The Lover (It's Just Us Here Book 4)

by Christopher X Sullivan

  What a perfect time of the year to get away.

  I walked into his parking garage using my keycard. Both cars were in Mark’s designated spots. Mel had a rich person’s car too—a blue Mini Cooper. (Maybe this wasn’t a ‘rich person’s car’, but it was to me.)

  I found them in the apartment sitting peacefully and watching the Yankees playoff game.

  “Hey, babe,” Mark said.

  “Hey, nerd,” Mel said.

  I nodded. Mark whisked me into the bedroom for a private chat. “She’s really messed up,” he said quietly. “She won’t admit it, but she really liked that guy.”

  “She cheated on him every chance she got!”

  “They cheated on each other. I don’t know.... They both have high libidos.”

  “Don’t say that like you don’t know what they’re talking about. Every time I look at you I see how horny you are.”

  “I wasn’t until you mentioned it.” He dragged me to the bed and we made out. He touched my face with his knuckles. I closed my eyes. “She didn’t have what we have,” Mark promised.

  “Was the guy hot?”

  Mark snorted. That had to be the first time in my life that I asked that question. “Yeah, in a dumb jock kind of way.”

  “Oh. So something you can relate to.”

  He punched me playfully. Then he sighed. “The guy was jacked, and well-hung, apparently. But he was such an asshole. I don’t know why she stayed with him for so long.”

  “Maybe she’s thinking the same thing about you and me?”

  “No. What we have is all about love. And support.”

  “She doesn’t like me. Who’s to say—”

  “Dude, she loves you. Ever since you mentioned her slightly green eyes... trust me, you’ve got a fan.”

  “Coulda fooled me.”

  “She doesn’t show emotions too well. She’s always been... well, more of a boy than me.”

  “She’s a pretty girl.”

  “Pick a lane, dude.”

  “What? She is pretty... vivacious. When you look at her, you know she’s alive. You know she’s a lot of fun.”

  “She’s a monster,” Mark added. “She tears through guys too quickly. I’m pretty sure the only reason she ‘stayed’ with that dude was so she would lose the label as a slut.”

  “Sounds like she took after you.”

  “She did. She shouldn’t be proud of it. I had my problems. I told you about Brent and how messed up I was after that. Shit, I didn’t ever deal with it. I just went out and fucked as many dudes as I could. If it weren’t for Claude, I probably would have caught who knows how many diseases.” Mark shook his head.

  “How did you go from that, to this?” I asked. “If you used to have so much sex, how come you aren’t running around behind my back like Mel would?”

  “I don’t know,” Mark answered honestly. “All I know is what’s in my heart, and my heart wants to have what my brother has and what my grandparents have.” He gave me a refreshing smile. “You’ll see what I mean when we get to the Lakehouse. My grandparents are so awesome.”

  “We should go keep Mel company.”

  “She can handle herself for a few more minutes.” He held my hand and let me lean against his body.

  “Did your grandparents always support you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After you came out. You said your dad wasn’t accepting. What about your grandparents?”

  “Everyone in my family was accepting to some degree... except my dad. I don’t think I surprised anyone. I never looked at the girls, I always hung around guys.”

  “Really? You never hung around girls? I did. So did all my closeted friends.” I didn’t know they were closeted at the time, but it made sense in hindsight.

  “And I liked to dress well, but I wasn’t campy or flamboyant. I was also one of the strongest kids in my class, so nobody messed with me.”

  “Nobody messed with me, either.”

  “Really? I find that hard to believe. You’re such a typical nerd. And you had to be so skinny back then.”

  “I swam. I ran. I was fit. I was also nice to all the kids in my school. There were less than two hundred kids in my grade and we were the biggest graduating class in years.” I shrugged. “I got along with everyone. And if they didn’t like me, I ignored it.”

  “I guess I can see that. You’re a non-confrontational guy.” He kissed me on the cheek. “I don’t want you to be that way with me.”

  “What?”

