Chapter 7

 

 

October

 

IT’S BEEN a week and a half since my date with Rex and I’ve only seen him once, when we met for a quick coffee at the library on Saturday. I don’t know why I thought I’d be less busy than I was in grad school once I got a job, but I was obviously wrong.

Peggy Lasher is officially my arch-nemesis. When I got to my office on Friday, I found an e-mail from her (with Bernard Ness, the chair of the department, cc’d) thanking me in advance for being willing to cover her classes in the coming week because her husband’s mother had died and she would be leaving for New York immediately. I’m not proud of the fact that my first thought wasn’t to feel sorry for her loss, or even pissed that she’d assumed I’d help her out; it was a gut-deep jealousy that she would be within two hours of Philly—unless by New York she actually meant Buffalo or something.

Of course, being pissed followed swiftly. When I mentioned it to Jay Santiago, who has become my go-to for reality checks about the department, he said that since it was such a small school the newest hire was often asked to cover classes. This was apparently school-specific, because as far as I know nothing of the sort was the culture at Penn.

Peggy’s a Romanticist—not a specialty of mine—so I had to do some major cramming to feel comfortable teaching her classes. One was an intro to eighteenth- and nineteenth-century lit, which was okay because it was mostly stuff I’d read in grad school. But her second class was a 300-level class on Romantic poetry for English majors, which took every spare moment of my time to prepare for.

In a school the size of Sleeping Bear, reputation is everything. The students all talk to each other and if you have a reputation for being a bad or boring teacher, your classes won’t fill, which is the first sign that a department won’t keep you around. So, it was very much in my best interest to make Peggy’s students think I was awesome so they’d take a chance on my classes next semester.

Friday morning, after Rex spent the night, we’d made plans to spend the weekend together at his house, so when I found the e-mail from Peggy I was doubly pissed because I knew it meant the end to our relaxing weekend. I explained about subbing for Peggy and he said he understood, but I’ve been a little worried that Rex feels like I abandoned him after the story he told me Thursday night. I can’t stop thinking about it. Now that I know his mom and his first lover both died, his protectiveness makes a lot of sense. I still can’t exactly picture Rex as the shy kid he described, but the idea of him going through something like that makes me feel sick.

And, somehow, more even than the beating and Jamie dying, it’s Rex’s decision to change his body that hits me the hardest. His need to believe that if he were only physically strong enough then he would be able to protect everyone he cared about. He didn’t mention it, but he must feel like his size protects him too.

 

 

WHEN I get to Rex’s, he’s sitting at a small table in the living room grumbling while sketching something that looks like the plans for a dresser, Marilyn lying at his feet. There’s a fire crackling, and the whole house smells like cedar and pine and maple, like maybe Rex ate pancakes for breakfast. He’s wearing dark gray sweatpants and a white T-shirt worn thin, its sleeves pulling tight over his biceps every time he tenses his arm to erase.

“Hi,” I say, and I dump my stuff next to the table, slinging my jacket over the chair opposite his. Because of all the time I spent covering Peggy’s classes this week, I’m behind on my own grading. Rex told me to come on over and do it at his house and we could have dinner whenever I was done.

“Hey,” he says, and reaches an arm out to me. He slides his chair back enough to pull me onto his lap, something I thought only happened to children and, like, cheerleaders or girls who were about to get proposed to. But he’s warm, even in a T-shirt, and he smells so good.

“What are you grumbling about?”

“Hmm. Just work.”

“What’s up?”

“Oh, I want to do more woodworking and less odd jobs. Don’t get me wrong,” he says quickly, “I’m really glad the work’s there. I just—well, I’ve been trying to figure out if I could, I dunno. People around here know that I make furniture, but it’s not a big town. Obviously,” he adds at my snort. “So, I was just thinking about how to make it more of a business. Transition more into custom jobs like that. Just a thought.”

“That’s awesome,” I tell him. “Your work’s beautiful. Of course you should get the word out. You need a website, for sure. And do you have pictures of the pieces you’ve sold? If not, I’m sure the people you sold them to would let you photograph them. Then people can reach you through the website to place orders. You know?” I trail off at the blank expression on Rex’s face.

“Um,” he says, “I’m not so good with computers.”

“I can help you. It’s so easy now. There’re free sites you can use and tons of tutorials online.”

He makes a noncommittal sound and kisses me, and I immediately lose track of everything except that I’m sitting on his lap and he’s kissing me.

He tastes like Rex and coffee. Mmm, coffee….

Apparently, I said that out loud, because he chuckles and asks me if I want some. I nod eagerly and follow him into the kitchen, where he pushes me against the counter and kisses me, a long, deep kiss that bumps grading at least thirty slots farther down the things-I-want-to-do list than it already was.

“I missed you this week,” he says, and pulls me into his shoulder.

