by S A Sommers
He opened it before the knock even died in the hallway.
Well.
I gave him a charming grin. “Good morning. Are you set and ready to go?”
He looked me up and down, shocked. “Are you…are you decked out in Cubs gear? Do you want to get shot?”
“Not particularly, but I’m not going to a Cubs game in Mets gear.” I made a fake spitting sound.
Chase’s eyes bugged right out of his head. “A what?”
“A Cubs game. There’s a three game series, and I got us tickets for this afternoon’s game. So, let’s get going.”
“I…uh.” He looked down at himself, his eyes then darting around. “Hold on? I gotta change.” He flew away from the door and back into his apartment. I laughed as he dove into the closet in the now living room and dug his way in.
Clicking the door closed, I looked around the former living room, waiting for him. His room was a fashion statement, with mute silvers and blues, pale gray furniture that was all reclaimed and refinished, and a set of gray and silver curtains on the windows.
Chase popped back into the bedroom and whipped his original shirt off and—
He was lithe and toned and his skin was a perfect tan color displaying his Latino heritage. A dusting of dark hair on his chest set off his skin, and it disappeared from his chest to just above his navel, where it picked back up and disappeared behind the waist of his pants.
Ah, shit.
I spun back to the door and flicked the chain for something to do.
Holy crap, Chase Garcia was a god.
Go away, erection. Go away. Bad timing.
“Ready?”
He was right at my shoulder, and I could feel the warmth of him radiating on my arm.
No! Bad dick! Back! Behave!
I nodded and pulled the door open, praying that my one hundred and ninety dollar jeans were going to be able to contain my massive—amount of lust.
Chase pulled the door closed, and I realized he’d changed into a Cubs’ jersey. A real home game one. A Javier Baez, with the number ‘9’ on the back.
“Damn, you really are a fan.”
He smirked, and whipped out a real home game cap, and slipped it on to his head. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to a game. And we’re headed to enemy territory. I need to gird my loins.”
Erg, so did I.
Eventually, the pressure went down as we walked toward the subway. I pulled out my phone and checked the trains we needed. I wasn’t ashamed in having no idea where Citi Field was earlier in the week. I was a Cubs fan, not a Mets fan. But as it turned out, it was way closer than Yankee Stadium and we just had to change at Grand Central for the 7 Train to Mets-Willets Point.
Easy.
Also, kind of fun. Living in New York was still a bit of a novelty to me, so taking the trains and saying things like ‘the 7 train’ made me feel like I knew what I was doing.
Getting on the 7 at Grand Central, we were politely, and good naturedly booed as we took our seats. Chase was laughing, and I stood and gave everyone the finger. They booed and laughed louder and I sat down.
“I didn’t realize they were friendly,” Chase hissed.
“Most places you go, the sports teams are a friendly competition,” I answered. “The only place you’ll ever feel threatened is by the bleacher creatures, and in Philadelphia. Don’t ever go to a game in Philly decked out in the opposing team. They will hound your ass.”
He laughed. “Is that experience?”
“Damn straight.” I nodded. “Dad took us once and that was a disaster. We bought cheap Phillies T-shirts and changed in the bathrooms.”
Chase was laughing, hard. “Seriously?”
“Yeah, but the cheesesteak was worth it.”
Shaking his head, we watched the dark tunnels flicker by as the wheel screamed along the metal tracks. The light from the car shone off cables attached to the wall, and we sped under the East River out toward Queens and the baseball game.
I really hoped that this was enough of an apology. Because being near someone as hot and nice as Chase was absolutely going to leave me with zipper imprints on my dick.
CHASE
MARCUS HAD ABSOLUTELY SHOCKED ME with the tickets. I had no idea he felt that bad about skipping out on the furniture moving party. I would have been less forceful on the whole thing if I knew guilt was going to play into it.
At the same time, the guy was really excited to be going to a game.
Frankly, so was I. I hadn’t been in years. I’d gone once or twice when I’d first gotten to the city, seeing if I could pledge my sort-of allegiance to either the Mets or the Yankees. While the Yankees had been fun, cheering against my whole childhood in favor of the Mets had not happened.
Eventually, I just forgot about it. There was no one to enjoy the games with anyway. And going on my own wasn’t washing away the hurt.
This, though, in my native ritual dress, with someone also in their ritual dress, had the potential to be a shit ton of fun. I knew we were going to be ribbed and teased, but as long as we weren’t in with the bleacher creatures, we’d be just fine.
Jeers and boos followed us off the train, down the walkway, across the lawns and up to the entrance of Citi Field. By the time we were halfway between the stadium and the train, I was proudly waving my middle finger at the other fans along with Marcus.
This was more fun than I’d had in a long time.
Walking into Citi Field, I craned my neck around. This was way, way nicer than Shea stadium had been. That thing had been falling down around the team’s ears. Marcus flashed the tickets and we headed into the stands. We were half an hour early, so there was a bit of time before everything filled up.
Since he’d bought the tickets, I bought the beers. I knew he’d had a fondness for Brooklyn Brown, so I got two very expensive cups of it, as well as two pretzels. I handed one of each to him.
