. Just an interesting turn of events. I might need to finish this glass before I dive into the details.”
“That sounds ominous. But at least it’s Friday.”
“True, true.”
Michael wished he could read his thoughts but vowed to wait patiently for Brad to open up to him.
“How about you, how was the hospital?” Brad seemed intent on changing the topic. Michael did not mind sharing the details of his workday at the local hospital where he was a resident doctor.
“Good. Fine. Just the usual shenanigans. I don’t know how much longer I can stick with this unit though, but I like my manager.”
“Well, that’s something.”
“I mean—she’s flaky, but she lets me get on with things: doesn’t micromanage.”
“So, what’s wrong with the unit?”
“Nothing, really. It’s just the culture. No connections there; folks keep to themselves. You’d think that people working in healthcare would be more exciting.
“Oh yeah. Why do you think I came over tonight? I’m only here for the leather goods,” Brad said suggestively.
Michael laughed. “Typical. You have such a one-track mind.”
“I don’t deny it.” Brad undid the top button of his shirt. “I’ve been meaning to discuss a few of my fantasies with you.”
“No! Not before dinner.” Michael laughed and stood up. “You’re a terrible influence.” He moved to the bookshelf and retrieved the remote control for the television.
“Where are you going?”
“Nowhere. I’m just turning on some music, and I need to turn on the oven.”
“You’re turning me on.”
“Drink your wine!”
Brad laughed and reclined on the lounge, crossing one ankle over his knee. Michael turned up the volume and shouted back over his shoulder as he retreated to the kitchen again.
“So, you’ve left me in suspense. What happened today?”
Brad cleared his throat and shouted his response. “Well, I inherited a roommate.”
“A roommate? For your room?”
“My spare room. A few days ago, I got a call from my sister-in-law. She’s back at home on the farm. I think I told you about her—Gracie, she’s married to my older brother, Hank. Anyway, they had a rancher who worked down there for about a year. Turns out, I used to work with his dad, many years ago.”
Michael returned to the living room but pulled up a chair from the dining table. He didn’t trust himself to sit next to Brad. After one glass of wine his willpower and his inhibitions would disappear. Then, it would only be a matter of time before their clothes came off, and dinner would be burnt to a crisp.
“So, he’s coming to Long Harbor City?”
“He’s already here.”
“What? Oh, ok, so you met him today?”
“Well, no. That’s the weird part. When Gracie found out that I knew his dad, Samuel, she insisted that I take him in. Apparently, he’s trying to track his father down. But I had to work today. So, I left a key with the convenience store downstairs. I assume he’s at my place now, rifling through my things.”
“Oh wow. That’s crazy! Shouldn’t you . . . I mean—don’t you want to meet him?”
“I will. I’m sure he’s a nice guy. Gracie vouched for him. Plus, I know these cowboy types—they’re usually really painfully polite or real pigs. In any case, I doubt that he’ll stay for long.”
“But you don’t know that!”
“Hey! Shouldn’t I be getting brownie points for this? I’m the good guy here, rescuing this chap.”
Michael chuckled. “Oh, I’m not surprised. You’re a true southern gentleman. Practically a saint.”
“That’s right.”
“So, what else do you know about this guy?”
“Not much. He’s young: his name is Drew. I’m sure he can ride a horse. It sounds like he has daddy issues. In fact, he sounds like he’s just my type.”
“Stop it!”
“Do I detect jealousy, Mikey?” Brad shifted his position, leaning forward, within striking distance.
“Stay back! I know that look in your eyes. Keep drinking your wine before you spill it.”
“Ooh, you’re so commanding tonight. Yes, sir.”
Brad did have a sparkle in his eye, and Michael felt his emotions run away with him again.
“That’s better. You stay right there. Don’t make me fetch my whip.”
Brad smirked, and Michael reached for the Malbec, ready to pour a refill. He had a feeling that it was going to be a fun night.
Chapter 3
New Media Communications, Long Harbor City Office
“What if he cancels?”
“He won’t.”
Tyson was standing over Florence’s desk. Almost two hours had gone by, and Tyson couldn’t stop watching the clock. It was late on Friday afternoon, and it was customary for the office to wind down for the weekend, but Florence seemed entirely engrossed in her emails.
“Shouldn’t we text him the name of the bar?”
“Tyson, relax. I’ve already sorted out the details. We’re leaving in 15 minutes—so go and fix your hair, or whatever boys do before a date. Spray some cologne.”
