Learned Reactions

by Jayce Ellis

  Olivia nodded, a relieved smile on her face. Carlton hopped up and went to his bedroom, tapping on the door lightly before he entered. Deion was still on the phone, but gave him a broad smile when he walked in.

  “Is that Carlton?” Deion’s mom asked, and he winced. He tried not to interrupt their weekly calls. It was bad enough knowing your best friend’s mother had disliked you for twenty years. It was worse when you couldn’t even argue with her rationale.

  “Yeah, Ma. Hold on.” Deion turned to face him. “What’s up?”

  “Olivia needs to go for a run. I’m taking her to the drugstore. You need anything?”

  “Nah, I’m good. She all right?”

  Carlton nodded. “Fine. We’ll be back.”

  He paused for a moment, watching Deion. He couldn’t imagine what it was like having to play referee between his friend and his parent, and Deion’s shoulders had hunched up just a fraction, enough that he’d miss it if he weren’t looking. Deion needed some reassurance, and Carlton hated that he’d put Deion in this position.

  He squeezed Deion’s shoulder and sat next to him. “Mrs. Jones, it’s good to see you. I promise we’re taking good care of your boy here.” He gave her his best smile, the one that was both professional and a little sheepish, and nudged Deion. He didn’t respond immediately, but a second bump coaxed a smile from him, and that tension? It seeped from Deion’s shoulders, so there.

  “Carlton,” she said simply, with a sharp nod, and Carlton was good, because he didn’t roll his eyes. Some things clearly weren’t changing any time soon, and he wouldn’t do anything to antagonize her. Even though something in him, maybe almost a little primitive, wanted to stake his claim in front of her. Do something to show her this was real. Never mind that it wasn’t.

  He smiled instead and patted Deion’s knee, then stood and waved at the camera. “Bye, Mrs. Jones. Give your husband my best.” He left the room, but felt her eyes on him even from the screen.

  “You ready to go?” he asked Olivia as he walked back up front. At her nod, they took off.

  They got what they needed for her with no problem, then started wandering the store. “Are you and Uncle D fighting?” Olivia asked after some time perusing the aisles.

  Carlton startled, then stared at her. “No. What makes you say that?”

  She shrugged, suddenly looking apprehensive. “I don’t know. Just, you guys were really lovey-dovey a week ago, and not so much now.”

  Yeah. A week ago Carlton had lied to the social worker and was indulging himself in his first taste of Deion in decades. He may have gone a little overboard. Or maybe he was scared. That was the more likely explanation, but he didn’t even know how to explain that to himself, let alone Olivia.

  “Uncle D and I don’t want to offend your eyes,” he teased instead.

  She rolled them. “Well, thanks for that, but I thought I heard him talking to his mom about maybe getting out the house tonight. But you didn’t say anything, so I thought maybe I was wrong.”

  Leaving the house? To do what? They hadn’t been out since the time at Stadium, and Deion certainly hadn’t mentioned anything to him.

  “I don’t know,” he told Olivia. There was no reason to hide it, and she wouldn’t believe him anyway. “I guess I’ll check on him when we get home.”

  She clutched his wrist. “Don’t tell him I told you, okay? I don’t want to make him mad.”

  Carlton snorted, but nodded. “I can’t imagine him ever really getting mad at you.”

  She paused for a minute, then shook her head. “Nah, he probably wouldn’t, would he? If anything, he’s the teddy bear that lets you walk all over him and just laughs it off.”

  That was...maybe a little closer to the truth than Carlton wanted to admit. Deion was the type of guy who held all his hurt inside, never talked about it, never wanted to be a burden to anyone. He’d held inside his feelings for Carlton all these years, hadn’t he? And although Carlton had, on some level, been aware of them, it was nothing compared to hearing Deion say the words. It was nothing compared to knowing his feelings had impacted Deion, the way he moved, the way their relationship had formed over the course of all these years.

  “Did I say something wrong?”

