The Hard To Love series

by T A. McKay

  I'm actually a little shocked that Roman is still dancing at the club, and I'm really surprised that Trey is okay with it. I never imagined that a boyfriend would be accepting of his other half dancing for others, but maybe it’s because Roman keeps his clothes on. Whatever the reason, I'm happy that Trey hasn’t tried to change that part of Roman. He needs the outlet to stop him from going insane.

  I lean my head to the side and feel the cool glass of the bus window against my skin. It’s soothing after the chaotic week I’ve had. I don't know why, but all the crazies have decided that it’s time to go out into the world and party. They usually come out with the good weather, but apparently February first is the special day this year. I’ve had some new experiences this week and some I really don't want to remember. Between eating things that shouldn’t be for human consumption, and sticking things into orifices that they just shouldn’t, it’s been eventful … and disturbing. Some of the images I will never forget and I’m still shuddering at the memory of some of them.

  I close my eyes and turn my music up a little, determined to drown out everything other than the voice of Adam Lambert. I have a wide and varied taste in music, but some days only Adam will do. His music settles me; even the more upbeat songs talk to me more than anything else.

  I’m so tired that I want to fall asleep where I am, but I'm close to my stop so I can’t drift off. I can’t wait to get home. I worked a six-day shift so I now have three days off. Thankfully with having the night off for Trey’s birthday, I’ll only be back at the hospital for two days before I'm off again. They’re forcing me to take a holiday, and as much as I hate to take time off, I'm glad they did. I need a moment to catch my breath and work out what the hell is happening with my apartment. The insurance company is dragging their feet with my payment and they aren’t being very helpful explaining the reason why there was a fire in the first place. I hate being an adult.

  I open my eyes and see that I'm coming up to my stop. Letting out a weary sigh, I get up from my seat and get off the bus. I just keep in mind that I can sleep for the next three days.

  That hope is dashed as soon as I walk in through the front door to see Nathan standing there with a bottle of tequila and a pleased look on his face. I don't know what's happening, but I have a funny feeling that I'm not going to be going to bed sober tonight. “What?” I pull my headphones off as I speak.

  “I did it.”

  Nope. Going to need more than that. “You did what?”

  His huge ass smile is contagious and I find myself mimicking him. Whatever it is he is really happy about it. “I finished!”

  Now his excitement makes sense, and I’m genuinely happy for him. He’s been stressing over that job for weeks now. “That's fantastic. Does that mean you will stop being a grouchy fuck now?” I try not to laugh but I can’t help it.

  “Screw you, Florence. But the answer is yes. Mr. Donaldson is now the proud owner of the custom website that he wanted, and my ulcer can finally heal.” He shakes the bottle in my direction. “Care to join me?”

  I should say no. I should tell him that it’s been a long week and I just want to grab a shower and sleep, but the excitement on his face has me unable to do that. He looks like a kid who’s been left home alone for the first time, and I just can’t bear the thought of being the person to take away that happiness. “I need to grab a shower first, I still smell of hospital. Give me five?”

  He nods his head and unscrews the top off the bottle. “I’ll grab the glasses and meet you in the kitchen. Don't take too long or I’ll start without you.”

  Nearly exactly five minutes later, I walk into the kitchen while running my hands through my still wet hair. I slick it back before grabbing my tank top from over my shoulder. I hadn’t had time to put it on in my room so I carried it through with me. Now as Nathan stands and stares at me, I think that maybe it was a mistake.

  His eyes are stuck on my chest and he looks like a man that's seeing food after starving for a month. My breath gets stuck in my throat and my body erupts with goose bumps. I’ve never had these reactions with anyone else, and it worries me a little that I'm getting them with Nathan. As much as he has always been honest with me, I'm not sure how much I can trust his feelings for men. We had sex, really good sex if I'm truthful, but I just think that he's using me to scratch an itch that he has, using me to explore a side of himself that he's still discovering. What's better than having a gay guy under your roof when you’re trying to figure things out your sexuality? He can see if he likes having sex with men before making anything public.

