by Lane Hayes
“Yeah, you. How am I going to zip up without getting cum all over my leather pants? Trust me, I needed two hands to get these on,” he said with a wry grin.
“Gay boy problems?” I was in the same boat minus the extratight pants. I should have been grossed out now that the wave of euphoria had subsided. But I wasn’t. My heart felt light, and my smile was ridiculously big. I was grateful to be mostly hidden in dark shadows.
“Sí. C’mon. Let’s do a walk of shame together to the restroom and tidy up. Then if you feel like dancing, we can go next door.” He inclined his head as he waited for me to head up the hallway.
“No. I don’t want to dance. I’m ready to go home. You?”
I hoped he’d say yes. Nothing else was going to happen between us tonight, but I selfishly wanted to keep him near me. We’d come together, and I wanted us to leave together. The alternative had a connotation of sleaze I didn’t want to examine just then.
Alex stopped in front of the restroom door and gave me one of his signature smiles. His eyes twinkled mischievously, and his innate sense of joy radiated from him, making it impossible for me to do anything but return his wide grin with one of my own.
“I’m ready too. Let’s go.” He pecked a light kiss on my mouth and pushed the restroom door open.
I followed him wordlessly, making a vow to myself to cease and desist any line of thought tempting me from living in the moment. My fingers were sticky and no doubt my jeans had cum on them too. Surely I should have felt some inkling of shame for my reckless behavior. But I didn’t. My blood hummed, and my heart skipped every other beat. I chuckled under my breath as I realized with a sudden burst of clarity, this was what it felt like to be alive.
Six
A SPLASH of sunlight streaked across my charcoal pinstripe duvet the following morning. I stretched my arms over my head and let myself bask in the rare luxury of waking up late on a Sunday with no particular agenda in mind. I had no idea what time it was, and I didn’t feel like putting on my glasses to check. I was content to enjoy a perk I never usually allowed myself as I ran over the details of the previous evening with a silly smile on my face. My emotions and state of mind had been all over the place last night. A reasonable reaction to the first time I’d done anything sexual with a man in over fifteen years, I supposed.
When my phone vibrated on the nightstand, jolting me from my reverie. I sat up and fumbled for my glasses.
Are you awake? Coffee?
I caught myself grinning as I typed.
Barely but yes. Want to come over?
Five seconds later he replied, Yes. Be there in 10.
I stared at the screen for a moment before jumping out of bed.
“I BROUGHT some chorizo to share. How are your eggs?”
“My eggs?” I backed away from the door to let my delicious-smelling neighbor enter. Alex was wearing his usual workout wear, dark shorts and a white T-shirt with his gym’s logo. His wavy hair was damp as though he’d just climbed out of the shower.
He looked really fucking hot.
I gulped as I led the way back to the kitchen, where the coffee was still brewing. I grabbed two cups and set them on the island before looking over at my guest, who had made himself at home rifling through a cabinet under the stovetop. He handed me a frying pan with a mock serious expression on his handsome face.
“My egg-making skills are iffy. If yours are better, you should make them. I like scrambled. What do you say? You make the eggs, and I’ll warm up the chorizo. Bueno?”
“Uh.”
“Aren’t you hungry? You said you just woke up. I trained with a client at 7:00 a.m., and it’s after nine now. I’m starving. Let’s get to work! Oh and Nate, when the coffee is ready, I like mine black.”
I stared at him incredulously. I was in the midst of being bulldozed. Again.
“Do you make a habit of this?”
“Of what?” He found the pan he wanted to use and started opening cabinet doors looking for God knows what.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m cooking the sausage. You’re cooking the eggs. Scrambled. I hate runny eggs. And where is your cooking spray? I have some next door if you’re out.”
I pointed to the only cabinet he hadn’t opened and leaned against the counter with my arms crossed and a scowl on my face.
“I thought you wanted coffee,” I said grumpily.
