Calling Calling Calling Me

by Natasha Washington

  “I know, I know, my high school years were lamentable and hilarious,” Patrick said. “This room is like a creepy museum. I keep telling my mom she can change stuff, but—”

  “No, no, she shouldn’t change anything,” Josh said, picking up a handmade Halloween costume that looked like some combination of llama and ninja. “When you’re famous, all of this stuff will be so valuable.”

  Patrick snatched it away, giving him a dark look. “You mock me, Mr. Dirda.”

  “I really don’t,” Josh said, and caught Patrick’s wrist with his hand, pulling him in. He pressed a kiss to the top of Patrick’s head, ignoring the way he tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

  “Freak,” Patrick muttered.

  “Hey, hey,” Josh said, and lifted Patrick’s hand to press a kiss on his palm. He held Patrick still, keeping his gaze. “You should be proud of all this.”

  “Proud of what?” Patrick asked. “That I was an outcast pain-in-the-ass who everyone thought was a weirdo?”

  “No, no way! You gave them hell, man,” Josh said.

  Patrick raised his eyebrows, lips parting. “I—”

  “You gave them hell,” Josh said. “You didn’t let them get away with shit. You should be proud of that.”

  26

  Josh could tell that Patrick’s mom was not happy about them choosing to go back early, even though she was putting on a good face. Josh had felt a little bad about that, but then Patrick slid his hand up Josh’s thigh under the kitchen table and winked at him, and Josh coughed into his fist and thought: Maybe this is for the best.

  Now Patrick was in the process of saying goodbye to his cousins, and Josh was doing his best to help Patrick’s mom clean up from breakfast. He was putting dishes into the dishwasher when she said, “I’m so glad you came, Josh. Even if it was only for a little while.”

  “Thank you for having me, especially since I know I showed up uninvited,” Josh said. “It was great.”

  There was a pause and then she said, “I’m glad he has you up there in San Francisco. I know…you seem like such a wonderful young man. And he needs…”

  Josh could see she was struggling to get the words out. He placed a hand on her shoulder.

  “Mrs. Maloney, I feel so lucky to have him living with us,” Josh said. “You don’t even know.”

  She swiped at one of her eyes, then gazed up at him, smiling.

  “I think I do know,” she whispered. “I think I do.”

  * * *

  They listened to show tunes for half the drive up, and Josh’s California Route 5 road trip mix for the other half. Patrick made fun of Josh for having such a specific road trip mix, but Josh waved him off.

  “Whatever, dude, I’ve done a lot of driving back and forth,” he said.

  “For all your comics conventions?” Patrick said.

  “Yes, exactly,” Josh said.

  “Nerd,” Patrick coughed.

  “I mean,” Josh said, “have we met?”

  Patrick sung along to all the show tunes, knew all the words, never hit a wrong note.

  “You sound amazing,” Josh said. “How did I not know how amazing your voice is?”

  Patrick’s mouth tipped up at one corner. “Because unlike some people, I don’t sing constantly around the house?”

  “What, you saving your voice for Broadway?” Josh teased.

  “Maybe,” Patrick said, and gave Josh a smile that made him want to pull over to the side of the road and kiss him silly.

  All Josh could think was that Patrick’s layers were endless. Every time he thought he had him pinned down, he showed another side of himself. Josh could carry a tune all right, but Patrick was out of this world, originating from some crazy fairy planet where all the boys were beautiful and had delicate wrists and smiled with their eyes.

  They stopped at In & Out, and Patrick ordered a grilled cheese with a slice of tomato and lettuce on the side, and chewed each bite delicately. It took him like, forty-five minutes to eat that sandwich, and Josh was so hard by the end of it he thought he could cry.

  * * *

  Josh made a last-minute decision when they crossed the Bay Bridge into the city, skipping the turn off toward the Castro and their apartment and staying on Van Ness.

  “You need to make a stop?” Patrick asked, glancing up from his phone.

  “You could say that,” Josh said, and Patrick crooked an eyebrow at him.

  “Josh…” Patrick said.

