Tipping the Balance

by Koehler, Christopher

  Brad looked up to find Drew’s eyes on him, which only made him blush.

  Drew just smiled. “Dinner will be here soon. Let’s get to work before dinner gets here, though. It’s going to be a long night.”

  His face still aflame, Brad opened the file folder in which he’d haphazardly stored his contribution to the paperwork and the applications, even as Emily and Drew did the same.

  Brad had previously given what he thought he’d need in terms of salary, as well as help with tuition for classes toward his contractor’s license. Fortunately, he’d still be working part-time, even if it was at that hated job at Suburban Graveyard, and trade school wouldn’t cost that much. It was mostly to prep for the contractor’s exam. Also fortunately, all those summers working for his dad on job sites counted a long way toward the experience part of licensure, and working on the project would get him even more experience.

  But Brad was the junior partner in this endeavor, more employee than principal, and he knew it. Drew and Emily could make a bid for the job without him, but with him, their attempt was so much stronger. That was cool with him; he was in this to learn, after all.

  An excuse for spending large amounts of time with Drew, looking at Drew, thinking about Drew, was just a fringe benefit, and with Drew and Emily poring over the electronic applications, he was free to watch Drew.

  And get caught looking.

  Drew, feeling eyes on him, looked up, and Brad didn’t look away quite fast enough. Drew smiled at him and went back to work.

  Brad was rescued from embarrassment by the arrival of dinner. “I’ll get it!” he said when the doorbell rang.

  Before Drew could stop him, Brad bounced out of his chair and made it to the door before Drew or Emily had saved their work, let alone gotten money out.

  Brad set the takeout containers on the table. “Stay seated, you guys. Just tell me where the plates and flatware are.”

  “You mean besides the kitchen?” Emily said.

  “Ha ha,” Brad said. “Drew?”

  Drew stood up anyway. “I’ll show you. I need to get drinks, anyway.”

  Drew led the way into the cozy kitchen. “Plates are there above the sink and to the right,” Drew said, pointing, “flatware in the drawer next to the dishwasher.”

  Drew reached up to get glasses from the cupboard next to the plates. Brad brushed by him as he reached for the dishes, their bodies almost touching. “Thanks,” Brad breathed, almost in his ear.

  Drew pulled two bottles of mineral water from the fridge. The kitchen wasn’t that small. He wondered if something was up with Brad. It sure seemed like it, the way he’d caught Brad looking several times. It felt like Brad was trying to send him a message, but he couldn’t figure out what. Since Brad was straight—his sexuality wasn’t even on the agenda—Drew couldn’t imagine what it might be.

  Then he stopped cold. What if Brad was pulling out? Granted, they could do the job without him, but not as easily. But if Brad had to back out, why was he even there, and why bother giving them his numbers?

  Drew shook his head. This was driving him nuts. He really liked Brad and enjoyed every minute they spent together, but maybe Nick had a point. Maybe Brad Sundstrom just wasn’t friend material, at least not for Drew. The thought just made Drew sad.

  Drew set glasses down in front of Emily and Brad and the water in the middle of the table. “I see you found the pad thai.”

  Emily beamed. “Thank you so much!” At Brad’s quizzical look, she said, “My wife’s allergic to peanuts. The only time I get things like this is when she’s not around.”

  “Whoa, that’s got to be rough,” Brad said.

  “You have no idea,” Emily said, speaking with a mouth full of noodles.

  “Peanuts are in everything,” Drew said, slowly licking the peanut sauce off his lips, “but hmmm, oh so good.”

  Drew felt Brad’s eyes on him, burning in their intensity. He felt the air between them crackle with charge. Brad leaned toward him, head cocked….

  Then he jumped up, knocking over his chair and spilling his water. “Shit! I… I’m sorry, I can’t… I gotta go!”

  With a final terrified glance over his shoulder, Brad bolted from the house.

  “What the hell was that?” Emily said.

  Drew shook his head slowly. “I have no idea. I know he’s been under some stress lately, but that….”

  Emily tossed her fork down in frustration. “We need his signature.”

  “I’ll get it from him tomorrow,” Drew said, wondering how he was going to track Brad down when it was obvious the guy didn’t want to be followed. “Besides, he left his computer.”

  Emily looked at Drew long enough to make him squirm. “What?” he said.

  “What’s going on between you two?” she said finally.

  “Nothing,” Drew said, not entirely sure he was right.

  “Please, Drew. Even I could feel something in the air between the two of you.”

  Drew thought about telling her, but as good a friend as Emily was, he didn’t want to analyze this right now. They had too much to do. “I really don’t know. If you’d asked me this even earlier this evening, I’d have said nothing, but that little performance?”

  “Yeah, exactly. You know what it reminds me of?” Emily said thoughtfully. “It reminds me of when Melissa and I were first going out. I coaxed her out of the closet, you know.”

