Memories with The Breakfast Club: A Way with Words by Lane Hayes (1)

“He wanted to cry quietly but not for himself: for the words, so beautiful and sad, like music.” ― ,

Manhattan was stunning in May. The sky was dotted with fluffy clouds that looked like cotton balls or wadded up pieces of tissue paper. If I squinted real hard and maybe blocked out the Flatiron Building and the high rises on Fifth Avenue and concentrated on the strip of blue above Madison Square Park, I could imagine I was on a Spanish island. A really fucking loud island with a jackhammer banging along to the tune of honking taxis and pedestrians yapping at each other in every language known to man. I heaved a sigh then dabbed my damp forehead with the back of my hand before casting one last look at the man playing his guitar on the corner.

He was pretty good. And tenacious as hell. Who in their right mind thought entertaining tourists and locals by strumming an instrument every day was any fun? The spare change couldn’t be that great. Sure, the folks who lived or shopped in this part of town probably had some extra cash in their pockets and some people on vacation were generous for the heck of it, but still…it seemed kinda nuts. Not my problem, though. As long as he set up on the park side and stayed clear of the construction site, I didn’t care. Besides, he was pretty damn good. And easy on the eyes.

I stole one last glance at the handsome guy bent over his guitar while I waited at the crosswalk for the light to change. His mop of curly brown hair fell into his eyes enticingly when he played. My fingers itched with a sudden weird desire to hold his hair, maybe run my fingers through it and—Jesus, what was my problem? I took off my sunglasses and rubbed the lenses hard enough to make them crack. I was not allowed to have a crush on a street performer. Well, maybe I was but I couldn’t be obvious about it by staring at the guy. He’d think I was a creep.

Someone jostled my arm in his haste to be the first to cross the street. I let him pass and absently gazed backward, just as the hottie looked up and met my stare.

He set his hand over his strings, abruptly halting all sound. On a busy avenue in the Big Apple, that wasn’t possible for mere mortals. It was like I was wearing the strongest noise-resistant earplugs known to man. The kind that could block out a jet engine or New York City traffic. I tugged on my ear, grinning at my nonsensical thoughts as I started to turn. I froze a moment later when he smiled at me—’cause fuck, he had a beautiful smile. It transformed his sweet, even features into something otherworldly.

I don’t know how long I stood there gawking at the guy like an idiot, but I had a feeling it was too long. Traffic was whizzing by again, indicating I’d lost my chance to hightail it back to work. The only way to salvage my pride and not stand there looking like a fool was to introduce myself. Just a casual, “How ya doin’?” or “I like your music.” No big deal. I could do this, I told myself as I stepped around a gaggle of tourists taking photos.

“Hey,” I said, slipping my sunglasses back onto my nose. Damn, that was lame. I gestured toward his guitar and hoped I didn’t sound like a complete moron when I added, “You play pretty good.”

“Thank you.” He pushed his instrument behind his back then stood and offered his hand in greeting. “I’ve seen you around. I’m Remy.”

I stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before politely shaking it. He was warm to the touch, but not too smooth. The callouses on his fingertips were sexy somehow. But hey, I liked guys with rough hands. I liked his light beard too. It went well with his ripped Levis and plaid button-down shirt. The bohemian vibe suited him, I mused.

“What’s your name?” he prodded.

“I’m Tony. Nice to meet ya.”

“You must work nearby.”

“Uh…yeah, I—oh shit, I’m sorry.” I dropped his hand like a hot potato and shoved both of mine in my pockets.

“No problem. Where do you work?” Remy’s grin widened.

I found myself smiling back at him for no apparent reason as I angled my head toward the high rise under construction behind me.

“Across the street. I usually eat my lunch here and…stuff. Um. I hear you play almost every day. You’re not bad. Have you recorded any of your music? It’s good. Needs words, but still…you’re talented.”

Fuck, I had to shut up. My tongue was getting away from me. This wasn’t like me. I was quiet. I kept to myself. I wasn’t the kind of guy who engaged strangers in conversation. I hoped like hell I wasn’t totally blowing it because I really liked the sound of his voice and the way his full lips curled on one side. I didn’t want to talk about myself, though. Now that I was inexplicably here, I wanted to know more about him.

“High praise. You’re gonna make me blush,” he teased with a half laugh.

“Don’t mention it. Do you play in a club too or a bar?”

“Not exactly. I work at a bar, but I don’t play there. I’m a bartender at The Night Owl on Essex. Have you been?”

I frowned as I tried to place it. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s tiny…like the size of a speakeasy without the charm. The owner isn’t big on live music. He’s got a thing for classic rock. If it isn’t the Beatles or the Stones, he isn’t interested.”

“Hmm. What do you call what you were playin’?”

Remy’s lips twitched with humor. I couldn’t blame him. My Brooklyn accent thickened when I got nervous, and I’d been told I had a tendency to straighten my spine and furrow my brow. My cousin Mikey was always telling me to relax and smile a little. He said I looked menacing sometimes—like I wanted to kick ass, not make polite conversation. My whole family was sure it was why I was still single and hadn’t had a girlfriend in years. They were probably right about my lack of finesse, but they were dead wrong about the reason for my lack of female companionship.

“I call it flamenco.”

“Like Spanish guitar?”

“Exactly!”

“Are you Spanish? You don’t look Spanish.”

“I’m not. I’m American.”

“No kiddin’,” I said sarcastically.

Remy chuckled good-naturedly. “I’m French and Irish and maybe a little Scottish. You?”

“Guess.” I challenged him with a wry grin.

“I’m gonna go out on a limb and say…Italian.”

“And the guy with the fancy gee-tar is a winner!”

Remy snickered then cocked his head and gave me a lopsided smile that made my dick swell, testing the strength of the zipper on my Levis. “What’d I win?”

“Uh…I don’t—I should get going. My break’s up and—”

“It’s cool. No worries,” he assured me.

I nodded and then waved like a dumbass before taking a step backward. “I’ll see ya ’round.”

“Okay. It was nice to meet you, Tony.”

“Yeah. You too.”

“Hey!” he called. I turned around and waited for him to continue. “You should come by some time.”

“Where?”

Remy’s grin took on a sexy quality that made my breath hitch and my dick ache. Not ideal on a crowded city sidewalk when I was minutes from heading back to the jobsite.

“To The Night Owl,” he said mischievously. “I’m working this weekend. I’ll buy you a drink.”

“Maybe I will.”

We shared a smile I couldn’t measure. I wasn’t sure what it meant or if it meant anything at all. But I had a feeling I’d flirted with a cute guy and hadn’t been a total dweeb. In fact, he’d actually flirted back. He was interested. I knew I wouldn’t do anything about it, but I couldn’t deny it was kinda nice.

* * *

A Bon Jovi classic blasted from the radio later that afternoon. I sawed a two-by-four as I hummed about being halfway there. I glanced up when Mikey bellowed my name over the din of music and hammering.

“To-ny! Are you fuckin’ deaf?”

“No. I’m fuckin’ ignoring you,” I snarked. “What’s up?”

“Lindsay has a friend you gotta meet.” Mikey smiled when I groaned but unfortunately, didn’t stop talking. “Her name is Sarah. She’s a pretty brunette with a great sense of humor. She’s twenty-six, just got her master’s degree and started teaching at the junior college up on Bedford. She came by last night for a beer and we all got talkin’ and…come on, what do ya say?”

I flipped my protective lenses over my hardhat and studied my cousin. Like most of the De Lucas, Mikey had dark wavy hair, brown eyes, and olive-toned skin. He was a smallish man who lied himself up to five ten whenever the opportunity arose. Since I knew he was a good three inches shorter than my own five eleven, I called him on it whenever I got the chance. I figured it was my familial duty to torment him.

I cocked my head thoughtfully before responding. “No thanks.”

“Why?”

“I’m busy.”

“You’re not busy. You’re a hermit.”

“I like it that way. I don’t need you to set me up.”

“Trust me, Sarah’s great. Or did you want to wait for my mom to set you up with Karen the cannoli chef?”

“You mean baker.”

“Whatever. Nice lady but she’s too serious for you. You don’t laugh enough. But hey”—Mikey put his hands up and made his famous “I’m just sayin’ ” face—“up to you. Don’t be surprised if Ma invites her to dinner Sunday night.”

“Why would she do that?”

“ ’Cause she wants free cannoli for life. Why else?” he snapped sarcastically. “The only way out is to say you’re bringing someone else.”

         I rolled my eyes at my well-meaning cousin. “Thanks for the tip, Mikey, but I’m not staying for dessert. Maybe another time.”

“Damn, you’re stubborn. And why aren’t you staying for dessert? You have to.”

“Says who?” I narrowed my eyes, hoping to pull off the intimidating look he was always accusing me of.

Truthfully, my family’s persistent matchmaking attempts were beginning to alarm me. If it wasn’t one of my aunts, it was my mother. And now Mikey. He and Lindsay had been married for six months and suddenly, he was on a quest to make sure I joined his bliss. Or plight. I didn’t mind going out for the occasional drink and game of pool or darts in a group, but the days of being set up on blind dates were long gone.

“Hmph. Don’t say I didn’t tell you so when Karen is sitting next to you at dinner,” he singsonged.

“I’ll take my chances.”

“Fine. Wanna go out for a beer tonight or did ya make a date with the guitar player?”

“Guitar player?” I furrowed my brow. “What are you talking about?”

“I saw you making friends with that guy in the park earlier. Oh hey”—Mikey spread his arms and widened his eyes comically—“invite him over for dinner. Ma would love that!”

I didn’t take offense to the remark, but it was unwritten code that I had to retaliate for the same stupid homo jabs he’d been making in jest for years. I reached over to smack him upside the head.

“You’re a fuckin’ comedian. Lay off and don’t set me up with any of Lindsay’s friends either. I’m over it.”

Mikey grumbled loudly then shrugged. “Fine. Beer? Joey says we can hitch a ride with him back to Brooklyn. I’ll be ready to quit in ten. What about you?”

I glanced over at the plans lying on a nearby bench and thought about making up some excuse that might keep me on-site a little later. I quickly decided it was a bad idea. The last thing I needed was Mikey on my case. I didn’t like that he’d homed in on the guitarist. It felt personal somehow. I liked Remy. In fact, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I’d spent the better part of the afternoon replaying our conversation in my head. It was ridiculous but then again, I’d had a passing crush on the guy for two months.

It felt almost decadent to know things about him now, like his name and the sound of his voice and the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed. And I knew he was a bartender too. Not that I’d do anything more with that information than picture him wielding a martini shaker in a tight T-shirt while he talked sports, politics, and current events with his customers. He seemed flirtatious. I wondered if he turned on the charm with the ladies…or the men. Was he gay? I couldn’t tell for sure.

Oh, for fuck’s sake! This was what was wrong with me. Every time a cute guy caught my eye, I daydreamed about him. And lately, the vision morphed until it was the sexy man with the guitar in the park. Remy. I made up scenarios in my head where we met randomly in a dark club, hit it off, and naturally ended up in bed screwing our brains out. From the first time I’d set eyes on Remy, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. But I had to. The last thing I needed was to get outed on the job. Or anywhere.

* * *

Sunday dinner at Nonna’s was a De Luca family tradition. No one missed it without a good excuse. And it better be real good. Severe flu, a major accident, a vacation, or a move that put you seventy-five miles or more outside of the five boroughs…that kind of thing. Tickets to a Yankee game wouldn’t fly. Unless you budgeted an extra hundred bucks for flowers to apologize for thoughtlessly skipping out on family.

The word family was synonymous with religion where I was from. The De Lucas were tight. And there were a ton of us, which made every Sunday an event. It was loud, chaotic, and frenzied. Everyone talked over each other, kids darted between your legs, and if the television wasn’t on, there was music blaring in the background. These people were my constant. I spent every holiday and Sunday with them. I even worked with some of them at my uncle’s construction company.

Thankfully, I lived alone. Sure, my place was walking distance to a few of my cousins’ houses, but it was my slice of peace and quiet and a respite from well-meaning, interfering relatives. I’d take what I could get, I mused as my Aunt Francesca stopped to check on me and Karen the cannoli lady.

Mikey had warned me. Not that it would have mattered. If it wasn’t Karen, it would be some other woman. The alarming part was that this was becoming a bi-monthly thing, and I didn’t know how to put an end to it without attracting unwanted attention. It would have been nice to hang back with a beer and not constantly be working out my exit strategy.

“Tony loves biscotti, don’t you, honey? Chocolate. Those are his favorite,” Aunt Fran said loudly.

I nodded absently then tipped back my bottle and cast a longing sideways glance toward the front door. I’d been at Nonna’s for thirty minutes and I already wanted to escape.

“I bake a mean chocolate pistachio biscotti,” Karen bragged. The note of amusement in her voice made me look twice. We shared a brief smile that wordlessly acknowledged this was awkward. But it didn’t have to be.

Karen seemed cool. She was pretty-ish with medium-length brown hair, brown eyes, and a heart-shaped face. Unlike my sisters or most of my female cousins, she wasn’t wearing much makeup. Her floral dress was simple and wholesome. Most of the women I knew spent a lot of time and effort on their beauty routine. They wore copious cosmetics, form-fitting clothes, and fabulous shoes. I didn’t necessarily think there was a stereotype at play ’cause every single one of them was a no-nonsense ball-buster. Maybe Karen was too, but she looked too sweet to be a De Luca. For some reason, I liked that.

“What about chocolate hazelnut?” I asked in a serious tone.

“That too. But my specialty is bacon chocolate chip.” Karen winked and then grinned like she knew she had me at bacon.

“You’re fu—” I winced when my aunt narrowed her gaze and held her hand up like she was ready to smack me upside the head if I dared curse in front of a guest at my grandmother’s house. “Sorry. You’re messin’ with me. That sounds too good to be true.”

Karen snickered. “It’s true. I promise. Come by the bakery sometime and I’ll make you a special batch.”

“Maybe I will. Where do you work again?”

“Spinelli’s. It’s on 18^th by the dry cleaners.”

“Spinelli’s. I haven’t been there in a long time. I love that place. You work for Sal?”

“Yeah, he’s my uncle.”

“No way.”

“Way,” she repeated, raising her water bottle in a mock toast.

My aunt observed us intently before stepping aside with a lame excuse about helping in the kitchen when we all knew there wasn’t space for one more body in that room. I commended her reserve, though. I wouldn’t have been surprised if she fist-bumped everyone she passed on her way to find my mother to tell her she’d found a mate for Tony. I huffed good-naturedly at the thought. They’d never give up.

“Does she do this often?” Karen asked, interrupting my reverie.

“Every other Sunday.” I smiled and shook my head ruefully. “She and my mother take turns. They used to be more subtle, but I think they’ve given up on me.”

“Yeah, I can see why,” she teased. “You’re practically an old man of—how old are you?”

“Twenty-nine,” I deadpanned.

“Ancient. But that means I’m a crypt-keeper. I’m thirty-one.”

I let out a low whistle. “Damn. That is old.”

She snorted and lifted her bottle again. “I won’t be offended if you want to go watch baseball in the living room. You don’t have to hang out with me for their sake.”

“Sure, I do. But even if I didn’t, I wouldn’t go anywhere without hearing about what else you know how to make with bacon.”

She beamed at me before launching into in-depth detail about some of her better-known desserts. Karen was a pleasant surprise. I liked the way she inclined her head and moved her hands as she spoke. She was entertaining, sweet company and as she listed an impressive array of bacon flavored treats, I wondered idly if she was the type of girl I might have fallen for if I wasn’t…me.

Karen was easy to talk to and comfortable with my ginormous family—most of whom she seemed to know from the bakery. I didn’t mind hanging out with her or even sitting next to her at dinner. It wasn’t until my aunt suggested that I offer to drive her home that a familiar panicky feeling set in. A dinner with thirty-plus family members was one thing, but being in the close confines of my old pickup was another. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a nice way to refuse.

“I live in Park Slope. Are you sure you don’t mind? I was planning on calling a car,” she said as I escorted her to my truck.

“Nah. It’s cool. I don’t mind,” I lied.

Of course I minded! This little detour was a forty-minute round trip from Bensonhurst. Twenty minutes of acting like someone I wasn’t, and another twenty beating myself up for being a fucking coward.

It started out okay. We listened to the radio and rated some of the songs, which led to a brief conversation about favorite concerts and bands.

“I love live music. There’s a great place on Delancey that hosts all kinds of up-and-coming artists. You never know what you’re going to get…jazz, reggae, samba. They had a flamenco guitarist last week and a banjo player is supposed to—”

“Flamenco?”

I was grateful for the darkened interior. My brow creased so hard it gave me a headache.

“Yeah, he was good too. I usually picture flamenco dancers with brooding good looks, raven hair, wearing black and red, and lots of ruffles. I guess I thought the same about the guitarists. This one was a tall, skinny white guy with curly hair. Not what you’d expect at all. He was pretty hot though,” she assured me lasciviously.

“What’d you say that club was called?” I asked as I turned left on Prospect.

“I didn’t. But I think it was…Moonlight or Starlight. I don’t remember. Want to go sometime? That’s my street ahead. Make the next right.”

I did as instructed and wracked my brain for a good excuse to say no. I came up blank. Worse, I started thinking about Remy. She said curly brown hair. Was he the guitarist she saw? I hadn’t had a chance to ask specifics about where he performed. It would have sounded stalker-ish anyway. All I knew was that he worked at The Night Owl.

“Which one is yours?” I asked distractedly.

“The red brick building at the end. Yeah, this one.” Karen turned to face me. She held her cell up and winked. “Give me your number. I’ll call you after I check out the new lineup at the club.”