“I do. Is it ready? I haven’t had any yet. I don’t like drinking it before I work out. Upsets my stomach.”
“No, I mean—never mind.” I heaved a sigh and shook my head irritably as I headed for the refrigerator to retrieve the eggs. “You didn’t answer, by the way. Do you always do this?”
“What?” He didn’t bother looking up as he prepared the pan to cook the chorizo.
“Barge in and take over.” He chuckled lightly but still didn’t turn around. “And if you’re a rotten cook, why are you making anything at all?”
Alex’s smile lit his handsome face when he finally glanced my way. He set the pan on one of the burners and mimicked my stance with his arms crossed over his chest as he sauntered toward me.
“I didn’t barge. You invited me.”
“For coffee.” My lips quirked upward on one side in reluctant amusement.
“I didn’t want to come empty-handed. You don’t do that where I come from. Lucky for you, my mama raised me right. So I brought the chorizo. And since you kindly pointed out I’m better off being the guy in charge of coffee duty while you slave over the stove, I’ll step aside and let you take over while I pour you an obviously much-needed cup of java. Sound good?”
I rolled my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. “You missed your calling. You should have gone into sales.”
“Room for cream or sugar or black?” he asked with a smile.
“Black,” I grumbled under my breath as I set to work cracking eggs into a bowl and lowering the heat under the sausage.
Behind me I could hear Alex moving around the kitchen. He turned on a satellite radio station playing all acoustic tunes and hummed along as he set out plates and filled the coffee cups. I didn’t watch him. I listened. The sounds of clinking glass, soft music, and the shuffle of feet was immensely comforting in a way I couldn’t quite define. I found myself smiling as I turned back to the island with a plate stacked high with scrambled eggs and the dark red traditional Mexican sausage.
“Ahh, chorizo con huevos! Gracias.”
“You’re welcome.” I took the barstool next to him and cradled my cup as I observed Alex. His hair flopped into his eyes as he busied himself scooping breakfast onto his plate. He reminded me of an overgrown kid again. A very different image from the sexy guy who had me backed into a dark corner, grinding his cock against mine last night. Fuck. I shifted in my chair uncomfortably and took a sip of my coffee.
“The chorizo is a little spicy, but it’s good. It’s my mother’s recipe. Go on. Try it.”
He didn’t wait for my response before he pushed a large helping onto the empty plate in front of me. I didn’t bother raising an eyebrow at his overfamiliarity. I hadn’t had enough coffee to argue, and there was no point denying I was more charmed than irritated.
“It’s good. Your sister made them?”
“Yeah, told you she’s a good cook. She always helped our mom in the kitchen when we were growing up. And when Mama got sick, Selena took over completely. I think she really likes cooking, but I know she also has a strong sense of family duty.”
“Duty to cook?”
“Yes, to care for my dad. And me. In theory, after I find a nice Catholic girl to marry, Selena won’t have to worry about making my dinner anymore.” He chuckled lightly as he lifted his fork. “It’s a good thing she knows the score and doesn’t expect any minor miracles to happen in this lifetime.”
“That sounds rather archaic. I know it’s very traditional thinking, but it seems like some of those old notions, like the women cooking for their men, are finally changing. Even i
n the Latino culture.”
Alex raised his eyebrows comically high. “Yeah, right! Not where I’m from. The only thing that’s changed is the women get jobs outside the house to help support their families and then come home to cook, clean, and take care of kids. Geez, it’s enough to make you glad to be born with a dick, you know?”
“Hmph. How often does she make you dinner?”
“Depends. I don’t have to think about it. She just makes it happen.” He paused with his fork in the air thoughtfully. “It sounds strange to you, doesn’t it?”
“Completely foreign. I haven’t had anyone take care of me in a long time.”
“You were married once, right? Didn’t your wife take care of you?”
I chortled at the very idea. “No. Caroline was not a nurturer. She was as career-driven and as one-track minded as me during our marriage. I didn’t need or expect her to take care of me, and I’m sure she felt the same way. We each did our own thing. And then wondered why it wasn’t working.”