  “No shit?” Drew said. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah, she had a fiancé and everything, but my womanly charms were too much for her to deny,” Emily said.

  “They are pretty formidable,” Drew said, “or so I’d imagine.”

  Emily rolled her eyes. “The point is, Melissa had a nearly identical freak-out, only we weren’t pushing a deadline for a career-making opportunity.”

  “Right, back to work,” Drew said. “I’ll hunt him down tomorrow in between showings and that nervous breakdown I keep putting off.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod….

  Brad locked the bathroom door behind him and slowly slid to the floor, his mind a maelstrom. He didn’t remember the drive home, but he figured it was the blank in between running out of Drew’s place and running into his room. He was just glad Randall and Philip weren’t home.

  Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod….

  He couldn’t believe himself, but he just had to get out of there before he did something catastrophically stupid, and given his lax definitions, that would’ve been saying something.

  Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod….

  “Get a grip, asswipe,” he muttered as he hauled himself up.

  He turned on the faucet, splashing himself with cold water. He slapped himself in the face. Hard. Anything to cut off the loop running through his mind.

  He looked at himself in the mirror, water running down his cheeks. His gaze fell to his lips. He raised a hand and touched them.

  He’d really wanted to know what Drew’s tasted like. Drew had captivated him all evening, but seeing him lick his lips during dinner… that made him dizzy with desire. He’d been buzzing on Drew all evening, just grooving on being around him, but seeing the other man lick his lips short-circuited his brain. Snap, crackle, pop! He was surprised smoke didn’t pour out his ears.

  When he caught himself leaning in to taste those lips, he panicked. He’d almost kissed another man.

  Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod….

  Suddenly Brad understood that mysterious language he’d heard at the gym. There, at dinner, he finally made out that strange music in the air. It was the language of desire, a song of love, as each man, aware of himself and those around him, sought to draw others to him. When he’d noticed the guy checking out his ass during his warm-up stretch, it had confused him. In the locker room, it had aroused him.

  But now he understood exactly what it meant, and it terrified him.

  Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod….

  Was he gay? Bi? He didn’t know. Both term
s conjured images that he didn’t recognize, that he prayed didn’t apply to him. The lisping faggot, the limp-wristed theater crowd, the cocksucker. Even at relatively liberal California Pacific, there’d been the divisions between the jocks, the real men, on the one hand, and the… not-manly-enough guys on the other.

  Brad didn’t have a word for them besides “fag,” even though the word felt dirty. Never mind that there were gay athletes too. He’d known some and had his ass kicked in crew by one. His coach had been a gay athlete too. Neither of them were fags. Was Drew a fag? Brad shied away from the thought.

  But somehow, to like guys sexually was to be less than a man. He couldn’t shake that idea from his mind. He’d heard it all his life. His dad certainly thought that, at least based on what Brad had heard Randall say and what he’d heard at construction sites. Hell, they were where he’d learned to be macho, to puff up his chest and posture and stare guys down.

  But… he’d wanted to kiss another man. Did that make him a fag? The thought made his heart race.

  “You’re a homo,” he whispered, but that didn’t feel quite right. “You thought you were straight, but you’re not. You’re bi-curious,” he proclaimed, hamming it up a bit, but he knew that wasn’t true, either. He felt a hell of a lot more than curious where Drew was concerned.

  He’d heard jocks say, “I’m gay for you, bro,” around the gym or around friends’ frat houses. They hadn’t meant it, not like that. Maybe that was what he was. Maybe he was gay for Drew.

  He wondered what that would mean. He didn’t even know how it would work if they were both guys. Which one of them would be the man and which the woman? He was bigger, so maybe he’d be the man, but what if Drew demanded it? Drew had way more experience like that. Would Drew want to… to… to him? He couldn’t even complete the thought.

  Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod….

  No. Just… no.

  He pulled out his mobile phone. There were a couple of messages, probably from Drew. He couldn’t listen to them.

  He flipped through the address book until he found what he was looking for. He selected the number and hit the call button.

  “Hey there, Rico!” he said, voice full of false cheer. “Yeah, not bad…. So listen. I need to get shitfaced and get laid, bro. Where’s the party tomorrow?”

  Drew woke Saturday morning only reluctantly and only after his alarm clock screamed at him for the third time. After that, his sense of responsibility took over and he hauled himself upright, but what a night.

  He and Emily had finished all the applications last night after Brad’s freak-out, but they still needed Brad’s signature on those applications that had to be submitted physically, including the one to the city for the renovation itself. He’d left Brad three messages last night and one more this morning, each firmer than the last. He also texted the locations of his two Saturday open houses. If Drew had to, he’d corner Brad at home on Sunday. They had a few days of wiggle-room on the submissions that couldn’t be turned in online, and fortunately the big one could be delivered in person.