“Me too,” I say. “Sorry. It was a killer week. Freaking Peggy,” I spit out.

Rex squeezes my shoulder with one big hand and I kind of melt against him involuntarily.

“Jesus,” he says. “You’re all knots. It doesn’t seem fair that this Peggy woman can just make you do her work.”

“She didn’t make me. But, you know, I’m low man on the totem pole or whatever, so I’ve got to put the time in.”

He takes my other shoulder in his hand and massages them for a minute. At first I tense up, but then every muscle relaxes, including the ones keeping my eyes open. I groan.

“Well, I don’t think it’s right,” Rex says. “Are they at least paying you for it?”

“It doesn’t really work that way in academia,” I say.

Rex makes an irritated sound and his thumbs dig in harder.

“Ugh, you gotta stop; you’re gonna put me to sleep,” I tell Rex, but I’m kind of nuzzling him.

“After dinner I’ll finish, okay?” His voice is husky. He tilts my chin up and kisses me. “Finish your work,” he says, and the promise in his voice thrills me.

“Hey, which is your Wi-Fi network?” I ask Rex. “My piece-of-shit computer isn’t picking anything up.”

Rex looks surprised.

“Oh,” he says, his shoulders going rigid. “I don’t have one.”

“You don’t have the Internet?”

“Don’t need it much. When I do, I go to the library. Oh, do you need it to get your work done? I should have told you, I guess. I just didn’t think of it.”

“No, it’s okay, I just… man, I’ve just been in academic-world too long, I think; I didn’t think to ask. I use it to double-check if I suspect a student’s plagiarized. But, no, it doesn’t matter. I can do that later.”

I settle into the first paper, immediately irritated because the student doesn’t seem to have a thesis. I let out a deep sigh. It’s going to be a long afternoon. She also doesn’t cite any of her quotes. The next paper’s argument is so convoluted that I’m almost impressed with the fact that the student has managed to appear sane in class so far. Paper three has no argument whatsoever and not a single grammatically correct sentence. I sigh again and rub my eyes. Grading always requires waging a mental battle against my temper.

Rex looks up from his drawing and quirks a brow at me in question.

“Sorry,” I tell him. “Grading always infuriates me. It’s like my students don’t listen to what I say at all. I mean, we go over thesis statements in class and I give them a handout about how to tell if a thesis is strong or not. Then they write these papers and they’re just nonsense. I mean, actual nonsense. They aren’t making an argument, they don’t connect any of their ideas, and half the time I can’t even tell if they’ve read the book they’re writing about. It drives me fucking nuts. Listen to this. ‘I will argue that the way Bartleby doesn’t want to do anything proves that he’s politically opposed to doing anything.’ What!”

Rex clears his throat.

“You make it sound like they do badly just to piss you off.”

I laugh, but he doesn’t seem to be joking.

“You know, it’s not really that easy for everyone,” he continues. He’s trying to sound casual, but I can tell he means it. “Sometimes people aren’t good at things.”

“I know that. But it’s like they’re not even trying—” I start to explain.

“You don’t know that,” he says. “Maybe they’re trying their best and they’re just not as smart as you. Or they’re good at math but not your class.”

Of course I know he’s right. At every moment other than when I’m grading, I know that.

“You’re right,” I say. “I guess it just makes me feel like I’m wasting my time trying to teach them shit sometimes. Like they don’t care about it anyway, so why do I spend all my time trying to make them?”

“Well,” he says after a pause, “that sounds like a bigger question.”

“Yeah, I guess it is. I don’t really want to think about it right now. Sorry, I’m just so fucking glad it’s the weekend. I’ll just finish this.”

Rex doesn’t say anything. His shoulders are tense and his jaw clenched. He must think I’m such a pretentious ass right now. Really, it’s never a good idea to grade while anyone else is watching.

“Hey, can we put on some music?” I ask. “It’s so quiet in here I can’t think.”

Rex points to the cabinet next to the television.

“Put on whatever you want,” he says.

“Yeah, sorry, I just, I’m so used to working in coffee shops or at the bar that I guess I’ve, like, trained myself to associate noise with concentration. I can just put my headphones on if you want.”

“No, it’s fine,” Rex says. “Do you miss the city a lot, then?” He’s looking at his drawing and fiddling with his pencil.

“Yeah,” I say, standing before the cabinet and tracing the wood grain with my finger. “Did you make this?” He nods. “You’re so talented.” Rex smiles.

Wow, he has a lot of stuff I’ve never heard of. He has almost all records, but he definitely doesn’t strike me as the sort of neo-vinyl fan who buys new records but never touched a turntable until college. Some of these are moldy.

“Who’s Blossom Dearie?”

“She was a jazz singer. Mostly in the fifties and sixties. Recorded a lot of standards.”

I put the record on. There’s a scritch of static and then a light voice fills the room.

