by Mary Calmes
“No,” he burped. “How many have you been in?”
“Too many to count. Now go to sleep.”
“Wait.”
I groaned but turned again from the door.
He sat up and flicked on the small light on the nightstand. “How come you’ve been in a lot of fights, Stef?”
“I dunno, just have.”
“Because of being gay?”
“No,” I yawned, “not once because I was gay. Mostly from drunks, some because of trying to break something up, and one because my roommate has a big fuckin’ mouth.”
He grinned, and in the faint light, his warm brown eyes glowed as he looked at me. “Oh yeah? Charlotte got you in a bar fight?”
“Yep.” I nodded before I explained about the drunken brawl in the middle of the pool hall when we were in college. Charlotte had been running her mouth, not backing down from the table of drunken frat boys shooting pool alongside us. When they finally had enough, I was the one they came after, since they couldn’t hit a girl.
“How many guys?”
“Just three,” I lied. It had been more like five.
“Jesus, Stefan, you’re a badass, huh?”
“I just wasn’t as drunk as they were.”
His mouth was curled up in the corner, his eyes slits, and his hair was sticking up on one side. He was a disheveled mess, and I had never seen him look better. “Go to sleep.”
“Wait.”
I looked back around the door, since I was already in the hall. “What?”
“What if I hafta barf?”
“The trash can’s there next to the bed.”
“You think of everything,” he said softly, his eyes on mine.
“Always.”
“Thanks for bein’ such a good friend, Stef. You didn’t hafta like me”—he burped—“’cause you’re Char’s friend and all, but you do, and I appreciate it.”
“I’m your friend too.”
“No, I know, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You mean if you guys get a divorce you know she’ll get me.”
“Well that’s a nice fuckin’ thing to say right before I get married.”
“I’m just sayin’.”
“Shit.”
I laughed at him. “Go to sleep already.”
“Wait.”
“What?”
“I used to be worried, you know, when I first met you. I thought maybe you’d wanna fuck me or something, and it sorta weirded me out.”
“Uh-huh.”
“But now I know it ain’t like that.”
“’Cause you’re not my type,” I teased him.
“Shut up.” He burped. “I’m tryin’ to have a moment here.”
“Sorry.”
“I just… you’re the only gay person I know.”
“I seriously doubt that,” I told him honestly, “but I appreciate the sentiment. Can you go to bed now?”
“Yeah.” He belched loudly, lying down on the bed. “I think maybe I should, but Stef?”
“What?”
“Come kiss me good night.”
I flipped him off before I closed the door behind me.
Chapter 4
CHARLOTTE KEPT me busy the following morning. She came to my room way too early, but she brought coffee, so I didn’t kill her. Once I showered and changed and we were off to see a friend of the family who was a seamstress. Hopefully she could do something with the scary wedding dress. The woman was hesitant when we got there, but once I assured her that no harm would come to her for messing with an heirloom, she went to work, gutting it starting with the antique, over-the-top beading. Charlotte had sketched out what she wanted, and after I made some suggestions, it sounded like it was going to be good. She was all over me as we left. We met up with everyone else for a late breakfast at a local place that Charlotte’s family loved.
After we got home, everyone started playing croquet on the back lawn. I thought it was a little tame until I realized that everyone had to take a shot of tequila before each round and you had to have a beer in your hand at all times. If the beer was put down, you took another shot of Patrón. If the beer went empty, same deal. There were going to be balls and mallets flying all over the place in a very short time. I decided to send out e-mails I had been putting off so I wouldn’t have to do it later. The sooner I finished up the last of my work, the sooner I could get down to some serious drinking.
By the time I got finished, there were cars cluttering the street, lots of people at the house, and a basketball game going on in the driveway that was more about trash talking and pushing and shoving than anything else. The girls were goading the men on, everyone was laughing and drinking, and inevitably, the longer the game went on, the more obnoxious everyone became. I went inside to get a bottle of water, and by the time I returned, Ben was preparing to take a shot from what I assumed was the foul line. One of the guys from the opposite team was harassing him, and I realized suddenly how serious he was.
“Take the shot, you drunkass piece of shit.”
“I’m not the drunk asshole,” Ben snapped at him, dribbling the ball where he was. “And if you would shut the fuck up, maybe I could shoot.”
“Fuckin’ asshole,” he complained to Charlotte. “Make your punk-ass man shoot the ball!”
“Shoot the ball, Ben!” She laughed. “Before my cousin Brandon beats the crap out of you!”
“I was just fouled, Char. It’s my free throw.”
“Oh, will you shoot already!” the guy said, walking forward and shoving Ben hard.
“Get off me!”
“Gimme the ball, asshole,” he snarled, shoving Ben again, trying to take the ball.
“Get off!” Ben yelled, pushing back.
Because the guy was drunk, when he got as good as he’d given, he nearly fell over, only his windmilling arms keeping him on his feet. Everyone thought it was hysterical, and the laughter at the guy’s expense was loud. Ben was chuckling, walking away, and never noticing that the guy was suddenly charging after him. Since he wasn’t paying attention at that point, involved instead in yelling over to see who else wanted to play, he never saw the fist swung at him. I had started moving the second Ben had turned around, so I was close enough to interfere.
