“Oh,” I say. Rebecca, my girlfriend pops into my mind.
“Perhaps about the program and our contribution,” she goes on, like she’s sensing my hesitation. I know she’s saying it’s all work, but the hopeful tone in her voice suggests other things.
I glance up and catch Tyson looking at me with a quirked eyebrow. I give a short shake of my head as I pull out my phone. I need to stay focused on the goal here. To secure funding for the program. “Sure,” I say, handing my phone over. She taps hers in and adds her name to the contact. Then, I take it back and call her, so she has mine. It’s a nervous chuckle that comes out of me as I hope to god she never calls. I just don’t want to be the one to fuck up the donation for the Basketball Boys Club by blowing Priscilla off.
Maybe Rebecca would understand.
Or maybe what I’m looking for is an excuse.
Because, yes, I tell myself that what I should be hoping is that she doesn’t call but I’ve been admiring her since she got here even though it was on a read-only status. It was only because I thought that I would probably see her once again, at most. Now, that she has my number, I wonder if I should have been more distant. How do I acknowledge that I haven’t felt chemistry like this with my own girlfriend in a long time even though I have no plans to break up with Rebecca?
As we say goodbye and Priscilla guides the little lady of steel away from me, this time Ian playing the role of second crutch, I feel the thoughts that I’ve been having lately bubble up. The ones I’ve been trying to keep suppressed. The part of me that knows that Rebecca is safe. That I like her, but I don’t love her and probably never will. I already know her. I don’t want to have to build another relationship with another woman a relationship that I don’t know that I even want because there is someone else that took my heart three years ago.
Even though it feels like that afternoon with Davis happened just moments ago.
8
Chapter 8
I’m running late into work but not too late as I step into the back door of the bar. My phone vibrates in my pocket, I take it from my shorts and hit receive without even checking who it is. “Hey babe!” I greet Rebecca, feeling more than a little like a dick. The Priscilla thing really set me off my axis. The ensuing thoughts of Davis. But, I need to shake it off. Hearing her voice, remembering how loyal she is to me, how much she loves me, that will set me straight.
“Hey, dear.” My mother’s voice sounds cheery even though it’s a little scratchy.
“Sorry, mom,” I say, realizing that I haven’t gotten around to calling her this week. “I thought you were Rebecca. I just walked into work.”
“I figured as much,” she says. Her voice is distant for a second, “George, I have your son on the line!”
I hear another receiver pick up. Then, they’re both on the phone with me. “Mom. Dad. I really would love to talk but I’m standing inside the door to my job right now.”
“So, the phones do work up there in Chicago,” Dad says.
“Yes, dad. They do,” I say, “About as well as they work in Michigan.” It’s annoying that they need to talk right this moment. I don’t ask him to get to the point though I wish he would.
“No need to get smart mouthed,” Dad replies. I hear the humor in his voice. He and I both share a sharp tongue.
The one thing about moving to Chicago is that I’m away from my parents and I miss them terribly. More than I thought I would when I was desperate to get out of Fairview after the Davis incident. More than I would have guessed seeing as I was looking forward to getting away from that small town once I realized if I stayed, I was going to be a kid forever. All of that makes conversations hard with them. Every time I hear their voices, I must relive the fact that I moved up here to escape from them.
And from Mr. Clay.
The same Mr. Clay that my mind doesn’t even let me pretend I’m not obsessed with anymore. I crave Davis almost as much as I did before, if not more. There’s absolutely nothing to be done about it. Unless I occupy my mind, I’d think about him every second of the day.
“You haven’t called, love,” my mother says I can smell beer and something delicious stewing in the kitchen as I make my way to the employee room.
“I know. I’m sorry. Things have been a little busy.”
“I sure they have,” she says. “We get worried if you don’t call.” This is about as far as my mother will go with the guilt. I’m thankful for that.
“I’ll try to call more,” I promise. There really isn’t any time. Well, there is time, but I just can’t afford to get into the whole why did you move away conversation every day. “How are you guys?”
“We’re good honey. I have a little summer cold, but that’s about it. Dad’s working hard. Finished that project for the Andersons. Didn’t you go to school with their son?”
“Yeah. Andrew.”
“That’s right. That’s him. He’s getting married this fall, I hear. How’s Rebecca doing?”
