Best Gay Romance 2014

by R. D. Cochrane

  The next day, Saturday, once more alone with my dog, I called a cab.

  Duffel bags in hand and Luath in harness, I walked across the sidewalk to our little condo. She paused. I lifted my foot to the step. We stopped on the landing.

  I reached to feel the door and knock. I had a key in my pocket, but felt I’d lost that privilege. I swallowed and waited, sweat breaking out on my neck and palms. Luath’s body vibrated as we listened to footsteps approach from inside. As hard as she wagged her tail, I knew she would never break her stance beside me without a release command to greet him.

  The door opened.

  Would he be willing to listen? Would he accept an apology? Would this even be him opening the door? Maybe another man who’d been over for Friday night? What would I say? Why hadn’t I thought this through? One word from Shiloh and I came running back after all those months? Stupid. Not thinking.

  Archer threw his arms around me.

  I dropped the bags and harness to hug him, shaking, ribs crushed by his arms and chest.

  Luath stood against my left leg, tail and whole back end swinging.

  “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “Yes. If the offer still stands.”

  He kissed me, hands on my face, fingers in my hair, body pressed against mine on the narrow landing. He stepped back, still holding my head, and kissed me again.

  When I released Luath, she sprang at him, whimpering. Archer knelt to hug her.

  FALLING

  James Booth

  I have a feeling I’m going to regret tonight. Not for any big reason, like I’m going to kill somebody or hook up with a stranger I met online. It’s so mundane—sneaking out to a party that’ll just be the same old same old. But somehow my friend Taylor talked me into it, so here I am tiptoeing downstairs. Some of my friends sneak out through their windows; I don’t need to do that. I wait for my parents to fall asleep, then go downstairs and out the family room door. So simple and it doesn’t require any acrobatics.

  I’m set to meet Taylor, Owen and Jane a block away from my house, where they’ll drop me back off after the party. I go around the house to the lit neighborhood road and head to the meeting place.

  Taylor’s car races toward me as I stand on the corner. She stops in front of me. “Hey sexy, looking for a ride?” She’s leaning across Owen to lasciviously stare at me while arching her eyebrows.

  “Definitely, but it’s gonna cost you!” I say, opening the back door and sliding in next to Jane.

  Taylor holds up a couple of pennies. “This is all I’ve got.”

  “Eh, I’m cheap. I’ll take it.” I don’t actually take the pennies though. What the heck would I do with those?

  Owen has had enough of our game. “Come on guys. Let’s get going.”

  “He just wants to get there so he can talk to Maya,” Jane says, playfully slapping him on the arm. Despite his protests, I’m sure Owen’s blushing, even though it’s too dark to see.

  “Justin, I heard there’s gonna be some people from another school there tonight. Maybe there’ll be a cute guy for you to chat up,” Taylor says, while turning the car around and heading out of my neighborhood.

  “First off, you say that every time and it’s always the same people. Secondly, even if it were true, do you think I’d have the guts to go say hi to a cute boy? My gaydar sucks, too, so I don’t want to flirt and then end up being punched. With my luck, you know that would happen.”

  “You never know. At least this party’s near the waterfall, so even if a cute gay boy doesn’t show up, there’s that. It’ll look pretty at nighttime.” It’s not exactly the best consolation prize. I’d rather have someone tell me I look pretty. Or, well, handsome. Whatever.

  We arrive at the party, and it’s already in full swing. It’s almost a full moon out so there’s not a huge need for extra lights, but I can see there’s a fire going and some cars have their headlights on to illuminate the woods. Surprisingly, there are new people here from other nearby high schools. The party info must have been more widespread than I thought. Taylor gives me an I told you so look before heading to the keg to grab cups of beer for us. I’m not a big drinker, but sipping the beer at least gives me something to do.

  I chat with my friends for a while, but eventually they all drift away to other people and I’m left wandering the party alone. I can hear the soothing flow of the waterfall in the distance and walk toward it.