  “Just trust me,” Josh said, and turned onto Lombard, heading toward the Golden Gate.

  They got stuck on the interchange that led onto the bridge, and Patrick finally demanded, “What is your deal?”

  “We’ve never done this,” Josh said, as the car inched along. He could feel his frustration growing. Why did the traffic never cooperate with his desire to orchestrate grand romantic moments?

  “Gotten stuck in traffic?” Patrick said. “Um, I think we have.”

  “We’re gonna walk across the Golden Gate Bridge,” Josh said.

  Patrick went still next to him, lacing his fingers together in his lap.

  “Is that okay?” Josh asked.

  Patrick looked out the window at the traffic moving past, the ocean a blue streak out into forever. “Yeah,” he said. “Whatever you want.”

  They finally made it to the overlook parking lot, and Josh swung the car into a space. They climbed the stairs and onto the fenced-in walkway, and though Patrick was silent, he took Josh’s hand when he offered it.

  The bridge shook. It was one of the things that struck Josh the most the first time he did this, back when he was a little kid. It was because of the traffic and the physics of suspension bridges, but when Josh was little, he used to imagine the Golden Gate existed in some kind of perpetual earthquake zone, always shifting, always in motion.

  Patrick squeezed his hand more tightly the farther they walked. It was loud, the noise of mingled voices and cars and wind, and Josh had to lean in to say, “Are you okay?”

  “Stop asking me that,” Patrick said. “Will you stop asking me that?”

  They stopped next to an orange-red column, moving out of the way of the stream of pedestrians, and Patrick let go of his hand.

  “I’m sorry,” Josh said. “You seem like—”

  “I’ve been here before, you know,” Patrick said. “I came here alone a few weeks ago and walked across, because I’d never done it and it seemed like a thing to do, I don’t know, and I had my headphones in and when I was walking, this cop stopped me.”

  Josh blinked. “He stopped you? But why?”

  “He started talking to me, making, like, small talk, asking where I was from, what I was doing on the bridge,” Patrick said. “I couldn’t figure out what his deal was, but I must have given him the answers he was looking for, because he let me go. It wasn’t until I was on the bus on the way home that I realized why he’d stopped me.”

  Patrick hugged his coat more closely around him, shifting against the wind. “He thought I was going to jump,” he said. “That’s what these cops do every day, Josh. They walk back and forth across this bridge and look for people they think might jump.”

  Josh exhaled. The pieces fit together. Patrick was alone on the bridge, alone in a place where people often come in groups. He was alone, and that was enough.

  “Do you know how many times I’ve thought about that?” Patrick said. “I mean, not jumping off the bridge, but…how many times in middle and high school I thought about wanting it to be over? And the first time someone ever even tries to help—”

  Josh moved forward and wrapped his arms around Patrick. Patrick exhaled, hard, but didn’t pull away.

  “You know that you don’t have to save me,” Patrick said. “It’s not your job to save me.”

  “I know,” Josh said, pressing one gloved hand to the back of Patrick’s neck, wanting him closer.

  “You didn’t have to come down to Fresno to save me either,” Patrick said, eyes searching Josh’s.


  “I know,” Josh said.

  He felt self-conscious. This was something Patrick did to him too: saw through him when no one else even bothered to try.

  “You already saved me,” Patrick said. “You saved me by giving me San Francisco.”

  “I don’t think it was mine to give,” Josh murmured.

  “Oh,” Patrick said, mouth curving up at one corner. “That’s where you’re wrong.”

  27

  “You know what I regret about going down to Fresno?” Josh said, dumping Patrick’s suitcase on the living room floor.

  “What?” Patrick said, his stomach suddenly fluttering with nerves. The odd thing was, he didn’t regret having gone home. Not like he’d thought he would.

  “None of it, really,” Josh clarified. “But I am sad we didn’t get to have an epic scene of reunification when you returned from your journey.”

  Patrick had a wonderful and terrible idea.

  “We could pretend,” Patrick said. “We are, after all…theater people.”