“She’s fine,” I say. My parents were so happy when I told them I’d found a girl up here. Though they wished it’d happened over there where they could be closer. My mother wanted to know every detail about her. She’s been more than hinting how happy she would be if I “settled down.” My dad tells me to play the field, at least when we talk one on one. He knows the true story of how Rebecca was my roommate first. He has backward ideas about the kind of girls that “roommate” with guys. Namely, that you should not make her your wife.
“I guess you’re going to be hanging out with Jordan in a week, huh?” Dad cuts in.
“Jordan? Dad, I tell you every time we talk: Jordan lives in New York. I’m in Chicago. Plus, we’re not—”
“Yadda, yadda, yadda. I know. ‘There’s no sense in the two of you being friends when you live so far away, etcetera.’ All I know is that distance would never keep me apart from someone who’s basically family to me.”
“Dad, I can’t get into this with you.” I put my parents on speakerphone as I focus on getting ready to start work. I remove my clothes from my duffle and start pulling on a pair of black pants and a white short-sleeved button-down marked with the O’Reilly’s logo on the front.
My dad and I don’t argue but when I up and left three years ago, I could tell he was close to pulling rank on me to make me stay. I don’t know what I would have done if he had. He tried to convince me to change my mind the whole drive from Fairview to Chicago even though I’d already put down my deposit on an apartment.
When that didn’t work, he made it clear that he thought I belonged in New York where I would at least “have someone around.” I explained to him that Jordan and I weren’t exactly friends anymore. It bothers him so much because it’s confusing to him. I want to tell him the whole story; he’s certainly asked for it enough times. And I get it: how could you stop being friend with your best friend just like that? I long to come clean about it but I can’t get into it without talking about Davis.
And that afternoon.
And the way he touched me.
The way just one touch of his mouth set me off.
How can you tell your dad that you threw yourself at his friend? It would crush him. That his friend made you cum? He would probably disown me and die.
“Fine,” he says, “But either way, he and Davis will be in town next week. Your mom and I expect you to take them around and show them the city a little like you did when we were up there.”
Ugh. He’s pulling rank. Show them around? There’s no time. “Wait, them?” I say, realizing what he’s said, “Jordan and Davis—uh, Mr. Clay—are going to be in town?”
“Yes,” my mom chimes in, “They’ll both be there. Didn’t your dad tell you? One of Davis’s early sculptures was bought by some Hollywood actress and now, he’s on his way to being an art darling. I think that’s what they call it. Isn’t it ‘art darling,’ George?”
“Yes, I told you,” my dad says. “Art darling, he is now. It’s crazy—”
> “What?” I say, incredulous. My dad told me that Davis had started doing wood and steel sculptures once I moved to Chicago, but I had no idea they were that good or that he was even selling them. I was always so focused on pretending like I didn’t care about Davis when we talked that I’d missed this.
Dad says, “It’s crazy because Jordan went to school for this stuff and now people are starting to know him as Davis Clay’s son. You haven’t seen his stuff? It’s online. I think he even has something at one of the schools up there. I’ll ask him when I see him tonight. You’ve got to see this stuff. It’s out of this world. And you know your dad doesn’t even know anything about art but it’s really cool stuff.”
I can’t think. My mind races. Davis is an artist now? I guess I knew that on some level. At least that he was dabbling. There were jokes about it being in the blood because Jordan is an artist, too.
And now, he’s was going to be in Chicago.
We’re going to be in the same city.
The man that I had fantasized about endlessly, the one I was desperate to put out of my mind.
“You still there?” my mom asks.
“Yes, Mom,” I say. My co-worker Edson enters the changing room, hears the exchange and gives me a commiserating smile. “But, I really need to go. I’m already late.”
9
Chapter 9
My shift goes terribly. I’m emotionally feverish, hot and cold. No matter what I do, my thoughts turn to Davis.
When my thoughts do settle on him, I try to yank them away. It’s all I can do to keep pulling pints and setting up shots of Johnny Walker. Just the mention of Davis, the mere knowledge that he will be in the same town as me, has me going crazy.
My stupid body is mutinous. Never in my life has an apron been so useful. It’s on and off hiding my erection all night because when I think about Davis, I always remember the long, lean leg muscles of his hairy legs. The perfection of his arms when he lays up a shot. The way his abs pull and stretch.
My brain dredges up that fateful afternoon, repeatedly. How I made such a fool of myself.
“Chris,” he said, “have you ever been with a man?”
“No. I swear.”
“You never messed around with my son?”