  “Non-confrontational. You need to speak up. I will always listen to you. But I can’t hear you if you don’t say anything.”

  “You don’t need to keep repeating yourself. I understood your point the first time you made it.”

  He rubbed my back. “You heard me, but you didn’t listen. You’re too much of a pushover. I want you to exert yourself more. It’s fucking hot when you get worked up and take control. God, it’s sexy as fuck.”

  “Is that why you annoy me so often?”

  He laughed and gave me the smile that won him all those modeling contracts. So handsome.

  “Just think about what I said,” he begged.

  “I am assertive. Just not about the stupid things.”

  “Your wants and desires aren’t stupid. I want to make sure you’re as satisfied as I am with our partnership. I want to be so good to you that you’ll never want to leave.”

  “I won’t want to leave.” I pushed his face away from mine. “I’m plenty assertive when I need to be.”

  “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  Mark and I had had a variation of this conversation probably once a week. At times, I wondered if that meant Mark was walking on eggshells around me, trying not to offend or scare me away.

  Mark had never seen me be truly dominating because I didn’t like that side of my personality. Yes, I always had to be in control, but if things didn’t go my way, I didn’t let it bother me. However, if someone was in trouble or got hurt... I took complete control without a second thought, bringing all my focus and energy to fix the problem.

  And then I would fight. Mark knew that I didn’t fight fair, but he had only seen me fight against him—a man that I didn’t want to bruise or destroy.

  I never wanted him to see me destroy a person. Everything about me changed when I went into ‘destroyer mode’. My face would become devoid of emotion like a serial killer. My voice would be flat and emotionless—gruff and determined. I would efficiently calculate the risks of each maneuver and go for the jugular with each attack, without hesitation or a sign of weakness. And my attacks were usually well-planned. I was the kind of person who thought about everything. If I intuitively didn’t like someone, I wouldn’t just avoid them... I would ponder and plan for a future fight.

  How would I respond if this person did this? Who would I count on to help me? What would my biggest weapon be?

  If I didn’t have a weapon to use against a potential foe, I would go out and find one. The more I didn’t trust someone, the bigger the weapon had to be.

  MARK AND I JOINED MEL in the living room where she told me more about her failed relationship. It was the weirdest story I had ever heard.

  After she finished her unbelievable tale, Mark suggested we go work out. He didn’t have anywhere to be; I didn’t have anywhere to be, either, seeing as I worked from home. So the three of us went to the gym.

  Melanie was an athletic woman. She would never be confused for a thin, wispy model, but I liked the shape of her body. If I were to get with a woman, I think her body would look something like Melanie’s. We would do outdoorsy things. We would bike and hike and play tennis. Mel was that kind of woman.

  But it freaked me out how much she acted (and looked) like Mark. If Melanie were a boy, I think she would have been exactly like Mark.

  After our gym time, we piled back into Mark’s apartment and napped. I typed frantically until Mark shut my computer and pulled me into the bedroom. We cuddled and f
ell asleep.

  I was grumpy when I woke up. I never took naps before meeting Mark so I hadn’t gotten used to his habitual siestas.

  My brain was groggy. Mark herded me into the shower and we washed each other. We laughed and played until I was back to being in a good mood. I could never stay moody for long if Mark was around. He could be exceptionally silly.

  He picked out my clothes (as usual). Melanie mocked me for being Mark’s little doll.

  “I’m not little where it counts,” I said.

  “Oh snap,” Mel replied.

  Mark just smiled like a hooligan. He was right—I became a different person around other people. When it was just me and Mark, I was passive, calm, happy. But the minute someone else popped into my life, I went into overdrive to entertain them and please them and analyze them. I had already analyzed Mark to death. I knew him so well by that point in our relationship that he felt like an extension of me.

  Sure, he surprised me... Mark worked hard to surprise me. But I generally knew what would make him happy and what he wanted. He was very easy to please. That might sound weird to you seeing as I’ve spoken about Mark needing fancy things and his thirst to show off all the time. I probably made it sound like he needed me to be fancy, or funny, or dazzling, or... whatever.

