A Fool and His Manny

by Amy Lane

  Quinlan glared at him and then looked at Nica for help. Anything—from a “That wasn’t polite” to “Dustin!” C’mon, Nica—anything?

  But Nica had taken an instant dislike to Mads, and apparently she was siding with her oldest on this one.

  “It is, right?” Nica said. “I mean, I know he has friends—we’ve met Bobbie and Chrissy—”

  “And Sammy!” Petey chimed in, grinning.

  “Well, duh.” Mads rolled his eyes. “Didn’t he get Quinlan the job?”

  “Duh!” Petey’s eye roll was way more epic than Madison’s. “I was being facetious. Because it’s cute, right? That Sammy is his oldest friend and my cousin.”

  Mads flushed—apparently being schooled by a seven-year-old in “facetiousness” was a little embarrassing. “You have a really good vocabulary.”

  “The youngest children in a family of college-educated parents tend to rank higher on intelligence tests,” Conroy said complacently. “I’m in the middle, so I’m only outstanding half the time. Most of the time, I’m above average.”

  “All the time,” Quinlan said, grinning. Conroy was sitting next to him, and Quinlan put his hand down for a low five. Conroy didn’t leave him hanging.

  “I didn’t want to blow my own horn,” he said modestly, and Quinlan gave him back.

  “Never.”

  “Well, I’m only the post-stupid oldest child,” Dustin said, sarcasm dripping from his mouth like Nica’s best sauce dripped from their pasta. “But I was pretty certain we’d met most of Quinlan’s musician friends. Where has he been hiding you?”

  “Apparently in a foxhole to keep him from being eaten by wolves!” Quinlan joked desperately. “We just, you know, didn’t have a moment until now.”

  “Mm-hm.” Dustin took a bite of bread and closed his eyes. Nica used real butter and fresh parmesan. “Did you at least try my mother’s bread, Mads?”

  “I’m afraid it’s got cheese and butter on it,” Mads said apologetically. “The salad is fine, thank you.”

  Dustin made eye contact with Quinlan and mouthed, “Bacon?”

  Oh crap. The salad dressing had bacon in it.

  Quinlan clapped his hand over his eyes and mouthed “Oh crap!” while Dustin hid his smirk behind his hand.

  Wonderful.

  For a moment he and Dustin were of the same mind, and in that pause at the table, all was right with the world.

  “Mads,” he whispered as Tay launched into a monologue of why she would need a new backpack over the summer, because little kids were using the backpack she’d used this year and that simply would not stand.

  “What?”

  “There’s bacon in the salad dressing.”

  Mads narrowed his eyes. “What in the hell? Is there anything at this table I can eat?”

  “I’m sorry! I forgot you’d converted this year. There’s plain noodles, but—”

  “Eggs.” Mads let out a breath. “Okay, fine. I’ve got something at home.” He looked woefully at the mostly eaten salad on his plate. “It’s really good,” he sighed.

  “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

  Mads shrugged. “In for a penny, in for a pound,” he muttered and took another bite. Then he looked up at the bread basket and audibly swallowed. “Mrs. Robbins-Grayson? If it’s okay, I changed my mind. I think I will have some bread.”

  Reluctantly, Quinlan warmed toward him. It was a good-sport thing to do.

  Fortunately dessert was lime sherbet, so there was nothing to worry about there. Quinlan offered to do the dishes, and Dustin seconded before Mads could even get a word in edgewise. They stood, hip to hip in comfortable silence, while the family grilled the ever-loving crap out of Quinlan’s dinner guest in the next room.

  Quinlan was growing increasingly aware of Dustin’s adult-sized, heat-throwing body next to his.

  “So,” Dustin said quietly when they were almost done, “were you trying to scare him away?”

  “I didn’t expect everybody to hate him so much,” Quinlan said woefully. “He’s not a bad guy.”

  “Yeah. But he’s not the right guy,” Dustin said, rinsing out the sink.

  “Dustin,” Quinlan said, using his parent voice, “you really need to stop obsessing about my love life.”

  Dustin turned toward him so they were chest to chest. Quinlan had two alert systems going off in his head—there was the “Don’t back down from the kids!” alert system that had pretty much kept him alive for the last seven years and then, quieter but more intense, like the beating of war drums from a distance, was the “Hot male body! Retreat!” alert system, the one that had allowed him to be sexless and self-contained for the last four.