  “Of course not,” Carlton said, then tugged Olivia close. “Let’s get home and harass your uncle a bit.” Olivia, and Trey when he came over, called Deion uncle as an honorific. But the more Olivia said it—Uncle C and Uncle D—the more he wondered what it would be like to have that for real.

  Olivia giggled and they checked out. They were home in record time, but the house was quiet. Too quiet.

  Beside him, Olivia frowned, worrying her lower lip, and Carlton squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t stress. I’m sure everything is fine.”

  “You sure?”

  Hell no. He nodded. “I’m sure he just stepped out. He’ll be back soon.”

  With another worried glance around the living room, Olivia headed back to her bedroom. Carlton followed suit, going to his. And realized that soon probably meant tomorrow.

  Because Deion was gone. And by the way the room smelled, Deion was out, like clubbing out. The bathroom still held the faint scent of his soap. And his cologne, some Italian shit that made Carlton hornier than he’d ever admit, lingered in the room. The T-shirt he’d been wearing when Carlton came in earlier sat on the bed, and he could smell the faint hint of warmth, probably from the iron.

  Carlton pulled out his phone. No text, no voicemail, no nothing. So Deion didn’t want to be found, and Carlton wasn’t sure what to do, or how to feel, about that.

  No, they hadn’t had another real conversation since that first night. Yes, they’d fallen into somewhat of a routine, the hugs, the kisses, the silent agreement not to do more. But this? Carlton wasn’t sure if he could do this.

  So clearly they needed to actually talk. Do something to finally get them on the same page. Because he’d be damned if he slept next to his best friend with the scent of another man on him. And if that meant truly ignoring Lawrence’s advice and staking his claim for real, then so the hell be it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Deion shored up his nerves and opened the door. He couldn’t even remember the name of the club he’d chosen, but as he walked in—the strobe lights, the slightly musty smell of stale beer and body odor, the metal stairs clanging as people moved up and down between floors—he almost immediately turned and went back home.

  Deion barely went out in Chicago, often preferring the solitude of his home. But he didn’t feel like taking himself out to dinner, and the coffee shops had all closed for the night. He wanted a place to think, to process, without being alone. This wasn’t his first choice, maybe not even his tenth, but it might be as good as it was going to get. He steeled himself and forged on.

  He didn’t even know what he was looking for. But he needed to do something. For himself, for his mom? To prove that this...whatever he was doing with Carlton wasn’t real, that it wasn’t the beginning of him falling even deeper in love with his best friend than he already had.

  Because that super-kind, almost self-conscious thing he’d done with Ma before heading out to take care of Olivia? Had sent his mother into a thirty-minute frenzy. And there’d been nothing he could say to convince her Carlton hadn’t been overly polite to get a rise out of her. She was reading too much into it, as far as he was concerned, but then she went back to insisting Carlton was using him. He hadn’t even argued. Maybe it was because he wasn’t sure if, on some base level, she wasn’t right. That he was setting himself up for heartbreak. Hell, he’d thought the same thing for the past two weeks.

  Once he’d finally prodded her off the phone, with Dad’s help, he’d resolved to do something to prove what they were doing wasn’t real. They’d never had the conversation, because Deion kept giving Carlton an out. Probably because he didn’t really want to know the
truth, but Ma made him confront it. She’d asked him if he’d done anything for himself during his stay, and he’d been forced to admit the answer was a resounding no. He’d promised to take a night off, and he was doing exactly that, before he could talk himself out of it.

  But the whole time he’d dressed, trimmed, slathered on lotion, and spritzed cologne, he’d craned his ear toward the door, not sure if he was hoping for or dreading the sound of the key being turned in the lock and Carlton asking him what he was doing. By the time he was finally ready, they still weren’t home. Maybe that was a good thing, because Carlton and Olivia hadn’t actually had all that much time together once he’d gone back to work that first week. Deion didn’t begrudge them taking advantage of a rare opportunity, and had pep-talked himself into looking up gay clubs in DC.

