Push & Pull (The Midwest Series Book 2)

by Brigham Vaughn

Not gonna lie. That makes me feel a little better.

  Ha ha. Asshole.

  Nathan’s response made Brent smile. Things are going good with you and Caleb though? he typed.

  Yeah. Honestly, I’ve never been happier.

  I’m happy for you. Even if you are a jerk for ditching me.

  Thanks, man.

  “I ran into the waitress on the way back so I paid for dinner.” Lowell dropped into the seat across from him. “What do you look so pleased about?”

  “Oh, uh, I talked to Nathan.”

  Lowell raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that the first time you’ve talked to him since we left?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It went well then?”

  “Yeah. We’re talking again. I’m still a little annoyed, but ...” Brent shrugged. “He’s my best friend, you know? I can’t stay mad forever.”

  “How’d you guys meet, anyway?”

  “Hockey,” Brent explained. “The minute training started, we just clicked. On and off the ice.”

  “And you two did hook up for a while, right?”

  “Yeah. It took about a year and a half of dancing around it. We were both pretty sure the other was gay, but if one of us was wrong ...”

  “Yeah, that’s tough.”

  “But you never wanted to date?”

  Brent snorted. “No. Nathan’s a great guy, and we had fun when we did hook up, but the rest of it just wasn’t there. I don’t want to be with someone I’m just kinda having fun with. I want to be with someone I can’t live without.”

  “Hmm.” Lowell worried his lower lip with his teeth. “I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone I’d say that about. I mean, Caleb, yes, but he’s like a brother.”

  “So you guys never hooked up?”

  “Uh, no. We are terminally unsuited for each other.” Lowell shrugged. “Besides, it’s not hard to find a fuck buddy. It’s a lot harder to find a friend who is actually loyal. It was never worth fucking that up.”

  Brent hesitated. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I can’t promise I’ll answer, but you can always ask me anything.”

  Brent kicked him under the table. “Brat.”

  “You like it.”

  “Anyway ... Are you not still friends with the people you knew growing up? I mean, you didn’t say you wanted to hang out with friends while we were in Chicago or anything, and it made me wonder.” He wasn’t sure if he should tell Lowell about the conversation he’d had with Ricky.

  “I’m not, no. We grew apart, I guess. I went off to Western, and we didn’t stay in touch.”

  “Huh.”

  Lowell sighed. “Honestly, we were never that close. The people in Winnetka ... they weren’t really people I connected with. In high school, I was popular, but it wasn’t like any of them were actually my friends. There were girls who wanted a gay bestie and other gay guys who were catty as hell and always trying to figure out how to one up me or cut me down. And frankly, all any of them cared about was themselves and what other people could do for them.”

  “Is that why you went to Western? I mean, for a guy like you, who could have afforded to go anywhere, it does seem like a weird choice. I assume it wasn’t because you couldn’t get in anywhere else.”

  “I got accepted to a lot of good schools,” Lowell said without a trace of arrogance in his voice. “But Western has an excellent psychology program. And I wanted something different. I wanted a chance to get out of a place that was nothing but a bunch of snobby white people who couldn’t think about anything but class distinctions and social advancement.”

  “And it was a way to get away from your parents, right?”

  Lowell laughed. “Well, that too. But if I’d really wanted to do that, I would have gone to California or Washington, D.C. or New York. Or, hell, somewhere in Europe. I didn’t want them hovering, but they were so disgusted by my decision to go to Western they didn’t even bother to come to my graduation.” There was a touch of bitterness in Lowell’s tone. “I don’t know how they’re both overprotective and neglectful, but they manage somehow.”

  Brent offered him a sympathetic smile, but he didn’t know what to say. When the silence stretched and grew awkward, Brent changed the subject. “So what should I expect at the Pride stuff tomorrow?”

  “Oh, well, I’ve never been to Milwaukee’s before,” Lowell said, his expression brightening. “But it’s probably not very different from Chicago’s or any other one in a major city. I’m sure you’ve seen them in movies and on TV.”

  “Yep. So I should expect a lot of half-naked dudes in assless chaps, glitter, and body paint?” Brent joked.