Leading us on, we walked closer and closer to home base. Down into the front sections right behind the plate and finally, he motioned to two seats just outside of the first base line at home.
I stared at him. “Are you fucking with me?”
“What? I couldn’t get them any closer—”
“These are season seats, man, you can’t just—”
“I got them off someone who has season passes. They weren’t able to make this game and had them up on StubHub at a reduced rate. I figure it was a good deal. Since we aren’t cheering for the home team, why pay full price at their home?”
“Boo!” someone screamed from above us.
We both flipped the bird up toward them.
I plunked my ass into the seat next to him. “Marcus. I didn’t know you felt this bad about ditching me—”
“You’ve been more kind about my dog than I had any right to expect. Changing your place around, not complaining, walking him when I couldn’t get home. Sit your ass in that seat and help me feel better about how I’ve taken advantage of you.”
I could think of better ways to take advantage of me.
The thought shocked me so much, I almost dropped my beer. Marcus managed to grab my hand at the last second and steady it.
A bolt of lightning went through my fingers at his touch.
I froze. What the shit was that? What was going on? He’d only saved my beer that I’d paid too much for. He’d only brought me to a baseball came to make up for being a bit of a user. He’d only gotten some of the best seats I’d ever been in for a game. He’d only texted me every day, saying hello and chatting about stupid mundanities.
Oh, and I’d only masturbated to his voice three times a week for the past two years.
Jesus, Mary, Joseph, and the camel.
Was I falling for Marcus Chastain Romano?
“Got it?”
I looked at him and realized he was staring at my beer.
“Oh, yeah, yeah. I’m good.” I slipped it into the cup holder and promptly shoved a large portion of my pretzel in my mouth.
I chewed as fast as I could while I was nodding. “You did not have to do this at all, Marc. Not at all. This is a lot.”
“You’ve been one of four people since I moved here who have gone out of their way to help me. And I’m grateful. When I saw the Cubs shrine, I figured it would be cool to catch a game.”
He took a thoughtful bite of the pretzel. “So, what did you say you do for living?”
Polite chat. Right. That was a normal buddy thing to do. I swallowed hard before I answered. I was feeling really, really off balance at that moment. “Graphic design. I usually work on online commercial placements, but they have me taking over my co-worker’s billboard next week.”
“Is he that bad?”
“No, he had to take FMLA…uh, family medical leave. I don’t really get along with him that great. He’s an arrogant asshole and a bit of a scatter brained twink, but I think that part is an act.”
“Don’t hold back now.” He laughed, clearly unaware of what my brain was doing in my head at that moment.
I forced my thoughts to circle back to Felix and his weird change of attitude in the past week. “You know, come to think of it, something was very different about him this week. Usually he flames in, shits all over everyone’s good day and flounces back out, but this week, he was very quiet and didn’t seem to want to be seen. That’s not his thing.”
Marcus was looking at me strangely. “Are you…homophobic?”
“What?” Everything else in my brain evaporated.
“You’re using some pretty harsh language here, man. I mean flaming? Flouncing?”
Now I was confused. “Well, I mean…he’s gay and he pisses me off all the time with his over-the-top antics when I know he’s not really like that…”
“There’s nothing wrong with being gay.”
“Of course not—oh shit.” I gasped and put a hand over my mouth. “You really think I’m being a homophobe right now, don’t you?”
“I’m just expecting you to call him a fa—”
I slapped my hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it. Don’t. I’m not going to. Felix’s ostentatious flouncing and flaming bothers me because it makes everyone in the office think that all gay men act like that. And we don’t.”
I felt his jaw go slack behind my hand and his eyes grew wide.
My eyes were wide too. “Wait, Marcus. You didn’t realize I was gay?”
He shook his head in the negative and I dropped my hand from his mouth. “You are?”
I nodded.
“Oh, my God.” He went bright red with embarrassment. “Chase, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize… Holy crap my gaydar is broken.”
The laugh just slipped out, catching the attention of some of the people sitting nearby. I clapped a hand over my mouth and manage to calm down. “I didn’t realize you didn’t realize.” I patted his hand. “It’s fine. No harm no foul, here. But you can understand why I get mad at Felix?”
He laughed and nodded. “Yeah. I’m a former high school wide receiver and gay as the day is long. Him acting over the top about being gay can make some gay guys uncomfortable.”
“I’ve shared a cube with the guy for three years, and I’ve seen him act like his true self a few times. I often wonder what he gains from being so flamboyant as an act. I know some men are just naturally twinks, and with them it comes off way more honest, sincere, and natural. Noah and Uriah’s younger brother is a sweet, soft, flamboyant man who really just pulls you in with his charms and silly nature. And to see Felix trying so damn hard to be silly, charming, and sincerer by acting like a damn fool…it makes me mad.”
Marcus nodded. “I get that. I hate being pigeonholed for being gay.” He flopped his hand, making his wrist limp. “I can’t tell you how many times I was asked why I wasn’t wearing a dress.”
“You do not have the legs for it.” I deadpanned.
“Girlfriend you have no idea,” he answered, rolling his eyes.
We collapsed into gales of laughter and it really felt like a wall had come down between us. I’d been comfortable around him before, but now it felt like…
I cut the thought off. Enjoy the game, asshole.