“Ok, ok.”
As Tyson walked back to his desk she shouted, “Not too much though!”
Tyson felt so juvenile. Drew hadn’t indicated that he was interested in anything more than a social drink, but Tyson an
d his imagination often took the smallest interaction to build a robust, future fantasy life. He had spent most of the afternoon scanning social media for any trace of Drew. He hadn’t found much, or rather, he found every single Drew in the city but not the one he wanted. His stalking was quite futile without a surname. So, his mystery man remained mostly a mystery.
“You need to calm down,” Florence instructed him when they met in the lobby and left for the weekend. “You look weirdly pale and a little sweaty.”
“Don’t tease me! I already feel nauseous.”
“Pull yourself together man! Haven’t you ever been on a date before?”
“Well yeah, but usually we’ve chatted before or met on a drunken dance floor. This feels very much like a blind date.”
“Ooh, that would make such a great story. Now I’m tempted to bail out, so that you have to go solo and bite the bullet. Or something else . . . I can’t say ‘bite his bullet’. Bite his nipples, maybe? You get the idea.”
“Don’t you dare. You got us into this mess, so you’re wading through it with me.”
They walked out into the night air, and Florence checked her phone as they waited at a crosswalk.
“Drew is on his way!”
“Oh gosh. We need to get there first, so I can take a shot. Are we going to Stiffy’s?”
“You know it! I’m determined to win over that grumpy bartender.”
“As if—he HATES us.”
“I have no idea why.” Florence feigned ignorance.
“I know exactly why. After a few drinks you’re voracious. If you’re not hitting on the security guard, you’re staring down the rest of the staff and ordering obnoxious cocktails.”
“He’s my favorite bartender for a reason. And besides, he loves the attention.”
“I don’t think that’s true. I don’t know how to break this to you—he’s gay.”
Florence shook off his suggestion. “Bisexual. I’m sure of it. I also plan to prove it.”
Tyson couldn’t help but laugh at her enviable self-confidence and her delusional outlook on life.
“Well, for your sake, here’s hoping. Maybe we’ll both get lucky tonight.”
“Oh yes, I have a good feeling about your redheaded suitor. Tyson and Drew—it has a nice ring to it. Don’t worry, I’ll feed him tequila shots until he can barely remember his own name. Then pretty soon, he’ll be screaming yours.”
“Florence! You can’t say things like that when we get there!”
“Watch me! I will turn on my charms. He’ll be putty in your hands. Actually no—putty isn’t helpful. He’ll be rock-hard.”
“Oh lord, help me. If you’re already talking like this before our first drink, I’m screwed.”
“Precisely. You have chosen a very effective wing woman, young Tyson. This is going to be fun.”
Chapter 4
Stiff Drinks, Gay Bar
Drew was already sitting at a table when Florence and Tyson arrived.
“I’m so glad you could make it!” Florence exclaimed and gave him a kiss on the cheek, like she was greeting an old friend.
Tyson opted to shake Drew’s hand.
“I’m Tyson. It’s nice to officially meet you.”
“You too,” Drew replied. “I went ahead and grabbed a table and ordered a beer.”
Tyson noticed that he hadn’t changed clothing, so he deduced that he had come straight from the coffee shop.
“I’ll grab the next round,” Florence volunteered. “What sort of beer do you like?”
“All of them,” Drew volunteered.
“Got it!” Florence darted off to cause some, as yet unknown, further trouble. Tyson pulled up a chair.
“Thanks for meeting us, Drew.”
“Thank you for the kind invitation. I thought this city had a reputation for being rude.”
“Well, sometimes we make exceptions. What brings you to town, anyway?”
“How can you tell that I’m not from around here?” Drew smiled, and Tyson felt momentarily overwhelmed. Drew had perfect white teeth, the cutest dimples, a strong jaw, and adorable freckles. Their eyes locked, and Tyson felt an instant connection.
“It’s easy to spot a tourist. For starters, you seemed too friendly, sitting back there in the cafe.”
“Oh yeah?”
“You kept smiling at me, so I thought you mustn’t be from around here. I remember being that way when I first arrived. It wears off quickly!”
“How long have you lived in the city?”
“Coming up to two years now.”
“And you like it?”
“Love it. It’s the best city in the world.”
“So they say.”
“You don’t like it yet?”
“I mean—there are things I like about it. There are a lot more gays around, which makes for a nice change.”
“Were you down South?”
