by TJ Klune
He shrugged. “I’m your boss. And we’re not at work now, are we?”
NO, WE’RE NOT! THANK YOU FOR NOTICING! TAKE OFF YOUR PANTS!
I coughed roughly.
He glanced over at me. “All right?”
“Fine,” I managed to say. “Just the exhaust and the color of your Jeep. Nothing to worry about.”
“It’s sunshine!”
“Just because it has a pretty name doesn’t mean it’s not offensive. Or inappropriate for a man of your age and social standing.”
He sighed dramatically. “And here I was, extending my hand in kindness to someone in need, and all I’m getting for it is shit in return.”
“You deserve it,” I told him honestly. “What happened to the little car you had back at the wedding?”
He looked surprised. “You remember that thing?”
“Uh, yeah.” Why wouldn’t I? “I mean, that looked like the car I expect all untenured college professors to have. It even had an old peace symbol sticker that I assume had a story behind it that involves you wearing large amounts of hemp.”
He snorted. “Not quite. I decided to get rid of it and upgrade.”
“And this is what you chose.”
“Get out.”
I reached for the door. “It’s probably for the best. I have a reputation to maintain.”
“You know what? I changed my mind. Stay here. I want to see everyone staring at you.”
I dropped my hand again. “And you think I’m a dick.”
Traffic began to slowly move forward. “How do you think today went?”
I thought hard for a moment before answering. “Honestly? It was… more intimidating than I expected. Kids these days. I don’t know. A lot has changed since I was their age, and that wasn’t too long ago. They’re… pretty forward.”
“Understatement,” he said. “Though I think they have a right to be, for the most part. They’ve spent a lot of their lives being questioned. I think it’s only fair they get to do the same.”
I sighed. “Yeah, I suppose. But it’s still going to take some getting used to. I get being proud and all, but some of them seem to have a chip on their shoulders. Like, you’re either queer or you’re against us. I don’t know if that’s the best line of thinking.”
“Is it so bad to think that way?”
I shrugged. “I think it cuts off a large group of people who are on our side. Allyship is important, so long as it’s respectful. Not everyone out there is a homophobe, even if they seem to be the loudest of all. Jerks like that tend to scream because it’s the only way to override everyone else.”
“So what would you do to change that way of thinking?”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “Are you asking me as my boss?”
He didn’t look at me, but he smiled. “We’re after hours. I’m asking as someone who’s just curious. No ulterior motives.”
Dammit. Ulterior motives were my favorite kind of motives. Jesus Christ. “I want to show them that it’s not always going to be Them versus The World. That closing ranks might not be the best way forward. Just because someone isn’t queer doesn’t mean they can’t understand. Maybe not completely, but there’s all kinds of prejudice out there.”
“And if they refuse to listen?”
Yeah, this was feeling more and more like another interview. “Then I would hope to give them guidance that means keeping them safe. I think there’s a difference between being on point with your message and steamrolling everyone else. Having a space where they can just be who they are is great, but it’s a bubble. It’s not always going to be that way.”
“Such a moderate,” he teased.
I rolled my eyes. “Hardly. I’ve just… huh.”
“What?”
I tapped my fingers on my knee. “I was just thinking about my friends.”
“What about them?”
“None of them are straight. Like, I literally have no friends that aren’t queer.” I frowned. “Well, Paul’s parents are, I guess. And his nana, though I really don’t want to ask her about that because of what she might tell me.”
He laughed. “Dad told me about her. Said she was, and I quote, a hoot and a half.”
“That’s… one way to put it. They were dancing at the wedding. Charlie tried to save him, but Nana growled at him and he backed off.”
“Intimidating?”
“You have no idea,” I told him honestly. “You should be thankful she hasn’t met you yet. She’s going to tear you to pieces. I guess it sort of makes sense why the kids said what they did. I can’t act like I know better than them when I do the same things they do. It’s hypocritical.”
“Yet,” Jeremy said.
I glanced at him. “What?”
“You said I should be thankful I haven’t met her yet. As if it’s a foregone conclusion that I will.”
Uh-oh. Instant flop sweat on top of regular sitting-in-a-Jeep-in-June sweat. “Right. Um. Well, I mean, you probably will, right? If Charlie and your dad continue to do… whatever.”
Jeremy grimaced. “And I’ll remind you to keep this whatever as vague as possible.”
It was hitting me then. This proximity. What it could potentially mean. I didn’t know if it was the best thing in the world or the absolute worst. “It’s most likely inevitable,” I said, mostly to myself in a dawning horror. “Like, you’re going to get sucked in and you’ll never be able to leave.”
“You make it sound terrible.”
That’s because it was. “You should know that Paul’s nana has a parrot that says mean things, and Paul has a two-legged dog named Wheels. And also, Nana might have been some sort of hit man or assassin or something. We’re not quite sure. All we know is that she’s not allowed back in certain states, and I think she might have stolen the limo she currently drives.”
“I don’t know what to do with any of that,” he said faintly.