“That sounds… cold.”
I nodded at the astute observation as I reached for my coffee. It was strange to stand back after a few years and realize how dysfunctional we’d been.
“We handled our relationship like a business. In the end, we were roommates who went to the same office. Taking the personal angle away has made everything easier.”
“A telling statement,” Alex murmured, cradling his own cup. I struggled not to squirm under his thoughtful stare.
“What is?” I prodded.
“Taking away the personal angle is a good way to make sure you never have one.”
“You’re probably right.”
“Think you’ll ever get married again?” He laughed at my faux-panicked expression before continuing. “I don’t mean tomorrow, idiot. Personally, I don’t know about the marriage part. Maybe someday. It won’t be the Catholic girl my poor delusional father is still hoping for, but I liked being in a relationship.”
I heard a wistful note in his voice and felt compelled to ask a question I rarely did of people I’d known much longer than Alex. “Want to talk about it?”
Alex’s eyes twinkled as his small smile morphed into a Cheshire Cat grin. He finally lost the battle and burst into laughter.
“I’ll take that as a no.” I stacked empty plates and stood.
Alex stopped me with a hand on my elbow. “Sorry, Nate. But you looked like you were swallowing lemons when you asked.” He sobered quickly and pushed away from the island. “It isn’t a particularly interesting story. Boy meets boy. Falls in love. Wants to come out and share it with the world, but alas, other boy gets cold feet. The end.”
I set the dishes in the sink and turned back to lean against the counter. Something in his monotone delivery was a little too robotic. Like practiced boredom that rang false. It made me curious.
“So, he was in the closet too?”
Alex snorted indignantly. “He was so in the closet, he actually had a beard.”
“Huh?”
“He was married.”
“You had an affair with a married man?”
“Separated. They weren’t living together. When we met, they were already— Whatever. It’s not important.”
“How was his commitment to his marriage so unimportant you were able to overlook it?”
“Are you judging me? Don’t answer. You’ll only piss me off.” He stood with one hand resting on the island and a fierce scowl on his brow. “Armand is a closeted gay man who got married to please his family. He had a string of guys before me and no doubt he’s got a sexy man in his bed now. It’s reality. Everyone talks about equality, but they fixate on marriage and happy things like it’s all so fucking easy. It isn’t easy! Not for everybody. Not everyone feels like they can come out, even if the law says ‘it’s cool, we accept you now.’ I understood Armand because I was just like him. Correction, I still am. Times may be changing, but they haven’t changed that fast. Not for everyone.”
He sighed and looked out the window before continuing. “He was Latino too. From Puerto Rico. And he was eight years older than me. He was an only son whose duty was to marry and procreate to keep the family line going. A tall order for the average gay man who wants nothing to do with lady parts. But he did it. Because he was supposed to.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“You’re an only son too. Do you feel like you’re supposed to go with tradition in spite of not….” I stalled trying to find the proper words.
“Not liking pussy?” He rolled his eyes when I gave him a dirty look. “Yeah, I know what I’m supposed to do. At least I know the rules according to my dad, the Catholic Church, and a bunch of fundamentalist assholes who love to tell everyone how to live their lives. But I can’t do what they want. I can’t be someone I’m not. I also can’t pretend I don’t understand why others feel like they have to try. Some people risk alienation or worse, and they aren’t strong enough to deal with the fallout. I’d be a complete fucking hypocrite if I said I didn’t get it. Being with someone like me was perfect for Armand. Culturally I knew the limitations. What I didn’t count on was falling in love. Except, I guess it wasn’t really love after all.”
“So, you wanted to come out, and he didn’t?”
“He said he wanted to. He was going to file for divorce, and we’d go public. Armand was the team physician. I got hurt in one of the season opening games and spent a lot of time in his office. The rest was history. We were together for two years. No one knew. I can’t say what made me want to come out. Maybe it was an article I’d read or maybe I’d heard about some athlete in another sport entirely who’d done it. One day, I was just so overcome by it all. How much I cared about him and how hard it was to hide. All the time.”