“No. I’m telling you. I only like girls. Just fucking let it go.” I didn’t want him to let it go. I was trying to figure out how to tell him that it was like my skin was on fire, since he touched me.
“You missed that one, then. Jordan’s been in love with you his whole life. Your father and I used to talk about the two of you getting married.”
“He’s my friend. Nothing more.”
“Okay,” Mr. Clay said. He walked away from me. I felt my face to see if I was sweating. Finally, I could kind of breathe again, though I still felt hot all over. My upper right thigh was soaking wet. I willed my dick to go down but instead, it throbbed. My friend’s dad had just sucked my nipple. Of course, he only did it for fun, to prove a point…but still I’d came. I’d had to run out of the room. And I was still hard. I was the horniest I’d ever been in my life and it was my best friend’s straight dad who’d turned me on.
The world was upside down.
I needed to get out of there.
I started walking to the door to exit the house.
Mr. Clay laughed. “Going to jerk off?”
“No!”
“Sorry. It’s just that you and your friend were in such a hurry.”
I glanced down at my shorts. My hard dick was visible. I could see a little bit of moisture seeping through.
“I just need to get out of here.”
“You know, I’ve never been with a guy before either. Though, I hear it’s supposed to be pretty amazing.”
“Who’d you hear that from? Gay.com?”
“Not exactly, but close. After Jordan came out to me, I did some research. You know, into being gay. I saw this one video where this dude came without even touching himself, others where people dress up completely in rubber. Saw this one video where three guys were connected like Legos back to front. Lots of crazy stuff, some of it’s interesting. You know, whatever floats your boat.”
Fuck.
By the time a young guy named Bryson walks in and perches on a stool, I’m nearly at my fucking wits end. “Ah, my favorite least favorite customer! What’ll it be, Bryson? The usual?”
He lays his phone on the counter. Eyes the shelves behind my head as if he’s making a selection.
“Anytime today,” I prod him.
He rolls his eyes and I reach for the bottle of scotch. I pour him a couple fingers of the amber liquid, re-affix the top and set the bottle to the side. I slide the glass in front of him. Bryson hands over his card—Amex Black Card—and I accept it. It’s a well-tuned dance we have, the two of us. I’m happy for the distraction, though I’d never tell him that. “What’s good?” I say.
Because bartenders are like this. Gregarious and making conversation with their guests. Absolutely not obsessing over a man back in their hometown who wants nothing to do with them. A man almost twice their age who thinks of them as a kid.
“Me? I’m fine. What’s up with you?” he asks.
“What?” I ask.
“When I walked up it looked like you were ready to kills someone. And, you’re giving me lip.” He wags his finger toward my face. “Now, you’re scowling like you got hot sand in your pussy.”
“Not true, Bryson. No scowls.” I smile. “And no sand. I just douched yesterday.”
“Yech!” he says, “Keep your private life to yourself, gurl.” Then, he gives me a big smile. “So, what is it? Family trouble? Friend trouble?” He tilts his head. “Boy trouble? You can tell Bryson.”
I glare at him.
“Don’t give me that look, Mr. Bartender. You know I’m going to win you over to this side one day.”
I roll my eyes. This is part of the routine. Bryson hits on me, flatters me shamelessly, and I rebuff him. I know if I told him to really cut it out, he would. So, I tolerate it. It’s something to do and it gives us something to talk about that I already know the words for. However, today, he’s hitting a little close to home. That’s not Bryson’s fault, I tell myself.
It’s not his fault that I’ve come all this way to escape from Davis and he gets to just pop up like this.
“You wish,” I say. “If I came over to that side you wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
“Whoo, child!” he says, “I bet you I’d figure it out!” He gives me a cocky grin.
I mirror it back to him. The motherfucker.
“You see that Black Card?” he asks.
“Yeah. Yeah. I know,” I say. We’ve had this conversation.
“The boys are bending over for less,” he reminds me.
“And like I always say, you need better boys. You’re shopping at the Dollar Store with an Amex. Makes me wonder why…”
He shoots me a devilish look. “You’re not that sexy. You know that right? Don’t nobody want no confused-ass straight boy, anyway. And, for the record, I don’t get with those type of boys. I was talking about boys with a capital B. Boys in general.”
He taps the bar. I go to grab the bottle, but he says, “I’m not ready just yet. I’m just trying to make a point. It’s called being emphatic.”
Taking Lead Page 5