“Most people don’t. You just need to prepare yourself. Or you can drop me off right here and drive away as quickly as possible. I haven’t even told you about the Seafare people.”
“The who now?”
I shook my head. “It’s best if we put that off as long as possible. If they find you, you’ll be wrapped up in so much drama and angst, your head will spin. It’s like… I don’t even know, man. Evil moms and unknown sisters. It’s just this whole thing. How did we even get here? What were we talking about again?”
“The kids at Phoenix House,” he said, sounding amused.
“Right. Them. Look. I know they get shit. I did. Sometimes I still do. But I just want them to see that not everyone is against them if they don’t share an orientation or gender identity. We need to work together. It’s the only way things will change. Remember that It Gets Better campaign?”
He nodded.
“I get what it was doing. And all the good it brought. But it pissed me off with the implication that it will get better in the future, and things can’t be better now. Like, you’ll get crap for who you are today, but don’t worry! One day, you won’t!”
“It has its heart in the right place,” Jeremy pointed out. “Even if the message is a little muddled.”
I shook my head. “I get that. But I don’t know that it went far enough. With how everything is going right now politically, how are we supposed to tell those same kids it’ll get better when we, as adults, are fucking up things left and right?”
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, you know that?”
I groaned. “That sounded very placating.”
“It wasn’t meant to be, Corey,” he said, hands tightening on the steering wheel. “You’re an eloquent speaker when you want to be. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you. When I deal with hundreds of students a year, faces tend to blur together. But not you.”
I scoffed. “You’re just trying to say I’m loud and never shut up.”
He chuckled. “Well, there is that, yes. I think that these kids will need someone like
you. You’re going to make my job easier, that’s for sure.”
Oh no. Another soft compliment. I was going to be so fucking chafed later on. “How so?”
He glanced over at me before looking ahead. “I like being around young people. It gives me… I don’t know. Hope, I guess. I mean, sure, you’ve got the idiots like always, but every now and then you meet a person or a group of people you know are going to go on to do good things. Like you. Or these kids. I don’t know exactly what they’re going through, but I think I can understand. Things were… different when I was coming out.”
“Back in the eighties,” I said sagely. “When there were dinosaurs and you had to hunt and gather your food while wearing parachute pants.”
He scowled at me. “No. Not back in the eighties. Back in the nineties—”
“Oh, because that’s a huge difference. And I notice you didn’t say you didn’t wear parachute pants—”
“The late nineties,” he growled. “And I had only one pair of parachute pants.” He blanched. “And you can never ask my father about them at all. Or ask to see pictures. Of anything.”
“Too late,” I said gleefully. “The next time I see him, I am going to make sure he brings all the photo albums and—”
“I will fire you.”
“After hours, remember? Not my boss.”
“I take it back,” he muttered.
“Too late,” I told him ominously. “Remember what I said about never letting you go? It’s already begun.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
And boy, did that shut me up.
HE GREW quiet as I gave him directions to the house. His brow was furrowing, and I wondered if I’d said something wrong. Given that Ty had instilled in me the tendency to overanalyze everything I said, I replayed our conversation, wondering just where I’d gone wrong. Had I been flirting? I didn’t mean to. Mostly. But it was—
“You’re kidding me,” he said when I told him to turn down our street. “This is a joke, right? Did Dad put you up to this?”
I blinked, looking around. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood It was rooted firmly in middle class, and the houses were nice, if a little small. I was almost offended, ready to snap at him that not all of us could be Super Gays and to remind him that I was a college student and therefore broke, when he said, “I can’t believe this.”
“Believe what?” I asked, annoyed. I didn’t think he was the type of person to judge another’s home. Though I supposed it was good to find out he was an asshole now so I could get over whatever this… this crush I had was. “Stop here. That’s my house. That’s Sandy’s car in the driveway. And I’m sorry it’s not up to—”
“We’re practically neighbors.”
That stopped me cold. “What.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Dad and I literally live two streets over. How the hell didn’t I know this?”
No. No, no, no. I needed him to actually be an asshole. “What.”
He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head. The lines around his eyes were pronounced as he smiled brightly at me. “Seriously. Our house is only a couple of minutes away from here. We’re over on Copper. You know where the church is?”
I nodded stupidly. On Sundays we could hear the bells ringing.
“We live right behind it. Hell, I jog by your house almost every morning before work.”
There it was. The absolute worst thing I could find in a person. A flaw unparalleled by any other. I latched on to it. It would help me despise him. “You jog?” I exclaimed. “That’s awful. Why would you do that to yourself?”
He laughed. It wasn’t supposed to be funny! “It keeps me in shape. We all can’t be twenty-three and have a metabolism that lets us eat whatever we want with no repercussions.”
“But… but jogging. You literally go outside and run. On purpose. What the hell is—”
And then my porn brain remembered something from that very morning.
What was it Sandy had said?
You missed Hot Jogger Guy again this morning.
“Oh no,” I whispered.
Jeremy Olsen was possibly Hot Jogger Guy.
This knowledge meant my doom.