  Lowell laughed. “Some of that, definitely. But there’re also drag queens. And dykes on bikes, and a bunch of families. Trans people. Lots of organizations supporting the queer community. Outreach programs for mental health and for AIDS awareness and STI testing,” Lowell said. “Great entertainment. Vendors selling stuff, like pride flags and T-shirts. Sometimes art and craft booths. Tons of food and places to drink. Basically like every other street fair out there; it’s just aimed at our community.”

  “Cool.” Brent drummed his fingers on the table. “Have you ever gotten hassled there? Like by homophobes.”

  “You’re worried about that after we rubbed each other down with sunscreen on a public beach the other day?” Lowell scoffed.

  “I got caught up in the moment then.” Brent’s face grew warm. “Right now, I have too much time to think, and I’m going through all of the possible ways it could go wrong.”

  Lowell frowned. “Once, someone yelled some stupid stuff as they walked past, but it was over pretty quickly. And the police are always around, keeping an eye out for problems. It’s never been an issue at any Pride I’ve been at.”

  “That’s good.”

  “It’s a fabulous experience all around,” Lowell said. “There’s just this huge sense of community and everyone coming together to celebrate being out and proud and not having to hide who we are.”

  “I was always afraid to go before I came out,” Brent admitted. “I thought maybe I’d get recognized, someone would take a picture, and it would be all over social media.”

  “That’s understandable.”

  “Going tomorrow will be weird for me, to be honest,” Brent admitted.

  Lowell’s expression softened. “I know. But you’ll have a great time. I’m sure of it.”

  “I’m not going to stick out like a sore thumb, am I?”

  “Honey, there are all types there, I promise. Every age, every race, every possible style imaginable.” Lowell patted his hand reassuringly, then paused. “Oooh, I have an idea. Do you trust me?” Lowell’s big eyes were hopeful.

  Brent eyed him warily. “In theory.”

  “Can I give you a little bit of a makeover for Pride?”

  “Uhh.” Brent cleared his throat. “Maybe. What do you have in mind?”

  “Nothing too drastic. A new outfit. A little makeup.”

  “Makeup? Dude, I don’t know about that ...”

  “Not much, I promise. A little bit of bronzer. A tiny bit of mascara. Maybe some lip gloss.”

  “Oh, lord. Um, I guess I can agree to that?” Lowell made an excited-sounding chirp, and Brent held up a hand before his imagination could run away with him. “But if it’s too much or I feel really uncomfortable, I’ve gotta be able to veto it.”

  “As long as you promise to stay open-minded and let me push your boundaries a little bit.”

  “Pretty sure I’m going to regret this, but ... Deal.” Brent stuck out a hand, and Lowell gave him an amused glance before he shook it. “Why do you want to do this so badly anyway?”

  Lowell shrugged. “Because it’s fun?”

  “We have very different definitions of fun.”

  “Indulge me.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  June 6, 2013 – Milwaukee, Wisconsin

  Lowell

  “Well, I found what I’m wearing.” Lowel
l held up a gray crop top that was trimmed with rainbow stripes along the bottom and had Pride written across the chest. It was delightfully vintage 1980s’ looking and so tacky it made Lowell squeal the moment he saw it. Perfect with the pair of rainbow short shorts he’d packed.

  Typically, his wardrobe was fairly subdued. He stuck to a limited color palette, with tailored silhouettes, but Pride was a time to be outrageous. They’d found a cute little shop in Walker’s Point, and Lowell was thoroughly enjoying himself.

  He glanced over at Brent to see how he was fairing. “Any luck?”

  “Nah. Nothing yet.”

  Lowell wandered closer as Brent continued to flip through the racks of men’s tanks.

  “You know, you don’t have to go for anything that’s obviously queer. You’d look hot as hell in a plain white tank, and no one is going to give a shit that you’re not wearing something with a rainbow.”

  “But I want to find something.” There was a stubborn set to Brent’s jaw. “I spent so many years trying to pretend I was straight when all I wanted to do was be out. And now that I’m out, I don’t want to hide.”