“The club?”

“Yeah, Starlight. If anything looks interesting, we’ll make it a date.”

“Um…uh…yeah, sure.”

I probably looked calm and collected as I recited my contact info, but inside my gut churned with mixed emotions. The biggest of which was guilt. I had no business exchanging numbers with someone I was never going to call. It was misleading and dishonest. I was almost thirty fucking years old. This had to stop.

“…I’m opening at the bakery every day this week, but I’ll have some free time next week if—”

“Karen, I—I don’t know. I’m busy too and…” I let out a sigh and stared unseeing out my windshield.

“No pressure, Tony. If it works out, great. If not, that’s okay. Either way, it was really nice meeting you tonight. Thanks for the ride.” She smiled sweetly then opened the door and hopped out of the truck. “Later!”

I made sure she was safely inside her apartment building before I slowly drove away.

I didn’t make it far. I pulled over to the curb on the next block then slammed on my brakes. My hands were shaking, and I couldn’t seem to get my breathing under control. I cupped my hands over my nose and mouth and did my best to relax. This wasn’t my neighborhood, so I doubted I’d run into anyone I knew. But my pride insisted I pull it together. Fast.

Macho-looking, muscular guys didn’t fall apart in their trucks when a girl put moves on them where I was from. Maybe those weren’t “moves,” but she was setting the groundwork, and she was considerate about it. She’d given me room to wiggle away if I wasn’t interested. And I wasn’t. I couldn’t act my way out of a paper bag anymore. Not long ago, I would have found a way to pretend I wanted things I didn’t. I might have kissed her or even touched her breasts if the kiss got hot. But I couldn’t do it anymore. It wasn’t her—it was me. Karen was attractive, sweet, and down-to-earth. I liked her. The problem was, she didn’t have a dick.

Something was changing inside of me, insisting I shed the pretense and be real. I was like a turtle who’d outgrown his shell. I needed new shelter. A place to grow and stretch and be myself. My real self.

And what my real self wanted right now was to be with people who felt the same way I did. A gay bar or a nightclub. Some place dark and out of the way so there was no chance of running into nosy friends or relatives. I’d recently overheard two guys at a Starbucks talking about a club called Sparks. I wasn’t one hundred percent sure it was a gay establishment, but the men were kinda fabulous and when they’d mentioned something about the sexy go-go boys, I figured it was a safe bet.

Mikey had rolled his eyes and given me a knowing glance that seemed to ask, Are you listening to these two? The honest answer would have been, “Yes, I am and I’m soaking in every detail, so shut the hell up.” I wanted to hear the cadence of their speech, observe their hand gestures and the tilt of their chins. And if it hadn’t completely given me away or seemed downright lecherous, I would have loved to check out their asses in their tight jeans. This was the problem. My capacity to play it straight was waning. I needed release. The sooner, the better.

I looked up the address to Sparks on my phone then wiped my clammy palms on my jeans and put the truck in drive.

My pulse raced as I crossed the Manhattan Bridge, but shame and anxiety soon gave way to anticipation. I clung to it desperately. I cranked up the volume to David Bowie’s “Young Americans” and drummed along on my steering wheel. My mind was whirling, but the frenzied feeling went well with the city lights and general metropolitan chaos. By the time I reached Bowery, I’d regained my cool and put the last vestiges of guilt behind me. This was good. This was what I needed. Anonymity laced with truth.

What I didn’t need was traffic. Full-stop, not-moving-an-inch traffic. Fuck. I bit my lip and weighed my options. The longer I sat here, the faster I’d lose my nerve. I had to find a way out. Motion was key to staying on track. I honked my horn and veered right on Bowery then made another immediate right. Navigating Manhattan traffic on a Sunday night was a true test of patience. I couldn’t get over to make the next turn and the following street was a one-way going the wrong direction. I growled irritably as I glanced at the upcoming street sign. Essex.

The Night Owl was on Essex.

I didn’t think twice. I acted on instinct and adrenaline as I made the left turn and grabbed the first parking spot available. I didn’t know where the bar was exactly, but I didn’t want to google it. That would make The Night Owl feel like my destination. And it wasn’t. If I happened to see it as I walked by and decided to step inside for a drink…that was chance.

I almost passed the bar. Remy’s description that it was small and unremarkable was spot-on. A picture of a wide-eyed owl on a black door and the word Bar was my clue I might have stumbled upon the right place. I slipped inside and gave myself a moment for my senses to adjust. Mick Jagger was singing about beasts of burden above the din of light chatter. A tall man built like a linebacker shifted sideways on his stool to give me a once-over before turning his attention back to the flat-screen TV over the bar.

The Night Owl had the ambience of a sports bar stuck in the last century, complete with dark paneling, ancient brass lighting, and battered wood tables. It was nothing to look at but sometimes those were the best kinds of places, I thought as I made my way through the modest crowd to an empty stool against the far wall.

I kept my gaze down as I traced the edges of the square napkin the bartender laid in front of me.

“Be right back,” he said distractedly.

I nodded then looked up to study the impressive array of alcohol. I pondered ordering gin and tonic instead of a beer before making my way to Sparks. Or a vodka soda or maybe a martini with—whoa. What the heck? I blinked as I leaned forward to focus on the tiny rainbow flag taped to the bottom shelf. This was a gay bar?

I straightened my back and clandestinely turned to check out the clientele. Yep. All male. Holy crap. I licked my lips nervously and swallowed hard.

This was fine. This was what I’d wanted, right? Except…no. What if Remy was here? Wait. He told me to come by. Did that mean he thought I was gay? Or was he trying to tell me he was gay and interested? Or was I seriously overthinking this because I was a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown?

I glanced up when the bartender returned to greet me with a harried, “What can I get you?” and froze.

He did too, but he recovered first.

“Well, look who’s here,” Remy teased with a lopsided grin.

I opened and closed my mouth twice. Nothing came out. I cleared my throat and then tried again. “Uh…yeah, hi.”

Wow. I guess my family had reason to worry. I was either socially impaired or just awkward as fuck.

“You look surprised to see me. I told you I worked here. And hey! I offered to buy you a drink. What’ll you have? It’s on the house.”

His easy-going manners calmed me. I inclined my head and smiled, hoping it didn’t look pained.

“Thanks, but I don’t think I can stay.”

“Sure, you can. Let me get you a beer. What kind do you like?”

“I—um. Whatever you have on tap is fine. You choose.”

My words came out in a jumbled mess. I was nervous and tongue-tied. That dreaded combination usually rendered me silent but occasionally, the opposite occurred and I couldn’t seem to find my off switch. I bit the inside of my cheek, willing myself to shut up.

Remy smiled kindly. “You got it.”

I studied him as he moved behind the bar, graceful and sure. He set a glass of frothy amber ale on the square napkin in front of me a moment later with a fresh bowl of pretzels. Then he leaned his hip against the counter and crossed his arms. The twinkle in his eyes was reassuring. It gave me the kick I needed to act somewhat close to “normal.”
 

“What brings you to these here parts on a Sunday evenin’, pardner?” he drawled in a faux Southern accent.

I barked a half laugh and lifted my glass. “I was a mite thirsty.”

Remy threw his head back and guffawed, causing more than a few heads to turn our way. “Ha! Brooklyn does Dallas.”

“Sounds like a porn flick.”

“You’ve got yourself a dirty mind there, Tony. I like it. Now, how’d you end up here tonight? Are you lost?”

“Hmph. I was on my way somewhere else and stopped when I saw the street sign. I don’t know why I did, but whatever…here I am.”

“So I see.” He sobered then fixed me with a look I couldn’t read but assumed was curiosity. “Where were you heading?”

“Sparks,” I replied without thinking.

Remy did a comical double-take and let out a low whistle. “Damn, just when you think you’re having the dullest night ever, a stranger walks in full of surprises and bam”—he slapped his hand on the bar for emphasis before continuing—“everything changes.”

“Huh? What d’ya mean?”

I set my glass aside and busied my fingers by plucking at the damp napkin while I let my gaze wander over him. He looked even hotter than usual in a tight black tee with dark jeans. I stared at the tattoo on his upper right bicep. It was a dark wing but I couldn’t tell if it was a bird or an angel. Not that it mattered, but it kept me from staring at his beautiful face like a lovesick creep. When the pull became too strong, I gave in and looked into his eyes. Fuck, they were pretty. They were green and brown and gold, like the best marbles in my prized collection when I was a kid. The special ones I wouldn’t share with my cousins ’cause I knew they’d want to trade and—

“I mean…Sparks is a gay club and this is a gay bar.” Remy’s tone was matter-of-fact, not judgmental or accusing.

“Oh. I didn’t know,” I lied.

“Now that you do, are you gonna chug that beer and scamper out of here?”

“Nah. I’ll take my chances.” I smiled then raised the glass in a mock toast. “Thanks for the beer. How late you workin’?”

Remy narrowed his eyes. I could tell he wanted to return to the, “What’s up with the straight guy hopping from gay bar to gay club?” line of questioning, but he mercifully let it go.

“Till ten. Just less than two hours. You gonna keep me company? The clubs aren’t happenin’ until after eleven, you know. Even on a Sunday. Have you been there before?”

“Where?”

“Sparks?”

“Uh, no. Maybe I got the name wrong. I’m supposed to meet a friend. A not-gay friend,” I clarified.

He set his hand over mine and squeezed. “Relax, Tony. You’re safe here. Be right back.”

His warm touch sent a shiver up my spine. If I didn’t have a firestorm brewing in my head, it would have put me at ease. But I was feeling shaky and off-kilter. The funny thing was that in spite of my mixed up emotional state, I didn’t want to go anywhere. Not yet. I cast a surreptitious sideways glance as he collected credit cards from the men at the opposite end of the bar.

Remy moved like he played guitar. Smooth and sexy. It was harder than it should have been not to stare at him. I had a brief thought that I wasn’t the only who felt that way. I furrowed my brow and checked to make sure no one else was pervin’ on him. He was mi—no. He wasn’t mine. He was a stranger. A random guy I saw daily but only met once. The problem was, I couldn’t get him out of my head. If I had half a brain, I’d leave some cash on the counter, go home, and forget about him. Associating with this guy would only cause me trouble. Big trouble.

“So…what did you do this weekend?” he asked breezily when he returned.

“I—not much. I did some work at my cousin’s new house yesterday and spent most of today with my family. What about—”

“Doing what?” he interrupted, wiping down the bar with a wet rag.

I shrugged nonchalantly. “I went to church with my mom then stopped by the cemetery. We usually head back home for breakfast but she was kinda…sad, I guess. I took her out instead. My brother and sisters met us. She likes having us around her. Eventually, I went back to my place and—”

“Who were you visiting at the cemetery?”

“My dad.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Me too. It’s been a year, but it’s not something you get over easy, ya know?”

“What happened?”

“Cancer.”

“That’s awful.” Remy sighed sympathetically and set his hand over mine. This time the radiant warmth coursed through his fingertips and shot up my arm and through my chest. I was torn between wanting to snatch my hand away and flip my palm over to squeeze his. I didn’t move a muscle. I cleared my throat and tried to act nonchalantly about all this contact when I spoke again.

“Yeah. Mom’s doing better, but sometimes she’s a wreck. And Nonna—my grandma…she’s not so good either. Gramps died the year before Dad. Nonna lost her husband and her youngest son and…well, family is important,” I said, continuing my quest to be the world’s worst conversationalist.

“Do you spend a lot of time with them?”

I gave a half laugh. “My family? Yeah, you might say I can’t get away from them. They’re my co-workers, my friends, people I share meals with…you get the picture. It’s like living in a commune. Or some days, a nightmare. Take your pick.”

“You work together?”

“My grandfather founded De Luca Construction, and now my uncle runs it. I work with about ten of my cousins and an assorted number of guys who aren’t related by blood but might as well be ’cause I’ve known them my whole life.”

“That is a lot of togetherness,” Remy agreed.

“You can say that again,” I huffed sarcastically.

“You’re lucky. I—hold on. I have to take an order.”

He skirted the bar and stopped at the table behind me. I swiveled slightly on my stool to get a glimpse of him in action. I loved the way he moved with masculine fluidity. My brow knit as my thoughts rambled. Was he gay? He didn’t seem like it. Not that I was an expert. I wasn’t. Working at a gay bar didn’t necessarily mean he was gay. It meant he needed a job. Maybe he wasn’t gay at all and I was sitting here—doing what? Making a fool of myself.

He returned and immediately set two glasses on the bar before grabbing a bottle of alcohol from the back wall. “Do you like Jack?”

“Who’s Jack?”

Remy chuckled. His pretty eyes creased in the corners and seemed to light his face from the inside. Wait. That made no sense. The thing was…he glowed. It was hard to look away from someone who shined like that.

“Jack Daniels. Whiskey.”

“Oh. Right.” I shook my head. “Nah. It’s okay, but I’m more of a beer drinker and—”

“Hold that thought. I’ll be back.”

He delivered the drinks and was behind the bar a moment later. “You’re lucky.”

“ ’Cause I don’t like whiskey?” I asked in confusion.

“Ha. No, sorry. I was talking about your family again. It’s an occupational hazard for me. I have a habit of jumping from topic to topic and not letting the other guy know. Anyway, I think you’re fortunate to have that kind of a support system around you.”

“Sure. Except, sometimes it’s a little like being barricaded behind a thick wall with a bunch of people who drive you insane.” I studied his full mouth when he snickered appreciatively. “What about you? Where are you from? Do you have a big crew too?”

“No. Not even close. I’m from a small town outside of Rochester and from an equally small family. It’s just my mom, Reeve and me.”

“Reeve?”

“My brother.”

“Oh. What does he do?” I had no idea why I asked. Maybe it was to keep him talking. I loved the sound of his voice.

“He’s in real estate. In fact, he just got his broker license and he’s thinking about moving to Manhattan too. I hope he does. It would be nice to have someone I know well to hang out with. He’s leery about the cost of living though, and I’m not exactly his ideal roommate. Reeve likes the finer things in life, and I can’t afford a fancy condo in my current job situation.”

“I don’t get it. How long have you been in the city? Don’t you have any friends here? Where do you live? How are you gonna make it playing guitar in the park? I can’t see—what’s so funny?”

I narrowed my gaze as he chortled merrily at my expense. When he sobered, he signaled to a middle-aged man nearby who was tying an apron around his waist. Then he inclined his head toward the back exit. “I’m going on break now. Come with me. We can talk outside.”

I didn’t obey immediately. I wasn’t sure I should. Something warned me it might be dangerous to move to a quieter location. I didn’t fully trust myself around him without strangers chaperoning us. Then again, I wasn’t completely crazy.

I gulped the rest of my beer and laid a couple of bills on the counter before following him through an employee lounge-slash-office to the alley. Remy sucked in a deep breath then flopped unceremoniously on the top step of the stoop and lifted his face to the evening sky.

“It’s beautiful tonight,” he commented, leaning back on his hands.

I sat beside him and hooked my arms over my knees before giving the heavens a cursory glance. Then I turned to smile at him. “Yeah, it is.”

He returned the gesture times ten. Damn, the man had a nice set of teeth. Shoot, that was weird. I willed myself not to say it aloud and think of something saner instead. He beat me to it.

“To answer your questions…I’ve been here for six months. I live a block away in an old building that probably isn’t much nicer now than it was at the turn of the last century. With one roomie, I can afford it. That’s all that matters for now. As far as what I want to do when I grow up…I’m twenty-seven. My rationale for moving to Manhattan is you only live once. I taught music and art at the local elementary school after I graduated from college back home. I liked the teaching part, but it felt claustrophobic walking down the same halls I’d walked when I was a student. I needed a change before I got stuck. If I fail, I can always go home, but so far, it’s working out okay. Not great, but I’m getting by. I could use a better-paying bartending gig, but the convenience of walking to work is sweet.”

“I bet.”

He cocked his head and gave me a funny grin. “You know, I actually put in an application over at Sparks.”

I frowned. “The club?”

“Yeah, the club,” he repeated mischievously. “I met Marcus, the owner, when I was there a couple of weeks ago. He told me he’d flag my application if I was interested, but he mentioned it might be a few months before there’s an opening. I can see why. That place is always bumping. The bartenders must make bank on tips alone. And then there’s the eye candy.”

I scowled when Remy wolf-whistled. “What do ya mean? Like go-go boys dancing in their underwear?”

“Mmmhmm. Better than my current view, that’s for sure. You’ll love it,” he assured me.

“Love what?”

“Sparks. Didn’t you say you’re on your way there?”

“Uh…no. I mean—maybe. I—” I licked my lips and turned to face him before blurting, “Are you gay?”

Remy’s eyes widened theatrically. “Gay?”

I sensed I’d made a major faux pas and hurriedly scrambled to un-ask my question. “No, I didn’t—you don’t look gay and I don’t…um. I gotta get goin’. I gotta work early and—”

“Hey. Don’t go.” Remy grabbed my elbow when I shifted to stand.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said, fixating on the giant trash bins lining the alley.

“I’m not offended. I’m gay. Very gay and very proud to be gay. How ’bout you?”

I clung to the humor in his tone as I licked my lips and opened my mouth. Nothing came out. I wasn’t surprised. The words had never left my mouth before in my life. Of course, they wouldn’t come any easier sitting in the dark with my secret crush. I took a deep breath and tried again.

Nothing.

“Got it. Don’t worry, Tony. It comes with time.”

“What does?”

“The words. You just have to practice saying them. That’s what I did. I used to stand in front of the mirror when I was a teenager and say, ‘I’m gay’ to myself over and over. Some days, it rolled off my tongue and other days, I couldn’t speak. My mom caught my performance one morning and boom!—I was out.”