“Were these your mother’s records?”

Rex’s head jerks up.

“Yeah.”

“I like it,” I say, and go back to grading.

By the time I’m finished, I’ve gone through three more records, my comment-writing hand is cramping, my shoulders are tight, and I’ve decided that Rex is an incredibly distracting work buddy. Every time I look up from a paper, there he is, his sensual mouth tightened in concentration and the tiny line between his eyebrows reminding me of how he looked when he was inside me.

“Oh, thank god,” I say finally, my forehead resting on the stack of graded papers. “I need a drink.”

 

 

AFTER WE take Marilyn for a walk, Rex makes omelets for dinner.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” I ask, putting my plate in the sink.

Rex shakes his head.

“Do you want me to go so you can… do whatever?”

Rex shakes his head again, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. He stands up and holds out a hand to me.

In his bedroom, Rex pulls me close, running his hands up and down my back.

I put my arms around him, thrilling at his firm muscles and his warmth. Every time I touch him it’s like my whole body reacts. He slides my T-shirt up and pulls it over my head, never losing contact. Then he strips off his own.

“Lie down,” Rex says, a warm hand splaying across my back. He pulls my jeans and underwear off. “Just relax.”

Rex massages my neck, strong thumbs digging into the muscles on either side, then runs his fingers into my hair, massaging my scalp. I guess he wasn’t kidding about finishing that massage. He kisses the back of my neck, then moves on to my shoulders. At first, I tense every time he moves to a new part of my body, but he just keeps whispering, “It’s okay, relax,” and, little by little, I do. He spreads my arms, massaging my biceps, and then down my ribs. My breath catches when his thumbs go to my spine. I can hear little pops and cracks as his weight bears down on me.

With every breath and every touch, I feel like I’m melting into the mattress. When Rex straddles me on the bed, I can feel his heat everywhere. He kisses the back of my neck and the top of my spine as his strong hands massage my lower back, pressing me into the sheets. His palms skim my thighs and I tense up again.

“You’re okay,” Rex murmurs, and uses more pressure, massaging the muscles of my thighs firmly. I bury my face in the pillow, hugging it to me, tensing up again. No one has ever touched me like this. Cared for me like this. It’s like Rex thinks of my body as something he’s responsible for. Something precious. I shake my head in the pillow.

“Hey,” he says, “look at me.” He rolls me to my side so he can see my face. “What’s wrong? Do you want me to stop?”

I shake my head violently but can’t muster a single word.

“Do you want me to keep going?” I nod. Rex is looking at me carefully. I don’t know how to explain it to him. I keep opening my mouth and nothing comes out. Rex gives me a sad smile. “Do you want me to take care of you? Make sure you’re relaxed?” Is that a trick question? Do I want him to take care of me? What does that mean? I don’t want Rex to think I’m weak, but I don’t want him to stop. I want this to be like a dream, where things just happen and no one talks about them and everything is liquid and sleepy. I wish I were drunk so I could let him do whatever he wants to me and it wouldn’t have to be my choice. I don’t think I’m supposed to wish for that.

Rex presses a soft kiss to my cheekbone. “Just try and relax, all right? You don’t have to think about anything. You don’t have to do anything. Your only job is to relax, okay?” I nod.

Just relax. No big deal, right? Just relax. Years of experience have taught me that it is a big deal, though. If you relax, you’re unprepared for what might happen next. If you relax, someone can sneak up on you. If you relax, you can’t react quickly enough. Years of brotherly sneak attacks on the couch, being pulled into hallways and alleys, and slammed against lockers and walls have taught me so.

“Daniel, do you trust me?” Rex asks. I think I do. Intellectually, I know Rex isn’t going to hurt me, but it’s not as easy as I thought. Not as much of a choice as I thought. I take a deep breath and decide that it’s just mind over matter. If I want to trust Rex, I just have to do it. I close my eyes and nod.

I’m rewarded with a kiss on the mouth and a smile. Rex looks genuinely pleased. I let out a deep breath, glad to have done the right thing, and spread my arms out again, letting go of my death grip on the pillow. If I open my eyes just a sliver, the green flannel of Rex’s sheets is a nubbly landscape that I can pretend is moss. I’ve always wanted to take a nap on a bed of moss.

Rex’s hands are back. I imagine that he’s some kind of sinewy mountain cat padding across my back, pressing me deeper into the springy moss with his huge paws. I used to do this as a kid. I’d lie in bed with the covers over my face and pretend that my stuffed animals were bigger than me. I would pretend that my stuffed lion would gather me up in its paws like a cub and pull me on top of its stomach to sleep.

Even Rex’s pine and cedar smell fits. Now he’s a tree that has been standing for two hundred years, limber enough to bend with the wind, but sturdy enough to shelter me. His hands are on my thighs again, and this time it’s like he’s soothing muscles I didn’t even know I had, stroking purely functional things to a sensual tingle.

