The next evening came fast. Way too fast. I was in no way ready for dinner alone with Sal. On the drive to his place, I chewed the inside of my bottom lip until I drew blood. Maybe I should have taken the time to talk with Mario instead of acting like a bonehead. But in all honesty, did I really need him to tell me what was going to happen tonight, if the stars all aligned? I knew what went where. I wasn’t a complete virgin, just a semi-virgin. Stopping at a red light, I could hear Mario’s gravelly voice in my head.
“A semi-virgin, really, Augie? What the fuck—sorry Lila, baby—what the hell does that even mean? You’ve only had half a dick up your ass?”
Smiling at myself despite how sick to the stomach I felt, I crept along the small roads and lanes, trying to dredge up the one lackluster time I’d let a guy try to fuck me. We’d both been eighteen and nothing but fumbling fingers. He hadn’t even been able to get his dick inside me, he was so nervous, but he had got a couple of fingers inserted. Did fingers count, or did it have to be a cock? I hadn’t a clue, and I didn’t plan ever to ask anyone to explain deflowering to me. That episode had been so terrible, I thought it should count as a botched attempt. My virginity card should be reissued or something.
I slowed when I came to the address Sal had sent me. It was a nice little apartment complex made up of four buildings with twin oaks in a center courtyard. I pulled in beside a hunter-green Volkswagen Jetta. My stomach rebelled, and a sour belch bubbled up out of me.
“Come on, Augie, it’s nothing to get sick over. You like him, he likes you. Stop being a chick, as Kalinski would say.” I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. “That was really misogynistic. I’m sorry, women of the world.” That made me feel a little better.
I slipped the car into park, inhaled and exhaled through pursed lips, and ran my fingers through my hair. My palms were wet. I was gross. Sal would take one look at me in my stupid jacket, dress shirt and khakis, and tell me take my sweaty hands and semi-virginal ass back home.
The front door to a ground floor apartment opened, and Sal stepped out onto the little brick walk leading to his door. He was wearing cargo shorts and a T-shirt with the line “You’re a gorgonzola!” and I was in a suit jacket. He looked amazingly casual. I looked like a moron. Talk about being humiliated. I didn’t even realize I was out of my car until I felt a raindrop hit the top of my head. I gazed skyward. Thick clouds hung over the neighborhood.
“That is one impressive car,” Sal said to me as I jogged to the front door.
“It’s the first car I ever bought with my own money,” I told him after we’d hustled inside to avoid the rain shower. A low rumble of thunder rolled over the neat little apartment. “Sorry about being overdressed,” I mumbled.
He ran his dark eyes down and then back up my body. That sinful slow burn in my stomach began again. “You look great.”
The air was crackling with sexual energy. I had no doubt Sal was the man in charge here tonight. I was way out of my league, but it was exciting as hell.
“Dinner is just about ready,” Sal said. “Why don’t we set the table, and then we can eat?”
“Okay.” I mentally slugged myself.
Sal didn’t seem to notice how dumb his dinner guest was. He chatted away as we walked through his place, taking a short tour of the living room and dining area before we arrived in a small but clean kitchen. The smells in the room were mouthwatering.
“What’s for dinner?” I asked, then hurried to tack on, “it smells great.”
“It’s my mother’s recipe.” He beamed while turning off the oven.
I watched him bend over to get some pot holders from a drawer. His pants pulled tightly over a firm ass. My body reacted instantly, sending blood flowing south. I peeled my gaze from him and pretended to be inspecting the magnets on the refrigerator when he glanced at me.
“Have you ever had Mexican food before?”
“Only the stuff they sell at those chain restaurants.”
“Then you’re in for a treat,” he said while pulling a roasting pan from the oven.
Steam billowed out of the pan when he removed the lid. My stomach roared as the spicy cloud of moisture enveloped me. Rain began pelting the window over the sink, the large droplets splattering noisily on the glass.
“My mother used to boast that she made the best lime chicken breasts in Guadalajara,” Sal said.
“Your family’s from Mexico?”
He had a small MP3 player docked into a speaker. I recognized the song playing. It was something from Modern Baseball, a band I really enjoyed as well. Looked like we had the same pop/punk taste in music.