  Josh’s face broke out into a smile. “Give me two minutes to get into costume,” he said. “Also, go outside and come back in.”

  He disappeared into his bedroom before Patrick had a chance to ask him what the hell he was doing.

  When Patrick pushed open the door to their apartment for the second time, Josh was lying on the couch in sweatpants and a ragged Joan Jett T-shirt, eating pieces of cold turkey off a sheet of foil, no plate or silverware in sight.

  His hair was a mess and he looked rumpled and sleepy, and Patrick wanted him naked in the next thirty seconds.

  Patrick pushed his suitcase into the hallway and sidled over, as Josh scrambled to his feet, accidentally shoving the turkey onto the floor in the process.

  “Did you have sex on the train? Because you are glowing,” Josh said. “Is there a name for that, like the Mile High Club? The Risky Business Club? Sex on semi-public transportation?”

  “I thought about you all the way over here,” Patrick said, “and for pretty much the last three days, so—”

  Josh tugged him forward and kissed him, lips sliding wetly over his mouth and down his chin. It was desperate and sloppy, and Patrick clutched at his hip, needing the anchor.

  “Can you believe people go for months at a time without seeing their lovers?” Josh said, breathless. “How do they do that? Please don’t ever really go off to war. I will join the military to be with you, and I think we both know no good will come of that.”

  “I have no plans to join the armed forces,” Patrick said.

  “Well, good,” Josh said, “because you do have a weird thing for men in uniform.”

  Patrick took Josh in with a slow once-over, observing his gray sweatpants, one leg pushed up higher than the other, his T-shirt that had clearly shrunk in the dryer because it’d left a strip of bare skin between the waist of his pants and the worn fabric.

  His eyes were the warm gold-brown hazel that made Patrick squirm.

  Josh’s face fell under Patrick’s scrutiny. “To be fair, I didn’t know you were coming…early. I clean up really well, okay?”

  “I’m not interested in cleaning you up or getting you dressed,” Patrick said, and Josh’s eyes widened.

  “I do like a man who’s direct,” Josh said.

  Patrick shoved Josh backwards into his bedroom. “What were you saying about coming early?” he said.

  * * *

  “Oh…my…dear…God—”

  Josh was shaking. He was actually shaking. Patrick could feel him shaking, his palm resting against Josh’s stomach while the fingers of his other hand worked inside him.

  “Are you okay?” Patrick asked, because they’d never actually done this before, and he was kind of freaking out. There was only so much the internet and porn (and internet porn) could prepare a person for how this felt.

  Josh’s eyelashes fluttered, and he exhaled. “I am so okay. I’m…oh God. Do that again.”

  “Do what again?” Patrick asked, and twisted his fingers. Josh clenched down and bit his lip and moaned.

  Okay, then.

  “Can we do this?” Josh gasped. “I mean, like, can we do this now? Because I’m…I’m ready, I’m so ready. I’m a little too ready, to be honest—”

  “Yes, yes, okay,” Patrick said, and slid his fingers out with the most care he possibly could. Josh made a whimpering noise and pushed back against his hand, which was maybe the hottest thing Patrick had ever seen.

  “Wait, wait,” Josh said, and Patrick tensed. He knew he was going to do something wrong, he knew—

  “Come up here,” Josh said. “Kiss me. Please?”

  Patrick blinked. Josh was looking at him with wide, trusting eyes, and he was breathing hard and he was flushed and so gorgeous Patrick couldn’t even handle it.

  He climbed on top of Josh, straddling him, and leaned down until their lips met. Josh cupped Patrick’s face in that way Patrick loved and kissed him harder, kissed him until Patrick could see fireworks exploding behind his eyelids, pow pow pow boom.

  “Are you okay?” Josh asked when they separated to breathe.

  “I’m…I’m scared,” Patrick said, and the corners of Josh’s mouth turned down into a frown.

  He had so many things he wanted to say, but they got caught in his throat. I can’t believe you came down to Fresno for me.

  I can’t believe you stood in that field and let me talk to you about my demons.

  I can’t believe you were there for me even when I didn’t ask, even when I didn’t tell you anything at all.

