Secretly Dating the Lionman

by Sue Brown

  “He’s with Julianne.” Bennett yawned and hopefully missed Cris’s eye roll.

  Cris decided not to say anything. What could he say that hadn’t been said before? He fished out his keys, opened the front door, and pushed Bennett ahead of him.

  Bennett groaned and said, “It’s so warm in here.”

  “How long were you waiting?” Cris threw his keys in the pot and took off his coat.

  “What time is it now?” Bennett looked around for a clock.

  “About six.”

  “Not long. Maybe an hour.”

  “Why didn’t you call?”

  Bennett didn’t respond beyond a mumble, but Cris suspected Bennett was asleep on his feet. He gave up on the questions, guided Bennett over to his bed, and pushed him down onto the covers. With some hindrance from Bennett, he stripped off his coat and outerwear, and pulled off his boots. Then he pushed and pulled until Bennett was under the comforter. He was asleep before Cris had finished and in the middle of the bed. Unless he moved Bennett, there was no room for Cris, and he didn’t have the heart to disturb him.

  Oh well.

  Cris grabbed spare pillows and a comforter out of his closet and dumped them on the sofa. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to sleep on the sofa, and it was reasonably comfortable. He puttered around, changed into his pajamas, and cleaned his teeth. Then he switched off the lights, felt his way to the sofa, and lay down. It took him a while to get to sleep. His brain was whirring and acutely conscious of the man sleeping not ten feet from him. Cris hugged a pillow to him, wishing it was Bennett. A snuffle and snort from the bedroom made him grin, and he relaxed enough to sleep and finally sink down into grateful darkness.

  CRIS WOKE to the aroma of coffee and a hushed but heated discussion. He lay for a few minutes trying to work out why he wasn’t in his bed and who was in his apartment.

  “I don’t care. You were drunk again. Dan is right, you’ve got to get your act together.”

  Cris blinked and stared up at the ceiling. Bennett was in his apartment, and he was obviously talking to his brother. Cris wondered if he should make it known that he was awake, but he didn’t want to get involved with their argument.

  “Trey called you a faggot. So what? He didn’t know you were gay. Trey calls everyone a faggot. You know that.” Another long pause, and Cris really wanted to use the bathroom and hopefully drink coffee. But Bennett hadn’t finished. “You can’t go on like this. You’re engaged to a wonderful woman. Mama and Tata are waiting for you to set the date.”

  Nothing changes. They were both still padlocked and bolted in the closet. Cris gave up waiting and sat up, but Bennett had his back to the sofa and didn’t notice him. He padded into the bathroom to do his business, clean his teeth, and splash water on his face. By the time he came out of the bathroom, Bennett had finished his call and was glaring into a mug of coffee.

  “Morning.” Cris focused on pouring the dark brew into his favorite mug. He reached into the fridge for creamer and then doctored his coffee until it was the right consistency and color.

  “Morning,” Bennett almost growled. “I’m sorry for waking you.”

  “What time is it?”

  “Eleven.”

  Cris grunted and took a sip of coffee. Five hours sleep—no wonder he was tired. “Thanks for the coffee.”

  Bennett looked almost surprised, as though he’d forgotten he’d made the pot. “Right. You’re welcome.”

  He smiled at Cris, who ignored him and got up to raise the blinds. The rain beat steadily down. The world outside was as miserable and gray as Cris felt.

  “Is everything all right, Cris?” Bennett sounded uncertain.

  “Yeah.”

  “Well… I guess I’d better go home.”

  Cris flopped down on the sofa and kicked the covers to one side. “Good idea.” He closed his eyes and ignored Bennett. He’d just woken up and hadn’t had nearly enough caffeine to deal with Bennett’s issues.

  Obviously disconcerted by Cris’s unfriendly tone, Bennett said, “Okay.”

  Cris waited. He heard Bennett shuffle around to get his things, and then he heard the front door open, and a quick gust of cold air made him shiver. He stayed where he was on the sofa. It was too fucking early to face the world.