  He didn’t move, but his calf muscles kept flexing like he was getting ready to run.

  “I’m not obsessing about your love life,” Dustin responded, his voice a low gravel. “I’m obsessing about my love life.”

  Quinlan swallowed and—dammit—rocked back on his heel. “Are you seeing somebody?” he asked, trying for the bright, interested tone of a parent. What came out was a sort of unhappy rasp.

  Dustin looked him up and down, speculation in his eyes. “I will be,” he declared after a silence so uncomfortable Quinlan felt his skin tingle and his cheeks heat. “Just as soon as he gets back from tour.”

  Parent voice activate. “Dustin….”

  “Hey, you guys done yet?” Mads walked in from the living room, and Quinlan’s entire body relaxed as he turned away from the intensity of Dustin’s flat-eyed gaze to Mads’s relatively undemanding presence.

  “Yeah. Just, uh, finishing up now,” Quinlan said, ignoring Dustin’s mocking laughter.

  “So.” Mads looked at him hopefully. “Coffee?”

  “Yeah.” He’d promised. “I’ll go start the pot.”

  He let Mads precede him out the kitchen door toward the side of the house to the stairs, when Dustin’s soft “Oh Qui-in!” stopped him.

  “What?” Quinlan asked guardedly.

  “I may be the only person on earth who knows that coffee isn’t a euphemism for sex in your apartment.”

  Quin’s flush returned. “Uh… I, well, leaving. In the morning.”

  “Mm. I’m still giving you a ride, right?”

  Quinlan nodded. He’d asked a week ago. “Unless you didn’t want to—I could always order a Lyft—”

  “Oh no.” Dustin smiled grimly. “I think I’m going to absolutely have to be the one who drives you to the airport.”

  MADS didn’t stay for coffee long.

  They talked idly—music, the tour, which Mads had been a part of for a while but wouldn’t be participating in this year, and about Bobbie and Chrissy and the men in their lives.

  At around ten thirty, Quinlan stood apologetically and yawned, and Mads grimaced. “Subtle, Quinlan. But I get it. You have to be up at three in the morning, out the door at four. Walk me out?”

  They got to the landing outside his door before Mads pressed for a kiss.

  Quinlan opened his mouth reluctantly. It wasn’t a bad kiss—just a little bland. Like eating restaurant lasagna instead of Nica’s special. He returned it dutifully and pulled back like a gentleman, not sure what to do about Madison’s sigh.

  “You’re not even giving me a chance, are you?”

  “You’re a great guy,” Quinlan told him, remembering Dustin’s words.

  “But I’m not your guy.”

  “I’m sorry.” And he was. The family’s hostility notwithstanding, it would have been great if he could have hooked up with another musician, someone who got his love of performance, who appreciated the time he spent on the road teaching.

  “You make me sad,” Mads told him bitterly. “You’ve devoted your life to these kids, and they’re going to be grown soon, and you will have pushed away anyone who could have filled the damned void.”

  “Petey’s only seven,” Quinlan told him, willing him to smile. “I’ve got a little time.”

  Mads shook his head and kissed his cheek
and turned away. “Later.”

  Quinlan had no choice but to watch him go.

  With a sigh he leaned out on the railing as Mads clattered down the landing and hopped into his car. The night was still warm—uncomfortably warm—and Quinlan spared a moment to be glad the tour extended into the Pacific Northwest for a little bit of relief from the heat.

  “Not a late night?” Dustin asked, startling him.

  Peering into the darkness of the front yard, Quinlan saw the bright ember of a cigarette glowing under the fruitless mulberry tree.

  “I thought you quit for good,” Quinlan chastised. Dustin had done it for his mother’s birthday.

  “One every couple of days.” Dustin drew deeply. “Work get-togethers, that sort of thing. You gonna tell on me?”

  Quinlan half laughed. “Not my place anymore. You’re grown, remember?”

  Dustin pitched the butt to the ground and ravaged it under his tennis shoe. “I do remember,” he said mildly. “I was just making sure you did.”

  “I remember.” Quinlan couldn’t deny it. “We’re exactly the same height now, and we can take you out in public.”