His smile faded. “Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I said hastily, trying to get the image of him in tiny shorts out of my head. “Absolutely fine. Nothing is wrong. Oh, look. We’re here. I should go.” I struggled to open the door. The handle pulled, but it didn’t work. Stupid fucking sorority girl vehicle.
“It’s locked,” Jeremy said.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why would you lock the doors—oh. Safety. Right. That’s good. Keep on… keeping on with safety.”
He pushed a button on his door, and the locks clicked. I threw open the door and started to climb out, only to have the seat belt I’d forgotten to unfasten pull me right back in. It pulled hard against my chest, and I said, “Urk.”
He was staring at me. “Have you ever gotten out of a car before?”
“Ha-ha!” I said wildly. “So funny! Look at you with the jokes! Good one, neighbor who lives near me!”
“That’s generally what the definition of a neighbor is, yes,” he said slowly. “I can’t believe we didn’t know that.” He snapped his fingers. “You know what? This makes things so much easier.”
I dreaded what he was going to say next but couldn’t stop myself from asking. “This makes what easier?”
“For you,” he said cheerfully. “You don’t have a car, right? And since we’re going to the same place, we might as well go together. I can pick you up and take you home. Better than taking the bus. You can save some money, and I can have someone to talk to on the ride there and back. Especially if we need to make plans for Phoenix House.”
He beamed at me as if he had just discovered the answer to all of life’s problems. He had no idea that I was going to fap so hard to that expression later on. I felt guilty about it, but not enough to reconsider. I had decided a long time ago that I was most likely firmly planted in the morally gray area. I had Sandy and Paul to thank for that.
“You don’t have to do that,” I said weakly as I unfastened the seat belt like a normal person.
He reached out and squeezed my arm. There was that vein again, mocking me. “I want to. And it’ll give us a chance to get to know each other better. If you’re under me, I’d like to know as much about you as I can.”
He had to know how that sounded. He had to. “Right,” I choked out. “Makes sense.”
“Good,” he said, pulling his hand back. “This is great. I can’t believe I didn’t know you lived here. Charlie never said anything when he came to pick up Dad. I’m going to have some words with him on that.” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll be here tomorrow at seven thirty, if that’s good with you.”
“Yeah,” I said as my brain refused to come back online. Just how tiny were those shorts? Was I going to cross that line and wake up bright and early tomorrow morning to see him running by the house?
You’re damn fucking right I was.
“Good,” he said. He smiled again. “I’ll let you—oh. Wait. One more thing.” He lifted up the center console and pulled out his phone. He glanced down at it as he typed on the screen. A moment later, my phone vibrated in my pocket. He looked back up at me. “Marina gave me your number earlier. Figure it’s best if you have mine too.”
“Swell,” I managed to say. “Just… swell.”
“Text or call whenever you need. I’m here for you, Corey.”
I felt like screaming. Instead I stumbled out of the Jeep, only keeping upright through sheer force of will. I shut the door behind me and told myself it wouldn’t look good if I ran up the walkway to the house and slammed the door to be safe.
I expected him to pull away from the curb.
He didn’t.
He waited until I was at the front door, fumbling with the knob. He didn’t leave until I opened the door, and it hit me then that he was being a gen
tleman.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
He honked the horn once as he drove away.
I shut the door behind me, slumping against it, trying to catch my breath.
Sandy appeared out of nowhere.
I screamed. Which in turn caused him to scream too.
“Why are we screaming?” he cried at me.
“You scared me!”
“Oh! I’m really sorry about that!”
“You should be!” I realized we were still screaming, so I snapped my mouth closed, trying to calm my racing heart.
“Why are you all sweaty?” he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. It didn’t look like he’d been home long, as he was still wearing his work clothes, though the tie had been loosened.
What the hell was with this third degree? “It’s hot outside,” I snapped at him. “In case you hadn’t noticed, we live in the desert.” I pushed myself off the door and brushed past him.
He started following me. Because of course he did. “I don’t think you’re being truthful with me.”
I threw up my hands. “God, I’ve been home for a minute and you’re already harping on me. Get off my back. It’s like I can’t ever have a moment’s peace.” I set my backpack down on the kitchen table and went to the fridge. I was so worked up, I felt like having a beer. And then I remembered that beer was empty calories and also disgusting (and that we’d never actually had beer in the house before), so I went for a Mike’s Hard Lemonade. I twisted the lid off savagely and tossed it onto the counter. I knocked back a few good swallows. It burned on the way down.
Sandy was standing in the entrance to the kitchen, hands clutched near his throat. “It’s like I don’t even know you anymore.”
I looked off into the distance, wallowing in all my man pain. “Darlin’, I don’t know if you ever did.”
Sandy gasped.
I took another drink. It made me feel good, like a real drink should. I looked around the kitchen, a scowl on my face. “I see that dinner’s not ready yet. Or has even been started. Is it too much to ask to have my steak ready for me when I get home?”
Sandy sagged against the wall. “I try,” he whispered, “so hard to make this a home. But you can’t even appreciate all the things I do for you. You only point out everything that’s wrong.”