“My parents are,” Sal replied. “My baby sisters and I were born in America. Have you ever been to Mexico?” he asked as he placed the roaster on the stove, laid down his pot holders and pulled open a cupboard.
“Nope, but I’d like to go sometime.” I enjoyed the way he moved. He always appeared to be doing things with purpose, even if it was just taking down two dinner plates and handing them to me.
“You’d love it. The silverware and glasses are already on the table.”
“Ah, okay.” I spun around, plates in hand, and backtracked to the dining room. It was a small room, with a sliding door that led out to a small patio. I placed the dishes carefully beside the silverware that rested on folded cloth napkins. Then I scrubbed my palms over my pants. A flash of lightning lit up the night. Thunder followed right behind. Sal entered the room with his roasting pan full of chicken breasts, smiling widely.
“Sit down, August,” he told me while putting the roaster on two large tiles with roosters fashioned from tiny bits of colored stone. I moved a large pitcher of ice water to make room. “I have to go grab the after-dinner drinks.”
I sat down. He hustled off. Hands in my lap, I looked around the room. The wall behind Sal’s seat had family portraits hung artistically on it. I put my elbows on the dark wooden table and leaned forward. The picture that grabbed my eye first was one of Sal and his family all gathered on and around a couch. The kids were seated, and Mom and Dad stood behind them, Sal’s father’s hands resting on his son’s shoulders. Sal was younger in the image, maybe the same as me now. Identical twin girls of two or three on either side of him smiled at the camera. You could tell the three kids were siblings. Sal’s mother was a striking woman with long, black hair, glowing brown skin, and big brown eyes. His father was built like Sal, had a great smile and lots of silver in his short black hair. They looked really happy.
“Are you allowed to drink now that you’re heading to the playoffs?” he asked as he reentered the room.
“A little here and there,” I said, inhaling the man’s aftershave as he walked past me with a small bottle of something called Patrón and two glasses. “So you caught the game last night?”
“Yeah, I did, and I was really impressed with your performance.” That made me blush. “Can I just say that your humility is incredibly sexy?”
“I guess you can say that,” I jokingly replied.
He chuckled softly as he sat down. “We’ll save the liqueur for after the meal,” he said, and poured me some ice water.
“That’s good.” Why do you suck so badly at conversation, August?
“Do you know who you play in the first round?” he enquired.
He took a sip of water, then put his glass down so he could serve. He filled my plate with chicken and rice, then gave himself a much smaller serving. I mimicked him opening his napkin and spreading it over his thighs.
“Not yet. We’ll find out tonight and then get a few days off so the league can get things set up.” I cut into a boneless breast with my fork and took a bite. Foreign seasonings burst into life on my tongue. Sal watched me carefully. I groaned in pleasure, then dove into the food. “This is incredible,” I managed to say between bites. “What is it again?”
“It’s cilantro lime chicken breast served over rice,” he informed me as he began cutting his chicken into small bites then stirring it into the wild rice it sat on. I helped myself to another breast and followed his lead, cutting the chicken into chunks instead of strips. “Have you ever been involved in a championship before?”
I nodded with a full mouth and held up my fork. Sal nodded in understanding. Howling winds whipped around the complex.
“Back in college my team made it to the finals, but we were beaten by Silver Lake, who had been the conference champs for something crazy like four years straight. We gave them a good run, though,” I explained.
Sal regarded me thoughtfully as I spoke, as if he were measuring my words. I feared he found them lacking. After all, he spoke quite well, I thought.
“Will your family be coming down from Manitoba for the first round?”
“Doubtful. My dad’s not fond of leaving Martens Bay, but they’ll watch online if I can explain how to stream things over the phone. They adopted me when they were in their fifties,” I explained, then shoved more chicken into my face.
Sal smiled, and that odd fluttering feeling returned. All through the meal we talked about me, my past, my playing days in college, my likes and dislikes. When the main course was over and Sal was pouring us three fingers of that dark brown liqueur, I jumped into things like a typical puck-pusher.
“So you’re not at all like I thought you would be.” There. It was out. It had been chewing on the edges of my thoughts since I’d first stepped into his apartment.
Sal pushed the delicate little liqueur glass toward me and settled back into his chair. His dark eyes grew curious.