  He was rewarded with Dustin’s low laughter. “You’re funny,” Dustin said, like it was just hitting him. “You weren’t this funny when I was a kid.”

  “Not supposed to be funny when you’re trying to make sure the kid you’re watching isn’t a threat to himself or others.”

  Dustin grunted. “I wasn’t that bad.”

  “No.” He hadn’t been, Quinlan thought, chest aching. “Once you warmed up to me, you were really pretty awesome.”

  “Why’d you scare him away, Q?” Dustin came out of the shadow of the tree and stood under the landing, face lit by the soda lamp over Quinlan’s shoulder. He should have looked like a kid again—an adolescent Romeo—but he didn’t. He looked like a man, determined, thoughtful. Quinlan fought off a shiver.

  “You were right,” he said softly. “He’s a sweet guy, but not my guy.”

  “You are so lonely.”

  Quinlan stepped back, the words feeling like a slap. “I am not!”

  “You are.” Dustin stood there, just looking, like he was debating whether to come to the top of the landing. “You always have been. But it got worse, I think. After Sammy got sick. It was like… like you got scared. You realized how much people could mean to you, and you didn’t let us go, but you didn’t let anyone else in. And now you’re just… stuck.”

  “I don’t see you out there finding your soul mate!” Quinlan snapped, this entire conversation hurting him in ways he didn’t think he could be hurt.

  Dustin’s low laughter struck him again, but this time disturbingly close to his groin. “Oh, honey,” he said silkily. “You are a smart man, and smart about people, and good and kind and intuitive. It is stunning to me that you don’t know that I’ve found him already. But then, you’ve been hiding out in that apartment, in the back of the family photos, in your own heart for so long. You won’t even see my soul mate when he goes inside, brushes his teeth, changes his underwear, sets his alarm, and goes to bed.”

  Quinlan made a child’s sound. Dustin’s whiskey voice was as hypnotizing as a perfect lullaby.

  “It’s a good thing I know him when I see him,” Dustin said, like Quinlan had actually spoken. “See you in the morning, Quin.”

  “Night—” His voice squeaked and he tried again. “Night, Dusty.”

  Dustin’s chuckle lingered as he turned toward the street and walked to his car, calling “Belinda, get your ass in gear!” as he went.

  The front door of the house opened and Belinda followed, shooing the dog back in as she ran out. Apparently they’d let poor Ginger back inside after Mads had left, and Quinlan thought Mads would never know they’d actually made an effort by protecting him from the terrible hound.

  He went back inside and washed the two coffee cups, fed his fish, showered, and stripped down to his boxers for bed. His suitcase, his knapsack, and his trumpet sat, neat and tidy and ready, in the corner of his room, and as he put his phone in the jack and ran a mental rehearsal of grabbing his phone, the jack, his computer and cords, and his luggage before he ran down the stairs, he thought he could do it.

  He could close his eyes and sleep without letting the promise in Dustin’s voice unnerve him.

  Without letting the heat of his body as they’d stood together seep through his skin and remind him how to be aroused.

  Without letting Dustin’s words hurt him, taunt him, ring in the silence of his cozy, empty little sanctuary until his heart bled and he was forced to admit that Dustin was right.

  Dustin wasn’t a kid anymore, and Quinlan was a very lonely man.

  THE trip to Sac State was quiet in the dark, until Dustin said, “Hey—look. The moon on the horizon. So pretty.”

  It was the sort of thing Nica and Jacob would say in the car, and Quinlan smiled. His parents hadn’t been the talkative type—not that he remembered, anyway. Most of his time had been spent with nannies—it was one of the reasons Quinlan had felt like he knew what the job entailed, although his nannies had been much more reserved than he was. Watching Jacob and Nica talk to their children about a world filled with wonder had taught him so much about what was good in people.

  “Yeah. Almost full. I think there’s an eclipse while I’m gone. A small one.”

  “Mm. I used to mark the days on the calendar, you know? You would leave for the summer tour, I’d start making Xs until you came back.”

  “I would have thought you guys would be glad to get rid of me. Your mom was always so happy to have the kids to herself.” They usually went on vacation for a couple of weeks, and there was always the week when Grandma Stacy and Grandpa Pete took over and Mom and Dad took off on their own trip. At the end of summer, after somebody picked Quinlan up at the school, there was almost always a big family dinner and a comparing of notes and trips and pictures.