  Moonlight snakes through the tree branches and glitters off the water, giving it a dreamlike quality. I set my beer down on a nearby rock and pull off my shoes and socks, then roll up my pants so I can dip my legs into the water. It’s an extremely peaceful moment and I close my eyes, breathing in the light woodsy smell. I am calm.

  A twig snaps somewhere behind me and I become alert, swiveling to see who it is, causing water to splash onto my thighs. I stare at the most gorgeous boy I’ve ever seen. He looks a bit startled and also embarrassed.

  “I didn’t mean to spook you. I probably should’ve said something. Sorry.” His hand brushes through his spiked black hair.

  I realize that I have to say something, but I’m no good when it comes to dealing with guys, much less extremely hot ones. “I—it’s okay,” I stammer. Wow. What a brilliant display of the English language.

  The guy comes closer and points to the spot beside me. “Is it all right if I join you?” I’m able to get out a yes, but my mouth clamps shut afterward. He takes off his shoes and socks but doesn’t have to roll up anything since he’s wearing shorts. I’m the idiot who wears pants even in summer; shorts expose my hairy legs. He, however, has smooth legs and I feel embarrassed by my own, which is such a stupid way to react. They’re just legs, for crying out loud. But I feel insecure about my body.

  “What brings you all the way out here?” he asks, gently swishing his feet through the water and looking over at me. I kind of huddle into myself thinking of an answer but may as well be honest about it.

  “I got separated from my friends and decided to hang out here for a bit. Parties involving beer aren’t really my thing.” I shrug. “What about you? Shouldn’t you be living it up with everyone else?”

  “If I was back there, I wouldn’t be with you,” he nonchalantly replies. I glance at him with a little bit of suspicion, but I can see in his eyes that he’s being truthful and not malicious or joking.

  “Really?” I say, and he nods. “You don’t know anything about me.”

  “I know you’re cute and I’d like to get to know you better. That seems like a good start.” He gives me a small smile. “Are you thinking the same things?”

  Honestly, I’m still trying to grasp the fact that there’s another gay guy at this party and that he’s interested in me. Or at least interested in how I look, since we don’t know each other. But he wants an answer. I smile. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

  He instantly relaxes and leans back on his hands. “I’m Dylan. I go to Bishop Becket High.”

  It’s a private school about twenty minutes away.

  “I’m Justin. I’m a senior at River Ridge.”

  “I’m a senior, too,” he says.

  “So you wear uniforms, huh? I bet you look really cute in yours.” Oh my god, what just came out of my mouth? Was that flirting?

  Dylan blushes, but he doesn’t miss a beat and asks, “Have a thing for Catholic schoolboys?”

  Now it’s my turn to blush. I can’t believe this is even happening—an actual conversation with a cute boy who’s into me.

  I’m about to reply with a maybe, but he places his hand on my leg. Even though it’s hot out, I can feel the heat of him through my pants and I get a little excited. He looks serious. I’m wondering what he’s going to say.

  “I’m glad I came here tonight. I wasn’t looking forward to it, but from the moment I saw you, I wanted to get to know you. I hope that’s not too forward of me.”

  My surprise must be apparent on my face because he immediately backpedals.

  “I’m sorr
y. I shouldn’t have said that so soon. I always take things too fast and get too excited about a prospective guy. I’m so—”

  I cut him off by putting my hand on his knee. I can feel his smooth warm skin. His embarrassment and similar insecurities help me find my own words.

  “Hey, it’s okay. I was thinking the same thing. I didn’t think anything would happen tonight, but here we are. We can definitely keep getting to know each other.” I want to kiss him, but I feel like now might not be the right time, so I quickly move on. “Tell me more about yourself.”

  He tells me that while he goes to a Catholic school, he’s not Catholic anymore. He doesn’t see any religion as having much base in his life. He has a cat named Hershey who’s extremely fat and who he lovingly calls Hefty Hershey. He does choir, and though I pester him, he won’t sing for me. I share with him that I do stage crew, feel an immense love for anime, and have an older sister in college in Idaho.