“You were expecting me to be what, exactly?”
“I don’t know.” Now I felt twice as embarrassed, if that was even possible. I stared stupidly at him. “I was just surprised that you cook so well and hang up your clothes. My apartment is a mess, and the only thing I cook is boxed macaroni and cheese.”
“I’ll have to teach you how to cook for yourself. Athletes need to eat healthy food, right?”
“I don’t want to be an imposition.”
“Trust me, you wouldn’t be,” he said, then sipped on his cordial. Or was it a cocktail? “I love to make stuff for other people to eat. My mother and I are always looking up recipes and swapping them. She jokes that at least she can share her love of cooking with her gay son, because her girls can’t boil water.”
I was super uncomfortable, and grasped for something suave to say.
“I used my friend Mandy as a beard all through secondary. I even went so far as to feel her up once just so I could talk about how breasts felt in the locker room.”
That really hadn’t been on the list of acceptable things to tell Sal tonight. I lifted my glass and sniffed. Coffee and cocoa tickled my nose. I tossed the drink back like a shot of tequila. It coated my throat with warmth. You are a total moron, August.
“Okay, well, sure. That’s directly related to cooking.” Sal chortled, and the terribly awkward moment blew away on a gust of rainy air. “Are all hockey players as weird as you?”
“I think it’s a goalie thing,” I remarked, then held out my glass for another drink.
“Good thing I got lucky enough to pick up a goalie at the party, then. I like men who’re unique and a little crazy.”
Our gazes met. I thought about that for a bit. Sal held up the bottle of Patrón and I inclined my head. Another three fingers for me but no more for Sal. The storm had weakened considerably. I reached for my glass as he gently pushed it toward me. My fingers swept over the back of his hand. Electricity strong enough to rival the storm outside crackled along my nerve receptors. Sal’s response was a short inhalation. Did he feel the draw as strongly as I did? Given that he was probably way more experienced, I was sure he had a firm rein on his desires.
“I’m glad you did too,” I finally said, then lowered my drink from my nose.
“Are you seeing anyone?” Sal asked.
I sipped my second glass, letting it wiggle its way down to my stomach. The balmy tentacles slipped around the food, enveloping my core with soft, chocolate radiance. I shook my head.
“Are you tested regularly?”
I almost asked “Tested for what?” but then the question sank into my head. “Oh, well, um, when I came up to the Cougars I had a full panel of testing done. I don’t have anything sexual inside me.”
“You know, for some reason I find that really hard to believe.”
“I can show you the paperwork,” I quickly countered.
Sal threw back his head and laughed. It was a great laugh that ended with a short snort.
“No, August, I’m not calling you a liar. I meant that you’ve got all sorts of sexual things inside you. Powerfully strong sexual things that make it hard for me to stop wondering what your mouth tastes like or how you’d feel wet and naked under me.”
“Oh, okay.” My face was flaming hot. I pulled my gaze from his and looked out through the sliding glass doors. “Looks like the rain stopped.”
“You want to shoot some hoops after we get the dishes in the dishwasher? There’s a small court across the street,” he said, his gaze holding no small amount of heat.
“Yeah, sounds good.”
“Good.” He pushed himself to his feet as his gaze moved over the dirty dishes and roaster. “I’d better get these dishes into the dishwasher before I have to take a sandblaster to them.”
I also stood. “Let me help.” I started gathering the plates and silverware. Sal moved around me, his hip brushing mine. Another jolt of raw passion raced to my balls, making them feel hot and heavy. “Do you ever see your parents?”
“Sure,” he said over his shoulder as we carted dishes into the kitchen. “They live in Elmira, so we’re always doing stuff together.”
“What do they do for a living?” I enquired as I placed our dishes on the counter.
“They own Castenada Cleaning. It’s the largest cleaning company in the Twin Tiers,” he stated proudly as our fingers touched yet again. I think I might have wanted it to happen this time. “Not too shabby for a couple of immigrants from south of the border, huh?”
“Not too bad at all. You’re really incredible.” That was also not really something I’d meant to say out loud, but there it was, hanging there like a big old idiot balloon, just floating in front of our faces. If I would have fit, I would have crawled into the dishwasher. “They’re really incredible I meant. Them. Not you.” He folded his arms over his chest and let me flounder. “I mean, you’re incredible and hot, smart too. Great cook, but I wanted to say they were incredible. Shit.”