I stepped in front of my friend, absorbing the impact in my shoulder that he would have taken in the back of the head. The guy lifted up and threw a roundhouse punch that connected with my jaw. There was instant pain before my adrenaline kicked in. When I fight, I get that strobe-light effect. I see pieces until it’s over. So I saw the guy pull back and swing at me again before I had my hand on his throat, my other arm blocking the blow. He was more muscular than I was, but I was just as tall, and my leverage was better. I wasn’t drunk, and as a result, my reflexes were faster. I spread my legs for balance, tightened my grip, pivoted, and hurled him up against the wall of the garage. The force took all the air from his body as I put my forearm on his throat.
“Are you insane?” I asked him, staring into his eyes as I applied slow pressure to his esophagus, making him raise his head. “You could have really hurt him.”
His eyes were huge.
Everyone was talking at once.
“Let him go, Stefan, he’s just drunk,” someone said.
“Stefan,” Ben said from beside me, his hand on my left shoulder. “You’re bleeding. Let him go so I can look at you. I wanna look at you.”
“Watch out,” I warned him before I released my hold, spun the guy around, and threw him up against the side of the house as hard as I could. He grunted with the impact, and I twisted his arm up behind him, smashing his face into the hard brick. I leaned in close to whisper in his ear. “Get outta here, man, and if I see you anywhere near him again, I will break your fuckin’ jaw.”
When I let go, he slid down the wall and made a puddle at my feet. Somebody grabbed my arm, and I whirled around, ready to throw down.
“Wait-wait-wait,” Rand half yelled, half laughed, his hands up. “It’s me, it
’s just me.”
I stared into the vivid blue eyes and realized that for the first time in all the years that I’d known the man that I had never, ever seen him smile. It was mind-numbing, even more so because it was directed at me. In the middle of chaos, his lip curled up at the corner, his eyes sparkling, the way he sighed, had me at an absolute loss.
His smile widened. “Not sure if you wanna hit me, too, huh?”
I stepped back as Charlotte brushed by Rand and flung herself into my arms.
“Are you all right?”
“Fine,” I said, taking a quick breath.
“I had no idea he would—oh God, baby, you’re bleeding.” She caught her breath, clutching me tight before grabbing the front of my shirt and yanking me forward, away from the crowd.
“I’m okay, Char.”
“Holy shit, Stef,” Kristin breathed, suddenly there as well, having brushed by Charlotte, her hands on my face, her fingers in my hair. “That was amazing. I had no idea you could—”
“What? Fight?” I scowled at her, pulling back, wiping at my mouth. There was blood on my hand, and I could feel the sting from where I’d been caught in the lip and jaw. I pulled off my blue dress shirt first and then the white T-shirt underneath. It was already stained with blood, so I used it to clean myself off. I felt a hand on my back, and when I turned, another bridesmaid, Alison Ford, was there.
“Are you all right?”
I nodded as her hand ran down my spine.
“Look at you,” she said before our eyes met.
“What?”
“Stefan.” She cleared her throat. “You totally manhandled that guy.”
“Oh yeah?” I smiled at her, throwing my T-shirt into the trashcan closest to me before I turned to face her. “That do it for you?”
She nodded, giving me a wicked grin. “A little bit, yeah.”
I gave her a smile before Charlotte turned my face back to her.
“Now you know I know that you can handle yourself,” she growled, her head swiveling around to look for her cousin. “But I am gonna kill Brandon Holloway.”
“Don’t kill anybody,” I soothed her, “handcuffs on your big day would be really tacky.” I headed toward the house. Halfway there, I saw Ben’s father. He motioned me to him.
“I’m sorry about that, sir,” I said as I closed in on him.
“No,” he shook his head, looking into my face. “He was out of line, and he won’t be at the wedding. Trying to cripple my son is not designed to make me happy.”
I nodded. “I’m just gonna go clean up.”
“I like Charlotte,” he went on, and I waited, “but the rest of her people are trash. This is only the latest example of that.”
I stood there frozen, mute. Charlotte’s family was the salt of the earth type. Her cousin was drunk, and that was all. And besides, no family was without its loose cannons. One bad apple did not poison the whole bunch, no matter how the saying went.
He motioned to the house. “Go inside, son.”
In the hall bathroom, I washed my face, checked my nose and my bottom lip, and was about to leave when Ben opened the door and came in.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.”
“He could have really hurt me.”
“I know.” I smiled indulgently. “That’s why I stopped him.”
“It was so fast.”
“C’mon, let’s go back out.”
“Stefan.” He caught his breath, blocking me from leaving, his eyes locked on mine.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you know what a hit in the back of the head could’ve done to me? I mean, what was I thinking looking away from that guy—that was so stupid.”
“You didn’t know he was going to try and attack you,” I assured him. “What are you, psychic now?”
“But… nobody else could’ve… if you hadn’t been here….” He trailed off, standing there, trembling and needing me to do something.
I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him close. His gasp made me smile as he leaned into me, clutching me tight, his face buried in my shoulder.