  And now here he was. And he needed a fucking drink. He made his way to the bar, intent on getting a hard, strong drink, something that would burn down his throat. Once he got to the front, though, he was ready for something different.

  “Y’all got ingredients for a grasshopper?” he asked.

  “Grasshopper?” The bartender gaped at him and laughed. “You sure you’re old enough to be in here?”

  Deion looked around and snorted. “Shit, I might’ve aged out, but I’m taking it back to my college days.”

  “Ahh, reminiscing,” the bartender said with a nod. “One grasshopper coming up.”

  Deion leaned on the bar and really took in his surroundings. Some were, like him, just people watching, seeing who did what, with no plans to join in. Others were clearly on the prowl, and Deion silently wished them success. He’d come out with that intention, but hell. Where would he even go? He’d have to get a hotel, because he damn sure couldn’t take them back to Carlton’s. And if Deion knew anything about his best friend, a hotel wouldn’t go over well either. Carlton would blow his phone up and, if he didn’t respond or turned the phone off, there’d be an APB out on him in the morning. So what was he doing here again?

  “Here you go, sir. One grasshopper.”

  Deion handed over his card and waited for the bartender to run it, then tipped his brow in thanks. He took a sip and sighed. Somewhere, along the way of life, he’d started drinking more “mature” drinks. Drinks on the rocks, or neat, or with a simple chaser that still held the burn of whatever scotch or bourbon or whiskey he’d chosen. But a grasshopper was goddamn delicious, like drinking a mint-chocolate chip smoothie, but with liquor, and he would certainly be having another before the night was out.

  He sipped and watched, until a tall, Black, lanky man with a blinding smile and an impressively smooth head sauntered over to him. “I haven’t seen you here before,” he said, boldly looking Deion up and down.

  Deion returned the favor before leaning against the bar. “Does that line work on everyone you meet?”

  He beamed. “It does if I haven’t seen them here before.”

  Deion laughed. “What’re you having?” he asked with a nod toward the rows of drinks.

  The young man stared at Deion’s drink, more than half gone. “What was that? Absinthe?”

  “Dear God. No, grasshopper. Like mint chocolate ice cream in alcohol form.”

  “Oh, bet? Sign me up.”

  Deion turned back to the bartender. “Two grasshoppers. For me and my new friend here.”

  The bartender laughed. “Vance, that’s out of the norm for you.”

  The man grinned and shrugged. “I like trying new things,” he said with a wink. The bartender laughed and took off.

  Deion turned to the man. “Vance, huh? Deion.”

  “A pleasure,” he said, holding his hand out. They shook, and Vance made himself comfortable on the adjoining stool. “What brings you out tonight?”

  “I needed to get the hell out of Dodge for a little while.”

  Vance hummed. “You’re not actually looking for company tonight, are you?”

  He sighed. That obvious, huh? “I thought I was. Or, rather, I thought I should be. But I guess I’m just not cut out like that.”

  “I can hear the mournful resignation in your voice. The world-weary sounds of the lovelorn.”

  “You mocking me?” Deion asked, but he’d forgotten how grasshoppers hit. Damn thing was already starting to go to his head.

  The bartender returned and Vance leaned over. “A round of Parmesan truffle fries for me and my friend.”

  The bartender nodded and hurried off. A quick glance around, and Deion could see the crowd had thickened considerably. “How’s Parmesan truffle going to taste with a grasshopper?”

  Vance tilted his head and thought about it. “Probably hideous, now that you mention it. Let’s switch for sweet potato.”

  “Please do.”

  Vance laughed and did exactly that, then gave Deion all of his attention. Deion looked at the man. He was clearly younger, maybe in his mid-to late twenties, with smooth, dark skin, a shade or two darker than Deion’s, gloriously bald, and that smile that looked like it belonged in every whitening commercial.

  “It sounds like you’re a bit of a regular here,” Deion said.