  He didn’t need me to be anything other than what I was. Not only did he continually reinforce that idea (especially when we did something sexual), but if I ever overdid something in front of his friends to the point of embarrassment, he would later calm me down and tell me not to worry about it.

  I can’t help what I worry about. But Mark is there to bring me back down to earth. He often says I shouldn’t be so full of myself... to which I say the same thing back to him.

  It turns out we are both full of ourselves, just in different ways.

  Back then, Mark had my complete admiration, but I didn’t want to admit how similar we were. There were so many superficial differences between us that most of our friends cited us as an example of opposites attract. I have come to accept (after many examples of how wrong that idea is) that Mark and I were cut from different sides of the same cloth.

  WE TOOK THE TRAIN TO the bar scene. I was so excited to use public transport that I paid for Mark and Melanie’s fare. Mel was fine with the train ride; Mark grumbled the entire time.

  “This is how normal people get around the city,” I said.

  “You aren’t normal,” Mark countered. “You should be flying because you are so not normal.” Mark got his way later that night when we took an Uber back to the apartment... but there was a lot of shenanigans that happened before our night was over.

  First, there was Greg. (Not his real name.)

  Let me tell you the generic profile of Greg, whom I would like to refer to as Gerg because he was so fucking twisted, insidious, and mean-spirited.

  Greg was one of Mark’s many admirers. I had seen him skulking around during the previous few times Mark took me to the bar. I knew that he wanted to get with Mark. It was just... it’s something you know. You know when someone wants to get with your partner. I might not have been able to recognize when someone wanted to get with me, but I sure as shit knew when someone wanted Mark.

  And Greg wanted Mark... creepily so.

  I don’t even want to describe Greg—that’s how much I hate him. He was tall and lean, wiry and well-dressed. I don’t want to say anything more for reasons that will become clear by the end of this chapter. I should probably warn you, this is not a pleasant chapter. If there is one person out there who will recognize who Mark and I are—and who will be eager to spill the beans... it’s Greg. Greg would probably sue me, because he’s just that kind of guy. I’m nearly one hundred percent sure that Greg has a ‘kill list’ and that I’m on it. No doubt. But I have more than enough dirt on him. He would never stalk me. He would never approach me or my son. He knows I have a psycho side... Mark still hasn’t seen it, but Greg has.

  Greg will never cross paths with Mark ever again.

  But he might sue me for putting his story in my story. He might. He wouldn’t win, but his goal wouldn’t be to win a court case against me—it would be to ruin my privacy. Greg could, and would, do it. Maybe this is the place in my story where I should threaten ‘Greg’ and let him know how displeased I would be if he should instigate such a revelation... but I don’t need to make threats. Not any more. Greg knows... oh boy, does he know.

  So yeah... Greg was at the first bar we arrived at that night. He, like me, apparently wasn’t gay. I don’t know if he swung both ways, or if sex was just a power thing to him, but he went after Melanie. Hard. And she, little miss promiscuous... well, she responded. At first she thought the creep was a friendly dancer and nothing more. Greg was dancing sexually, but we were in a gay club, so why would she have expected to get hit on?

  Not Greg. Greg couldn’t take a hint. I watched him buy her drinks, all the while he leered at me and Mark.

  “I don’t like this,” I said.

  “Relax. It’s Greg.”

  “I don’t like Greg.”

  “I know. You need to relax. Other guys are allowed to look, but not touch.” He flexed.

  I kept my eyes on Greg, like a hawk.

  “And Greg is a nice guy.”

  “Greg is a fucking psychopath.”

  Mark thought that anyone who complimented his physique was a good guy. He could be easily influenced in that way. I couldn’t figure out why Mark had been initially attracted to me... seeing as I never complimented him on his looks. I had offered an occasional good word since we became a couple, but that was only when I saw those big puppy dog eyes saying: please tell me I’m pretty. I was a sucker for those eyes.