  “I know.” Lowell gave him a searching look. “But you don’t have to try to be someone you’re not.”

  “That’s just it; I don’t know who I am.” Brent met Lowell’s gaze, and his blue eyes looked so conflicted all Lowell wanted to do was reach out and give him a big hug. “I’m just figuring that out.”

  Lowell settled for squeezing Brent’s bicep. “Well, I’ll help however I can.”

  They spent the next few minutes in silence, sorting through the massive selection of shirts in the store before Brent held up a black tank. “This is what I’m talking about.”

  It was emblazoned with “Can’t Even Think Straight” in crooked, rainbow font. Lowell grinned. “I love it. But can I make a suggestion?”

  “Has anyone saying no ever stopped you?”

  Lowell pretended to think for a moment. “No, not really.”

  They both laughed.

  “So, lay it on me,” Brent said. “What’s your suggestion?”

  “Do they carry it in white? I noticed some of the other shirts come in multiple colors.”

  “Maybe? I can look.” He flipped through more shirts. “Why?”

  “You look better in white,” Lowell explained as he walked over to Brent. “It sets off your coloring.”

  “You’re the expert,” Brent said. He held up a white version of the shirt he’d found. “That better?”

  “Much. And I want you to grab a size smaller than usual,” Lowell said. He patted Brent’s washboard abs. “You have a great body; you should show it off.”

  Brent turned away and ducked his head. He looked like he was scrutinizing the shirt sizes, but Lowell could see that the tips of his ears were red.

  Twenty minutes later, they stood in front of a salon, carrying their purchases in brightly striped bags. “You should get a haircut,” Lowell suggested. “I don’t know if they’ll be able to get you in on such short notice, but hopefully. You could use a trim.”

  Brent pushed his thick, shaggy hair off his face. “Yeah, I noticed that the other day.”

  Lowell, who had expected him to put up a fight, wondered if he could push his luck. “Have you considered a different style? I mean, the length is hot, but you have a great jaw and cheekbones. Something shorter would really show that off.”

  Brent shrugged. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but sure, why not?”

  They had to wait half an hour, but a stylist managed to fit him in. He was a pretty-boy named Calvin, with deep dark skin, black-rimmed glasses, and a bowtie. He talked a mile a minute and managed to make Lowell look downright butch.

  From a few feet away, Lowell watched Calvin chatter as he snipped away at Brent’s hair. “I can’t believe you’ve never been to Pride before. You poor thing, having to stay closeted all those years.” He’d dragged Brent’s story out of him so quickly, Brent had looked a little shell-shocked by the time he finished. “But we’re going to make you look so sexy for your debut today.”

  He gave Brent’s hair a final, critical glance. “And now a little product and you’ll be good to go.”

  When he was done styling Brent’s hair, he removed the cape with a flourish and turned the chair to face Lowell. “What do you think?”

  Brent’s hair was shorter on the sides with a little length on top now. Calvin had left a little texture to it, and the product enhanced that. Lowell had been right; it showed off Brent’s amazing jaw and cheekbones and made his blue eyes stand out. Lowell’s mouth went dry.

  Brent frowned at him. “Is it okay?”

  Lowell had to swallow before he could speak. “Yeah, it looks great.”

  “Really?”

  The stylist patted him on the shoulder. “Your boyfriend can’t take his eyes off you. You tell me.”

  Brent’s reply of, “He’s not my boyfriend,” overlapped with Lowell’s “We’re not dating.” Calvin raised a manicured eyebrow.

  “Well, then, feel free to give me a call anytime.” He handed Brent a business card. “Have fun today, honey. I know you’re going to have a blast.”

  “I’ve never had that happen before,” Brent muttered when they reached the sidewalk. He shoved the card in his pocket.

  Lowell patted his shoulder. “You need to get out a little more, sweets.”

  ***

  “I want you to do two things for me,” Lowell instructed when they got back to the hotel.

  “Okay?” Brent gave him a wary look.

  Lowell handed him a large white tube. “Once you’ve been in the shower for at least five or ten minutes and your skin has had time to soften from the steam, gently scrub your face with this.”