Alex absently brushed his hair behind his ear and stared out the window. The tight set of his jaw and his rigid posture told me he was lost in an unpleasant memory.
“I told him I wanted to come out. He wasn’t thrilled, but he said he’d get there. He said he loved me, and he’d stand by whatever I chose to do. I was unbelievably happy. So, I told my father, who went apeshit crazy.” Alex chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. “Trust me, I heard more about family values, God, and honor in that one visit than I ever care to again. I may have been over thirty at the time, but don’t kid yourself when it comes to Latino parenting. Guilt is a handy weapon my father knows how to use, and he uses it often.
“But this time I swore I wasn’t going to listen when I heard shit about me being an embarrassment to my team and the entire sport. I wasn’t going to be swayed by him telling me how horribly disappointed my mother would have been if she were alive, God rest her soul. Or that she was probably rolling in agony in her grave at that very moment. No. I was over the lying. I was ready to live my life in the open.”
The acoustic strains of a Foo Fighters song played softly in the background. I waited patiently for him to speak and hoped the end of his story would bring a return to his happier self. The haunted look in his eyes was unbearable.
“Everything went to hell within two days. I’d suffered a minor injury a few weeks before, but I was healing fine. It wasn’t a big deal. I was expected to resign my contract in Boston, but LA was supposedly looking at me too. I’m not sure what happened exactly, but the gist was Boston opted out, and the LA contract never materialized. A day later Armand called us quits. He said he wasn’t ready, and he needed time away from our relationship.” Alex shrugged, pushing his hand through his thick locks. “I was out of a job and dumped by the guy who’d told me three days before how much he loved me. Maybe that’s cause my dick was in his ass. Who knows? I lost everything. The only one who got what they wanted was Tonio Reyes.”
“Your dad?”
“Yeah. He didn’t win really. He certainly didn’t want my career to end. But then again, as my manager, he didn’t want to have to deal with the bullshit of a media blitz surrounding a gay player who also happened
to be his son. He dodged a bullet. Whatever. I guess in some ways I did too.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry. That sucks.”
“Yeah, but it’s over. I went back to college, finished my degree, and opened a successful business. I like my life. I have good friends. I like where I live and work.” He paused with a sigh. “But nothing is really different. And lately I’ve been thinking….”
“About what?”
“I think it’s time to come out. All the way. I’m a retired athlete in a sport most Americans don’t give two shits about until World Cup comes along. Some people may still notice. And there may be some media attention, but I think I’m ready for it. I just have to deal with my father, and that’s not going to be easy.”
“I understand.”
Alex cocked his head and squinted at me with a funny expression. “Really? Most people would say ‘Get a life. You’re thirty-five. Grow a pair.’”
I gave a halfhearted chuckled and uncrossed my arms. “I’m not Latino, but I grew up in a strict household, Alex. I understand not wanting to disappoint the people you love.”
He nodded thoughtfully and took a deep breath as he glanced out the kitchen window. When he looked back at me, his eyes were lit with mischief. I was on guard immediately, wondering what was going to come out of his mouth next and sensing it was something potentially troublesome for me.
“I have a proposition for you. It’s a little… indecent, but hear me out. Okay?”
“An indecent proposition?” My eyes narrowed suspiciously. What the fuck was going through his head?
“Just listen. If you’d rather not, I won’t be offended or bothered. But I think I have a solution to both of our problems.”
“What are you talk—”
“Shh. Escúchame. Por favor.” He shot me a pointed look and mumbled in Spanish as he turned to pace the area in front of the kitchen island.
“English.”
He stopped and gave me another once-over before coming to stand directly in front of me. We held eye contact for a long moment. I did my best not to blink or look away while he seemingly searched for the answer to a question he had yet to ask.