“What’d she say?”

“ ‘That’s nice, honey. Clean up your laundry. Dinner’s almost ready’…or something like that.” His bright smile washed over me like sunshine and hope.

I swallowed around the lump in my throat. “Sounds like you’re the lucky one.”

“I am lucky. But I bet you are too. If you’re gay and…you didn’t say so and I don’t want to put words in—”

“I am.”

“You are what?” he prodded gently.

I didn’t answer for a long moment. It seemed more important to concentrate on my breathing and not pass out. To Remy’s credit, he didn’t push me. He sat quietly beside me, content to let the Lower East Side street noise serve as background music. When he sat forward and set his hand on my knee, the dam burst.

“I’m gay. Very gay. No one knows, though. No one in my family, none of my friends. Every time I’ve been close to telling them, something happens and I clam up. Two fucking words and I can’t say ’em. It’s cowardly. I’m ashamed of myself, but I know those two words will change everything. My family has been through a lot over the last few years. No one needs to know this. Hell, they don’t want to know. Sometimes, I think I’d be selfish to say anything, ya know? Maybe it’s better this way.”

Remy observed me cautiously as my heated speech petered out to a barely audible whisper.

“It’s only better if it makes you happy, in my opinion. I don’t know your circumstances. You can only do what’s right for you.”

I turned to face him and nodded. “Thanks. I—I don’t know who you’d tell but, please don’t say anything.”

“I wouldn’t out you, Tony. Ever. Families are complicated, or so I hear. I only have two people to check in with regularly. I can imagine a whole tribe would be stressful, though. But you never know…they could surprise you.”

“I doubt it. They’re busy trying to marry me off as we speak. Trust me, they’d be shocked if I told them the real reason I’m not interested in the women they bring around.”

Remy laughed. “I take it this happens often.”

“Oh yeah. It happened tonight. It was more awkward than usual ’cause I actually liked her. Just not the way I was supposed to. I couldn’t tell how she felt for sure, but I hate thinking I’m gearing up to let someone down. There’s nothing worse than breaking out the ‘Let’s be friends’ speech. Again.”

“Yeah, that’s no fun. But it’s good to make new friends.” He gave me a sideways grin. “Like us.”

“Yeah, except you make me sweat,” I admitted with a half chuckle. Then I added, “In a good way. I like you.”

Remy hummed softly and sidled closer to me, resting his thigh against mine. “I like you too, Tony. You make me smile.”

We stared at each other for a long moment. All those funny details came rushing at me. Things I never noticed about other people. The gorgeous halo of curls, the shape of his eyes, the freckle on his right cheek and those luscious lips. The lone bulb above the back door illuminated him in a yellowish light that shouldn’t have been flattering but was. I had a feeling Remy would look good with a paper bag on his head. Wait. That didn’t make sense. I furrowed my brow and cocked my head just as he set his arm over my shoulder and pulled me forward.

My heart went into overdrive when the tips of our noses brushed. With a courage I didn’t know I possessed, I angled my head and slowly touched my lips to his. Just a touch. He had room to pull away. Hell, he even had room to punch me if I’d gotten this totally wrong. But when he purred softly and licked the corner of my mouth, I knew we were on the same page.

I cradled the back of his head and gently threaded my fingers through his hair. I held him like he was a fragile flower or something. Then in my typical bull-in-a-china-store style, I plunged my tongue between his lips. Remy gasped at the onslaught, but he didn’t miss a beat. He wrapped both of his arms around my neck, drawing me close as he glided his tongue over mine, twirling and sucking feverishly.

I didn’t know how long we made out on that stoop, but I could have done it all damn night. He tasted incredible and he felt even better. I loved the way he pressed his chest against mine and those sexy noises he made drove me wild. I wanted more than we were able to do on a cigarette break. Much more.

We broke for air and eyed each other, looking for clues. Or maybe that was just me. I couldn’t be the one in charge of directing traffic here. I was out of my depth. He had to tell me what came next ’cause I’d never figure it out on my own. Remy caressed my cheek and smiled before leaning in to nibble on my bottom lip.

“I have to go,” he whispered.

“Okay. I’ll see ya ’round.” My huskier than usual voice didn’t mesh with the casual vibe I was going for.

Remy pulled back with a smirk. “That’s all you’re going to say? ‘See ya’? Don’t you want my number or something?”

“Um yeah. Yeah, I do.” I pulled out my cell and handed it to him. “Put it in. My hands are shaking.”

This time when he smiled, I felt it deep inside me. The butterflies in my stomach fluttered like crazy but in a good way. He punched his number into my cell then called his phone before handing mine over. He ruffled my hair as he stood and waited for me to join him by the door.

“Want another beer, or are you going to head over to Sparks now?”

“Nah. I changed my mind. I’m going home. Maybe I’ll see you in the park tomorrow,” I said with faux nonchalance.

“Hmm. Maybe you will. Bye, Tony.” Remy kissed me again then opened the door and disappeared inside.

I shoved my hands into my pockets and glanced up and down the deserted alley. I still wasn’t clear about what came next, but I was cautiously optimistic. And it felt kinda nice.

Mondays were usually a drudge. I liked my job fine—building stuff was in my blood. The smells and sounds of a construction site in mid-process got my motor running. I didn’t mind the incessant blast of jackhammers, the sawdust, or even the heat. I’d grown up tagging behind my dad with a plastic screwdriver and hammer tied around my waist, hoping to be given a manly chore to put my dormant skills to use. I wanted to be just like my old man. Strong, tough, and a master with a power drill. Luckily, I had connections. A job at De Luca Construction was part of my family legacy. It was mine for the taking if I wanted it. And hell yeah, I wanted it bad. But Mondays…

Normally, I needed a giant thermos of coffee and whatever form of quiet I could find before I was fully functioning and ready to take on my week. It wasn’t a matter of waning interest in the work. It had more to do with bracing myself for interfering relatives who were sure whatever time we hadn’t spent together on a Saturday or Sunday was somehow their business. Today, I wasn’t fazed in the slightest. I was happy to be here, and I couldn’t fucking wait till lunch time.

I did my best to keep my head down and not check my watch fifty times. I caught Mikey’s inquisitive glance when I hummed along to a Springsteen song and immediately admonished myself. He’d be the first one asking questions if I walked around with a sappy smile on my mug. I waited until he moved to another section of the floor, then I pulled my hard hat off, grabbed my cooler, and clandestinely checked my surroundings before slipping outside.

It was a perfect spring day with blue skies and a light breeze. I speed walked to the corner, grinning like a fool when I heard the faint strains of a guitar in the distance. I dodged a gaggle of nannies strolling through the crosswalk and breathed a sigh of relief when I got my first glimpse of Remy bent over his guitar just inside the park entrance. A modest audience of tourists seemed dazzled by his skills. I was no connoisseur, but I thought he was pretty amazing too. And when he swayed with his instrument…damn, that was sexy.

He glanced up to nod his thanks to an older woman who’d dropped a few dollars into his guitar case. He didn’t stop playing, but I thought he faltered slightly when he noticed me standing at the edge of the group. He covered up the slight break in concentration with manic strumming and ended with a flourish, raising his right arm like an orchestra leader. His audience cheered in response. Some offered verbal praise and a few left more cash. He thanked them all, stopping to answer a couple of questions before moving to greet me.

“Yo.”

Remy laughed. “Yo. Taking a break?” he asked, pointing at my lunch cooler.

“Yeah, I brought a turkey sandwich. Actually, I brought two,” I replied.

“You must be hungry.”

“Well, yeah but…one’s for you. If you want it. You might not like turkey. I shoulda asked, but I didn’t think about it till this morning and—whatever. You want it, it’s yours. If not, that’s okay too.” I furrowed my brow intently and frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. You have a way with words, Tony.”

I brushed my nose distractedly, unsure how to respond.

“Do you feel like eating something?” I tried in a softer voice.

He shoved the loose change from his guitar case into his pocket, set his instrument inside, and fastened the clasps. Then he folded his collapsible stool and tucked it under his arm before picking up the case and a portable amp.

“I do. Thank you. I’m ready and the crazy thing is…I love turkey sandwiches,” he said enthusiastically.

We shared a silly grin then wandered to the opposite end of the park near the fountain. I grabbed two vacant chairs and set them under a giant tree. The little expanse of greenery created the perfect illusion of privacy. It was well shaded and far enough from the construction site that there wasn’t much of a chance one of my co-workers would bump into us. If they did, it wasn’t a big deal, but it would make this impromptu lunch date a one-time-only affair for sure.

I firmly pushed aside fanciful thoughts about future dates in the park. That was too gay, I mused, unzipping my cooler. I pulled out two wrapped sandwiches and handed one to Remy along with a couple of napkins.

“I like the works. Turkey, cheese, lettuce, tomato, onion, mayo, and spicy mustard on a giant roll. I won’t have hurt feelings if you take anything out, though,” I assured him before taking a bite.

Remy just smiled. “This is incredible.”

“You didn’t even try it.”

“I can tell it’s going to be good, but here goes…” In true comedic fashion, he took a deep breath and then a huge bite. He gave me a thumbs-up then narrowed his eyes and crinkled his nose, wordlessly changing his opinion to, “It’s just okay.”

“Fuck you,” I said without heat.

Remy snickered cheerily. “I love it. Thank you.”

“There’s water in the cooler if you want some. And chips. Eat whatever you want. You’re kinda skinny. Don’t get me wrong, it looks good on you. Real good. I—never mind. I’ll shut up now. I sound like my mother.”

“She likes to feed you, eh?”

“Typical Italian. Let me tell you, this lunch wouldn’t impress her much. She usually drops off huge trays of lasagna or pasta for me to get by during the week. She conveniently forgets I know how to cook and take care of myself. A rogue turkey sandwich tastes like beef Wellington every once in a while, ya know?”

“If you say so.”

We ate in companionable quiet, letting the sounds of the city in springtime wash over us. I spotted a mime entertaining a group of tourists up the path and an artist drawing someone’s silhouette. It felt like summer. Warm and inviting and—

“Why flamenco?” I blurted in between bites. Whoa. I immediately looked away, pretending to be interested in a young couple walking a French bulldog. I didn’t get why I couldn’t seem to say things…smoothly.

Remy wasn’t bothered. He shrugged as he reached for one of the water bottles in the cooler.

“I don’t just play flamenco. I can play anything…rock, blues, jazz, classic. On guitar, bass, and piano.”

“Damn. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks. It helps to play a couple of instruments when you teach music.”

“Which do you like the best?”

“It depends on my mood. I only have access to this guitar at the moment. The strings are broken on the other one I brought from home. This one is meant for flamenco. I don’t know if I’d say it’s my favorite, but I like it.”

“Huh. I have to know how a guy from Upstate New York starts playing Spanish guitar. There’s gotta be a story.”

Remy chuckled. “It’s not very exciting. When I was in grade school, a dance troupe came into town for the annual international festival. I always looked forward to it. I loved seeing the different flags from far-off countries and tasting their foods. They featured maybe three countries at a time. And they tended to do the same ones…China, Italy, Greece. I realize now that was because our local Chinese, Italian and Greek restaurants sponsored the fair. But one year, the Spanish dancers came. I was obsessed. I’d never seen anything like them. They were beautiful and the music was sublime. The second the festival was over, I asked my mom for guitar lessons. I think she was secretly relieved I’d stopped twirling around the living room with a blanket wrapped around my waist. She found a high school kid to come by and teach me chords. I learned the basics from him and a few other teachers along the way. And when I got to college, I had a really talented and super-sexy professor from Spain who was a maestro with the strings. That’s when I really learned how to play flamenco,” he said with a wink. “The rest is history.”

“What happens next? Are you gonna join a flamenco band, get a record deal, and tour the world? It’s beautiful music, but I still don’t understand what you do with it.”

“Now you sound like my mother,” he griped.

“I’m sorry. I—”

“Don’t apologize. It’s not a bad question. I’m not planning on playing guitar in the park forever. I do it for fun and to get out of my miniature apartment. If I make a couple of bucks too, even better. But don’t worry…I have my resume at a few schools in the area. Who knows? Maybe by September, I’ll be a respectably employed educator again. Or I’ll be mixing drinks for hot guys at Sparks,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

I frowned as I tried to piece together what he’d told me about himself so far. Details seemed important now. I wanted to know everything. “So you still want to teach, but you didn’t want to do it where you’re from…bad breakup?”

Remy gave me a chagrined look. “Yeah. It was over a year ago, but in a small town, the talk follows you around.”

“What happened?” I waved my hand and apologized. “Don’t tell me. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m curious but—”

“It’s okay. It doesn’t seem like a big deal anymore. At the time, it was all encompassing. The gist is…he broke up with me to be with his new man, a divorced lover who also happened to be the principal, aka, my boss.”

I whistled. “What a prick. How long were you together?”

“Two years. Mark’s an English professor at the local community college. He taught songwriting too. You’ll be interested to know I took his class to learn how to write lyrics for some of my original pieces.”

“He obviously didn’t teach you anything useful,” I snarked. “You’re a really good guitarist, but I still say you could do with some words.”

Remy guffawed merrily. “You mean lyrics?”

“Whatever. You don’t need him, though. You seem smart. Do it yourself.”

“You seem pretty smart too. How about if you do it?”

“Me? I’m no poet,” I insisted before popping the last bit of my sandwich into my mouth. “I don’t do words.”

He studied me thoughtfully for a moment then bent to unlatch his guitar case and pull out his instrument. “Try.”

“I can’t.”

“You can. Listen to the music and say the first thing that comes to your mind.” He played a soft, lilting melody. It was nice but honestly, the music barely registered. The vision in front of me compromised my hearing. I fixated on the way the filtered sunlight glittered like fairy dust on his tousled curls, the graceful bend of his neck, and the way his long fingers flew over the strings. I could have watched him all damn day. He flattened his hand to halt the tune and looked up at me expectantly. “Well?”

“Um. The sun makes your hair look like pasta shells. In a good way.”

Remy busted up laughing. In fact, he couldn’t talk for a while. I gathered our trash and let the cheerful sound wash over me until he had himself under control again. He hiccupped as he wiped at the corner of his eyes. God, he was beautiful. He didn’t look like pasta. He looked like an angel.

“Oh wow. That was…funny.”

“Yeah, yeah. What’d I tell you? I’m no good at fancy words. I can’t find the right adjectives to describe a song. If you really want to know…I think you’re the music.” I finished gathering my belongings and shifted in my chair to stand. I nudged Remy’s arm when I caught him staring at me like I was an alien. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I—that was…sweet. Thank you.”

I returned his shy smile with something a bit cockier then leaned forward, stealthily pushing my knee against his open thigh and linking my pinkie finger with his. It was an uncharacteristically ballsy move on my part. But that look in his eye made me feel brave and powerful. It made me want to do something crazy. Something I wouldn’t normally dream of doing in broad daylight.

“I wish I could kiss you,” I whispered.

“You can.”

I swallowed hard and bit the inside of my cheek before checking to see if the coast was clear. The enormous tree provided a natural canopy, shielding us from most passersby and anyone with a bird’s-eye view. Like my co-workers. It wasn’t one hundred percent safe, but I didn’t sense any real danger. And damn, I wanted a piece of him. Something small to remind me of this moment and help pass the long hours until the next time we met. I looked down at my dusty construction boots thinking the contrast with his old sneakers was strangely hot. We shouldn’t fit, but I had a feeling we did.

I stared at his bottom lip for a moment then looked into his eyes one more time before leaning in to cover his mouth with mine. He groaned softly then licked my lips and slipped his tongue inside. I let him lead. I just wanted to smell him and feel him surrounding me. The tender connection was unbearably sweet. If I didn’t want to rip his clothes off and bury myself inside him, I might have said it was almost innocent.

Remy broke the kiss and sat back slightly with his head cocked. “This was the best lunch date I’ve ever had.”

I grinned like a madman as I stood. “Date? Is that what this was?”

“It felt like one. And I’m feeling greedy. I want more.”

“Me too. I’m—I have to go to my mom’s for dinner tonight but…are you working at the bar? Maybe I could come by after.”

“Yeah, but I’m working with my boss. He wouldn’t like it if I made out with a customer in the alley,” he huffed, swinging his guitar case in one hand and stuffing his portable stool under his arm before joining me on the path. “I’d invite you over, but I have a roommate who’s always home and an apartment that’s smaller than most people’s closets.”

“It’s cool. I’ll be here tomorrow.”

He paused mid-stride and pulled on my sleeve. “Are you asking me on another lunch date, Tony?”

I dug my sunglasses from my shirt pocket and put them on then nodded slowly. “Yeah. I guess I am.”

“Fuck. That’s kinda romantic,” he said with a goofy grin.

I snorted derisively. “Turkey sandwiches in the park? I can do better than that. Tomorrow I’m bringing pasta. Curly noodles to match your hair. What d’ya say?”

Remy chuckled. “That sounds amazing.”

* * *

It had been years since I’d felt a thrill of excitement at the potential of spending time with someone. Correction. I’d never felt this way before. I’d never allowed myself to go there. It was simply too dangerous. I’d figured out I wasn’t like the other guys when I was thirteen and I was extra careful about not saying or doing anything…fruity. My cousins loved that word. They managed to make the relatively pleasant adjective sound like the worst insult imaginable. Much worse than being told I was a hopeless case who couldn’t string together a decent sentence or two to woo a girl. I was the world’s greatest actor who’d never get an award for his umpteenth season playing a straight guy.