“Sure was—I had work on a cattle farm for a while.”
“Oh wow. So, that’s pretty much the exact opposite of here. From a real cowboy to a city slicker. Why the change of scenery?”
“Well, a few reasons.”
At that moment, Florence returned with their drinks.
“Cheers, boys!” She waved her cocktail in the air. “To Friday afternoons and new friends.” They all echoed her toast.
Within a couple of hours, Florence had shifted the conversation to focus almost entirely on Drew.
“So, let me get this straight: your name is Drew Eastwood, and you’re a cowboy. Like, Clint Eastwood. Like, you’re a relative of Clint Eastwood?” Florence had stuck to her guns, and their trio was countless tequila shots into the evening. “That’s amazing.” Florence tried to signal the bartender for another round.
Drew didn’t have the heart to tell her that his fake name had been an attempt at a joke, so he let her continue with his pseudonym.
“Tell me, Mr. Eastwood, what’s your plan for your life? Meet a nice boy and settle down? Raise some cattle together?”
Drew had been laughing all evening, and after so many months of spending time alone, it was a relief to relax and be himself. He had never talked about his sexuality on the farm, preferring to blend in. So, to be in a city, making friends, sitting in a gay bar, it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
But Florence’s intensity was making him slightly uncomfortable. He had never been prone to setting goals for himself.
“I do have some plans. Not for anything serious, like a career. Also, for the record, I don’t consider myself a cowboy, just a drifter.” Deep down, part of him yearned for a place to call home, but Drew always denied those feelings. Suppressing his character was second nature.
Drew looked across at Tyson like he was holding a lifeline. On several occasions, Tyson had been able to wrangle Florence back from the brink as the conversation veered towards disaster. She had already made a couple of passes at the bouncer, and her attempts had been met with a frosty reception.
“Tell me, Florence, are you going to invite your gentleman friend to join us?” Tyson gave Drew a wink across the table as he changed the topic.
“You’ll have to be more specific, my dear. You know I have a rolodex of dicks on speed dial.”
“You know the one. We were just talking about him this afternoon over coffee! The guy you met at the picnic, baby shower-type thing. You sounded totally smitten a few hours ago.”
“Oh, I don’t know about him, really. Friends-of-friends are so risky. I could find myself trapped in a long-term relationship, just like that.” Florence snapped her fingers, and the bartender looked around with a look of pure disgust. Luckily, Florence had her back to him.
“Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that part of your plan?” Drew asked.
“A boyfriend? A husband? For me?” Florence was incredulous. “Maybe one day, Drew my man. Tyson, on the other hand—he is definitely boyfriend material. He’s taking applications.”
Tyson blushed—for what felt
like the millionth time that day.
“What’s wrong with wanting a boyfriend?” Tyson asked, but his voice sounded strained, like he had been caught red-handed.
“Nothing, my love. You’re a catch. Don’t you think so, Drew?”
“Of course.” Drew was suddenly distracted by his phone, and rather than elaborating, he excused himself and headed to the bathroom.
“You should follow him in there.”
“Florence, that is not a helpful suggestion,” Tyson countered. “Now, I’m only going to point this out for your own good—we’ve been over this before—I love you, but you need to stop forcing me on Drew!”
“I know! I can’t help it! I’m sorry! I just love you so much. I’m trying to wing woman. But I guess I’m screwing it up. Should I leave?”
“No! That’s not what I was getting at—just dial it back a bit. Stop pressing Drew for details of his life, and stop talking about my love life or lack thereof.”
Tyson was only mildly annoyed. He’d had too many drinks to be embarrassed or upset. But he knew Florence well enough to cut through the pleasantries and tell her frankly to her face that she was out of line. When Drew returned, she immediately apologized.
“Drew, I’m so sorry. Tyson tells me that I’ve been asking you too many inappropriate questions. I didn’t mean to be rude. So, I apologize.”
“What? Don’t be silly. I feel lucky to have met you guys. And this is terrible timing, but I really should get going.”
“What? No! Why?” Florence protested melodramatically.
“I know! I don’t want to leave, but I really need to meet my new housemate.”
“Because you’re staying in his spare room, and you haven’t even laid eyes on him yet.” Florence pointed out the obvious.
“Yes, exactly. I texted him earlier, and he said he was heading home after the gym. So, I plan to meet him with a bottle of wine to say thank you and at least try to get to know him.”
“What’s his name?” Florence asked.