  Shit. I can’t believe how judgmental I sound. The guy has just come to a pretty big realization in his life and here I am, making it all about me. I wasn’t judging him when I was practically begging him to have sex with me.

  With a blush spreading over my neck, I pull my tank on and smile at Nathan, praying that the thoughts I was having aren’t showing on my face. I would hate to make Nathan feel awkward about who he is, and since I'm just his temporary housemate, it’s really none of my business. “So, I think you hinted that there would be alcohol if I was quick enough?”

  His eyes move up my body and finally rest on my face, but it takes a few beats for him to smile. It’s like he’s in a daze and can’t come out of it. I help him along by grabbing the bottle from the kitchen unit and filling up the two shot glasses that he's put next to it. He's also cut up some lime and there’s a little container of salt. I grab a glass and hand it to him, holding my own up in front of him so I can make a toast. “To shitty customers and the men who have to serve them.”

  He clicks his glass against mine before he downs it in one, not even bothering with the lime or salt. I watch as he swallows it and his throat working up and down makes me harden inside my jogging bottoms. I down my own drink quickly hoping to distract myself from where my head is trying to go. Even my common sense tells me that he isn’t the guy for me, and I need to start listening to it. He would never be able to pick me over the women that he's always liked.

  I jump up onto the unit as Nathan pours us both another glass. He watches me as I move, and one of the glasses overflows on to the worktop.

  “That is such a waste of good alcohol.” I grab my glass and lift it to my lips. Just as I fill my mouth with the tequila, Nathan lowers his head and starts to lick up the spilt liquid. I snort, causing the alcohol to fill my nose. It burns like a fucker as it sprays out over Nathan’s head, and I raise my hands trying to stem the flow that's now dripping out of my nose.

  Nathan grabs kitchen paper and hands me it while rubbing the back of his head. “I seriously can’t believe that you just spat that over my hair. Do you have no control?”

  I close my eyes, praying to myself that he’ll stop talking. I’m trying to swallow what's left in my mouth but he's making it really difficult. I feel the laughter building inside as I picture the look of shock on his face when the liquid hit him. I half cough and half hiccup when I finally manage to swallow the small amount of tequila that's left. My throat is on fire and the lining of my nose may never be the same again, but the huge ass grin on Nathan’s face might be worth all the pain.

  I point a finger at him as I clean my face with the paper. “That wasn’t funny. Are you trying to kill me?”

  He points a finger towards his own chest, a look of shock passing over his face. “Me? You’re the one who spat all over my head. I hope you don't have any germs that I might catch.”

  “Nothing that you wouldn’t have caught before.” The minute the words leave my mouth I want to steal them from the air before they reach his ears. I know the exact second that he gets the meaning of what I’ve said because his eyes sparkle as one side of his mouth turns up into a grin. Yeah, he's remembering the night just like I am. I'm dreading his reply, because Nathan doesn’t have the best filter.

  He takes a few moments before filling up our glasses before handing me mine. “This is very true. I think it’s safe to say that anything you have, I now hav
e. Funny how that isn’t a problem to me.” He downs his drink, watching me over the rim of his glass. With shaky hands I down my own drink, thinking more than ever that tonight isn’t a good idea.

  I can’t remember when we moved, but I know it was long enough ago that my ass is now numb. I’m sitting on the kitchen floor, leaning back against the side of the breakfast bar. Nathan is across from me, leaning against the unit on the other side. Our legs are straight out in front of us, close enough to be almost touching. I think I can feel the heat of his body against mine but there is a good chance that it’s just the alcohol that's flowing through my body.

  I down another glass, bumping my head on the wood behind me when I do. I hear Nathan snort when a hollow thud echoes around the small space we’re sitting in. I don't even know why we’re sitting on the floor, especially when his living room is maybe about five steps away.