  Chapter 13

  THE FRONT door closed, and Cris breathed a sigh of relief, but he didn’t bother to open his eyes. He knew he’d been an asshole, but how many times did he have to hear Bennett push his brother and Julianne into a life of misery? It was starting to screw with Cris’s mind. He couldn’t go on like this without talking to Bennett. What Mikey decided to do was his business, but Cris didn’t have to watch it unfold.

  He’d always had an issue with men who used women to cover their homosexuality. He also knew men and women had been forced into unwanted marriages for centuries, and they’d had no choice in the matter. But he’d seen the other side. He’d had an aunt who discovered her husband was gay. She found a strange man in her bed when she returned a couple of hours early from a day out with her children, and things unraveled at lightning speed. She’d been left to bring up five kids while her ex-husband jumped into the gay scene with both feet and not a backward glance at his distraught family. It left Cris with a sour taste in his mouth because he knew most of his issues stemmed from a deep dislike of his uncle.

  The man was a dick—he’d been a dick in his marriage and a dick in the divorce. Not every gay guy deserted his wife and kids. Cris knew that. He sighed and draped an arm over his eyes to block out the light. Perhaps Mikey would be different. He’d loved Julianne for a long time. If he got his act together, he’d be a good man.

  The sofa dipped. Cris jumped, he’d been so lost in his thoughts, he hadn’t heard a sound. He opened his eyes to discover Bennett scowling at him.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you this morning?” Bennett demanded.

  “You were going.”

  “I changed my mind. Answer my question. What the hell’s wrong?”

  “I could ask you the same.” Cris snapped back and then cursed silently. It was hard to miss the scowl was tinged with worry. Bennett was scared. Scared Cris would cause trouble? Scared Cris would leave him?

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I know,” Cris sighed. “That’s what makes it so fucking sad.”

  Bennett wrinkled his brow. “Cris, you’re talking in riddles.”

  “I heard you telling Mikey to set a date for his wedding.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah. Oh.” Cris could do the flat tone too.

  “You don’t approve.”

  Cris shook his head. “It’s none of my business.”

  Bennett gave a derisive snort. “I’m making it your business.”

  Okay. If Bennett wanted it that way. Cris sat up and let rip with both barrels. “Mikey is gay. G.A.Y. Why the fuck are you forcing him into a marriage he doesn’t want?”

  “You don’t understand.”

  “Make me understand.”

  Bennett huffed, but finally he said, “It’s not me or my parents forcing Mikey into this. They don’t know about him, obviously, but he’s the one who wants to get married. He’s been talking about it for years.”

  “Mikey wants to get married?” Cris blinked in confusion.

  Bennett nodded. “Yeah. This is his idea.”

  Now Cris didn’t know what to think. “But you’re the one telling him to get married.”

  “Only because Mikey insists it’s going to happen. He’s like a rollercoaster. Up and down. Up and down.”

  Cris knuckled his eyes. “I haven’t had enough coffee for this conversation.”

  “I hear you,” Bennett said grimly.

  “I’ll make another pot.”

  The conversation died as Cris clambered to his feet and set about making more coffee. Cris was glad for something to do with his hands, and Bennett stared at the wall of DVDs as though he’d never seen them before.

  Cris placed
two mugs on the table and sat down again at the other end of the sofa from Bennett. He picked up one of the mugs, took a long swallow, and focused his attention on Bennett. “Why would Mikey want to marry a woman?”

  “He says now he’s bisexual.”

  “Yeah, and there’s nothing wrong with being bi, but there’s a lot wrong with planning your wedding at the same time you’re planning to screw around with guys.”

  “He likes women.”

  “Or he wants to like women?” Cris had known a ton of guys who identified as bi. Some loved women and men with equal enjoyment—Gideon was very open about his bisexuality—but some guys admitted they used bisexual on the way to gay. Cris didn’t have an issue with that if they didn’t screw up other people on the way. He sighed. His ex-uncle had really done a number on his psyche.

  “I don’t know,” Bennett said helplessly. “I don’t care if he’s bi or gay, but he either goes through with this wedding or he does the decent thing and breaks it off with Julianne before it goes too far.”