I was so good at my part that I usually didn’t bat an eyelash when my mother asked about a girl she thought I was seeing. Tonight was no different, but I felt that twinge of growing discontent. The deceit was getting to me. I helped myself to a second healthy serving of spaghetti Bolognese and nodded absently at the conversation around the dining table.

“He has no idea what you said, Ma,” my sister Angie snarked.

“Who?” I looked up to find my mother, brother, and two sisters staring at me. “What?”

“You tell us, dream weaver. You liked that Karen girl, eh? I’m surprised. I didn’t think she was your type,” Vic said.

I glowered at my brother as I twirled noodles around my fork with more force than necessary. “I met her once. She’s nice. End of story.”

“Too bad. I was counting on free cannoli for life,” he teased.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t reply. Tip one to avoid unwanted attention was to not engage in even well-meaning taunts. Arguing always backfired. Let them think what they wanted. They would anyway.

Vic pushed away from the table and stopped to pick up our mother’s empty plate. “I gotta run, Ma. I’m working the late shift at the station.”

“All right, honey. Take dessert to go,” Mom instructed, turning back to wink at me. “I stopped by the bakery this afternoon. Karen sent some bacon chocolate chip biscotti home with me.”

“Yes!” Vic whooped and raced into the adjoining room. My brother was a badass twenty-four-year-old fireman who happened to be built like a linebacker, but he regressed a couple of decades at the mention of sweets.

“Don’t eat the biscotti! They’re for Tony. She said you love them,” Mom said, patting my hand knowingly.

“Yeah, I bet.” Carly chuckled, ruffling my hair as she stood. “I know it’s Ange’s turn but I’m going to get started on the dishes to secure my spot as favorite kid before I head out for the night.”

“Good one,” Angie yelled after her. “I’m gonna sit back and let you do your thing, though. Bring cookies when you come back. We need to make sure these things don’t suck before we allow Karen Cannoli into the family.”

Mom gave an amused half laugh then pointed toward the kitchen door meaningfully. “Out. Go help your sister.”

I snickered at Angie’s dramatic sigh, neatly dodging her sideways swat upside the head when she passed my chair. A brief commotion erupted in the next room a moment later, but it was good-natured and silly. And honestly, it made me love my siblings a little more for evoking the memory of the carefree days before Dad got sick. I smiled at their bickering then glanced up at the family portrait over our mother’s head.

It was taken three years earlier at one of those schmaltzy studios that used the same corny blue backdrops for every photo shoot. The photographer spent twenty minutes arranging our faces and instructing us not to move before finally taking a couple of shots. He’d done a decent job. We wore happy grins with our Sunday best. Our dark hair and strong jawlines made it easy to tell we were related. We’d been between ages twenty and twenty-six at the time, and none of us had been interested in recreating the yearly family photo our parents made us take from birth through our teens. But now…

I tore my gaze from my father’s happy face and swallowed around the lump in my throat. Fuck, I missed him.

“Was Fran right after all?” Mom asked, pulling me from my reverie.

“About what?”

“You and Karen.”

“No, Ma.” I sighed.

“She said you took her home.”

“So? I was being nice. That’s all. I like her but…don’t get any ideas.”

“Do me a favor, Tony. Open your heart to possibility.”

“Huh?”

She pushed her dark brown hair behind her ears and gave me a sad smile. “You heard me. I want you to be happy. Your father wanted the same thing. I don’t know what your ideal woman looks like, but honey, no one is perfect. If you like Karen, get to know her.”

“I like her fine, but not like that,” I said, feeling suddenly alarmed by her earnest expression.

Rita De Luca was a pretty brunette in her early fifties. She was five foot five and on the thin side. Her sharp sense of humor was paired with a no-nonsense demeanor that made her difficult to read at times. Nowadays, it was practically impossible. When Dad died, she faded. She was still here. She still smiled, cooked and participated in life. But the smile was crooked, she rarely ate, and even when she was in a room, she wasn’t always present. It hurt to be around her sometimes. I wanted nothing more than to fix what was broken inside her, and it killed me to know I couldn’t.

“Give her a chance, Tony. That’s all I’m saying.”

“Ma—”

“Do you want coffee?”

“No, thanks.”

She stood slowly and came to my side, setting her birdlike hand on my shoulder. Then she pointed at the family photo and spoke softly. “We’re going to be okay, sweetheart. I don’t think he’d have it any other way. I love you and I want you to have what I had with your dad. Someone who makes you happy the second they walk into a room. You have a big heart. It’s time to share it.”

She kissed my cheek and stepped away. “I’m going to pack some food for you. You’re too skinny. Finish your dinner.”

I watched her move into the kitchen and did my best to follow her conversation with my sisters, but I struggled to swim above the onslaught of emotion and find even ground. The mention of my dad could do that to me. They said it got better with time, but it had been a year. I wondered how many more years would pass before life felt normal again.

On top of the usual gut-wrenching sadness I felt, I was beginning to worry that my mother looked to me to fill my father’s shoes. To become the patriarch for our wing of the De Lucas…meet a girl, get married, start a family. I swiped my hand over my stubbled chin and closed my eyes. I wasn’t ready and I never would be. And while I hated the idea of disappointing my fragile mother, it wasn’t fair to start something I couldn’t finish with anyone. Karen or Remy. They’d thank me to keep my distance ’cause let’s face it, a dishonest man was no catch.

The following day, I told myself to stay clear of the park. Yeah, I’d brought lunch for two but that didn’t mean I had to share it with Remy. I could claim I’d accidentally over-packed and give one of the containers away. My resolve was strong in the early part of the workday. In fact, I almost offered my extra lunch to Pete Costanza when he said he’d forgotten his, but something held me back. I hesitated for a second before adjusting my hard hat and turning to bark orders to the newbie who was assisting me with a partition.

When the job was done at eleven thirty, my assistant went to lunch and I decided I might as well go too. Just not to the park. Except, my brain wasn’t in tune with my instincts. My feet seemingly moved of their own volition to the corner crosswalk as I changed my rationale. Going to the park didn’t mean I had to eat lunch with Remy. The park was big and hell, he might not be there anyway.

Of course, my heart sank when I noticed he wasn’t in his usual spot strumming his guitar for spare change. And that right there was what I should concentrate on. What was I thinking crushing on a glorified panhandler-slash-bartender? Or anyone at all? I was working, I reminded myself as I strode purposefully along the winding path toward the fountain. What I wasn’t doing was looking for a lover or a booty call or—

I stopped in my tracks and stared at the beautiful man sitting under the tree a few dozen feet away. His feet were propped on an empty chair and his handsome face was lifted to the sky, basking in fragments of sunlight filtering through the leaves. He was a vision. The celestial kind they painted on church ceilings and referred to as hallowed and divine. Something mere mortals might aspire to but would never achieve. People like him were magnetic and innately attractive on a level that had nothing to do with looks and everything to do with self-possession.

Remy turned then and smiled. And suddenly, I knew I was where I was supposed to be.

He removed his feet from the chair across from him when I approached and made a grand gesture, wordlessly indicating he’d saved it for me. I flopped gracelessly into it and bent to unzip my cooler. I handed him a plastic container and a fork then grabbed the second one and sat back before braving a glance at my companion.

“How’s your day going, sweet-cheeks?”

“Sweet-cheeks?” I repeated in a deadpan tone.

Remy chuckled. “Sorry. You seem a little tense. I was just trying to get you to smile. Thank you for the—what is this? It looks delicious.”

“Cold pasta. It’s okay.”

“Ahh. ‘Okay cold pasta.’ My favorite! I brought dessert.” He reached for the paper bag next to his feet. “These are called ‘better than extraordinary’ chocolate cupcakes. I brought you two. One for yesterday and one for today.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

Remy narrowed his eyes and cocked his head. “And you didn’t have to bring lunch. I did it because I wanted to. I hope you didn’t feel like you had to bring—”

“No. That’s not it.”

“What’s wrong, then?”

“Nothing. I’m just…I shouldn’t be here, Rem.”

“Why not?”

“I like you, that’s why,” I snapped. I unfastened the top on my container and stabbed at the fusilli noodles.

“Oh. That makes sense,” he teased. “For the record, I like you too. I think I even told you so.”

I looked at him then, loving the warmth in his pretty eyes. “Why do you like me?”

“Because you bring me food,” he said with a laugh. When I didn’t join in, he kicked my boot until I met his gaze again. “Hey. Come on. Get it off your chest. What’s eating you?”

I didn’t respond immediately because the answer overwhelmed me. I took another bite and stared unseeing at the greenery over his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t be here, but I’m happy I am. Does that make sense?”

“Sure. You feel guilty. You like me, but you wish you didn’t. Is that right?”

“Maybe. I had dinner with my family last night and…” My nostrils flared and to my absolute mortification, my voice cracked when I continued. “God, I wish I wasn’t me sometimes.”

I was on the verge of losing it, and fuck, it was embarrassing. I was grateful he let silence take over before addressing my outburst.

“Tony, look at me.” He waited until I complied before continuing in a fierce tone. “You’re the you that you’re supposed to be. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“Thanks, but—it’s not like they said anything wrong. The problem is they don’t know who I really am and I can’t tell them. Then there’s Karen Cannoli. I like her. As a friend. I guess my mom is getting leery of those three little words because I always say I like everyone ‘as a friend.’ Now she thinks Karen making bacon chocolate chip biscotti for me is a damn marriage proposal and I don’t know how to tell her that even if it was, she’s not who I want.”

“Who do you want?”

“You. And shit…I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud.”

“I want you too.”

“We’re eating pasta in the fuckin’ park. We can’t do this,” I whispered in a strained tone.

Remy gave me a lopsided smile. “You’re right. Who’s Karen Cannoli? Is she the girl you met at your grandmother’s a couple of days ago?”

I nodded then gave him a more in-depth account of my family’s latest attempt to set me up. “I texted her last night to thank her for baking the biscotti. She didn’t answer the text. She called me instead. I hate talking on the phone. I hate talking at all, but I especially hate talking on the phone.”

“You’re talking to me,” he singsonged.

         “You’re different. You’re…easy.” I chuckled when he raised his brow. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“I thought she was easy too…in a platonic way,” I added when he frowned comically. “But I feel all this pressure now and…nothing seems right about it. I hate lying and isn’t that a fucking laugh? I’m living a lie.” I snorted derisively and stabbed another bite of pasta.

“Feeling sorry for yourself doesn’t fix anything, you know. It only makes you feel worse. Concentrate on the positives. It’s a beautiful spring day in the park. It feels like we’re in a tiny oasis away from the real world. This tree is our island and nothing can touch us. It’s just me and you, some ‘okay cold pasta’ and some cupcakes. Sounds like heaven to me.”

I smiled softly. “Maybe it is heaven and you’re like an angel or somethin’ ”

Remy blushed furiously as he speared his pasta. “You say you don’t like to talk, but you say the best things.”

“Hmph. I—where’s your guitar?” I asked, feeling flustered.

“At home. I had an interview for a big boy job this morning,” he said, waggling his eyebrows.

“Ah! Congrats. What kind of big boy job?”

“Teaching music at a hoity-toity private school a few blocks from here. I don’t know if I’d fit in if I got it.” He snapped his fingers like he had a sudden, bright idea. “Maybe I should change my name to Remington. That sounds fancy, doesn’t it?”

I let out an amused huff. “They don’t like you, it’s their loss. What kinda name is Remy anyway?”

“You mean, besides an awesome Cognac?” he asked, rolling his eyes at my inelegant query.

“Right. It’s unusual. Don’t get me wrong. I like it. A lot. It suits you.”

“Thanks. What kind of a name is Tony?”

“The awesome kind,” I quipped with a laugh. “I was named after my dad.”

“So you’re Tony the Second. Did they call you Junior when you were a kid?” he teased.

“As a matter of fact, they did, smartass. Until I pitched a fit in the third grade and refused to answer to it. Everyone stopped calling me Junior right away except for Dad. He made me nuts. He was the parent who’d drop us off at school then roll down his window and yell, ‘Have a great day, Junior!’ Ugh.” I shook my head with mock consternation as Remy snickered. “He used to tell me to lighten up and not take life so seriously. I can practically hear his voice saying the same thing now. Want to know something crazy?”

“Sure.”

“I saved his voice messages, which is weird ’cause I don’t save shit. But when he got sick, I had a bad feeling he wouldn’t make it—almost right away. I don’t know why. His prognosis wasn’t terrible and he was pretty upbeat about the ol’ C word. I wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I’m the one who’s sorry.” I let out an exasperated sigh and shook my head. “See? This is my problem. I talk when I should shut up and—”

“Give yourself a break, Junior. You need to mourn,” he said kindly.

“It’s been a year.”

“Maybe it takes longer for special people. The best thing to do is to talk about him. Lucky for you, I’m a good listener. Go on…tell me stories.”

“Huh?” I furrowed my brow in confusion.

“You heard me. First memory that pops in your head starting”—he glanced at his watch and then at me—“now.” When I didn’t speak, he inched closer and laid his palm on my knee. “Hey. It’s okay. Talk to me.”

I gave him a funny look and huffed unhappily. “Rem…I’m not good at that. And you didn’t know my dad. You don’t want to hear old—”

“I want to know you. All of you. I have an idea. We’ll swap stories. I’ll tell you one, you tell me one. I’ll even go first if you want.”

“Fine. You go first.” I motioned for him to start talking then chuckled when he cleared his throat theatrically before beginning.

“When I was a kid, I was obsessed with the color red. I wanted to be Superman because he wore a red cape. I would only wear red shirts or sweaters or jackets. I asked my mom to paint my room red, but she wouldn’t do it unless Reeve agreed too since we shared. She said it was up to me to convince him. And of course, Reeve refused.”

“Don’t tell me. He wanted blue.”

“Yep. He liked the idea of changing the color but it had to be blue. We got in a knock-down, drag-out fight about it. It was ugly. My mom was pissed and told us we’d blown it. She wasn’t painting anything. So…I did it myself.”

“Oh boy.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t pretty. I was maybe eight at the time and obviously had no clue what kind of work went into a proper paint job. It was…bad. Red splotchy paint was everywhere from about halfway down the wall to the carpet. It was a fucking mess.”

I chuckled at his sorrowful expression. “Did you get in trouble?”

“What do you think, genius? I was grounded forever. In fact, I think I’m technically still grounded.”

“Poor Rem. Bet you hate the color red now.”

“Nope. I still like it, but I’m a Batman fan now,” he said with a wink. “Your turn.”

I laughed then squeezed his hand and impulsively lifted it to my lips. “Fine. But we’ll have to save it for later. I’ve got to get back to work. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay. But I think you should ask me out.”

“Like on a real date?” I croaked.

Remy threw his head back and guffawed. “Yeah, asshole. A real date.”

“When?”

“I’m off Friday night. We can grab dinner or something.”

“Where?” I yanked at my collar uncomfortably. Jesus, I was sweating.

“Anywhere. We can avoid Brooklyn and any borough where De Lucas might be found. Or we can meet at a dark, sleazy bar and hide in a corner booth far from curious gazes. I’m easy,” he said with faux nonchalance.

“Uh…”

“Never mind, Tony. I’ll see you tom—”

“Friday is good,” I blurted.

Remy studied me for a long moment. “You’re sure?”

I didn’t hesitate this time. “I’m very sure.”

Of course, I wasn’t sure. At all. What the hell had I agreed to? I kept my head down as I gathered my belongings and told myself to pull it together. I didn’t have to go anywhere. I could back out before Friday. No problem. But when I looked up from zipping my bag and he flashed that beautiful grin at me, I knew I’d go anywhere he asked.

By Friday, I was a nervous wreck. I couldn’t help it—I’d never been on a date with a man. My experience with same-sex liaisons was limited to infrequent backroom hookups in out-of-the-way gay bars. Not dates. Hell, I hadn’t been on a date with a woman in a couple of years either. Simply put, I sucked at it. Nerves got me by the throat, making conversation practically impossible. If by some miracle I managed to get through a meal, I lived in dread of the final good-bye kiss and the expectation that I was supposed to push for more. It was torture.

Remy was easy company in the secluded shadows of a giant tree but that didn’t necessarily translate to a nighttime “date.” Add two missed lunches due to another interview for him and an issue that had come up on my jobsite and I had a head full of mixed emotions. Texting with him had helped. And oddly enough, I liked talking to him on the phone Thursday night before he started his shift at the bar. He had a mellow way about him that soothed me. I could have happily listened to his childhood stories all night long. Even via cellular device. But a date…

“Yo, Tony! Wanna grab a beer tonight? Maybe something to eat too? I told Lindz I’d go home first to pick her up but we’re meeting some friends after. Including a coupla single ladies I think you might be interested in,” Mikey said, waggling his eyebrows lecherously.

I gave him a cursory once-over then shook my head. “I can’t. Thanks anyway. I’ll see you Sunday at Nonna’s. Tell Lindz I said hi.”

“Wait! Where you goin’?” he asked, yanking on my elbow.

“Out.”

“You have a date! You hear that, Joey? Tony has a date!” Mikey announced at the top of his lungs.

The immediate round of wolf whistles and catcalls on the crowded subway sent a flush of heat through my body. And yeah, they made me feel sick. As if I didn’t already have enough to worry about, now I could add having my cousins on my case. Great.

I didn’t bother responding. I wasn’t sure I could without giving myself away. So I flashed my middle finger at them and hurried out of the station. I made it home in record time, which was good and bad. Good because I lost Mikey. Bad because I had hours to stress about what to wear, what to say and yeah…how much cologne to put on.

Dating sucked.