  “What did you and Roman discuss the other night?”

  I roll my eyes. I can’t believe he's using his turn to get the gossip. “I told him that I was sorry that I’d cut him out. I told him about the anxiety and he begged me to go back to therapy. I told him I would think about it, but that was mainly to get him off my back. I don’t need help from a professional; I just need life to stop sending shit my way. My turn. Have you ever slept with Trey?”

  Nathan’s eyes go wide and he looks grossed out by the question. “Fuck, no!”

  I burst out laughing, wondering how Trey would feel that the thought of having sex with him gets that reaction from Nathan.

  “So it’s my turn. Why did you go into nursing? It’s not something many men do.”

  We’ve been playing truths for a while now, but this is the first serious question that’s been asked. The others have been more along the line of the first person we kissed, how we lost our virginities, favorite foods, that kind of thing. I don't normally talk about the reasons behind my career choice, but thanks to the alcohol, and Nathan making it so easy to talk to him I start talking. “My best friend in high school was called Billy. We were pretty much inseparable from the day we met, and that includes the day he died.”

  I can see shock on Nathan’s face, but he doesn’t anything. He seems to know that I need time to tell this story, and I'm so grateful that he’s giving me that.

  “He was such a huge fan of sports. There wasn’t one that he didn’t play, but his favorite was football. He was at practice one afternoon and I was there watching him just like I always did. One of the guys tackled him a bit too hard and he tripped over one of the other players. I remember his name too. Damien Charles. When Billy landed he caught his jaw on Damien’s shoulder. I swear I heard the crack from where I was sitting in the spectator’s area. He didn’t move after that. I was so scared, Nathan. I ran towards him but I couldn’t get past the coaches. He was dead by the time the ambulance arrived. He broke his jaw and it blocked his windpipe. I begged someone to help him but no one knew what to do. That was the day I swore I would never be in that situation again. I would know how to save everyone.”

  The silence when I finish is deafening. I hate that I’ve caused it, but I have to admit that I feel a little lighter now that I’ve finally told someone. It’s a part of my life that I’ve never said out loud before, not to Roman and not to any of my other friends. It’s not something I like to talk about, so the only person that knows about Billy is my old therapist.

  My family knew he was my friend and that I lost him, but my family isn’t the kind that talks about feelings. When I came out they sort of nodded and asked me what I wanted for dinner. I know I should be happy with that, especially after what some of my friends have been through, but the indifference hurt a little too. I know how much that makes me sound like a drama queen, but I just wanted them to show some sort of emotion. Even now we don't really talk about me being gay, but they do love me, so that's something. This is also the reason I don't go home as much as I should. I'm always there for Thanksgiving, but I try to limit my visits to a few times a year. It’s just too draining trying to get them to feel anything.

  “I don't even know what to say, Grey.”

  I knew that this would possibly kill the mood, but I'm determined not to let it. I’ve been having fun tonight and I don't want it to end. I grab the bottle and take a drink. We gave up on the glasses a while ago, deciding it was easier to just drink from the bottle. “I know what you can say. You can tell me why you call me Florence.”

  His laughter tells me that he does it for the reason I think he does, but at least it’s got rid of the weird vibe in the room. He takes the bottle from my hand, taking a drink before he answers. “Well there is a really good reason for that. I do it because I know it annoys you.”

  I knew that was the reason, but he's not getting away with such an obvious answer. “Well I already know that, but I want to know why, if you know it annoys me, do you keep doing it?”

  He takes another drink, taking his time to answer me. I'm just about at the point where I’m going to scream the question at him again, when he finally speaks. “I do it because it annoys you, and there is a very sick part of me that loves that it does. I love to see you angry. That look you get when it looks like you want to punch me in the face, the twisted part of me gets turned on by that. You make my dick hard, and that's the truthful answer.”