  For Quinlan that dinner, the week after it, was all the joy of Christmas and none of the worry about gifts.

  “I’m not talking about the rest of the family,” Dustin said, interrupting his anticipation. “I’m talking about me.”

  Quinlan breathed out through his nose. What to say, what to say, what to say—hey! How about truth and honesty!

  “I’ve had a couple of relationships, Dusty. They didn’t, you know. Work out so well. I couldn’t stand it if… I mean, you’re one to talk. Have you had any boyfriends?”

  “Kissed a few,” Dustin said cheerfully. “A few hand jobs. Once I thought ‘This is it! I’m going to shake my hope for Quinlan and get laid!’”

  “Only once?”

  “Yeah. And then I thought about this moment—this moment right here, when I told you I’ve been thinking about you since I was eighteen years old. And I thought of telling you, ‘Yeah, I slept with a guy because I wanted to prove to you that I knew what I was doing.’”

  Quinlan snorted. “That would be cru—”

  “Cruel. To the other guy. Yeah. That’s exactly the voice I heard in my head. And my boner died, and the moment died, and I broke it off. It’s not like going to a taster’s buffet to decide on what you want from your caterer, Q. You know what you want. I know what I want.”

  Quinlan rubbed his eyes, tired. He hadn’t gotten much sleep, and what he had gotten had been filled with dreams, confused images of Dustin hiking, Dustin working on a car, Dustin at the movies—all the Dustins he knew now as a grown-up mixed with the snarling kid he’d yanked out of the bathroom for smoking.

  “I just don’t want to get hurt,” he said, feeling stupid and peevish and whiny. But what other choice was the kid offering? Risk his friendship with Dustin—one of his favorite things about his life right now? Risk his family? Risk the carefully structured life he’d built that gave him comfort and security and a heart not at risk from anger or coldness or pain?

  “Thank you,” Dustin said, pulling into the entrance to CSUS and following the road around the campus towar
d the back parking lot.

  “For what?”

  “That was honest. That was the first honest thing you’ve said about you and me. I can’t fix it or change it or talk about it if you’re not being square. You keep hiding behind ‘I wiped your nose as a kid,’ and you’re ignoring the fact that I’m not a kid. But you tell me you’re afraid of getting hurt?” Dustin reached over the seat and squeezed Quinlan’s hand. “That part, I get. We’re all afraid of getting hurt, Q. I know which promises you need now.”

  Quinlan tried to wrap his brain around that. Which promises he needed? What in the hell did that mean?

  “Well, here we are,” Dustin said, putting the car into Park. The bus stood a few rows over, idling as students stood around it and loaded luggage or said goodbye to parents or sweethearts.

  “Thanks for the ride,” Quinlan said dutifully, seat belt unlatched, his hand on the door handle. “I’ll text everybody as soon as we hit Highway 1.”

  “Wait.” Dustin put a hand on Quin’s knee, and all the air in Quinlan’s lungs turned to ice. “This conversation isn’t over yet.”

  “But….” Bus. Students. Getting the hell away from this disturbing adult who won’t put up with my evasive bullshit!

  “C’mon, Quin,” Dustin wheedled, unhooking his seat belt and turning in the confines of the car. “Don’t I even get a kiss goodbye?”

  “We’ve… uh….” Quinlan licked his lips in nervousness and tried to find his tone. “We’ve never kissed goodbye before,” he said breathlessly.

  Dustin’s wicked smile sent his pulse into a hammering spiral in his throat, his chest, his ohmygod groin. That thing lives?

  “I think we should try it,” Dustin murmured, cupping the back of Quinlan’s head with strong fingers. “Just once.”

  Quinlan was a big man. He knew how to act with conviction. He knew how to tell a child no. But Dustin, with his lean mouth and sardonic eyes, the bit of blond scruff around his mouth and chin because he hadn’t shaved—this close up, their breath mingling, Dustin’s muscular chest dominating their space—this man wasn’t a child.

  Not even close.

  Quinlan licked his lips and opened his mouth to stop this, maybe. Maybe get Dustin to see sense. Maybe—