  Josh reached up and touched Patrick’s cheek, his thumb stroking over his jaw. “I’m not going to tell you not to be scared,” he said. “I’m scared too, but…be with me, okay?”

  Patrick’s chest hurt, his heart felt so big.

  “Be scared with me?” Josh said.

  Patrick nodded, too overwhelmed to form words.

  The sounds Josh made when Patrick finally pushed in were worth everything in the world.

  They found a rhythm quickly, Patrick fucking him slowly, then faster, watching the long line of Josh’s throat as he tipped his head back and moaned. Josh dug his fingers into Patrick’s back and pulled him closer, deeper, and God, that was hot. How much Josh wanted this.

  “I’m close,” Josh said.

  “Already?” Patrick said, and Josh blinked up at him, his gaze unfocused and hazy.

  “Maybe don’t spend like an hour on the foreplay and then I’ll last longer,” Josh said.

  “Do you want me to apologize for being good at this?” Patrick asked.

  Josh smirked.

  “Just fuck me,” Josh said, and Patrick did, fucked him until Josh came, clenching around him, groaning.

  He tugged Patrick down for a kiss, and everything about Josh was so beautiful in this moment: the way he’d given himself over, the soft tilt of his mouth, his whispering into Patrick’s neck, “Thank you,” that simple sentence enough to send Patrick tumbling over the edge after him.

  * * *

  “No soundtrack,” Patrick mumbled.

  He could feel Josh messing around with something next to the bed, and he knew it was his iPod speakers. He didn’t understand how sex didn’t calm Josh down. To be fair, it calmed him down slightly, but it didn’t seem to make him feel like he wanted to pass out in the way it always did Patrick.

  Instead it made him want to…soundtrack the moment.

  “You’ll like it,” Josh said. “I’m sticking with the nineties theme. A little diva. A little Mariah.”

  Patrick’s eyes flew open. “Please don’t play that ‘Hero’ song. I’ll be scarred forever.”

  Josh grinned, and pressed a kiss to Patrick’s forehead. He sat back on his heels and began to sing “Hero.”

  “That was not actually an invitation to sing that song,” Patrick muttered. “Quite the opposite, in fact.”

  “It’s not ‘Hero,’” Josh said. “I am not that gauche.”

  “It be
tter not be that obsessed song either, because I swear to God if I have to hear—”

  Josh tapped his iPod, and the room was suddenly filled with what Patrick had started to think of as the 90s snare beat.

  “Old school Mariah,” Josh said. “She was the best.”

  Patrick didn’t think he’d even heard this song before. It was catchy, sure, but—

  “You,” Josh sung, pointing one finger at him, singing along.

  “So basically, the thesis of this song is you’ve got me feeling feelings,” Patrick said.

  He closed his eyes so he didn’t have to look at Josh’s stupid face. Patrick knew he was blushing. Stupid stupid stupid fair skin.

  Patrick opened his eyes. Josh kissed him, softly at first, then with more intent. Patrick, who was still processing his first orgasm of the day, felt oversensitive and sweaty and like he was floating.

  “You could sing the hell out of this song, you know,” Josh said. “I heard you in that car. You have the range.”

  “I am not going to sing Mariah Carey to you or for you,” Patrick said.

  “Not yet.”

  “Not ever,” Patrick said. “No matter how many orgasms you give me.”

  “Well, this might have to end right now,” Josh said. “I was really only in it for the free Mariah Carey karaoke.”

  “Sorry to disappoint,” Patrick said.

  Josh was stroking one hand down over his side, pausing to trace circles into his hipbone. It was really distracting.

  “Never,” Josh said. “You never disappoint.”

  He smiled into their next kiss, and Patrick could feel it against his lips.

  “You can’t tell me I’m your fantasy boyfriend,” Patrick said. “That’s impossible. There must be some way I disappoint you.”

  “Fantasy boyfriends are stupid,” Josh said, shaking his head. “Real boyfriends are better. They give you real orgasms from the real sex you have with them.”

  “But didn’t you ever have—”