  Now it’s my turn for silence. I didn’t expect that answer and now I don't know what to say. I grab the bottle and cover up my muteness by drinking. I’ve had enough to drink that it doesn’t burn the same as it glides down my throat, but I wish it did. It would give me something to focus on that isn’t the way that Nathan is looking at me. It’s the same look as earlier and it’s turning me on. “So, it’s your turn.”

  I look down, pulling a fake bit of lint off my t-shirt. Or at least that's what I'm attempting, but my fingers are a little numb, and I'm finding it difficult to focus on what I'm trying to do.

  “Do you always bottom?”

  My eyes rise quickly. I expect to see a huge smile on Nathan’s face, but he looks deadly serious. “Wow, you’re really going for it.”

  He shrugs his shoulders at my comment. “I want to know.”

  I can’t pull my eyes away from the intensity in his stare, and it tells me that this really is something he wants to know. I want to explore why he wants the answer but I'm scared of what he might say. I feel safer when I can distance myself from my attraction to him, but with questions like this there is no way to do that. “I don't exclusively bottom, but I prefer to. That doesn’t mean I don't like to pin a guy down and fuck my frustrations out, but that's not something I need a lot of.”

  He doesn’t take his eyes off me and it makes me feel like he's looking deep into my soul to find an answer to a question only he knows. The atmosphere in the room has changed, it’s almost like there’s an electric current running through everything.

  “Does it hurt? Like the other night, were you in pain?”

  I shake my head. “No it doesn’t. There’s a little pain to begin with, but for me I like that. As long as you prep properly then the pain is minor and short lived.”

  “How did you manage it without lube?”

  “Because I'm not new to bottoming. Spit isn’t the ideal thing, but there was no way I was waiting for you to go to the supermarket. And like I say, I quite like the pain.” I lighten what I’m saying by winking at him, but his face stays deadly serious as though he is taking in everything I'm saying. “I think you’ve had enough questions. It’s definitely my turn.” I rub my hands together, trying to look like the perfect villain.

  “Please be gentle with me.”

  I smile before asking him the question that's been plaguing me for weeks now. “Before me, what was your experience with guys?

  Chapter 14

  I knew I was pushing my luck with that last question. It was taking things to a far more personal level, so I'm not surprised that he's returning the favor. I was shocked when he told me the story of his high school friend, and
I now feel bad about using Florence as a nickname. Not enough to actually stop using it, but enough to admire his job even more than I did before.

  When he told me and then changed the angle of the questioning, I knew he was trying to move on. He needed to pretend that he hadn’t just confessed his past to me, and I was more than happy to let him change the subject. Now I'm sitting here wondering how much I should tell him about my lack of experience.

  I take a deep breath, deciding that if he can be honest about something as painful as the death of his best friend, I can tell him the embarrassing lack of experience I have. “Before you? Well let me see, I kissed two guys and one guy rubbed my cock a few times.” I watch Grey as I stop talking, and I know that he's waiting for me to continue but I can’t. That pretty much sums up everything that I’ve done.

  I can see the moment he realizes that I'm not going to carry on and his eyebrows raise high enough to almost touch the bit of hair that's flopped down over his forehead. “That's it? You haven’t … that's it?” His voice rises toward the end and I want to know what he's thinking. He must have known that I was new to guys, so this shouldn’t be such a huge surprise to him.

  “There’s been some touching, mainly other guys to me. And yeah, I’ve kissed a few guys. Then there was everything I did with you.”

  “You haven’t had sex with a guy before?”

  I must be saying it wrong, because I just can’t seem to get through to Grey that I have only slept with him. “Only you, Grey. You were my first, and only, guy.”

  He just blinks at me with his mouth opening and closing a few times before he manages to speak. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “Why would I?”

  “I would have made it …” He looks like he's trying to find the right words to say, but they’re escaping him at the moment.

  “Made it what? Amazing, life changing, the best fucking night of my life so far? Yeah, you did all that, Grey. There’s nothing about that night that I would change.”