Remy had suggested we meet at a Lower East Side restaurant I’d never heard of called Chandler or Chandelier. He’d heard the food was delicious and the ambience was well worth the high-priced martinis. He’d instructed me to meet him at the bar at eight o’clock. I shifted restlessly on the barstool and glanced down at my cell for the umpteenth time. It was seven fifty-five. I’d nursed the same beer for what seemed like half an hour while clandestinely checking out the clientele in the elegant space.

Most of the patrons were young and hip. They looked like enthusiastic Wall Street moguls-in-training or fitness models. In other words, they oozed beauty and success, though not necessarily class. They looked like the type of people who laughed at their own jokes but kept a watchful gaze on their dates’ reactions. I wanted to roll my eyes, but I was sure they had me pegged for an overdressed guido obviously trying to impress the date he hoped would show up already and put him out of his misery.

“Hi there, handsome. You look hot.”

I turned with a start and did a double-take. Holy fuck, he cleaned up nice. Remy wore a black button-down shirt and snug-fitted dark jeans. He looked casually dressy and curiously commanding. I adjusted my cock in as stealthy a maneuver as I could manage on a barstool and then picked up my beer, draining the last of it in one gulp. Procrastination at its finest. I needed a second to figure how to act without making a fool of myself. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and inclined my head.

“So do you.”

Remy busted up. “Come on, charmer. Our table is ready.”

I left some cash on the bar then followed him into the main dining area. The restaurant was dimly lit with modern-looking sconces on the walls over tufted booths and votive candles on every linen-clothed table. I couldn’t see anything clearly. I wasn’t used to eating in the dark but I had to admit, the shadows set me at ease. And when the hostess seated us in a private, circular booth tucked into a corner, I finally felt my shoulders relax. She left us with a leather-bound wine list, dinner menus on thick fancy paper, and the promise of water.

Remy nudged my knee with his foot under the table. “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” I replied, setting my napkin on my lap and picking up the menu. “I can’t see this thing.”

“Use the light from your phone. Want a glass of wine or a cocktail? Or would you rather stick with beer? I love your shirt, by the way. You really do look handsome.”

I glanced down at my pale blue oxford shirt and licked my lips nervously. “Um…thanks. I’ll, uh…I’ll have whatever you are.”

“You sure? I’m going to have a martini.”

“Yeah. In fact, you order everything. The pressure is killing me,” I said, pulling at my collar. “Shit, I didn’t mean to say that.”

“Hey, look at me. Tony, honey, come on.”

I automatically obeyed. “Did you call me honey?”

“Yes. Is that bad?” he asked with a grin.

“No. It’s—sweet. Fuck, I want you.” I tried to temper the needy sound in the low timbre of my voice, but I couldn’t. “I mean—”

“Shh. I feel the same way.”

“Maybe we should just go—”

“No, I’m going to feed you first and I don’t mind ordering. Anything you want me to avoid?”

“Oysters, snails, and go easy on the spinach. Otherwise, I like everything.”

Remy snickered. “How about filet mignon with a cherry reduction, rosemary roast potatoes, and mixed vegetables?”

“Perfect,” I replied, unable to keep my smile from spreading when he arched his brow and made a funny face. “What are you having?”

“Maybe the same or…the seafood linguine. That looks amazing.”

“No, don’t order pasta. I’ll make you seafood linguine that’ll make your mouth water.” I knit my brow when he shot a “What the fuck?” look at me. “What? You don’t believe me? I’m a decent cook. I don’t get much practice but I gotta say, my linguine is off the charts.”

“Look at you. We’re only ten minutes into this date and you’re already planning our next one,” Remy teased.

“I have a good feeling about you,” I said with a shrug. I winced as soon as the words left my mouth but Remy’s quick grin told me I got it right.

We shared a smile. The kind that blocked out all external noise and could fool us into thinking we’d found another oasis. I leaned back when the waiter stopped by to take our drink orders.

“And sir, what can I get you?” the young man prodded.

“I’ll have what he’s having.”

“Great. Two Dirty Sex martinis coming right up!” the waiter declared before moving on to the next table.

Remy guffawed at my shell-shocked expression. “Relax, it’s just a dirty martini. No sex required.”

“You sure he wasn’t coming on to me? I can’t tell. My gaydar has never worked.”

He sobered quickly and narrowed his eyes. “Why? Did you think he was cute?”

“He’s a little skinny but sure, he’s cute.”

“Hmph. Just don’t tell me you’re thinking about dirty sex with him.”

My dick twitched against my zipper again. I leaned forward and impulsively caressed his hand with my thumb. “I’m definitely thinking about sex. How ’bout you?”

Remy’s Adam’s apple slid theatrically in his throat. He nodded slowly before answering in a husky tone. “Yeah.”

“Dirty sex or just sex?”

He coughed and then reached for his water glass. “We should change the topic. Fast. Tell me another childhood story. Like the one where you washed your clothes with bubble bath soap. That was hysterical.”

I rolled my eyes. “You heard enough of those. Let’s fast-forward a decade or more. Tell me about your first time.”

“Hang on. A minute ago, you were nervous and now you want to talk about sex?”

“Yeah. I guess I’m comfortable around you and…I want to know about you. Everything you’ll tell me.” My smile turned slightly lecherous when I added, “Especially sex stuff.”

“Um…okay. I was seventeen. He was eighteen. We were secret boyfriends in high school. We didn’t do much besides make out and grind against each other on one of our beds when our parents were at work. But the summer before he left for college, we turned it up a few notches. I think we knew it was almost over for us and we wanted to…”

“Seal the deal?” I offered.

“Something like that. It was awkward and honestly, it hurt like a motherfucker, but no regrets. He was important to me and I’m a stupid romantic. I would have hated my first time to be with someone whose name I couldn’t remember.”

“What was his name?”

“Spencer.”

“I think I hate him,” I growled.

Remy chuckled. “What was your first’s name?”

“I don’t know. It was dark and we didn’t talk much beyond ‘condom, lube.’ I do recall he wanted three fingers in his ass, which seemed like a lot but hey…I wasn’t going to ask why.”

“He probably figured he needed you to stretch his—okay, this was a bad idea. Did you catch the Yankee game last night?”

I snorted. “Not so fast. We need to finish this first. I didn’t know the guy. It was a one-off thing in a nasty bathroom stall at a dive bar. Not glamorous, not sexy, and in no way romantic. But…it did the trick.”

The waiter came by just then with our drinks and asked if we were ready to order. When Remy didn’t speak up, I ordered the filet mignon he’d mentioned and handed over the menu before glancing expectantly across the table at my companion. Poor guy still looked shell-shocked.

“Do you want the filet too, honey, or the linguine?” I asked. I’d only meant to tease him but I was surprised at how easily the term of endearment fell from my tongue.

“Uh…linguine. Please.”

“You got it. I’ll send some bread over pronto,” the young man said with a knowing grin.

“You okay?”

“I don’t know. You called me ‘honey.’ ”

I stirred the olive speared on a plastic sword in my martini lazily before glancing at Remy.

“Yeah. I was going for roman-tic. How’d I do?”

I’d purposely thickened my accent to lighten the atmosphere, but I had a feeling it was too late. The undercurrent of sexual tension made it difficult to breathe. He was right. We had to go back to swapping dumb childhood stories or I’d be sitting here with a hard-on for the better part of an hour.

Remy’s laughter drifted over us. I smiled at the sweet sound and curbed my impulse to dive across the table and thrust my tongue between his lips.

“You did pretty awesome. I love the way you talk. You don’t say anything you don’t mean. That’s a gift, Tony.”

“And a curse.”

“Hmm. How old were you your first time?” he asked, popping an olive into his mouth.

“Eighteen. I used a fake ID to get into the bar. I knew the whole thing could have gone south before I set foot inside but I had to try. Not the sex part…although like you said, no regrets. It probably could have been better, but I wasn’t looking for love,” I huffed humorlessly.

“Just sex,” he supplied with a wry half smile.

“Yeah, but something else too. I wanted to see if I belonged. I’d never been in a roomful of gay men. I was pretty sure I didn’t know even one gay guy personally. But I knew something was different about me. I tried so hard to like girls. I faked it okay but not great.”

“Did you have sex with women?”

“A couple of times. Not my best performances. I could lie to myself and blame teenage inexperience but the truth was…I had zero desire. I knew why but I kept trying. It wasn’t easy with women but I popped wood just thinking about a hot guy. It was fucking embarrassing. I was a hormone-crazed dude desperate to be with my own kind. So I made it happen. I looked up out-of-the-way sleazy bars and clubs online, then I planned my big night out. Which involved numerous lies, by the way. I was shaking like a leaf when I pushed that door open, but you know what?”

“What?”

“Within five minutes, I realized I was home. It looked nothing like my parents’ place in Brooklyn but it fit me like a glove.”

Remy nodded thoughtfully. “So you have two homes now. One public and one that’s a secret.”

I scowled. “I guess but—”

“Don’t get defensive. I’m not criticizing. I know it’s not simple for everyone to come out. And for most people, even if your family and friends know you’re gay, it’s not like they’re part of your gay world. Something is always held back. They don’t know how we feel or where we’ve been. Not that you’d want to share your back-room nookie stories with your cousins.”

“Fuck no,” I declared definitively.

“But empathy and support are important too. It’s good to be known.”

“You’re saying I should tell my family I’m gay, huh?”

“No. I told you that you have to do what’s right for you.”

“What did you do? You told me how your mom found out. What about your brother?”

“She probably told him at dinner that night. Very anticlimactic. Reeve didn’t care at all, which was weird to me because he was kinda macho back then. He was super into sports and he always had a girlfriend. We’re only two years apart, and I figured he wouldn’t want my gayness to mess up his social standing in high school. He surprised me. Although”—Remy paused to pick up his glass, his eyes twinkling merrily—“when he came out as bi in college, it all became clear.”

“Your brother is gay too?” I asked incredulously.

“No. He’s bi. He’s single now, but he’s had girlfriends and boyfriends.”

I sat back and cocked my head. “I don’t even know what to say.”

“Does it bother you?”

“No! Not at all. I—your mom was cool with it?”

“Of course.”

“I must seem like a big fucking coward. I can’t comprehend the potential backlash from my family without breaking out in a cold sweat and you were blazing trails as a teenager.”

“I’m not suggesting it’s easier to say, ‘I’m gay’ to one or two people than it is to twenty. It’s not. You can’t compare my teenage coming out to your circumstances because we’re different. You have more to lose.” He looked up when the server approached with our meals before adding, “Or gain. Only time will tell.”

By unspoken agreement, we left heavier topics and sexual innuendo aside during dinner and chatted about lighthearted things like movies, music, and travel. As always, conversation with Remy was easy and time flew too damn fast. He was talking about a trip to Spain he’d taken five years ago when the waiter dropped our check off at the table.

“We used to go to Italy to visit family when I was younger. It’s been years since I’ve been, but I loved it. I can’t wait to go back. Have you been there?” I asked as I slipped my credit card into the folder.

“Yes, but—hang on. I was going to take you to dinner. Put your card away.”

“No can do, Rem. I asked you on a date, I’m paying.” I handed the folder to the waiter and grinned at my companion.

“I coerced you. It’s not fair for you to—”

“Can it. I’m here because there’s no place I’d rather be. Say thanks, and let’s get the hell outta here.”

Remy’s expression softened to a dreamy state that let me know he was pleased with whatever I’d said. Though I had a pretty good feeling it had nothing to do with buying dinner.

“Thank you, Tony. Wanna walk me home?”

“I’d love to.”

Remy lived two blocks away from the restaurant in an old brick building that quite honestly had seen better days. Our breezy conversation dwindled as we neared our destination. I had no idea what he was thinking and I didn’t want to push my luck, but truthfully, I was overcome with my own inner turmoil. I wanted him with a feverish quality I couldn’t begin to quantify. Just walking beside him made my heart race and my palms sweat. I felt like a much younger version of myself getting a redo with a boy I had a crazy crush on.

Except Remy wasn’t like anyone I’d ever known. He was a wild combination of free-spirited and down-to-earth. He knew who he was and even if he wasn’t sure about his direction, he trusted his instincts. He inspired me to trust mine.

“…you tasted it. Was the pasta anywhere near as good as yours?” he asked, pushing a code into the panel. When the glass door swung open a second later, he gave me a wicked grin. “Come in, Tony.”

I swallowed hard and followed him inside and up three flights of stairs, content to listen to his monologue about the texture of his favorite types of seafood. He didn’t seem bothered that I answered his questions with grunts. Maybe this was an alternative form of communication. His nervous chatter and my unintelligible replies. It wasn’t as awkward as it seemed. In fact, in a strange way, it was like we were in sync.

He stopped in front of 3A and glanced over his shoulder at me. “My roommate might be home. He’s okay but I don’t really know him very well so…”

“Behave?” I supplied with a half laugh.

“Yeah, but not too much.”

“I have no idea what that means. How ’bout I follow your lead?”

Remy gave me another shy, lopsided smile then bent his head and unlocked the door.

He hadn’t exaggerated. His apartment was tiny. The galley kitchen was right off the entrance and the living area furnished with a ratty old sofa and a short bookcase, was just beyond. He led me down a short hallway and turned left into the first bedroom. I could hear a television faintly from the room across from his and guessed his roommate was home. I’d never lived with anyone other than family and thankfully, that was a while ago. Tiptoeing around a stranger in an effort to be considerate seemed…weird.

Remy attacked me from behind the second I stepped into his room, wrapping his arms around my chest and nuzzling my neck. “God, you smell good,” he purred.

I twisted to face him and crashed my mouth over his, driving my tongue between his lips. It wasn’t a smooth move but he seemed to love it. He met me halfway, groaning into the connection and humping my thigh in a quest for friction. I pulled back slightly for air and immediately started unbuttoning his shirt.

“Can I do this?” I whispered.

“Yes, please.”

“Do mine. Is the door locked?”

“It doesn’t lock but…don’t worry, he won’t bug us.”

I frowned as I took a step backward. I finished unbuttoning my shirt then pushed the fabric off my shoulders. “What if he thinks I’m strangling you or something?”

“Are you planning on it?”

“No. I’d rather fuck you. Why are you staring at me?”

Remy lifted his gaze from my chest and gulped audibly. “You’re so big. I mean…muscular.”

I leaned in to nip his bottom lip. “I’m pretty big down there too. Wanna see?”

He snickered appreciatively then threw his arms around my neck and molded his bare chest to mine. “Yeah, I wanna see. You said something about three fingers. I’m going to need proof.”

I hissed when he raked his fingers down my torso and cupped my hard-on through my khakis. “Damn, you’re a dirty little fucker, aren’t you, Rem?”

“So dirty.” His enthusiastic nod should have been funny but we were both strung out and horny as hell. Action was what we needed. Not words.

I smacked his ass and gestured for him to hurry up. Then I moved to sit on the edge of the double bed, quickly toeing off my shoes before reaching to unbuckle my belt. I unzipped my pants and at the last second, propped his pillow against the wall to lay back and watch the show.

Remy bent over to unlace his boots and shoved his jeans around his ankles. He kicked everything off then stood. And froze. I probably did too. He was still wearing briefs but the outline of his erection was hard to miss. Pun intended. I itched to touch him. He was slim but toned with a light trail of hair just south of his belly button. I wondered what I looked like to him. He was so graceful and kind of pretty for a guy. And I was a fucking bear. Though his ragged breathing and sex-hazed half-closed eyelids made me think he had a thing for hairy, muscular men.

“C’mere,” I commanded in a low voice.

He obeyed, halting when his knees hit the side of the mattress. His nostrils flared as his gaze moved reverently over my body. I didn’t think anyone had ever looked at me quite like that. It made me feel powerful in a way that had nothing to do with brute strength. I grasped his hand and gently pulled him over me.

We hissed at the first feel of real friction. I slipped my fingers under the waistband of his underwear and kneaded his bare ass, squeezing him roughly as he lowered his lips to mine. He swayed his hips seductively and moaned, licking and sucking my tongue until we were both gasping for air. When he buried his face in my shoulder, I pushed the thin fabric over his cheeks and then arched my back meaningfully.

Remy sat back on his knees to shimmy out of his underwear. Then he palmed his thick cock with his right hand and stroked himself. My mouth went dry but my hands felt slick and clumsy. This man wasn’t some trick in a backroom. He mattered to me. Hell, making him feel good mattered to me.

I smeared precum over the wide mushroom head in a lazy circular motion then traced his slit. My left hand stroked my impossibly hard shaft through my boxer briefs while my right hand teased him. Our eyes were locked but we were ultra-aware of the tension building between us. In my mind, a million things were on the brink of happening simultaneously. I didn’t know where to begin. Remy did.

He crawled between my legs and yanked my briefs down, finally freeing my rigid dick. He stared for a long moment before tentatively gripping me in his fist. Then he glanced up and gave me a lascivious grin.

“I understand the three-finger thing now. But I’m gonna try to take you with two.”

“Holy fuck,” I choked. “Are we…are you sure you wanna have sex? Like all the way? We don’t have to, you know. We can go slow and—”

“Shh.” He set his hand over my mouth and chuckled. “You said you wanted to fuck me and Tony, baby, I want you so bad I’m shaking. We’re big boys. We make the rules. I trust you and more than anything, at this very second, I need you. Bad.”

I licked his palm until he moved it from my mouth, then I held his wrist and kissed his fingers. “Help me get my pants off. I’m so hard, my dick is killin’ me here.”

Remy smirked but gamely tugged my khakis and briefs off and tossed them onto the floor. Before I could make a crack about him throwing my stuff around, he grabbed my cock and stroked. Up and down, nice and slow. He adjusted his grip, tightening his hold slightly before bending to lick me. Then he glanced up with wide eyes as he flattened his tongue and sucked. I hummed as I threaded my fingers through his curls and pulled. Not hard. I was hoping to convey a message without resorting to speech if possible. Thankfully, he got it. He opened wide and swallowed my length.