“Okay?” Rex asks, and I want to ask him how a tree can talk. I just nod, though, my eyes closing a bit, casting the green hillside into the first shadows of evening.

It’s working. I really am relaxing. Then Rex’s hands touch my ass and I don’t want to pretend anymore. He takes the globes of my ass in his hands and massages them and it feels like I’m drowning, sinking deep into something warm and viscous, like honey. I moan as his palms rest on the hills of my ass and his thumbs caress my lower back. Then he slides his hands to my hips and massages them, rotating them one at a time.

He kneels between my legs, spreading them to make room for him, and kneads my inner thighs and up to the crease of my bottom. He takes me by the hips and digs strong thumbs into my spine, pushing my knees up and apart. His hands slide back to my ass, fingers dipping into my crack, and I moan again. Every touch is electric. I never knew relaxing could feel so amazing. Every strong squeeze of his hands on my ass sends jolts of heat to the base of my spine and my cock, the only part of me that is not relaxed. I squirm a little, trying to maneuver myself into a position that isn’t crushing my burgeoning erection.

Rex lifts my hips easily and settles me back on the bed tenderly, then urges me down again, his attention returning to my ass. I gasp when I feel his hand on my erection, and I let my breath out slowly as he gentles me again, caressing my ass softly to relax me.

I never thought about having tension in my hips or thighs, but as Rex spreads my legs farther apart, relaxing them, I feel loose and flexible, the tension draining from me, leaving me open to him. He scoots up, running a hand through my hair and I arch into his touch.

“Okay, baby?” he asks softly, like he doesn’t want to break the spell.

“Feels so good,” I murmur. When Rex slides down over my back and starts kissing my neck, I vaguely register that he’s taken off his pants too, but I didn’t notice. He kisses down my spine and, when he reaches the plump of my ass, he doesn’t stop, kissing a line down my crack. I gasp and tense up again, but his hands stroke my hips.

“I want to taste you, Daniel,” Rex says, his voice the tumble of a blood-warm wave breaking near my ear. “Can I taste you?” He follows this up with a lick to my ear and I groan, nodding manically. I can feel his hardness between my legs, a pulsing brand on my thigh.

“Tell me.”

“Do it, please.”

“Do what, Daniel?” Rex asks, his voice teasing and filthy.

“Ungh, I want—want you to taste me,” I bite out, a rush of shame competing with arousal.

“Spread your legs for me,” he commands.

He drops down again, grabbing the hills of my ass and squeezing them, then pulling them apart. His tongue touches my opening and a dark, hot pleasure opens me up as he licks into me.

“Oh god,” I groan, burying my face in the pillow. Rex goes back to his massage, hands sliding down my thighs to my calves, relaxing every muscle he touches. Then his mouth is back, kissing and then licking my hole, his tongue relaxing this muscle too. He pushes me up farther, so he can bury his face between my cheeks, and then everything is liquid heat and a pleasure so much gentler than penetration. I feel the shift as my muscles relax and Rex’s tongue breaches me. It’s something caught so exactly between relaxing me and driving me to a fever pitch of arousal that my brain doesn’t know how to process it and I slide back and forth between unclenching to his mouth and tensing with pleasure.

I’m crying out, now, desperate for Rex to push a little harder, slide a little deeper so this feeling can coalesce into something I know. But he keeps working me, sliding softly inside me and gentling my trembling muscles with his own.

“Rex, Rex, Rex,” I call out, unable to control myself. I don’t know what I’m begging for. Whether more or less—everything or nothing—I don’t know.

Then Rex groans, the sound ripped from deep inside him. As he shifts, I feel his erection, impossibly hard, and he’s trembling above me.

“Oh, Daniel,” he says, and his voice is a tender animal that could consume me. “Fuck, Daniel, I need to be here right now.” He slides three fingers into me as he says it, and my whole body clenches, shuddering when he breaches me.

“Unnhh,” I say, pressing my hips into the bed and grabbing the sheets. Rex grabs my hips to keep me still. He reaches up to grab a condom from the dresser and puts his mouth to my ear.

“Was that a yes?” he growls, and I moan again. “Was that ‘Yes, Rex, you can have my ass?’” I nod frantically, trying to turn and look back at him, but his weight makes it impossible. I’m out of my head with lust. The only thing I can feel is the empty throbbing in my channel where his tongue has left me wanting. I can almost feel him inside me, filling me up, and I clench at the thought.

“Fuck, baby,” Rex says. Then he dives back down, his mouth sucking at my hole, tongue jabbing inside me.

“Rex, please.”

“Please what?” he says, low and rumbling.