  “What’s it do?”

  “Exfoliate.”

  “Okay.”

  Next, Lowell handed him a much smaller tube. “That’s moisturizer. Rub it all over your face and neck when you get out of the shower. While your skin is still a little damp.”

  “I use moisturizer. I’m not a total heathen.”

  “You’re cavalier about sunscreen, so I’m not sure about that,” Lowell said. “And you may use moisturizer but probably not one that costs eighty-three dollars.” Oops, maybe he shouldn’t have said that. That was a bit dickish and snobby sounding.

  “You paid eighty-three dollars for this?” Brent held up the tiny container. “Dude, that is insane. You are correct. I probably won’t spend that much on moisturizer in ten years.”

  “Well, use it today, and tell me what you think.”

  “Pretty sure I’m going to think it’s over-priced, no matter how nice it is. But, whatever. If it makes you happy, I’ll use it. Any other instructions? Want me to shave?”

  “Yes. But make sure you exfoliate before you shave and not the other way around. Or your skin will be very, very angry.”

  “Got it.” Brent walked away, shaking his head, and Lowell heard him mutter, “Eighty-three dollars?” under his breath.

  Lowell was putting on makeup and watching ESPN when Brent came out of the bathroom. “How was your mini-spa day?” he asked. “Masculinity still intact?”

  Brent reached down and grabbed his junk, grinning at Lowell as he did so. “You tell me.”

  Lowell just rolled his eyes.

  “So, what’s next?”

  “We steam your clothes.”

  “Seriously? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have just hung them in the bathroom while I showered.”

  “It would have helped, but not enough.”

  “Fine. Show me the ways of the steamer.”

  “I’ll convert you yet,” Lowell teased.

  Once everything was steamed, Brent disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes and emerged looking completely edible. Damn, the white tank had been a great choice. It showed off Brent’s muscled arms and golden tan.

  “Now, take a seat on the edge of the bed. I’m going to do your hair and makeup.”

 
“Now there are words I never thought I’d hear.”

  “Football players wear makeup all the time.”

  “What? Eye black? Pretty sure that’s different.”

  “Tell me how. It’s something you paint on your face. Just because everyone’s agreed it’s a masculine thing to do doesn’t magically make it not makeup. It’s just a different look.”

  “But it’s for a purpose,” Brent argued.

  “Makeup has a purpose.”

  “But a functional purpose. It’s to reduce glare.”

  “Lots of foundation has SPF in it to protect your skin from the sun. That’s a functional purpose.”

  “Eye makeup? Tell me how that does anything but make you look pretty?”

  “Why, thank you! It does make me look pretty,” Lowell teased, and Brent shot him a glare. “Oh, fine. Well, there’s a historical basis for it. The Egyptians and Bedouins used it for the very same purpose football players do, reducing sun glare.”

  “Huh.”

  “Maybe these days it’s mostly ornamental, but so what? What’s wrong with art for your face?”

  “Nothing,” Brent muttered.

  “And why should women be the only ones it’s socially acceptable for? That’s kind of ridiculous.”

  “Yeah, I suppose it is kind of ridiculous.”

  “You didn’t know this makeover came with a lecture on history and gender roles, did you?” Lowell said with a little grin.

  Brent laughed. “I didn’t expect it, but knowing you, I probably should have. It’s kind of interesting though.”

  “Close your eyes and hold that thought while I make your face pretty.”

  “My face already is pretty,” Brent muttered, but he followed Lowell’s orders.

  “Am I rubbing off on you?” Lowell teased.

  “Well, I’m letting you do my makeup, so yeah, probably.”

  “First, I’m going to put on some primer,” Lowell said. “It just smooths your skin and gives me a nice base coat to work with.”

  “Like for painting a wall or furniture.”

  “Yeah, pretty much. Not so different when you think about it.”

  Lowell cradled the back of his head in one hand while the other rubbed and patted the primer onto Brent’s skin. He took a little longer than strictly necessary, liking the feel of Brent’s warm skin under his fingertips. They both grew silent as he worked, and Lowell became aware of the feel of Brent’s leg pressed against his own.