  “Are you pushing him to fix a date to force the issue?”

  “I thought it would work. He ignored me when I told him to break it off, so I thought pushing him might change his mind. All it’s done is make him angrier and more confused. Julianne is upset, and my parents keep asking when they’re going to set a date.”

  Cris drank his coffee as he processed the new information. It explained a lot, but none of it helped. Mikey was still hell-bent on charging down the wrong path, and Bennett was tying himself up in knots.

  “Fuck, this is a mess,” Bennett sighed.

  “A total shit fest,” Cris agreed.

  He got up and fixed two more coffees. When he came back to the sofa, he sat closer to Bennett, put an arm around his shoulders, and gathered him close. Bennett folded in on himself and rested his head against Cris’s chest. He was warm and solid in Cris’s arms, and Cris pressed a barely there kiss into Bennett’s hair.

  “I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into it.” Bennett’s voice was muffled as he talked into Cris’s T-shirt.

  “Mikey started it by trying to jump me in the john at Cowboys and Angels.”

  “I gave him hell about that,” Bennett said.

  “It wasn’t his finest moment.”

  “I hate the fact that it affects us too.”

  Cris held him tighter. “It doesn’t have to.”

  Bennett sat up, and Cris reluctantly let him go.

  “Until I tell my parents, I’m still stealth dating you. I’m a man over thirty. I’m not a good role model to Mikey if I’m sneaking around with my boyfriend.”

  Cris chuckled. “I’ve heard of blind dating and speed dating, but stealth dating is a new one.”

  Bennett glowered at him. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I do. And to be honest, I don’t think we’ve been that stealthy. It’s not like most of the bar doesn’t know we’re involved.”

  “I’ve been waiting for word to get back to Tata.”

  “Then maybe you should consider telling them first?” Cris suggested gently.

  Bennett nodded and scrubbed a hand through his usually neat hair. It stuck up everywhere. “Just give me a little time?”

  Cris swallowed back his urge to ask how much time and instead combed through Bennett’s slightly greasy locks with his fingers. “You need a shower.”

  “I need to get to work.” Bennett looked at the time. “Dammit, I’m gonna catch hell from Tata for being late.”

  He picked up the mug and gulped down the contents, his throat working hard. When he finished, he leaned over to kiss Cris hard on the mouth, and then he was gone, leaving behind his sweet coffee taste on Cris’s lips and the feeling that nothing had been resolved.

  Cris sighed, finished his own coffee, and wondered what to do next. For a moment he was tempted to shove a DVD in the machine and waste the afternoon watching TV. But it was lunchtime, and he really needed to do his laundry. He packed his sports bag with his dirty clothes and impulsively grabbed his sketchpad and pencils.

  Once his clothes were in the machine and Cris had settled himself in his favorite seat, he took out his sketchpad and stared at the blank page. He wanted to draw the long curve of Bennett’s jaw, the sweep of his neck and the crest of his Adam’s apple—strength and grace, masculinity and vulnerability. He could see it on the page, even though he hadn’t made a mark. The noises and bustle around Cris faded away as he started to sketch with quick lines and no detail, just the silhouette of Bennett’s jaw and neck.

  One sketch became two and three, all focused on Bennett’s body—the strength of his shoulders, the delicate wing of his collarbone. He couldn’t stop until everything that was inside him was there on paper.

  “You’re very good.”

  The comment distracted him from his work, and he looked up to find a bright-eyed, elderly gentleman with a shock of white hair smiling at him. “Uh… thank you.”

  “You’re doing it all from memory.”

  “Yes.”

  “Someone you know?”

  “Yes.” Cris dialed back the impatience, but he was anxious to get back to his sketching.

  “You must love him very much.”

  Cris stared at the man. “I… what makes you say that?”

  The older man reached into his jacket pocket and drew out a battered leather wallet, flipped it open, pulled out a faded photograph of two men, and handed it to Cris. From the clothes they were wearing Cris hazarded a guess that it was taken in the sixties.

  “This is you?” Cris asked.