“Argh!” I growled, lifting my hips to meet his talented mouth.

Fuck, he was good at that. He sucked my cock like a fucking pro, pausing occasionally to stroke me with a wicked twist of his wrist or to lick my shaft. He knew the exact amount of pressure to apply and when to let up. I don’t know if he sensed it wouldn’t take much to make me lose it, but he was right. I was on the brink of release and I didn’t want to come like this if he’d give me more. Remy let go with a pop then licked his way up my body, stopping to play with my nipples.

I yanked at his hair gently to get his attention. “C’mere, Rem. Kiss me.”

He moaned with pleasure at the request and hurried to obey. Exploratory kisses gave way to a passionate fusion of tongues. We made out in a frenzy, desperate to be close. I wrapped my legs around his ass, holding him so our leaking cocks glided against each other. When I pulled his cheeks apart and slipped my finger over his hole, he trembled and went still. I tapped the sensitive flesh, loving the way he writhed against me. Then I pushed the tip inside.

“Oh, my God.”

I was strung out as hell, but unbelievably, I laughed. “Baby, my dick is way bigger than that. If you want—where you goin’?”

He reached over me to open the top drawer on the nightstand by the bed and tossed a bottle of lube and a condom next to me. “Put it on,” he demanded as he uncapped the lube and poured some on his hand.

I suited up quickly and hijacked the bottle from him. I almost lost it when I saw what he was doing. “Hey, that’s my job. Turn around.”

“I’m ready. Just lie down and—”

“No. You lie down and let me take care of you.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Yes, you can. I got you, babe. I promise.”

Remy flashed a brilliant smile before flipping onto his stomach, wiggling his ass enticingly at me. “Get to it.”

I warmed the gel between my fingers and almost passed out when I looked over and saw him holding his ass open like a gift. I swallowed hard before massaging the puckered skin and then pushing inside. He buried his head in his pillow and grunted when I curled my digit to find his sweet spot. He made a mewling noise I understood meant he was ready for another, so I slipped a second one beside the first and finger fucked him. When he met me thrust for thrust, I added the tip of a third. And that’s when he went wild.

He groaned as he bucked his hips, wordlessly asking for more. The sight of him in this blissed-out state was too much. I had to have him. I braced my weight over his back and quickly replaced my fingers with my swollen cock. Remy gripped the sheets, pulling one corner off as he fought to adjust to my girth. I didn’t push, though the urge to do so was overwhelming. I waited until he nodded before moving again, inch by inch until I was buried deep inside my lover.

“You feel so good, Remy. So good,” I purred in his ear as I rocked my hips.

“So do you. Fuck me. I’m ready.”

I closed my eyes for a moment and cautioned myself not to let go. This is Remy. He’s special. You gotta be gentle. The mantra played in my head as I began to move with languid, short strokes. He was warm and tight and fuck, he smelled nice.

When he lifted his hips insistently, I picked up the pace. His litany of “faster, harder” was impossible to ignore. The bed springs squeaked as I fucked him into the mattress. It was almost comically loud but we were too far gone to even consider slowing down now. I pulled Remy to his side and held his leg open as I drove inside him before reaching around to jack him. He turned his head and licked my mouth. It was less a kiss than it was another way to be connected. We were bound to each other and lost in a rhythm of our own making. I would have done anything to make it last, but I felt my orgasm bearing down on me like a freight train and knew I was about to explode.

“Rem, I’m gonna cum. I can’t—”

“Yes! Do it! Fuck me! Yes, yes, yes,” he chanted loudly.

And that was the end of me. I pistoned my hips in a wild chase to the finish line just as Remy came all over my hand and the sheet in front of him. I held him tightly around his middle until we both stopped shaking.

We were quiet in the aftermath. Maybe we were catching our breaths. Maybe we needed time to adjust to what we’d done. Did it change anything? Yeah, probably. I hoped so, but I didn’t know how or what that might mean.

“Are you okay?” Remy asked.

I chuckled lightly and kissed his neck. “I think that’s supposed to be my line.”

He rolled over to face me, nudging his knee between mine so we were still connected. I loved his serene expression. He looked happy. And yeah, it was pretty fucking amazing to think I was responsible for the goofy grin on his face.

“I’m fantastic,” he chirped. “Super-fantastic.”

My smile split my mug in two. “Me too. But…what happens now? Or was this a one-time deal?”

“God, I hope not!” Remy caressed my stubbled chin then ran his hand over my chest. “Now, we enjoy each other. Don’t overthink. Just enjoy.”

“But I’m not out and—”

“Relax. I’m not asking you to change anything. Be yourself. Do what’s right for you.”

“What if what’s right for me isn’t right for you?”

“Tony, I’m covered in cum while riding a serious orgasmic high. Don’t ruin my buzz. We’ll cross that bridge if we need to. Communication is the key. Talk to me if you’re worried or unsure and I’ll do the same.” He waited for my nod of acquiescence before continuing. “Are you worried about anything now?”

“Yeah, I’m worried we broke the bed. These fucking springs are so damn loud. Not only does your roommate know what we were up to, your neighbors five doors down do too.” Remy busted up laughing. “You’re coming to my house next time. I’ve got a king-sized mattress that doesn’t squeak and best of all…I live alone. And if you spend the night, I’ll make you pancakes in the morning.”

He sobered suddenly and gave me a look I couldn’t read. “You know what I’m worried about?”

“What?”

“Falling for you.”

This was where I usually got stuck. I didn’t do romantic stuff well and I knew I’d fuck it up if I tried. So I went with a safer approach.

“You eat my pancakes, you’re gonna fall hard, Rem. You up to the challenge?” I asked, purposely thickening my accent.

Remy’s answering smile was blinding. “Yes. I definitely am.”

That was where we started.

We did our best to take this thing between us slowly, but desire won out every time. It wasn’t just the incredible sex either. It was the thrill of discovery. Innocent conversations about favorite childhood books could spark intense banter about our mutual love of everything ever written by Dr. Seuss and Richard Scarry. Who talked about shit like that? I guess we did, and the crazy thing was, I loved it. I wanted to do it all the time.

I wanted the lazy lunches in the park and the pillow talk after mind-blowing sex. I wanted my new best friend with a fervor I wouldn’t be able to hide from the people who knew me well for long. So I pushed aside the worry and allowed myself the luxury of basking in the incredible feeling of falling in love. ’Cause yeah…I was no Harvard grad, but I knew I had it bad for the cute, curly haired boy with the guitar.

The month following our “date” flowed with an easy rhythm. Remy’s playing time in the park dwindled from one or two days a week at the beginning of June to zero by the end of the month when he was hired to teach at one of the private elementary schools he’d applied to in Manhattan. He was busy with meetings and had even taken on a couple of tutoring gigs. We still met under our tree for lunch. Not every day, but often enough. And at least once or twice a week, we met at my house.

Most of the time, he came over after dark. We’d screw like rabbits for hours on end. On the sofa, over the kitchen island, in the shower, up against the wall, or sometimes just in my bed. You name it, we did it. Then we’d collapse into each other’s arms in a fitful night’s sleep, wake up to share a cup of coffee and go our separate ways. We slipped into each other’s lives unobtrusively and with little fanfare. Remy didn’t push me or demand more of my time than I was ready to give. I was in no hurry to share him. But that was because the truth required me to explain who he was and quite possibly, who I was. I wasn’t ready. No way.

I kept my head down at work but made an effort to grab the occasional beer with my cousins at quitting times. I stopped by Mom’s for dinner at least once during the week and saw everyone again on Sundays at Nonna’s. The only potential problem was Karen. My Aunt Fran issued an invitation for her to join us at Nonna’s every weekend. I didn’t know how to handle it because truthfully, I liked Karen. She was a refreshing change to the usual gaggle of cousins and the same ol’ stories. We’d chat amicably over a drink before dinner then she’d sit next to me at the table and we’d chat some more. Then I’d take her home and hurry across the bridge to see Remy.

She paid me back for those rides in biscotti, which was sweet, but I really didn’t think it was cause for alarm. We were only friends. So what if my mother and aunt exchanged knowing glances and my cousins ribbed me about my “girlfriend,” Karen Cannoli? I’d been razzed like this for years. This was nothing new.

Or was it?

“Yo Tony, Lindz wants to know if you’re bringin’ Karen to our barbeque Saturday night for a pre-July 4^th bash.”

Mikey leaned against the rough framework I’d just put into place with his arms crossed over his barrel chest. If I hadn’t been holding a blowtorch, I would have reached out to smack him upside the head and hopefully remove that smirk. I settled for taking my protective glasses off so he’d clearly see my weary eye-roll.

“I got plans, Mikey. I’ll see you at Sun—”

“We’re eating early. Come on. It’ll be fun. Bocce ball, badminton, potato salad, and lotsa cold beer.” He winked playfully. “That you’ll bring. Just kidding. Bring yourselves, but if Karen insists, we won’t refuse baked goods.”

“Mikey…I can’t. I’m busy. Next time for sure.” I amended my tone from irritated to contrite when I noticed his scrutinizing gaze.

“Talk to me about her,” he insisted.

“We’re friends. That’s all.”

         “She likes you, and it’s kinda obvious you like her too. Do you need…I don’t know, any tips or anything?”

“Tips?”

“Yeah, you know…sex tips. It’s been a while since you’ve had a girlfriend and maybe you forgot how to—”

“Oh, my God. Stop. Now.” I set the blowtorch on the bench and tipped my hard hat back to give him my full attention. “I need zero tips, Mikey. Zero. I like Karen but I’m not sure how many times I have to tell you we’re only—”

“Friends. Got it. You have a problem with identifiers, you know.”

“Huh?”

“Like nouns and stuff. A friend is a casual title you give to people you do casual things with…like the guy you eat lunch with in the park. You’re friends, right?”

My mouth suddenly went dry like I’d just sucked in sawdust. And fuck, I felt dizzy too. How did he know about Remy? What had he seen? It couldn’t have been much, I reminded myself. We weren’t demonstrative in public at all. I’d been in a closet too long to do much more than nudge my knee against his or accidentally brush his fingers when I handed over a sandwich.

“Right,” I lied in a huskier than normal voice.

“And you and Karen are friends who are on their way to being more than friends, right?”

“Wrong. We’re not, Mikey. Don’t pick out china. It ain’t happenin’.”

“But why? You like her! And you’re happy. You walk around with a big, stupid grin on your face all the time. We all notice it. Joey!” he called out. “Doesn’t Tony seem like he’s got something extra to smile about lately?”

Joey stopped nailing a board into place on a new set of framework and gave a short laugh before making a crude tongue in cheek gesture that left little to the imagination. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

I could feel heat flood my cheeks when a few of the guys in the area chuckled at his antics.

“Hey, stop freakin’ out. We’re only messin’ with you. Bring her Saturday. I promised Lindz you’d be there so I’m warnin’ you, Tony…you better not skip out on me. If I have to come get you, I’ll do it.”

Mikey’s jocular tone let me know he was kidding but crap, this was bad on so many levels. He thought Karen and me…and he knew about Remy and—Jesus. How did I talk myself out of this? Maybe if I laid low and kept quiet, he’d forget.

No such luck. If I wasn’t harassed at work, I was getting it every time I ran into a relative or had dinner at my mom’s. I didn’t know how to correct the misconception because every time they saw Karen and me together, we were friendly. I don’t think they noticed that she did most of the talking now. It wasn’t that way with Remy and me, but they had no idea who he was. And I wasn’t sure I would ever tell them. It seemed more important that I find an effective way to let them know Karen and I weren’t a couple. Words apparently didn’t work. And when my mother invited her for dinner without telling me, I knew I had to figure something out fast.

Mom insisted this was a normal, casual Wednesday night meal. Casual, my ass. From the moment I saw Karen chatting in the kitchen with my mother while she chopped onions, I was on edge. I didn’t know what to do.

“This is a surprise,” I croaked in greeting.

Karen turned to me with a shy smile and raised her water bottle in a toast. “Hi, Tony. How was your day?”

I licked my dry lips and nodded like an idiot. “Okay. Uh…how was yours?”

“It was an average day behind the blender,” she quipped. I smiled at the funny face she made but it faltered when she added, “It’s better now.”

Mom sighed happily then gave me a push toward Karen. “Greet our guest properly while I set the table.”

I tried to get my breathing under control so I wasn’t panting like a caged animal, but fuck, that was exactly how I felt…trapped. I swallowed hard and made a beeline for the fridge. I grabbed a beer and quickly uncapped it before facing Karen, who was watching me with an indulgent expression as though she found my nervousness endearing. She set her water bottle on the counter and sauntered toward me, not stopping until we stood toe to toe. Then she snaked her arms around my waist and hugged me. It was the kind of hug you gave an old friend. Familiar but not inappropriate. Unfortunately, it made me nauseous.

I gently pushed her back and pursed my lips together so hard they hurt. “Sorry. This is throwing me off. I—my mom didn’t tell me you’d be here.”

“She stopped by the bakery this morning and invited me. Do you want me to go?” she asked, still smiling.

“No. Of course not.” I glanced around the room looking for a distraction and found one in the pink box with Spinelli’s Bakery emblazoned on the top. “What’d ya bring?”

“Creamed horns coated in sugar for everyone else. And bacon chocolate chip biscotti for you. I baked a fresh batch this afternoon.”

My tight-lipped upturn of lips had to look pathetic, but she didn’t seem concerned. I took another swig of beer and angled my head at the box again. “Creamed horns, eh? Those sound good.”

“Mikey told me they were his favorite at your grandma’s last Sunday and I know your mom loves them so—”

“Mikey?”

“Yeah. He and Lindsay are supposed to come tonight too.”

“They are? I was with the guy all day at work and he didn’t say a word. That’s weird,” I grumbled. Yeah, I was going to suffocate here. I unbuttoned the next button on my navy oxford shirt and gulped audibly.

Karen closed the gap between us, backing me against the counter. “Don’t be cross. They know I like you, Tony. It’s kinda sweet,” she said in a low sultry voice as she ran her fingers down the row of buttons on my shirt.

         “Uh…”

I held eye contact, willing her to telepathically understand I was in the midst of a major crisis and might even get physically sick if she didn’t let me go. But words wouldn’t come, and she was moving in the wrong direction. She sidled closer and set her arms over my shoulders and tilted her head slightly before slowly inching forward to kiss me.

“Hiya, Ton—oh shit! I’m sorry, man. Karen. I’ll, uh, be out in the living room. Bring me a brew when you get a chance.” Mikey’s contrite tone contrasted with his mischievous grin. He looked very fucking pleased, and maybe even relieved, to have walked in on Karen and me.

Karen chuckled lightly when he left. Then she stepped back and gave me a reassuring smile, patting my cheek like a child. “It’s going to be okay, Tony. We can go slow. However slow you need. I’m very patient.”

She moved her hand to cover my heart before pivoting to follow my cousin. And me? I stood there like a moron or a shell-shocked, panic-stricken man who’d been thrown into the deepest part of a seemingly placid lake and just discovered there was a hole in his boat.

Dinner wasn’t as awful as I feared. There were enough De Lucas in the room to keep conversation flowing. I calmed down eventually and was able to put on my game face and make the most of the evening. No one seemed bothered that I was more reserved than usual. They didn’t call me on my lack of conversation or my inability to sit still. I was a fucking wreck, but the people who supposedly knew me the best couldn’t tell. Remy would have known in a second.

Wasn’t that crazy? After less than two months, he knew the real me. It was sad that my own family didn’t. The knowing looks my mother cast between Karen and me upset me at a core level that went well beyond her feeble attempt at matchmaking. She didn’t know because I didn’t tell her. It wasn’t her fault. Or Karen’s, or Mikey’s…it was mine. If I wanted to be known, I had to tell them the truth about me. And damn, I wasn’t sure I was quite that brave.

As soon as I was home, I called Remy. I hoped hearing his voice would ground me and chase away the sour taste of deceit. I stared into my living room as I waited for him to answer and admired the view. My house was small, but it was pretty fuckin’ cool if I did say so myself. I figured I was entitled to praise the outcome since I’d done all the work. I’d knocked out the wall between the old galley kitchen and living area to create a great room. A modest island with a butcher-block top visually separated the two spaces. I let my sisters and my mom handle decorating. They’d pick out the charcoal sectional and the circular black coffee table. I could have done without the twenty or so red and blue throw pillows, but still…it was nice.

“Hey.”

“Hi. Perfect timing. I’m just taking a break—” he paused to sneeze.

“Bless you. How late are you working?”

“Only until nine. I got someone to cover the rest of my shift. My allergies are killing me tonight.”

“They’ve been buggin’ you for a few days. One second you’re fine and the next, you’ve got red eyes and a runny nose.”

“You’re exaggerat—achoo!”

I furrowed my brow as I pulled my cell from my ear and leaned against my kitchen island. He was five sneezes into his jag and I could only say “God bless you,” so many times before I sounded like a recording. He clocked in at eight in a row and let out a half chuckle.

“Okay. I’m better now.”

“I bet you’re allergic to your apartment.”

Remy chortled good-naturedly. “Oh really? What makes you think so, Dr. De Luca?”

“I build stuff, wise guy. Older buildings that aren’t well maintained are susceptible to bacterial growth. It’s July, it’s warm. There’s probably mold baking in your walls in the summer heat and—”

“That’s disgusting. You’re giving me a stomach ache. Change the subject so I don’t have nightmares when I go home.”