“So, what do you do for work?”
He held up a finger as he finished chewing his bite of pretzel. “I’m a sound engineer, for now. I’ve been late this week because we kept having to re-engineer these four commercials. Turns out, someone had access to our server and was uploading new cuts without change orders. That’s all been sorted and we’re starting over on Monday.”
I hadn’t missed the statement early on in his explanation. “For now?”
He nodded. “I went to Boston Conservatory. I actually want to break into voice acting. Not just commercials, but I’d love to do cartoons and movies. Be the next voice of the Enterprise…uh, what are they on now? G? H?”
Swallowing hard, I pursed my lips. “Actually? The next in the canon is ‘S’.”
“Oh, no. Are you a Trekkie?”
“Trekker. Not as hardcore. I’m not going to sit here defend Plato’s Children as a marvelous piece of cinema because it has the first interracial kiss. The story was shit, and there were undertones of forced intercourse.”
“That whole little speech was not the speech of someone lightly involved in the fandom.” Marcus’ eyebrow rose as he considered me.
I coughed. “Well.”
“Well what?” He was desperately hiding a laugh.
“I might have been into it a lot more when I was in high school. And maybe I read the Memory Alpha wiki once in a while to see if I remember anything.”
Marcus started laughing, unable to hold it anymore. “It’s no worse than me reading Wookiepedia for shits and giggles.”
Slumping into my chair, I laughed along with him. “Okay, fine, fair enough. Trekker and a Star Woid.” When we finally calmed from laughing, I glanced over. “Really, though? A voice actor?”
I knew exactly what I was doing.
He nodded. “Yeah. Someone told me long ago that while I might not be able to sing well, my voice was clear and strong and I kind of took that to heart. I went to Boston to see if I could develop it. I did pretty well. I have a second income from my audiobooks.”
There it was—my opening. “I saw that on the wall of fame in your apartment. I hope you don’t mind I was snooping.”
“It’s on the wall and you’ve been in my place more than I have lately.” The second half of his sentence was bitter, but only just.
“What’s it for?”
“Male narrator of the year.”
I swatted his arm. “I can read that. What book did you get it for?”
He scratched his head, and blushed. “Too Far the Near Shore.”
I gasped, loudly. “Holy shit, that was you? You read a Pulitzer nominated book?”
“Yeah,” he said, quietly. “I don’t do them under my real name. You can read, you saw it. But the author listened to some of my other audiobooks and he liked the voice. So he went out of his way to find me and beg me to record it.”
“Why aren’t you crowing that from the nearest trees? That book was amazing, and the audiobook was…phenomenal. Wait…did you also do the sound engineering on it? All the special effects?”
“I have a second award for that,” he answered.
“Oh my God, Marcus! Why don’t you have your name in lights over the next Disney Animated marquee?”
He swallowed, nervously. “Because just about everything else I’ve ever narrated has been gay or straight romance.” His eyes slipped to mine. “And the world doesn’t look kindly on romance at all. It’s considered a crap genre, even if it is full of the world’s bestselling books at any given time.”
I could see him wilting. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if you tell someone you work with the romance genre, in just about any capacity, they look down their nose at you. That Thomas Renault hunted me down to do the book w
as a fucking miracle. No one in academia wants to consider the genre as a legitimate pursuit. Despite there being romance all over the literary canon. DuMaurier, the Brontës, Bram Stoker, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Wilde, Hugo, Morrison… Genre literature is not respected. Not horror, not sci-fi, not fantasy, not romance. The academics consider it below them, when in fact it is the very essence of the human condition. Even disguised as the Night King, Maud’dib, or a Langolier.”
Staring out at the field, I blinked a few times. “Is your degree in Arts or Psychology? Because, damn, dude.”
He sighed. “That escalated quickly.”
The laugh burst out of me again. This man was brilliant and funny. No wonder I agreed to walk his dog.
MARCUS
HE WAS GAY.
Chase was gay.
He was into men. He liked dick.
Oh, dear God in Heaven, he played for my team and I was so, so screwed. It was bad enough I had been staring after his ass when I thought he was straight, but then I had seen his naked torso. Now, all that combined with the fact that he was gay.
Done. Gone. Pure whack-off fantasy for the next two months.
I wanted to weep into my hands. Because for all the interest in him I had shoved back down, he didn’t show even the slightest interest in me. That kinda sucked.
Somehow, I managed to keep my head about me, and steered my brain and dick away from the man back to the game.
As it turned out, the Mets beat the tar out of the Cubs. Didn’t surprise either of us, and while we were fans, it became clear we were casual fans. Didn’t mean the loss didn’t hurt. Every Cubs loss hurt, but I’d stopped being achingly disappointed.
The crowd was still booing us cheerfully on the way back to the train, and we didn’t care. We just kept handing out the middle fingers and heading for the station.
“Got any plans for dinner?” Chase asked.
“Not really,” I answered.
“How about we grab some Thai from Chez Trinh, and we can crash at my place for a few. Since I have a bigger couch and a television.”
“A television, how fancy,” I mocked.
“Well, it’s bigger than yours.”