  Vance shrugged. “I was for a while. Then I met someone and thought maybe I’d get out of the game. Thought maybe I might... I don’t know, get cuffed for the season or something. But dude ghosted me, so fuck him.”

  Deion held his glass up to toast. “Amen to that.”

  They drank, waited for the fries to come, and fell into a fairly amicable silence after that. There was more than ample seating at the bar, most of the patrons having decided to let loose on the dance floor.

  “So, what are your plans for the evening?” Vance asked after a few minutes of quiet.

  And now Deion returned full-circle to his initial dilemma. Vance was lovely, and Deion would have no problem going with him somewhere, but to be honest, as much as he’d enjoyed their conversation, the silent companionship, all that jazz, his dick just wasn’t in it. It lay flaccid, completely uninterested in anything except getting back home and to Carlton. Motherfucker.

  But he didn’t want to hurt Vance’s feelings, so he shrugged and tried for his most winning smile. “I’m not sure. What plans do you have?”

  Vance laughed, throwing his head back before focusing on Deion. Even in the low lights, his eyes twinkled. “Well, I know what’s not on the agenda.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “You. Oh, you’re cute and all, and maybe in a different time and space you’d be a blast to spend the night with, but I think both of our minds are preoccupied.”

  “You still thinking about your Casper?”

  Vance chuckled. “Casper? I like it. And as pale as his ass is, that shit might be appropriate.”

  “You not tripping over a white boy, are you?”

  “Perish the thought. No, that would be so much easier.”

  Deion nodded. He understood the sentiment. “Yeah, I came out here thinking I might try to find someone, prove I could, but you’re right. I’m not feeling it.”

  Vance leaned into him, the sweet scent of grasshoppers and the cinnamon from the fries rolling off his breath. “Lord knows it could be worse. Look, this place? It’s a nice distraction. It’s good to get out of your head a little bit, but that’s all you’re getting out of. Not your pants, not your clothes. Adjust your expectations. Get a little wasted, get a ride home, and tomorrow, we man up and we deal with the bullshit. Or, at least you do, because my Casper has rendered himself invisible.”

  Deion laughed. Vance was young, but wise. Or that could be liquor speaking. Either way, he was right. “Vance, I think I’m going to follow your advice. I’m going home.”

  Vance held up his glass and Deion clinked it, then swallowed down the rest of his drink, nicely watered down by now, in a single gulp. “You good to get home?” he asked with a slight frown.

  Van
ce smiled that smile of his again, then leaned in and kissed Deion on the cheek. “You’re sweet, and I am. Besides,” he said, pointing to the bartender, “that’s my neighbor. He won’t let anything happen to me.”

  Good stuff. Deion fished in his pocket for his cash, left a healthy tip, then patted Vance on the arm and walked outside. He pulled out his phone and ordered a ride, and noticed nine missed messages and calls. Well, at least he’d gotten out of his head. Now it was time to face the music.

  * * *

  “Where have you been?”

  Deion paused with his hand on the door, and Carlton immediately regretted asking the question. Quite frankly, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “Out.”

  “You didn’t leave a note.”

  He turned and leaned against the door, his arms crossed, his eyes narrowed. “Yeah. That was intentional.”

  Carlton bowed his head, then ran a hand down his face before letting his arm hang loosely at his side. “Okay. Are you staying?”

  Deion sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, leaning against the front door. “I’m being defensive. I’m sorry.”

  “Well, it had been my plan to interrogate you.”

  He chuckled. “I went to a club. I needed to get out of here, out of my head for a little bit.”

  Carlton nodded. He understood that. Kinda. Maybe. Not really, because he hated the idea of Deion going out without him. “It work?”

  “Moderately. But then...”

  Carlton waited, craned his head. “Then what?”

  “Then I started missing you and Olivia, and I came home.”

  Carlton might never admit how much those words meant to him. He scrubbed his head back and forth in his hands, suddenly unable to face Deion, but the words he’d tried to suppress refused to be silenced. “We missed you too. This is where you belong.”

  “Is it?”