“Don’t go home. Come to my place,” I blurted. “Spend a couple of days and recuperate. Give your sinuses a break.”

His voice took on a dreamy quality when he replied. “You know I would, but I don’t feel great and I’d rather not deal with the subway tonight and—”

“I’m picking you up. Don’t argue. I’ll see you in an hour.”

* * *

There was something about having Remy in my space that just fit. Like he belonged here, sitting in the corner of the sofa, sipping herbal tea, dressed in pajama bottoms and one of my old T-shirts. I toed my shoes off and joined him, automatically pulling his legs over my lap when he shifted to face me. He rubbed my crotch with his foot and gave me a devilish grin.

“You have a runny nose. Don’t start something you can’t finish,” I warned.

“I’m perfectly fine. Stop fussing.”

“You seem better.”

“That’s allergies for you. They come and go. How do you feel?”

“Me? I’m fine.”

“No. Something’s wrong. What is it?”

“Nothing.” I narrowed my eyes in that slightly menacing way that made most people back off quickly. Not Remy.

“Tony, talk to me,” he said in a stern voice that inexplicably went straight to my dick. “I can hear it in your voice.”

“What do you think you hear?” I asked defensively.

“You’re upset about something.”

“Sure I am. I don’t like you sleeping in a moldy apartment and getting sick!”

“That’s sweet, but I’m not sick and you know it. Tell me what’s bothering you.”

I let out a deep breath as I pushed my hand through my hair in frustration when I couldn’t take it anymore.

“I spent the night lying to my family and I feel like a jerk.”

“You’re not a jerk.”

“You’re right. I’m an asshole. I hate liars, but look at me. I’m a world-class liar. And I’m greedy. I want you so much I can’t see straight, Rem. I was willing to drive back into the city after a long day and bring you home to make you tea like I’m some nice guy but the truth is, I was gonna go nuts if I didn’t see you tonight. I’m not nice. I’m twisted. I want to keep my life intact, but how do I do that and keep you too? What’s really crazy is…you’re the piece that fits. It’s everything else that’s wrong.” I shook my head and heaved a tired sigh. “Jesus, I’m talking too much.”

Remy set his teacup on the coffee table and crawled onto my lap. He smoothed my hair back and pressed kisses on my forehead, nose, and lips. “No, you’re not. But you have to quit beating yourself up.”

“I deserve it. My mom invited Karen over for dinner tonight.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh. And she laid moves on me that she hasn’t before.”

“What kind of moves?” he asked with a frown.

“Sexy moves.”

“Hmph. I don’t like her.”

“You have nothing to worry about, Rem. It was very…uncomfortable. But instead of explaining that I bat for the other team, I called you. And here I am acting like I’m taking care of you when the truth is…I hope you can take care of me. I miss you when you’re not with me and—why are you looking at me like that? What’d I say?”

He brushed at the corner of his eyes and gave me a watery smile. “Nothing. Everything.”

I swiped at the moisture on his cheek. “I think I have to come out. I just don’t know where to begin or if I’m brave enough to do it.”

“You’re very brave, Tony.”

He held my hands, linking his fingers through mine. I kissed his knuckles and smiled, trying desperately to remember the punchline to a joke to defuse this needy inferno inside me and lighten the mood.

“You know what else I am?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m horny as hell, and I have been since you jumped in my truck and put your paws all over my dick,” I snarked.

Remy chuckled then lifted my hand to his lips and sucked my thumb. “I would have happily helped you release some tension on the way here but—”

“I wasn’t about to get arrested over a hand job,” I retorted.

“Hand job? Gee, I was going to blow you, honey.”

He looked angelic and pure with those gorgeous curls and that heart-stopping smile, but the twinkle in his eyes was anything but wholesome. It dared me to let go of my worries and stay in the present with him. I moved forward to kiss him. We stayed like that for a few seconds like we were frozen to each other. Then I licked his bottom lip and bit it before yanking my shirt out of my jeans then unbuckling, unfastening and unzipping as fast as I could. I freed my rigid cock from my briefs and tapped it against his thigh.

I gave him a lecherous once-over and smacked his ass. “It sounds like your sinuses are clear now. If I’m gonna sit here with my dick out, you might as well make it worth my while, babe.”

Remy’s smile was broad and beautiful. He looked at me like I was a fucking god. It was a mystery. Especially on nights like this when I’d proven I was extraordinarily flawed. I opened my mouth, hoping to temper my crude words with something worthier, but he beat me to it.

“When you say things like that, I swear I could fall in love with you, Tony.”

Before I could panic or think of a good comeback, he adjusted his grip to stroke me firmly. I lifted my hips to give him room to work. I ran my hands along his thighs then down his back and slipped them under the elastic of his Pjs. Then I squeezed his bare ass with one hand and grabbed his thick cock with the other. He moaned as I jacked him and nudged his hole simultaneously. He bucked furiously as though he couldn’t decide what he wanted more, my finger in his ass or my hand over his dick. We kissed passionately, writhing on the sofa and doing our best to meet each other every step of the way.

Gasps and moans of pleasure were accompanied by the steady beat of something that sounded like an echo. Loud then soft. Love. I heard it over and over.

“I could fall in love.”

Fuck me. I could too.

We made love that night on the sofa and again the next morning in my bed. Making love. That romantic phrase had always sounded corny and old-fashioned to me, but I understood it now. Our rhythm was perfect. We’d never been more in sync than when I captured his hands over his head and stared deep into his eyes as I moved inside him. Maybe this was love and this physical act was a language unto itself. The push and pull, the sweat and cum—maybe they were commas and exclamation points and the real meaning was somewhere in between.
 

Remy clawed at my back and dug his heels into my ass, urging me to pick up the pace. I pushed his knees to his chest and pistoned my hips wildly, never breaking eye contact. I wasn’t ready to say the words aloud but I was sure he could see it on my face. It had to be plain as day. I want you. I need you. I love you. He shivered with pleasure a moment later and flung his arms around my neck, pulling me against him as he fell apart. I was right there with him.

We lay quietly for a while. I played with his curls and ran my fingers along his spine, loving the feel of his head on my chest and the cooler morning air on our damp skin. I didn’t want to let the real world in, but I couldn’t ignore logistics of a typical Thursday. I had to get to work, and I had no idea where Remy needed to be.

“Nowhere. I’m off until Saturday night. I’ll take the train home. I can leave before you do so I’m out of the—”

“Stay.” I set my forefinger over his lips when he opened his mouth to argue. “I’m gone all day, so you’ll have the place to yourself. I’ll give you the key. Go get your stuff and do your thing here.”

“What if your family comes by?”

“They won’t. Everyone works. Hey, it’s your call. I’ll leave an extra key, but there’s no pressure whatsoever. I’m being selfish and greedy again, but I can’t help thinking it would be really nice to come home to you.”

Remy caressed my jaw as he smiled. “Then I’ll be here.”

Was it wise inviting my male lover to spend several days in a row at my house for the hell of it? No. Not at all. It was beyond reckless. So many things could have gone wrong. My mother, brother, sisters and a few of my cousins had keys too. It was unlikely they’d come over unannounced when I was at work, but it wasn’t completely out of the question. When we made it to Saturday without a hitch, I began to think we’d found another oasis. We could move freely here. Hell, we could drink coffee naked if we felt like it. That was definitely better than sitting under a tree in the park. Safer too.

I should have known better.

We sat with our knees touching at the kitchen island sipping coffee and making plans that Saturday morning. I cradled my cup as I listened to his list of to-dos.

“I’m going to clean my apartment, do some laundry, and stop by the market,” he said, rubbing his calf along mine.

“Save it for tomorrow. Let’s do something together. We could ride bikes in the park or head out to the beach. What do ya say?”

I kissed his temple then skirted the island to rinse my cup in the sink. I glanced idly toward the picture window in the adjoining living room and squinted at a familiar-looking car. When I craned my neck, it was gone and Remy was behind me. He set his cup down then wrapped his arms around my middle and laid his head on my shoulder.

“I vote for a bike ride, but I need a shower first. Want to join me?”

“Go ahead. I’ll be right there.”

He pinched my ass and danced out of reach when I turned around to retaliate. He raced up the stairs, leaving an echo of laughter in his wake. I headed back to the kitchen to tidy up with a goofy smile on my face but stopped in the middle of the room when the doorbell rang.

I froze. Literally. I couldn’t breathe or move.

My breakfast sat like a lead weight in my gut and my heart sputtered ominously. I didn’t know what to do. I contemplated not answering, but I knew from experience avoidance wouldn’t work. Besides, I had a bad feeling this visitor had a key.

Fuck.

When he rang the bell again and called my name for good measure, I took a deep breath and forced myself to move toward the door. This was okay. Not a big deal, I told myself. Remy was in the shower. I had time to get rid of him if—

“Open the fuckin’ door, Tony,” Mikey singsonged. “I brought donuts.”

I licked my lips and pasted a weak-ass smile on my face and unlocked my front door.

“What took you so long?” Mikey grumbled. He shook a bag of pastries at me and then headed toward the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” I choked, listening to the sound of running water upstairs. Mikey wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’d eventually catch on that we weren’t alone. I had to get rid of him.

“I’m here to make sure you come to our barbeque this afternoon. And…that you bring Karen. Please note, those donuts are from Spinelli’s. Her invite has been issued. You’re welcome,” he pronounced smugly.

“Mikey, I told you I have plans.”

“Right, but Karen said she didn’t know about any other plans so—”

“I never said I had plans with Karen,” I snapped. “Look, thanks for the donuts. I appreciate it. I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow.”

I moved back to the door and inclined my head meaningfully. Mikey didn’t budge. He put his hands on his hips and gave me a searching look. When he glanced toward the stairs, my heart jumped out of my fucking chest.

“Why didn’t you just say you were seeing someone else, moron? This is awkward,” he huffed derisively and stomped toward me. His blatantly curious expression didn’t bode well. “Who is she?”

“Mikey, I—”

I couldn’t talk. My voice was gone. The words wouldn’t come and after a painful twenty seconds of staring mutely at my cousin, I figured that was for the best.

He cocked his head and frowned. “Are you okay, man?”

The softly spoken inquiry was almost my undoing. I nodded and tried another smile I hoped was more convincing than the last.

“Yes, I’m—”

“Hey! I thought you were coming upstairs. Let’s get the show on the road, baby. Time is tick—oh.” Remy rounded the corner dressed in boxer briefs and nothing else. He stopped in his tracks and looked from me to my cousin and back again like a deer in headlights.

An uncomfortable silence descended. It was claustrophobic and cruel and no one here knew the way out. I certainly wasn’t the only one at a loss. Mikey had gone from confused to looking slightly ill, and Remy just looked…worried.

However, the guy in his underwear turned out to be the bravest among us.

“Hi there. I’m Remy,” he said, offering his hand in greeting.

Mikey shook it quickly then stuffed both of his hands in his back pockets. “Nice to meet you.”

“You too. Um, I’m going to get dressed.” He pointed toward the stairs and hurried out of the room, leaving me with my stunned cousin.

A few lies popped into my head. He’s a friend who needs a place to stay. I’m always telling him to keep his clothes on, but he’s a free spirit. Or a weirdo. I thought a made-up story might come easier than the truth but still, nothing came at all. I massaged the back of my neck warily and waited for Mikey to finally speak.

“Who is that?”

“Remy.”

“Yeah, he told me his name. I meant, who is he to you? He looks like the—oh my God. He’s the guitar player. The one in the park you eat lunch with. I knew you were chummy but—Jesus, he was naked, Tony.”

“No, he wasn’t,” I deadpanned.

Mikey gave me a sharp look. “Does Karen know?”

Maybe it was strange, but that was the question that ripped the invisible muzzle from my mouth. “What the fuck does it matter if Karen knows anything about me? She’s not my girlfriend, Mikey!”

He looked genuinely taken aback by my vehemence. He glanced toward the stairs and pointed. “Is that because he’s your boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“You’re talkin’ in code, Tony. I don’t get this. Are you fuckin’ queer or just confused or”—he snapped his fingers as though the words were too foreign to slip from his tongue—“bi-curious?”

“I’m just me. That’s all,” I said evasively.

“Yeah, but…who knows? Does your mom know or…God, did your dad know you—”

“Shut up!” I thundered.

Mikey stared at me in shock, no doubt wondering who the hell had taken over my body. I didn’t yell. Ever. I was mild-mannered, easy-going, and kind of quiet. And this man was like a second brother to me. We’d caught fireflies and camped in each other’s backyards as kids. We’d snuck alcohol from Gramps’s bar during our delinquent teen stage and yeah, I was his honorary Best Man at his wedding. He had to give the title to his older brother, but we all knew I was his first choice. He wasn’t someone I could brush aside.

But I wasn’t ready to say any more than I already had either.

“What am I supposed to do now? Tell me what to do,” he pleaded in a strained tone that freaked me out almost as much as him seeing my lover in his underwear.

I gulped and pursed my lips. “Go. Please.”

He nodded slowly and moved to the door. He opened it but hesitated before stepping outside. “Tony, I don’t know what’s going on, but I want to. I’m on your side.”

I watched the door close with a detached sense of calm. I felt removed from myself in a way I couldn’t explain. It was like I was no longer in charge of my body. I felt unconnected to my limbs and ungrounded. I wished I was invisible. I wanted nothing more than to disappear and detach myself from reality.

“Tony?”

I closed my eyes and prayed a little harder. Please make this go away. I can’t deal with this.

“Baby, look at me.”

I complied. And immediately wished I hadn’t. Tears welled in Remy’s beautiful eyes. I reached out to wipe them away and pulled him into my arms instead, crushing him against me.

“Remy, I’m sorry,” I choked. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Hey,” He pushed at my chest and stepped backward. “Why are you apologizing?”

“I fucked up. I shouldn’t have invited you here.”

“You didn’t fuck up. I did. I didn’t know anyone was downstairs and—”

I waved my hand dismissively. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t think Mikey’s gonna say anything.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Nothing,” I whispered. “He guessed, but he doesn’t really want the truth. I can tell him something else.”

Remy frowned. “What? How will you explain me?”

         “You’re a friend.”

“A friend who wandered into your home in his underwear on a random Saturday morning?”

“Something like that.”

I couldn’t look at him. Lying to myself was one thing, but I couldn’t lie to Remy.

“You’re driving me away, aren’t you?”

“Of course not.” I scoffed but it was half-hearted at best. It took a well of strength I didn’t know I possessed to continue. “But I need to figure this out, Rem. Alone.”

When he didn’t respond, I looked at him and nearly fell to my knees. He wrapped his arms around himself as if to ward off a rogue chill on the sweltering July day. His lips trembled and his eyes were wet with tears. His pain cut me like a knife. But so did my own.

“Okay,” he whispered.

“Remy.” I captured his face between my hands and showered him with desperate kisses before clutching him close again. “I don’t know what to do. I’m lost. I’ll find my way out, but baby, I—I don’t know how long it’ll take.”

“I can wait.”

“I’m not sure you should. I can’t promise you what you deserve, Remy. I’m sorry.”

He dried his eyes on his T-shirt and sniffed, glancing around the room before finally meeting my gaze.

“If you need me, I’ll come. Anytime. You can call me in the middle of the night or…on your lunch break. We can talk or we can be quiet. If you want time, you can have it. I’ll give you whatever you need. I love you, Tony. I love you. And when I think about what I deserve…it’s love. You have to decide if you deserve it too.”

He left me standing in the middle of the room with my heart in my throat and my chest on fire. He’d said the words. He loved me. I believed him.

Love wasn’t the problem. The problem was me.

***

Saturday passed in a blur of beer cans, baseball, and mindless action flicks. I drowned my sorrow in cheap brew and allowed myself the luxury of going off-grid. I turned off my phone and left the world behind. Sunday was harder. I woke up thinking about Remy, wishing all I had to do was roll over to find him. Our few stolen nights of playing house had been an eye-opener. I’d known it was dangerous, but I’d been lulled into complacency because being with him felt right. Now, it was all wrong. And I was lonelier than I’d ever been.

I threw on a pair of khaki shorts, a black tee, and a baseball cap and started walking. I didn’t have a particular destination in mind. I just wanted out of my head. Two blocks in, I realized a stroll in my hood wasn’t going to help shit. Too many people knew me. Neighbors waved friendly greetings. My cousin Jamie was outside watching her kids ride their bikes and invited me over for a cup of coffee. I politely declined and continued up the street only to run into another cousin. I stopped to say hello. I thought about turning back but I put my head down instead and continued up the street, slowing when I reached my old elementary school and the adjacent playground.

A sudden flood of memories washed over me. Dodgeball on the blacktop, spelling bees, Christmas programs. Slices of “normal” life. A suburban affair I’d thought would always be mine. I took that time for granted the way kids do, but age had given me some perspective. Everything in life was borrowed. I knew nothing lasted forever now and people you loved got older and eventually died. Sometimes too soon.

And that was when it hit me. It was like I was observing a blip in time from my past, like a ghost. The vision was so strong, it was like looking at a hologram. I swore I could see my dad standing at the chain link fence twenty feet away from where I stood now. He’d walked us to school that morning, which didn’t happen often. I’d been more talkative than normal too, which was also odd. Dad listened to me gripe about the after-school tutoring my third-grade teacher had suggested to my parents. She was concerned I hadn’t understood a lesson and that I was too shy to ask for help. When the bell rang, he’d held my arm and given me a serious look.

“No one knows what you don’t tell them. You need to find your voice, son.”

Twenty-one years later, I heard him again. Loud and clear. Find your voice.

“I’m gay,” I whispered. I tried again, a little louder. “I’m gay.”

