“Remember that friend I told you about whose brother keeps wanting to meet you?”
“Uh, Dad.”
Timothy laughed. “You sound like you did when you were eleven, and I tried to act cool for your friends.”
“Similar.”
“No, seriously, this guy is supposed to be quite nice looking, successful, and he wants to take you to dinner at the Flying Fish.”
“My fave.”
“I know. The worst that can happen is you get a great meal, right?”
“If you say so.”
“So, I can give my friend your number to give his brother?”
There was no stupid point to sitting around hoping for Rick Ronconi to suddenly decide to come out. “Mmm, okay I guess.”
He laughed again. “I’ll tell him you were burning up the lines with your enthusiasm.”
“Don’t you dare.”
“I’ll pass on your number. Will I see you tonight?”
Jimothy smiled. “Yep. I’ll cook, okay?”
“I’ll make the long trip to your door. What time?”
“I’ll be home by six. Come on in any time and pet the furries.”
“Done. See you then.” He hung up.
Jimothy inhaled. By six, he could probably pretend there was nothing wrong.
Rick stared at his phone screen—again. He’d sent one text. It had taken him half an hour to compose it.
Hi. I’m sorry you left so fast. I didn’t get a chance to thank you and tell you how much I love my place—and my hair. We were going to do a toast to you, but you left. Everyone thinks you’re amazing. I could never have done any of it. Thank you. Rick.
Shit. What a dumb fucking email. Everyone thinks you’re amazing. Hell, I couldn’t even say I think he’s amazing?
No answer. No damned answer. Of course, the fact that it was one thirty in the morning could have something to do with it. He’d ended up ordering food for Fred, Jose, and Mel, and they’d hung around drinking beer until eleven. He’d been antsy the whole time, not wanting anyone to mess up his place so it would look perfect when Alice and Hank came over. And most of all, wanting to call Jimothy.
The worst moment had come when Jose and Fred left, and Mel wanted to stay. He’d told her truthfully that he was whipped and still had a day’s work on Sunday to get ready for his guests. She’d looked at him like he was crazy. It wasn’t like he didn’t build shit every day and having a couple people over for drinks wasn’t exactly the royal wedding. Why should that interfere with a night’s fucking?
And that was the question.
Rick set the phone on the nightstand and stared at the ceiling he couldn’t see in the dark. He’d managed to get rid of Mel by being persistent even though she’d looked at him like some giant wimp, but he couldn’t get rid of the obvious question. If he was, as he always told himself, bisexual with a slight preference for women, why didn’t he want to have sex with a woman? Not just Mel, any woman?
If he examined his feeling honestly, admittedly not his strong suit, he didn’t even want to have sex with Denny, although he probably would have if Denny showed up on his doorstep at that moment. The truth was, he wanted to have sex with Jimothy, and that, friends, was one big fucking problem.
It was one thing to have a kink for femmes, watch femme porn, and admire the femme guys he saw in bars. But actually doing something about it? Okay, Jimothy had sucked his cock, but nobody knew, and Jimothy wouldn’t tell.
Nobody knew—but Rick.
What he knew was that lying on that hairy floor with that beautiful guy bobbing his head over Rick’s crotch had been the best thing ever. No other sex he’d had even came close. There, that was the truth.
So, he lay there faced with his own realization. First off, he couldn’t have Jimothy—probably. No, almost certainly. Jimothy was way too good for Rick. He’d probably sucked Rick’s cock because he liked giving head. Hell, that idea made his balls tingle. But even more to show Rick something important about himself. He’d certainly succeeded.
But say for the purposes of self-examination that he could have Jimothy, like for a boyfriend. Wow, the idea gave him goosebumps. But it also meant he’d have to get a new job. His father maintained he had nothing against queers personally; they were just bad for business. Gay guys made customers feel uncomfortable, he always said. Obviously, he was wrong since Rick was queer, but it was one reason Rick had fought so hard against admitting he liked anyone but females. He’d been scared his customers would be able to tell. The first time he bent over for Denny, he’d been sure the next day that Mr. and Mrs. Murch, the super-conservative clients from Newport Beach, would know from the way he walked or smelled or something, that he’d been banged by a guy. But nope. Mr. Murch had spent the next day trying to get Rick to lower his prices as usual, and Mrs. Murch had grabbed his ass—also as usual.
Still, Jimothy would never pass for straight and wouldn’t want to, so Rick’s dad would find another manager, and Rick would find a job. Normally, that wouldn’t be hard since he was experienced and good, but word that he was sleeping with a guy would get around fast. Would that lock him out?
Telling Fred and Jose and the other guys would be totally weird. Of course, they wouldn’t work for him anymore, so they’d have no reason to hang with him.
And then there was Alice. Yes, she’d been excited that he was seeing Melanie, but chances were good she wouldn’t much care if he was gay. She would, however, care that he’d been lying to her all those years. Would she believe that he’d been lying to himself even more? It’d be hard enough losing her to marriage and a new life. Could he afford to give her more reasons to distance herself?
No doubt about it, coming out, especially for a femme guy like Jimothy, would change everything.
But it was also true that the “everything” that made up his life wasn’t all that damned great.
He closed his eyes. Sleeping was another problem.
A few hours later, light in the sky signaled that it was more or less morning, and he was allowed to get up. He dragged himself out from under the covers and picked up his phone. His text sat there, just as bare and lonely as when he’d put it in. Sighing, he walked to the bathroom and jumped when he saw himself in the mirror. Whoa, he looked so different. He was nervous about seeing Alice but excited too. As he brushed his teeth with one hand, he texted with the other, Hey, brat, why don’t you and Hank meet me at my apartment at 5:00 p.m.?
Just the idea made him catch his breath, but what the hell? He didn’t do all this for himself.
He took a quick shower just to wake himself up—he was going to have to take another one after he finished redoing the bathroom and the bedroom—and dressed in the same dirty sweats he’d had on the day before. He hated to do it, but the coffee and breakfast stuff from Starbucks Fred and Jose had brought were damned good, so he made a quick trip for breakfast. While he was out, he also stopped at Bed, Bath, and Beyond and loaded up on towels and wash clothes that he hoped matched the new shower curtain and what Jimothy’d called “bath accessories” that he’d picked out at IKEA.
At home, he scarfed two egg-and-turkey-bacon sandwiches, then went to work on the bathroom floor with tile that matched the kitchen. While it dried, he worked on the bedroom, laying the new rug under his bed, and putting on new sheets and a bedspread that picked up the pale gold color from the rug.