“Please, fuck me,” I’m finally able to string together. I don’t know how I can be this relaxed and this on edge at the same time, but when I feel Rex’s heat against me I don’t even tense up. He slides just past my muscle and my body welcomes him. He spreads my ass and slides the rest of the way in, filling me so perfectly that it takes me a moment to catch up with the sensation. By the time it does, he’s all the way inside me, and my whole channel clenches with pleasure. We both cry out and Rex’s hands tighten on my hips, pulling me up and onto his shaft.

He doesn’t move, and it’s like we’re locked together in a perfect moment that we know will only get better. I swallow hard and Rex drops his forehead to my back. Then he begins to move—tiny pulses of his hips that stir friction between us. Gradually, his movements get bigger, until I can feel the drag of his cock against my inner walls. My own erection feels almost secondary, a sensation I never thought I would have. It’s as if only where he’s touching me matters. He slides slowly out of me, and I make a desperate sound, thinking he’s leaving, but he strokes up my spine.

He rests the head of his cock against my hole, teasing me with it, pulsing himself shallowly in and out of my muscle, confusing the sensitive skin there with each penetration. Then he slides all the way back in with one firm stroke and it’s like a fire stroking through my channel. He pulls my hips up farther and begins fucking me deeply, letting his weight bear him down.

He’s supporting himself on his arms as he fucks down into me and I grab the corded muscle of his forearms, trying to gain some purchase. I can’t stop the broken sounds that are coming out of my mouth and Rex is making a noise like a groan and a whimper. Then I arch into him and he slides against my prostate, flooding me with a wave of pleasure from my ass to my dick.

I cry out, and Rex pulls me up, locking his arms around my shoulders to maintain his angle. Every thrust bumps my prostate and I have no control over my body. I feel lightheaded, like every nerve is being strummed with Rex’s strokes. He rotates his hips and drives into me, then freezes there for a long moment, letting me feel the pulse of his erection, letting me feel how completely he fills me.

“Please,” I gasp out, and Rex moans. I can feel him shaking above me.

“Daniel,” he says shakily.

Then he rears back and slams into me, grabbing my cock for the first time since he began his massage. The second he touches me, I’m done for. He pumps my shaft once, twice, three times, and then I’m coming in his hand, the pleasure washing through my whole body. My orgasm seems to go on even after he’s wrung every jet of come from me, echoes of pleasure pulsing in my balls and through my ass. Then Rex is coming, his strokes growing short and hard. He thrusts himself deep inside me and moans brokenly, freezing in orgasm. Then his hips pulse a few more times as he presses the last of himself inside me.

I’m trembling from pleasure and can’t catch my breath, but as Rex lowers himself on top of me, still softening inside me, I realize that I’m more relaxed than I’ve ever been.

“Jesus,” Rex mutters as he slides out of me and drops the condom into the garbage can. I can’t even open my eyes. I’m still on my stomach where I collapsed, Rex’s sticky hand trapped between my belly and the bed. I roll onto my side a little and Rex wipes his hand on the flannel sheets. He snugs up behind me and kisses the back of my neck avidly, then slides his arm under my neck so he can wrap both arms around my chest. “Fuck,” he says, as his spent cock brushes up against my ass and gives a little twitch. I moan absently and tuck my knees up. Rex nestles his groin against my ass and squeezes me tight.

I want to thank him for the massage, for relaxing me, and for what was definitely the best sex of my life, but I’m too relaxed to say a word.

 

 

I FEEL like my head is going to explode out my eyeballs and, when it does, I’m not even going to move; I’m just going to lie here with no head and no eyeballs. I’ve been in the library since I finished teaching at 2:00 p.m. I’m starving and there’s no way I can do even one more hour of work on this conference paper. It’s only Wednesday, and the week already feels endless, the relaxation of Rex’s homey cabin and warm hands nothing but a memory.

I need to get some dinner, go home, and put myself the hell to bed if I want to finish this tomorrow. I gather my stuff and trudge downstairs.

“Daniel?”

I spin around and find myself face to face with Rex—well, face to throat; damn, he’s tall.

“Hi,” I say, smiling at him. “What’re you doing here?”

“I’m just picking up some things, and I needed to look up some stuff.” Well, that was specific. I nod, though, too tired to press him. “What are you working on?” He guides me over to the bench next to the wall and brings me down next to him. I lean into him a little.

“I have to give a paper at this conference in Detroit on Saturday. It’s the biggest annual conference in my field and my panel got accepted over the summer, which is great, but I kind of forgot about it, what with moving and teaching and everything. Then this morning I looked at my calendar and realized it’s, you know, really soon.”

Even as I’m telling Rex this, my stomach is tightening. It’s the first panel that I’ve proposed that has been accepted at a really prestigious conference, and I was jazzed about working on a new project when I wrote the abstract. Of course, sitting down this morning to start writing it, realizing I only have a few days, is a different story.