  As we tell more about ourselves, we relax until we’re leaning closer together, our hands still on each other’s legs. No one even bothers to text or look for us, which is simultaneously sad and awesome.

  Eventually we stop talking and just enjoy each other’s company, staring at the waterfall and listening to the sounds of the woods and the distant party. Dylan pulls back after a little while. “Do you wanna swim for a bit? There’s a deeper section closer to the waterfall.”

  We’re not wearing swim trunks and I know what that means—stripping down to our underwear. I don’t know if I’m ready for him to see me like that. It’s dark but still light enough to see each other’s semi-naked bodies.

  Still, he has spent all this time with me. I’m not exactly wearing a baggy shirt or anything, so he should know what my body type is. If he had a problem with it, he would’ve left by now.

  “Sure.” We strip off our shirts and pants, leaving us both in boxers. Even though I know he’s gay and he’s looking at me openly, I only sneak a peek at him as if I’m doing something naughty. He has toned abs and tanned skin, as opposed to me. I’m not fat or anything, but I have no definition. I’m pale, and I hope the moonlight reflecting off my skin doesn’t blind him.

  Dylan doesn’t say a word as he walks into the creek. I follow him. Despite the heat of the night, the water is cold. It feels good as we go farther in. I’m cautious about where I step and almost crash into him when he suddenly stops and turns around. He stares at me intently and wraps his strong arms around me, making sure there’s no gap between us. I look back at him, at the moonlight reflected in his eyes, and he leans in to give me the most perfect first kiss.

  Yeah, I don’t think I’m gonna regret tonight after all.

  THANKSGIVING

  Shawn Anniston

  We met at a car wash. I probably wouldn’t have given him a second look—too young and not a physical type I’m normally attracted to—except for his dog. I was sitting on a bench outside the squat, many-windowed building with my black Lab, Archie. I was thinking, as I probably had every day since adopting Archie from a shelter three years before, how strange it was that a low-key man like me had ended up with a highenergy dog. I knew Archie would love nothing more than for me to drop the leash so he could run through the spray of water, trying to bite it, shaking it from his coat and dancing back for more.

  It was Archie’s frantic tail wagging that first drew my attention to a dog a few benches away. I scrutinized him: mostly Great Pyrenees, I thought, because of the white coat, but his smaller stature betrayed him as a mixed breed. He sat motionless, staring over the busy lot with calm detachment.

  “You could learn a thing or two from that one,” I said to Archie, shortening his lead before he could greet the woman who dropped to the other end of my bench. I sensed that she wasn’t a dog person and wouldn’t welcome Archie’s slobbery gesture of friendship.

  I looked back at the white dog, and then I let my gaze travel up to his companion. Earbuds connected him to his phone, on which he seemed to be furiously texting or playing a game. There was a Starbucks cup and an iPad next to him. From time to time, he picked up one or the other, while one Chuck Taylor-clad foot kept time with whatever he was listening to. Although I had as many or more gadgets, I felt my usual twinge of superiority at how I refused to be a slave to technology. I’d long ago amended an old saying to Life is what happens while you’re busy with your iProducts.

  At that moment, the man’s head lifted, his gaze fell on Archie and he grinned. I knew his next move would be to judge me the way I’d been judging him, so I turned my head as if to watch the crew finish detailing my car, though I knew it wasn’t on the lot yet. After sufficient time had passed for him to evaluate and dismiss me, I looked at him. Our eyes locked.

  This is new, I thought as my heart felt a little jolt.

  I stood, intending to go back inside the building as if it had just occurred to me that I needed a restroom or a bottle of water or a shoeshine. Except the man stood, too. The dogs began walking toward each other as if spotting an old friend, and we passively allowed ourselves to be pulled along behind them.

  Eight years earlier, I’d purchased my loft in a midtown building with a great view of the city skyline. The neighborhood had everything I needed, and my office was only a short walk away. Ultimately that had been a good thing, because work was my escape. The loft came to feel like a cell of hard surfaces: gleaming granite and tile and bamboo. My friends loved it for parties, but no one would call it cozy.