“It’s okay,” I soothed him, rubbing circles on his back. “You’re just scared. It’ll pass.”
His hand slid across the small of my back as he pressed against me. I could feel his heart hammering in his chest. The knock on the door was unexpected, and I was even more surprised to find Rand there.
“Ben,” Rand said coolly, squinting at him.
“I just came in to check on Stefan.”
“Good, now go comfort Charlotte, because she’s freaking out.”
He nodded but seemed hesitant to leave.
“Now,” Rand ordered.
Ben was out of there without another word. I tried to leave, too, but Rand grabbed my arm, holding me there.
“What do you want?” I snapped, trying to yank my bicep free of his grasp.
“Can I just look at you, please?” he said calmly, letting me go.
“Why?”
“You’re such an idiot,” he said, moving forward, his hands on my face as he lifted my chin and checked me over.
I froze under his touch, not sure what to do.
“I had no idea you could fight, Stefan.”
Since when did he call me Stefan? “Why? ’Cause I’m—”
“Stop.” He sighed, brushing my hair back from my face, scrutinizing me. “You’re a helluva lot tougher than I gave you credit for.”
I wanted to laugh, wanted to make some smartass, snide remark about him underestimating homos, but I just couldn’t bring myself to trade quips with him like usual. I didn’t feel like sparring with him. I just wanted him to keep being nice to me.
Standing there, I realized again how massive Rand Holloway really was, especially in comparison to me. Not that he was one of those bodybuilder types—the man was more swimmer than linebacker—but the shoulders were broad and his chest wide, and I knew from seeing him without a shirt many a time that his stomach, with his six-pack abs, was a work of art. He had the whole vee-line to him, and he was big; the top of my head would have notched right under his chin if he were to ever pull me into his arms. I was aware of his size and the heat radiating off his body, the scent of his skin, and the tender way that he was touching me. I could barely breathe.
“Your right eye is gonna be beautiful tomorrow,” he assured me, his voice hoarse.
I grinned, lifting my hands to his forearms, thinking to move them off me. It was hard to think with him touching me. “I’ll look great in pictures.”
“You always look good.”
I always looked good? My fingers were closed around his wrists, but he didn’t let me go, still holding my face in his hands.
I stared up into his eyes. “Ask you a question?”
“G’head.”
“Are you drunk?”
His grin fired his eyes, made them glow a gorgeous shade of deep sea blue. “No. Are you?”
I shook my head just a little.
“What?”
I could only stare at him.
He chuckled, and the sound came from deep in his chest. “You’re wondering why we’re speaking, right?”
Among other things.
There was a quick exhale of breath from him. “I always try and talk to you, but you usually go right for my throat, and so by the time I get a chance to get a word in edgewise, I just want it to be the worst thing I can think of.”
I was stunned. I had no idea I had any effect on him at all.
His fingers slid into my hair. “I’m not sayin’ I don’t deserve it. I reckon the first thing I ever said to you pretty much took care of us.”
I was in The Twilight Zone, I just knew it.
“But since we’re both in Char’s life, I figure our paths are gonna keep crossin’.”
I nodded.
“So how ’bout I’ll try and not be such a bastard, and in return if you could maybe talk first and shoot sec
ond, then that’d be good.”
My eyes were locked on his.
“How’d that be? We both give some.”
I smiled at him. “I could do that.” It would be a relief, actually. Hating Rand Holloway took a lot of energy every time I saw him.
He nodded and smiled slowly, his hands dropping off me to be shoved into the pockets of his jeans. “I have appreciated everything you’ve ever done for Char, Stefan, even when you were a self-righteous prick about it.”
“Me?” I was incredulous.
He laughed then, and I couldn’t help the smile that I gave him back. It was overwhelming, the sudden ease, and I was thankful.
“Let’s go put some ice on that eye, all right?”
I nodded.
We walked in silence to the living room, and I took a seat where he pointed. I was no different from anyone else; we all wanted to do whatever Rand said.
“Stefan, honey, are you all right?”
Instantly, Charlotte was all over me, as were the rest of the bridesmaids. Ben came to check on me again, and so did Charlotte’s mother. I was told to sit and eat and not move. Eating, of course, could fix anything that ailed you.
Everyone was sitting down around me by the time Rand got back with the icepack for my eye. Charlotte snatched it from him and covered the right side of my face. I was surprised when he didn’t just leave but instead took a seat on the floor next to me. Ben’s mother delivered me a plate piled high with food. After I ate, I settled back, slouching down, getting comfortable, listening to everyone talking, not wanting to move too much as Rand’s shoulder was pressed along the length of my left leg. It was stupid, and I felt like an idiot, but I couldn’t help my reaction. Not disturbing him was key.
I must have drifted off, but what woke me was Rand moving. He was no longer on the floor but beside me, shoulder-to-shoulder with me on the couch.
“You okay?” he asked, turning to look into my face.
“What?” I was groggy with sleep, aware only of his closeness, his knee against mine, and how hot my body was. Waking up to a beautiful man, there was only one place my mind could go: to the man in question buried inside me.
“You made a noise,” Rand said, his cobalt eyes locked on my face. “Are you in pain?”
Was that a trick question?