“I’ve got to finish it tomorrow so I can practice it and time it. Then I’m driving down Friday afternoon and coming back Sunday. I can’t believe I left it this long. I just started it this afternoon. It’s going to be crap because I’m throwing it together.”

My stomach lets out an audible rumble even though I’ve moved past hunger to sheer anxiety. I’m blocking out hours in my head as I talk—three hours for teaching tomorrow, then I can work on the paper, then I need to do laundry so I have clean clothes for the conference; I should definitely check my car before I leave—and I miss something Rex says.

“Sorry,” I say, “what?”

Rex narrows his eyes at me.

“I said when was the last time you ate?”

“Um. Breakfast?” I say. Which is technically true, even though breakfast was half a bagel I found in my bag from yesterday.

“Daniel, it’s after seven.” When Rex gets worried, that damned wrinkle in the middle of his forehead comes out—the one I can’t help but associate with his face clenched in pleasure. I reach out absently and smooth it with my finger. His expression softens.

“Hi,” I say, and I kiss him. I don’t generally kiss in libraries, it’s true, but no one can see us, and I can’t resist touching him when he’s this close.

He smiles and squeezes my hand. “Hi. So, can I take you to get some food?”

“Oh, that’s okay,” I say. “I was just going to grab something on my way home. I’m gonna crash out early, I think, since I have to try and finish this tomorrow.”

“Okay,” he says neutrally. “Do you want to have dinner tomorrow?”

“Yeah, that sounds great—oh shit!” I grab my calendar from my bag and flip through it. “Shit, shit. I can’t. I’m having dinner with Jay tomorrow. I forgot.”

“Who’s Jay?” Rex lets go of my hand.

“He teaches in my department. He’s helping me with this committee I’m accidentally chairing—don’t ask. Anyway, we’re having dinner tomorrow so he can explain everything. Sorry.”

“Oh. So, I guess I’ll just see you when you get back?”

Rex’s eyes are slightly narrowed, and I can’t tell if I’m supposed to offer to cancel dinner with Jay so I can see Rex before I leave for the conference? Am I supposed to invite Rex to come?

“You could come to dinner with us?” I say, and it doesn’t sound at all sincere. “But it would be really boring for you because we’re just going to talk about work stuff. Do you want to come over to my house after dinner?” I ask, hoping maybe this is a good compromise. “You could keep me company while I pack?” That is the lamest thing I’ve ever said. Only Ginger wants to hang out with me while I stuff things into a bag. But Rex smiles.

“I can do that,” he says. He pushes my messy hair back and kisses my cheek, which stokes a small warmth in my stomach. I lean my head on his shoulder for a moment and breathe in his smell.

“Hey, are you falling asleep?” Rex says.

“Mmhmm.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to come home with me? I’ll cook you dinner.”

I groan. That sounds amazing, but all I really want is to go to bed.

“Thanks,” I say, “but it’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow night?” He nods. “Probably around nine? I can text you when we’re done.”

“Oh, I don’t text,” Rex says, straightening his spine and squaring his shoulders.

“Hunh. Okay, then, Mr. Technophobe. Well, we’re just going to the pizza place around the corner from my apartment, so if I’m not at my place at nine, just come there.”

“Okay,” he says. “Can I at least drive you home?”

“Sure.” He goes back to the computer he was using and puts what look like a few CDs and some printouts in his bag.

When Rex stops his truck in front of my apartment, he turns off the engine and turns to me.

“Listen,” he says. “It’s not going to be crap.”

“What?”

“Your paper. You said it’s going to be crap because you’re writing it at the last minute. I know that isn’t true. You’re too hard on yourself. I’m sure it’ll be great.”

“You can’t be sure,” I tell him. I hate it when people say things like this almost as much as I hate it when they assume my writing’s going to be bad. “You’ve never even read anything I’ve written.”

Rex pulls his hand from mine and his jaw clenches. He looks out the window.

“Sorry,” I say. I thought my tone was pretty matter-of-fact, but I’ve clearly hurt his feelings.

Rex shakes his head.

“No, you’re right. I’ve never read anything you’ve written. I’m sure it’s all real over my head.”

He sounds disgusted and I feel like I should apologize, but all I did was state a fact.

“Good night, Daniel,” he says.

He sounds far away. I lean over and give him a kiss and his hand comes up to cradle the back of my neck.

“Night.”

 

 

I WASN’T looking forward to dinner with Jay, since I thought I’d need every last second to finish my paper. About an hour before we were set to meet up, though, it all just kind of came together. A rogue example turned out to be the perfect introduction, and it let me pull out a thread that had been lurking but that I hadn’t known what to do with. I finished it in a flurry and I’ll have time to check it over tomorrow night when I get to Detroit.