I remembered my dad saying the best things in life were simple. He’d claimed truth was the simplest thing of all. The problems started when people told “alternative” truths. I wasn’t so sure anything was simple at the moment, but I knew without a doubt that my sexuality was part of my truth. Remy was part of my truth.

It was time for me to find my voice and tell my truth.

Finding my voice took all damn day. I wrote a script in my head and practiced it in front of the mirror like Remy told me he’d done as a kid. I was too nervous to feel ridiculous and though it was tempting to put this off, I’d already wasted too much time. I studied the two-story brick house from the curb and swallowed hard before heading up the neatly trimmed path and opening the screen door. It was unlocked, which provided a much-needed diversion.

“Ma! How many times do I have to tell you to lock the door?” I scolded as I stepped inside the foyer. “Ma? Where are you?”

“In the kitchen!” she called out.

I found her holding a crossword puzzle in one hand and a glass of iced tea in the other. She’d changed out of her Sunday best, but she still looked stylish and pretty in a yellow floral sundress.

“Hello, handsome. I was just about to sit on the back porch and tackle my puzzle. Grab a tea and come join me.”

I scowled, gesturing toward the front of the house. “You can’t leave the screen door open. I’ve told you a million times to keep it locked!”

“This is a family neighborhood, Tony. I’m perfectly safe.”

“No one is perfectly safe. Are you alone?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then keep it locked.”

She rolled her eyes. “Save the lectures for your future children. In the meantime, get a glass and come outside.”

I ignored the pitcher of tea and followed her to the screened-in porch. “I’m serious. You need to be more vigilant.”

She sat in her favorite wicker chair then glanced up at me with a sweet smile that quickly turned upside down. “If you’re going to nag me—”

“I’m not.” I paced to the far edge of the porch and stared at the small patch of grass and the flower garden beyond. “Your roses look good.”

She huffed a laugh. “Thanks. Now come over here and tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Why do you think there’s something on my mind?”

“Because you’re here unannounced, you can’t stand still, and you’re snapping at me. And…because I’m your mother and I know you. Out with it. Did you have a fight?”

“Huh? With who?”

“Whom,” she corrected. “Karen. I should tell you I invited her for dinner again this week. She’s such a lovely—”

“No.” I shook my head violently then leaned on the post for support when a wave of nausea hit me out of the blue.

“No?”

“No,” I repeated. “Invite her if you want but not for me. Karen is nice and I like her but not the way you want me to. Okay?”

She narrowed her gaze and motioned toward the chair next to hers.

“Sit. You’re hurting my neck.” She waited for me to comply before asking, “How do you think I want you to like her?”

“Romantically. Like you think a boy is supposed to like a girl. I can’t do that, Mom.” I tried to infuse meaning into my tone but I knew my inability to maintain eye contact or quit fidgeting lessened the impact.

Her smile dimmed to something unbearably sad. I hated that I was responsible for popping her happy bubble, but it was a false sense of reality. And while my inclination was to say or do what she expected of me, I couldn’t keep this up.

“Sweetheart, please don’t take this the wrong way, but sometimes I don’t think you know what you want. I worry you have an unrealistic vision of some supermodel dream Barbie girl who simply doesn’t exist. I can tell Karen makes you happy and…”

“Mom.”

“…you should give her a chance. Not for my sake. For yours. Because…”

“Mom.”

“…you aren’t getting any younger, Tony. It’s time to think about getting married and starting a family and—”

“Stop!”

I jumped up and stalked to the kitchen door and then back again. I told myself I could leave now. Apologize later. No harm, no foul. I hadn’t said anything I couldn’t unsay. Yet.

“Anthony. Sit.”

I closed my eyes briefly and shook my head. “I can’t sit. I can’t get comfortable and act like this is a regular day because it’s not a regular day. It’s not.”

“What do you—”

“Mom, I gotta tell you something and you may not like it. You might not even want me around anymore. I don’t know. But I can’t keep this inside. It’s wrong to lie. I’ve been doing it for too long.”

“What did you do? Are you in trouble?”

“No. I—”

“Sweetheart, you can tell me anything. Nothing can be that bad. Talk to me.”

I bit my lip hard and moved back to sit beside her. I didn’t speak right away. Words never came easy to me. Fuck knew, they wouldn’t come now. But I couldn’t let her think this was the ax murderer or drug lord confession her frightened expression indicated she thought was coming.

She reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Tony, please.”

“I’m gay.”

I opened my mouth to add a lengthy explanation but really, there was nothing to explain. It was the simple truth. I was gay.

“Gay?” she repeated softly. “I don’t—I don’t think so.”

“I am. It’s true.”

“No. I would know. I—are you…sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know. A death in the family can have far-reaching consequences. You tend to internalize your pain, Tony. You don’t deal with things that bother you and—”

“Mom, I didn’t turn gay after Dad died. I’ve always been gay. I tried not to be, but I’ve figured out it’s not the kind of thing you can pray away. It’s just who I am.”

“Gay?”

“Yes. I don’t want to upset you. I’m sorry if I have, but…I thought you should know.”

“Yes,” she agreed, still sounding vaguely confused.

I stood again and moved to look out at the lawn. “You should know I didn’t want this. I fought it for a long time. I was ashamed and I kinda hated myself.”

“Tony,” she gasped.

“It’s true. What did I know about being gay? Zilch. I thought the stereotypes had to be based on fact and none of those flamboyant descriptions fit me. I wanted to be like Dad. I always did. I wanted to walk like him, talk like him, build things like him. He was my hero. When I started to catch on there was something different about me, I hid it like hell from him. I didn’t want to disappoint him.”

“No, no, no. He loved you, Tony,” she cried. “He was never disappointed.”

“I know, Mom. But I was afraid. And now he’s gone and I’m…crushed,” I choked, swiping at the moisture pooling in my eyes. “Some days it hits me like a sledgehammer and I can’t breathe, it hurts so bad. But I gotta keep going. We all do. I thought at first that meant I had to try harder to keep this secret. But I can’t do it anymore and it finally occurred to me—this isn’t what he would have wanted. I think he would have wanted to know the truth.”

“Yes. We both just wanted you to be happy.”

         “It made me unhappy to think the real me wasn’t someone either of you would be proud of. Now I know it’s all I’ve got. I have to let you know who I really am. I’m still me. And I’m gay.”

“And I’m still your mother and I still love you.”

I moved back to the chair and nudged her knee in an awkward show of affection. I had more to say and I didn’t want emotion to get in the way before I finished.

“I met someone, Mom. Someone special.”

“And it’s not Karen,” she said with a note of humor. “Who is he? Will I meet him?”

“Do you want to?” It was impossible to keep my surprise from showing. I’d expected the tears and the, “Are you sure?” but not this.

“Of course I do. I want to know everything about him. How old is he? Where is he from? What does he do? I have to know if he’s good enough for you.” Her voice rose indignantly as she spoke, but the way she cradled my hand was infinitely kind. A mother’s touch conveying unconditional love and support.

“I worry it’s the other way around. I don’t know if I’m good enough for him.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” she said fiercely. “You’re a good man with a beautiful soul. You’re good enough for anyone.”

“He’s the only one I want.”

“Did you mess it up?”

         “Yeah, but…I’m gonna fix it.” I gulped around the tears in my throat. “Um, I don’t know how everyone else will take this. Maybe I shouldn’t go to Nonna’s tonight.”

“Yes, you should. You’re under no obligation to tell anyone anything until you’re ready, but don’t hide. And if anyone says boo, they’ll have me to answer to.”

I chuckled as I pulled her into my arms in a fierce embrace. “I love you, Ma.”

“I love you too. And I’m proud of you. You should know your dad would be too.”

Yesterday, I would have doubted that was true. I might even have been correct, but not for the reason I thought. I’d let fear and doubt win for too long. I’d been proud of my accomplishments but not of myself. Now I felt…free. I wasn’t ashamed to be gay. I wasn’t sorry I wasn’t like everyone else I knew. I was proud.

* * *

The sidewalks were overrun with tourists the following afternoon. They jockeyed for position to take selfies with the Flatiron Building or catch a glimpse of the Empire State Building to the north. I switched my lunch from my left hand to my right and craned my neck toward the park as I waited with the masses crossing at Fifth Avenue. I couldn’t see him, but he said he’d be here.

I should have brought flowers, I mused. Not a turkey sandwich.

Geez, I brought the wrong things and I’d suggested a crowded park on a hot summer day. That meant I had to rely on my charm and wit to get out of this mess. I might be doomed.

The afternoon sun drove the masses toward water or shade. Every chair around the fountain was taken. I was almost afraid to look at our tree. What if he changed his mind? What if I wasn’t what he wanted or needed or—

There he was.

Sunlight glittered over Remy, highlighting his halo of curls in gold. He wore dark shorts and a white concert tee from a band I’d never heard of. And damn, he was beautiful. He leaned against the broad tree trunk with his guitar case and a backpack at his feet exuding the air of a perpetual student or a traveling minstrel. He looked innately confident and in tune with his surroundings. The kind of man who was proud and unafraid to take risks. Sure of who he was and what he deserved. I hoped like hell I could be deserving of him.

He looked up from his phone just then and smiled. And everything in my world fell into place. I knew with certainty he was my oasis. He was my refuge, my sanctuary, my shelter, and he owned my heart. I couldn’t see how a schmuck like me might deserve someone like him. I was a construction worker from Brooklyn with a ton of baggage, too much family, and had a tendency to freeze when I needed to be heard.

Not today though. Today, I had to be fucking amazing.

“Hey! Whatcha doin’?” I called to him from the path.

Okay. Rough start. I could do better. I took a deep breath and moved closer.

“I’m holding a spot for a friend,” he replied with a crooked grin.

“What’s your friend’s name?”

“Tony.”

“You like this guy or what?” I asked in a thick accent, setting my lunch on top of his guitar case.

“I love him,” he said simply.

I pursed my lips hoping the effort would keep my emotions under control until I could say what needed to be said. I couldn’t remember the speech I’d rehearsed on the subway. Fuck, I wasn’t actually sure my name was Tony.

“He loves you too, you know.”

Remy chuckled. “He does?”

“Yeah.” I slipped my sunglasses off and hooked them over my collar then blurted, “I came out.”

“Oh?”

I nodded and looked away for a moment. “It’s been twenty-four hours but so far, so good. I think it’ll take some time. I thought about doing a one-time shout-out at my grandmother’s last night but I was talked out. And honestly, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. The me part…it doesn’t seem to matter without you.” I winced. “No, that didn’t sound right.”

“Yes, it did. It sounded perfect,” he insisted, plucking at my shirt to draw me near.

“I can do better,” I assured him. I braced one hand against the tree by his head and leaned in. “I wrote you a poem.”

“You did?”

“Don’t get excited. It sucked. The idea wasn’t bad but I couldn’t get the words to rhyme. Or I did, but…‘You make me feel lucky and now I want to fucky…’ See? It’s not quite right.”

Remy howled with laughter. “That’s very…smooth.”

I snorted at his sarcasm then finally gave into impulse and threaded my fingers through his hair.

“I missed you. Two days without you feels like forever. I don’t know if I deserve you or if you even want the same things I do but the second I said, ‘I’m gay’ I realized I was really fucking lucky to get to turn around and say ‘I love you’ to the most beautiful man I’ve ever set eyes on. I’ve been in the dark for a long time, Rem. I’ve been going through the motions…here but not really engaged in the moment. I guess I didn’t think I had a place. Now I know I do. You’re my place. I love you, Remy. I want to plant you a tree like this one in our backyard. You can sit in the shade in the summer and can play guitar and—”

“Where will you be?” he asked in a low, choked tone.

“Next to you. Always next to you.”

Remy flung himself into my arms. I held on tight, reveling in the joy of holding him again. When I nuzzled his neck, he lifted his face and sealed his lips over mine. We sighed as our tongues twisted in a familiar dance I never wanted to end.

Remy ran his fingers through my hair and lowered his lashes in a move I wasn’t sure he meant to be seductive but definitely was.

“People are staring,” he warned, resting his forehead on mine.

“Let ’em. I’m where I belong.”

Remy bit his lip and nodded. “Me too. I had a feeling you were special the day we met. I liked the sexy way you walked, like an urban cowboy with a tool belt instead of cowboy boots. And when you spoke, I knew you were it.”

I barked a quick laugh. “Oh yeah? What’d I say?”

“ ‘Hey.’ ”

“You’re easy,” I joked.

“Maybe. That’s all it took. All your swagger and attitude melted away when you looked at me and there you were…the real you. I knew you were mine.”

“I am yours.” I kissed him again then pointed at the lunch I’d brought. “Enough of the romance stuff, eh? I brought turkey on rye and my mom’s pasta salad. Eat up and tell me about your day. I’ll see if there’s a chair available so the ants don’t crawl up your shorts and bite your ass.”

Remy snickered then captured my hand before I got anywhere. “Wait. One last thing. I’m yours too. I love you.”

I kissed his hand then gave him a Cheshire cat grin. “I know.”

He swatted me playfully then pulled a blanket from his backpack. I helped him smooth out the edges and sat beside him and listened to him talk about his Sunday and his celebrity sighting on the subway this morning. The words didn’t matter after a while. They were background music. Something pleasant to hum along to while we savored our new beginning. Under a tree in a busy park in a city where anything was possible.

“You know you’re in love when you can’t fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams.”

―

The garden looked pretty. It wasn’t particularly big, but there was plenty of room for the Adirondack chairs Remy insisted had to go under the tree. I glanced behind me at the picnic table he’d covered with a cherry red tablecloth. He gave me a harried look when he stepped outside a moment later carrying a bag of ice.

“I thought you were in charge of filling the cooler. I don’t mind switching jobs, but we have to get it together. They’re supposed to be here in fifteen minutes,” he said, emptying the bag into the ice chest by the back door.

I snaked my arms around him and buried my nose in his neck. When he tried to push me away, I squeezed him closer and then tickled him until he squirmed around to face me. I kissed him before he could protest, loving that familiar moment of surrender. The silent acknowledgment that nothing was more important than what we shared here. Family, friends, and backyard picnics paled in comparison.

“It’s just family, Rem. What’re you worried about? This isn’t our first picnic,” I reminded him, pushing his curls out of his eyes.

“I know, but it’s the first one we’ve had outside since I moved in. You know, there’s a lot of pressure in coordinating potato salad making, fruit chopping and dealing with alcohol and soda.” When I raised my brow dubiously, he chuckled. “Fine. Your family makes me nervous.”

“Why? They love you.”

It was true. They did. When I introduced Remy to my immediate family last summer, he was welcomed with a ferocity he obviously hadn’t expected. My mother adored him from the start. She liked that he was a teacher and that he spoke affectionately about his mom and brother. But mostly, she loved that he loved me. After they got over the shock that I had a boyfriend, my siblings were equally welcoming. They claimed they’d have been surprised about a girlfriend too but either way, they assured us we had their full support. And Mikey was right behind them. When I pulled him aside and told him I was ready to tell the guys at work, he’d hooked his arm over my shoulder and said, “I’m on your side, Tony. Always. You love him, then he’s my brother now too. Doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks.”

If anyone in my admittedly gigantic family had a problem with me being gay, they kept it to themselves. No one shunned me or Remy. We were invited to every birthday party and barbeque. And when he moved into my place at the end of last summer before he started his new job, Sundays at Nonna’s became compulsory for him too. Their acceptance meant the world to both of us, but it was stifling at times.

“And I love them. But it feels different when they come to our house. I’m not a natural at entertaining the way most of your cousins are. I always forget something. Limes! Did you get limes?”

“Yes, I got limes.” I rubbed his arms and then ruffled his hair playfully. “We have enough food to feed an army. The grill is ready and there’s plenty of beer. Don’t sweat it. The gay couple mystique is wearing off. Just relax and watch Mikey wince when the women start sharing their grossest birth stories. Lindsay’s the one who’s going to have a kid any minute, and the dad-to-be can’t handle baby poop stories. Classic.”

Remy gave a half chuckle. “Hmm. You want kids too, don’t you?”

“Do you?”

“You go first.”

“Yes. But not until we’re both ready. If you never wanted to…I’d live, but—”

“I do,” he blurted.

“You do?”

He grinned as he reached out to smooth the creases in my forehead. “Not right away but…I want this whole family thing. Marriage, kids, the works. I didn’t think I’d feel this way, but then I met you and it feels right. Perfect even.”

“So you wanna get married, eh? Are we announcing this before or after burgers and potato salad?”

“Ha. Ha. We’re not announcing anything. I just want you to know, I’m ready for everything. With you.”

I was overcome and the clock was ticking. The last thing I wanted was my mother to walk in now ’cause I’d blab for sure, and she’d start planning a big gay wedding before we knew what hit us. I ran my thumb over his bottom lip and smiled at my man.

“Everything. I like the sound of that. But I gotta tell you, as long as I have you, I have everything I need.”

Remy gave me that surprised look I’d become very familiar with in the year we’d been together. It morphed into an incandescent joy that made anyone near him happier than they’d have thought possible. Especially me.

“You really do have a way with words, Tony.”

I held him close, angling my head to kiss him just as my sisters arrived with a few of our cousins. The catcalls and wolf whistles were followed by requests to crank up the music and spike the iced tea before our moms got there. Remy slipped his hand into my back pocket and stood at my side, welcoming our family.

Sometimes I marveled at how different my life was now. I still lived in the same house, had the same job, and saw the same people daily. But now I had Remy too. He was my other half and I was his. We inspired each other to be more than we were alone. We were stronger, kinder, better. I might not always know what to say or how to say it, but I knew to trust my instincts now. And my own way with words.