  Mark pulled me out of my glaring contest with the back of Greg’s head. He yanked me to the dance floor and we danced. We grinded. We touched. I didn’t take my shirt off—Mark’s was off the minute he hit the floor.

  I kept an eye out for Melanie. She danced away from Greg, but the psycho always found his way back. Greg wasn’t a physically ugly man. He was tenacious. He dogged her. I’m sure he complimented her and showered her with attention. If she was anything like Mark, then she ate it up.

  Melanie was in the club for a good, safe time. She hadn’t come here to hook up (or so she professed before we headed out, to which Mark just shook his head). Greg was a predator. I didn’t have proof, but I had enough of a hunch and circumstantial evidence that I had pleaded my case to Mark numerous times: I didn’t want my man hanging out with Greg.

  Mark wouldn’t hear a bad word about his underling.

  I never—never ever—told Mark who he could or couldn’t be friends with. I don’t do it now and I didn’t do it then. Greg was the only person I ever explicitly lobbied against.

  “Quit worrying about Melanie. If she wants to hook up with Greg, then that’s her choice.”

  “He’s only going after her because he wants to get at you.”

  “You’re fucking paranoid,” Mark accused. “You can’t control Mel like you control me, so don’t even waste your time.”

  “I don’t control you.”

  “Then why are we standing over here instead of dancing in the crowd?”

  “You know I don’t like dancing.”

  “I know. If Mel wasn’t here we could have gone to salsa lessons.”

  “Are there any gay salsa lessons?”

  “I don’t know... do you want me to look? I told you there’s a Latin Night that I’ve been to, but I don’t know if they have the same kind of dance lessons.”

  “They should have dance lessons. There’s enough women here tonight that you could do a guys line and a girls line.”

  “This isn’t that kind of place.” Mark wrapped me in a bear hug and landed a few huge smooches on my cheek. “You’re thinking like a hetero again. The guys in this club wouldn’t want an invasion of straight couples into their domain.”

  “You sure? I’ve heard a number of guys talk about the straight guy fantas
y... about turning a guy...” I bounced my butt against his cock. “It worked out for you.”

  He kissed me again. “You weren’t straight. But you’re getting gayer by the minute, so I get your point.”

  “I’m not getting gayer... I’m getting freer! The shackles are off!”

  “Oh please. If you become a flamboyant faerie, then I’m out. I fell for the hot runner. I’ll get off when you get on the femme train.”

  “You ever dressed up in drag?” I asked.

  “You want the truth?” He presented that question like a goofball. Then he dragged me from the bar and we danced again—this time with his shirt on. The bar we were at wasn’t a sans-shirt kind of place (but Mark thought every bar was a sans-shirt place).

  The three of us left that bar and walked two doors down to a proper club. Greg followed us—like a skunk. By the time we left that club he was a skunk who had his arm around Melanie and was cracking jokes with Mark. I had to hold in my vomit and push aside my unease.

  We ended the night at The Ugly Rhino, Mark’s favorite club. We found Mark’s usual seats. Shane and Devon were already there. A couple of Mark’s other friends showed up on surprisingly short notice. Mel danced with them all.

  Greg danced beside her—with other guys.

  I didn’t understand what was going on with the two of them. How could she be interested in that Gerg?

  Mark tried to distract my overly active mind by launching his lips at me. I wasn’t in the mood... we were in a public venue and I felt grossed out that Greg was being so creepy. Apparently I was the only one that objected to Greg because the other guys danced with him willingly (and, it must be said, with great excitement). Greg was a skilled dancer. He got the most time with Melanie.

  She had fallen completely into his trap.

  Mark was buzzing around me and trying to get me to drink. I couldn’t—couldn’t get out of my head—couldn’t stop thinking about Greg. Stupid, idiotic Greg... with the dark and troubled past. Mark didn’t know about Greg’s past. It was safe to say that none of the guys here knew about his past. Greg had changed his name. Greg had blended in well.