Dinner turned out to be good, though. Once I wasn’t panicking about my paper anymore, it was nice to just chat with Jay about Sleeping Bear and what a weird place it was. He was in grad school in Phoenix, so the weather hit him even harder than it has me. He gave me the scoop on other folks in the department, affirming that Peggy was kind of the antichrist, and went over how he’d approached the student essays last year. He’s a really nice guy, and very easy to talk to.

“So, I have to admit,” Jay says after we’ve talked about the committee, “I was really excited when you took this job.”

“Oh?” I say.

“Yes. Honestly, I was enthusiastic to get someone who came from a different background. You know, not the typical four-year college to grad school route. I imagine going to community college gave you a different perspective on teaching too.”

He doesn’t sound judgmental about it at all, which is pretty uncommon among professors. Most think going to community college is embarrassing. My advisor told me I shouldn’t list it on my CV.

“It did, yeah,” I say. “At CCP—the community college—people were there because they wanted to be. They were mostly older, or they were going part-time while working to pay for it. And some of the professors were really great. But a lot of the classes were easy. I mean, the English classes were good because the teachers would always talk about other books than were on the syllabus, so I could go find those and read them. But, yeah, they weren’t very challenging.

“I could only afford to take a few classes a semester, but I went during the summers too, so when I transferred to Temple to finish out my degree, I only had a year’s worth of credits left. That was all I could afford there. I mean, honestly, I wouldn’t even have done it except I knew I could never get into grad school straight from a community college, so my degree needed to be from Temple. It’s shitty, but that’s how it is.”

Jay nods, his attention intense.

“Anyway, I was really lucky because one of the professors I had for an English class was an adjunct at Temple. I would go to her office hours and we’d talk about books and stuff. She gave me a lot of good recommendations. She’s the one who told me that if I was thinking of grad school, I’d need to transfer. I really didn’t have a clue about how academia worked back then.”

“I was on the hiring committee; I’ve seen your trajectory. It’s very impressive, Daniel. Really.”

I’m embarrassed, so I change the subject. We talk about the trip to New York that Jay’s just returned from. He’s trying to get an international Latino/Latina literature and theory conference started, which sounds great, and he was schmoozing with some folks he knows. We slip into the topic of other conferences and Jay realizes that he went to grad school with one of my professors, whom I’ll see at the conference in Detroit. I swear to god, the academic world is frighteningly small.

I’m just describing my conference paper to Jay when Rex walks in and comes over to our table.

“Hi,” I say. “Sorry, am I late?” I fumble for my phone to see the time, but it’s only 8:40.

“No,” Rex says. “I was early and I saw you guys, so I thought I’d come over. That okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Rex, this is Jay Santiago. Jay, Rex Vale.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jay says, standing to offer his hand, and he seems to wince the slightest bit at Rex’s handshake. Rex nods at him.

“You too.”

We’re all standing when the check comes, so I shrug on my jacket and grab my wallet.

“I’ve got it,” Jay says.

“No,” I say. “You were doing me a favor. I’ve got it, please.”

“No, no,” Jay says. “You’re the new hire; consider it a welcome to the department.”

“Oh, you don’t have to—”

“Nonsense,” Jay says. “I’ve got it.” And he hands the waiter his credit card without looking at the check.

“Wow, okay, well, thanks, Jay,” I say, feeling a little awkward. “I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure,” he says, pulling on a black wool overcoat and leather driving gloves.

We start to walk out, Rex keeping pace with me.

“Enjoy the conference,” Jay says. “Give Wendy my regards.”

“Will do,” I say.

“And the paper sounds wonderful, Daniel, really.” He claps me on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” I say.

“Nice to meet you,” he says again to Rex, and Rex nods.

 

 

INSIDE MY apartment, Rex pushes me against the door and kisses me aggressively. My head bangs against the wood and Rex pulls back, breathing heavily.

“Sorry,” he mutters.

“What’s wrong?” I ask him.

Is he still pissed from last night? If it were Ginger I’d tease her. Say, “What, are you jealous?” But something tells me Rex wouldn’t appreciate that.

“Nothing,” he says. “Did you finish your paper?”

“I did, yeah. It all came together. You were right; it’s going to be fine.”

He smiles and looks a little sheepish.

“Listen,” he says. “I didn’t mean to be unfriendly. It was just harder than I thought to see you out with another guy.”

“Well, you weren’t so much unfriendly as you were totally menacing. And he’s not ‘another guy.’ He’s a colleague.” I pat his chest and walk to my closet, grabbing my duffel bag and starting to toss things into it.

“But he likes you,” Rex says, as if it’s a fact.

“I mean, as a friend, maybe,” I say. Wow, I guess he really is jealous. It’s not a great look on him.

“No,” Rex says. “More than a friend. I could tell by how he was looking at you.”

“And how was he looking at me?” I ask.