  “I’m on the left. Philip is—was—my partner. He died last year. If I had any talent, I could still draw every inch of him from memory.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” Cris said automatically. “How long were you together?”

  “Sixty-five years. We met at college.”

  “That’s a long time.”

  “A lifetime.” The man blinked rapidly, pulled out a worn handkerchief, and blew his nose noisily.

  “Did you ever get married?”

  The man nodded. “Just before he died, just because we could. I didn’t really care, but it mattered to Pip, and if it mattered to him, it mattered to me.” He held out his gnarled hand for the photo. The artist in Cris noticed the young man’s hand in the photo compared to the old man’s hand, misshapen by arthritis and covered in liver spots. A lifetime of living between the two hands. “Anyway, thank you for listening to an old man’s tales.”

  Cris handed over the photo, and the man tucked it away. “Thank you for sharing them with me.”

  The old man went to get up and leaned heavily on his cane. “I’m sorry I disturbed you.”

  “Wait, sir.” Cris touched his arm. “Are you in a rush?”

  “No, I’m still waiting for the machine.” He pointed to a machine almost at the opposite end of the row.

  Cris hurried on. “I’d like to draw the two of you. A gift. A thank-you for sharing your story. It would just be a quick sketch.”

  “I wasn’t asking for….”

  “I know. But I’d like to. May I know your name?”

  “Charles,” the man said as he sat down again. “Charles, not Chas or Charlie.”

  “Charles,” Cris repeated. “I’m Cris, not Christopher.” He’d made it plain how he wanted to spell his name from an early age.

  “And your man?”

  “He’s not yet. But he might be. His name’s Bennett.”

  “That’s… an unusual name.”

  Cris caught the hesitation and looked up, but the man was smiling at him. “I guess so. The photo?”

  Charles handed it over again and sat quietly while Cris took a few moments to plan the sketch and then focused on his work. He worked with fierce concentration and brought the two young men to life. When he was done, he handed it to Charles.

  The old man stared at it for a long while, and the paper trembled as his hand shook. Cris waited patiently by his side until Charles looked up. “P
ip could be by my side again.” His voice was hoarse from unshed tears.

  “Thank you.” Cris pulled out an envelope from his bag and slipped the sheet of paper into it. “This should protect it until you get home.”

  “You’ve done this before,” Charles said.

  “Once or twice. For the right people.”

  Charles carefully stowed the envelope in his inside jacket pocket and got to his feet. He held out his hand and shook Cris’s. “Once I met Pip, there was never anyone else.”

  “You were very lucky to meet him.”

  Charles nodded. “Indeed I was, Cris. You take care now. And tell Bennett how you feel about him before it’s too late.”

  He walked slowly away before Cris could reply. Cris sighed. Bennett made his knees tremble and his dick grow hard just at the thought of him. But love? It was too soon to be talking about love, wasn’t it?

  “BENNETT! BENNETT! Bennett!”

  The crowd chanted and roared as Bennett stripped off his leather pants to reveal a black satin jockstrap and then shimmied around to bend over and show his perfect, plump buttcheeks. The shrieks of appreciation grew louder because damn, that was a fine ass.

  Jostled by the screaming women, Cris waved his fifty-dollar bill, desperate to tuck it in the jockstrap of the god on the stage. “Bennett! Bennett! Come here!”

  Bennett swayed around the front of the stage, accepting all the adulation and the bills. Cris waved again, and then the god stood over him. Cris smiled up at him and showed his adoration in his expression. He tried to add his money to the collection, but Bennett stepped back, his expression disgusted.

  “Not you. I don’t want you touching me. Take him away.”

  Devastated, Cris dropped the fifty dollars on the ground, and the bill was immediately stepped on, vanished under the sea of high heels. Hands clamped around his biceps, and he was dragged back by two burly security guards. His last sight was of Bennett writhing in front of a woman.

  Cris opened his eyes, covered in a cold sweat and his heart pounding. He shivered despite being under the comforter. Fuck. That was a dream he didn’t want again. Where the hell had that come from? He sat up, scratched his armpit, and grimaced as the waft of stale sweat hit him.