  It hadn’t felt like home until Archie arrived, his toenails scratching the polished floors, tufts of his hair eluding the Roomba to roll into hidden corners and under furniture.

  The first time Matthew brought his Great Pyrenees, Lionel, over for a playdate with Archie, his only word upon looking around was “shiny.”

  Nights we spent together were at his place: a three-bedroom apartment in a midcentury building where his two roommates tended to leave clothes draped over the furniture, dishes in the sink and Solo cups half-full of Diet Coke and soggy cigarette butts on the tiny patio.

  It reminded me of my long-ago life as a college student. I tried not to analyze why I felt at home there or why I had no interest in introducing Matthew to my friends.

  “At Mister Car Wash,” my best friend Cory said, when I rejoined society several weeks later.

  “Yep,” I said, already regretting that I’d shared even that little.

  “You’ve been, what, in bed with this Matthew guy ever since? This is why you don’t return emails, texts or calls? This is why you missed the HRC gala?”

  “I haven’t—I didn’t—not exactly,” I said gracelessly.

  “You did miss it,” Cory insisted.

  I thought his boyfriend Danny had been preoccupied with the menu, but he suddenly gave me a hard stare and said, “What do you mean, ‘not exactly’? You haven’t had sex? Or you don’t want to talk about it? That would mean it’s serious.”

  “Don’t be crazy,” Cory said. “We always talk about it. And of course there’s been sex; those tickets he didn’t use were three hundred each. Why didn’t you bring him? Does he lack table manners? Does he have a mustache?” He shuddered. Facial hair repelled and excited him.

  “There was a conflict,” I said, and reached for Danny’s menu. I wasn’t sure why either of us needed it; our orders never varied at these occasional Sunday brunches.

  “What kind of conflict?” Cory asked.

  “Gallery opening Matthew had to attend,” I said, focusing on a garish photo of eggs Florentine as if it were the latest cover of Men’s Health magazine.

  “He’s an artist? No wonder you don’t want to talk about him. It’s okay. Order your whole-wheat waffle and we’ll never speak of this again.”

  “If only that were true,” I muttered.

  “The best thing about Saturdays at your place,” Matthew said, looking out from my tiny balcony, “other than the view, is how easy it is to walk to everything. Market, movies, museums. It’s a very M world here.”
r />   “As it should be for Midtown,” I said.

  And Matthew, one side of my brain whispered.

  Moving too fast, the other side nagged.

  “You’re ashamed of him,” Sophia said sagely, as she watered the plants in my office.

  Sophia is fifty-seven, and I suppose because she never had children, she’d decided to raise me. I finally gave up trying to impress on her that ours is a professional relationship—You’re my assistant; I have a mother; I can get my own coffee; I don’t eat sweets; I’m forty-one; we pay a service to water our plants—none of these have changed our dynamic through the years at Miller, Wheeling and Espy.

  “I’m not ashamed of him,” I said automatically.

  “You didn’t tell your friends because you’d rather they think you’re dating an artist than a receptionist. An artist can be poor but his work is intriguing. A receptionist is underpaid and how many male receptionists do you know?”

  “Our receptionist isn’t underpaid.”

  “Ha!”

  I’d never thought Ha! should be an actual spoken word so I pretended to read the contract in front of me.

  “It’s disappointing after all these years to find out how you really feel about support staff.” I didn’t look up or answer. “I guess it’s a good thing I never went out with Mr. Wheeling or Mr. Espy.”

  “It is. Since Mr. Wheeling is married and Mr. Espy is a serial divorcé.”

  “Make jokes. The only things you hide from your closest friends are the things you’re ashamed of.”

  “I’m not planning to move in or redecorate,” Matthew assured me one Sunday afternoon when he arrived at my loft with his arms full of plants. Lionel pushed past him to greet Archie.

  “I don’t have a green thumb,” I warned. “What if Archie eats the plants?”

  “They’re low maintenance and will be on the balcony,” Matthew said. “Besides, I wouldn’t bring anything that isn’t dog friendly.”