“Like… like he was… appreciating you,” Rex says, slowly, looking at the floor. I stop.

“I don’t even know if Jay’s gay,” I say. “I hope he isn’t, what with the easy rhyme and the cruelty of children.”

“He is,” Rex says.

“How do you know?”

“Um….”

“Oh my god, did you date him?” I ask. It would make sense. It’s not like there are that many gay guys around here. At the thought, my stomach goes all funny.

“What? No,” Rex says. “I just met him. But, when you first moved here, I overheard….”

“You overheard,” I encourage.

“Just some idiots talking about the town being overrun by gay snobs.”

I shake my head. I’m not that surprised.

“Anyway,” Rex continues, the set of his shoulders stiff, “we haven’t really talked about any of that. I mean, if you were to go out with him as more than friends, I… well, I guess that’d be your prerogative.”

“Well, I better get to be Bobby Brown and not Britney Spears,” I say, to cover the fact that my head is now spinning. He’s talking about us dating other people. How it’s okay if I date other people. Is that what he wants? Does that mean he’s dating other people? My stomach feels sour. The idea of Rex with someone else… it makes me feel sick, and… sad.

I walk into the bathroom, grabbing the jacket I hung on the shower door in the hopes of steaming the wrinkles out while I showered this morning. It looks passable.

Then there’s a crash from the kitchen.

Rex is kneeling next to what was—until, say, about ten seconds ago—my kitchen table.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m fine,” he says, standing. “Shit, Daniel, I just leaned against the thing and it totally collapsed. Sorry,” he says. But he doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds embarrassed, and maybe a little pissed.

“Oh, it’s not your fault,” I assure him, walking over. “It kind of bit it the other day and I just, like, propped it back up. Haven’t gotten around to fixing it yet. I should’ve warned you.”

“Well, why didn’t you ask me to fix it for you?” Rex asks, sounding irritated.

“Um. I didn’t think about it,” I say.

“But it’s what I do for a living,” Rex says, his hands out in confusion.

“Well, okay, I’m sure you’d do a better job than me, Rex, but I’m not some pathetic idiot who can’t fix a goddamned table.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic,” he says, sounding exasperated. “I just don’t understand why you won’t ever accept my help.”

“What are you talking about? You fixed my wall and my light—”

“That actually was my job,” he interrupts.

“You rescued me from a snowstorm. You’ve cooked me whole meals.”

“Because I wanted to! I like to cook for you.”

“You just think I can’t do simple adult things,” I mutter. I’m not sure where that came from, but I’m pretty sure I believe it. Rex’s mouth drops open and at first he looks like he’s going to shake it off. Then he looks around at my apartment and kicks at a leg of my kitchen table, splayed like a broken dancer on the floor.

“You live on coffee and bagels unless I cook for you,” he says. “Your car is a deathtrap that you’ve held together with a wire hanger. You won’t talk to your landlord about making your apartment safe to actually live in. You moved to Michigan and you don’t have a winter coat! It’s like you don’t even care about what happens to you.”

“No! You just think you need to rescue me. Even the night we met, you rescued me—me and Marilyn. That’s all you’ve done is rescue me, like I’m some damsel in distress. Well, I don’t need to be rescued! I can take care of myself.”

“Can you?” Rex growls, advancing on me. “I’m not so sure.”

“What the fuck!” My hands are fisted at my sides. “Are you fucking kidding me right now? Do you know how long I’ve taken care of myself? How many times I’ve been jumped or mugged or gotten my ass kicked? And I’ve handled it. I’ve handled myself just fine. You know how many times I’ve gone to lectures for the cheese cubes and stale crackers at the reception because I can’t afford to buy food? Huh?”

I’m shouting now, so furious that Rex apparently thinks I’m just as weak and pathetic as my brothers do that my heart is pounding.

“I—I didn’t mean—”

“Anyway, if you think I’m such a pathetic fucking mess then why are you even here?” I shove Rex’s shoulder. Not hard, just in frustration, but it’s like pushing up against a mountain.

Rex freezes. He opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, and then just shakes his head, hands on his hips.

“Have a safe trip, Daniel,” he says evenly. Then he walks out, closing the door gently behind him. His truck starts outside.

“Fuck!” I yell, punching the door. “Shit, ouch.” I always forget how much that hurts.

I turn around and lean back against the door where Rex was kissing me a few minutes ago. My kitchen looks like a crime scene. The table is slumped onto the peeling linoleum, and the light over what used to be the kitchen table is swinging a little, casting eerie shadows. My duffel bag gapes open on the bed, my jacket on the floor. The whole place looks dingy and sad. It smells like ramen noodles and Band-Aids even though I haven’t made ramen noodles lately and I couldn’t tell you the last time I actually owned a Band-Aid.

Goddammit, this is why I don’t date.