  But still.

  And the dead elephant in the drawing room needed naming. Last night had just been weird, Drew reflected as he shaved, even before Brad ran screaming out of his house.

  Because Emily had been right. There had been a current in the air. Drew had noticed it the first time he caught Brad looking at him, and it continued right up until he thought Brad was about to kiss him… right before bolting.

  And what an ego boost that hadn’t been.

  Drew wiped his face clean, looking at himself in the mirror. He’d really thought Brad was about to kiss him, and apparently Brad thought so too.

  He needed another perspective. He glanced at his watch. If he hurried, he might still catch Nick at the boathouse. School started next week, so the returning rowers would already have a steady practice schedule.

  Still at the boathouse? Drew sent to Nick’s cell phone.

  For another 40 minutes or so. Why? Nick replied.

  Guess. Drew flinched as he hit “send.” He could just guess how Nick would respond.

  Nick didn’t disappoint. Again? This is getting to be a pattern.

  Three times is a pattern. Twice is just taking advantage of your sage counsel, Drew typed.

  No, three times is a cry for help. Hurry up. Morgan and I are spending the weekend in San Francisco before classes resume.

  And once again, Drew was off to the CalPac boathouse before hitting the open-house circuit on a Saturday morning, but Nick was right. It really was getting to be a pattern.

  Drew walked into the boathouse with lattes in hand. “Here you go.”

  Nick took his. “Hmmm, coffee. All may be forgiven.”

  “I figured I’d better not push my luck, and I drive right by a Starbucks,” Drew said, smiling over his own latte. “So… next time, what’ll it be, stock certificates? Gold?”

  “Next time?”

  “We both know there’ll be one,” Drew said, shrugging, “so what’ll it cost me?”

  Nick smiled. “Just your eternal regard.”

  “You’ve already got that,” Drew said.

  “Then everything will be just fine. So what can I do for you?” Nick said, shepherding Drew out to the deserted dock, where a beautiful summer morning was just getting started. “Since you’ve got to get to work and I’ve got a warm and willing Morgan waiting for me to take him to the city for a weekend of debauchery—”

  “Yeah, right,” Drew scoffed.

  “—a weekend of museums and walks along Lands End,” Nick continued with a glare, “I’ll shorthand this for you. Brad?”

  “Brad,” Drew sighed.

  “I warned you,” Nick said.

  “I guess that’s better than ‘I told you so’,” Drew said. “Keeping it brief, we were finalizing the bid for the Bayard House last night. During dinner, I thought he was going to kiss me. You just know sometimes, right? I mean, he leaned toward me and everything, but he freaked the fuck out and ran from my house like a frightened schoolboy.”

  “That’s an unexpected development,” Nick said.

  Drew stared at him. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

  Nick shrugged. “What do you want me to say? You were right, I was wrong. It sounds like Brad may be switching teams. So what’s the problem?”

  “So what’s the—the problem is that he ran screaming out of my house after aborting a kiss. Nick, I really like this guy. Help out with some magic coaching words that’ll help me unlock his heart,” Drew said.

  “I don’t have any magic words,” Nick said, putting an arm around his friend. “This is why we don’t go after men who are ‘bi-curious’ or ‘questioning their sexuality’. It’s not because we don’t like their answers, it’s because we get hurt.”

  Drew rested his head on Nick’s shoulder. “I thought we were friends, he and I, but he’s totally ignoring me.”

  “What do you expect? You’ve shown him a part of himself he didn’t know existed. You’re radioactive, now. You’re kryptonite.”

  “But I still need his signature on the bid for the Bayard House. On top of everything else, his personal issues are making this damned complicated, and I certainly don’t need any more anxiety about it,” Drew said.

  “I’d say something about mixing business with pleasure, but I’m dating one of my rowers and have apparently incurred the wrath of the oversight committee,” Nick said, “so I’m probably not the best authority to cite.”

  “Yeah, that does kind of let the wind out of your sails on that score, doesn’t it?” Drew agreed. “But dating? You two are so married.”

  “Not yet. Maybe when Morgan graduates,” Nick said, blushing.

  “So what am I going to do?” Drew said.

  “What do you want to do?” Nick countered.

  “I want to sit him down and kiss the stuffing out of him after I bitch him out for running off like that,” Drew said. “So instead I’ll leave him alone until tomorr
ow and then try to get his signature for the bid. I won’t bring up kisses that might’ve been.”

  Nick nodded. “Sounds like the right approach.”

  “And I’ll let him take the next step about anything personal,” Drew added.

  “I’d been hoping for ‘I’ll give up this notion of luring him out of the closet,’ but I guess if you haven’t by now, you’re not going to, not with him almost kissing you,” Nick said.