“You’re incredible as well,” Sal replied, his voice a little lower and whole lot raspier. I swallowed. “Let’s get this done and hit the court. I’ll let you wear something of mine, okay?”
I looked down at my khakis and suit jacket, then at Sal. “That’s cool, thanks.”
He gave me a look that made the chicken in my stomach feel light and airy. After cleaning up after the meal, I was handed some sweats and a T-shirt then pointed toward the bathroom. It was a small space with a shower stall, toilet and sink, but everything was clean. The towels on the rack smelled freshly laundered. Not that I stuck my face into them or anything. Okay, I did, but just to see if they carried the aroma of Sal’s aftershave. They did not. I folded my pants, shirt, and jacket and laid them on the counter. I stepped out of the bathroom feeling more than a little self-conscious.
“They’re a little tight,” I said as Sal’s gaze touched me all over. He’d changed into old black athletic shorts and a white tank top. Under his left arm, a basketball rested on his hip. His bared arms and calves were leanly muscled.
“You have some impressive thighs there, August,” Sal said, and the hunger in his voice was evident.
“Skating,” I mumbled, then walked over and yanked the sliding glass door open.
Damp, fresh air blew over my heated flesh. I stepped out into the wet grass, my bare toes sinking into the lush lawn. When I looked over my shoulder to see if Sal was coming or not, I caught him ogling my ass. His gaze rocketed to mine when I cleared my throat.
A wicked light filled his eyes, then he kicked off his sneakers and jogged out, barefoot, to walk at my side. The tiny playground across the street had one set of swings, two of those animals-on-springs things, and a basketball court. The blacktop was wet and covered with puddles. Bugs were starting to congregate under the two big lights that illuminated the court. Night had moved in with the storm. In the distance you could hear thunder as the rain moved off.
“First one over twenty-one wins, half court,” Sal announced while bouncing the ball a few times in a big puddle. “Since you’re my guest, you shoot first.”
He threw the ball at me. Water flew off it when I caught in, peppering my face. Sal moved to defend the hoop. There was no net, just the hoop. I should have suggested we play skins, but that would have shown just how badly I wanted to see his body.
“You going to shoot, or are you waiting for someone to come in and move me out of your net, papi chulo?”
I chuckled. “Oh, okay, so it’s going to be that way.”
Sal rose to his toes and swayed left then right, reminding me of a cat waiting for the mouse to move.
“What does papi chulo mean? Is that a Canadian chirp?”
“It means hot boy,” he explained, then lunged right when I went left.
He had long arms and big hands. I ducked under his left arm, jumped, and sunk the ball soundly. Sal caught it and gave me a look.
“Looks like the hot boy just deked you good, eh?”
Things escalated quickly after my first basket. Sal went on to win, but only because he was one of the grabbiest players I had ever gone up against. His hands were everywhere, and while I really enjoyed the grunting grabs, it threw me off enough to cost me a couple of easy shots. We ambled back to his place, ribbing each other as we went. We were both soaked with sweat. His ebony hair was flat to his head. Sal dropped the basketball on his patio and we went directly to the kitchen.
“Water or sports drink?” he asked while standing in front of the open refrigerator door.
“Water.”
He tossed me a bottle, then shoved the fridge shut with his hip. We both twisted open our water bottles and drank thirstily, emptying the bottles quickly. Sal tossed his into a small trash can lined with a white trash bag. I did the same. When my bottle landed neatly among the other recyclable plastics, I grinned proudly at my host.
“Aug, I really like you.” He stayed on the other side of the kitchen, his expression guarded.
“I like you too,” I replied, because I did. “I’d kind of like to kiss you.”
“Good, that’s good. Yeah, I’d like that too.” He smiled, but it was pretty paltry and didn’t reach his eyes. He folded his arms over his chest, swallowed, then lifted his chin. “I was hoping we could discuss this over dinner, but somehow we got sidetracked.” Clouds of anxiety surrounded him. “Okay, so here it is. Remember I told you about the morning I told my family I was gay?”
“Sure, it was right after you got plastered on your twenty-first birthday.”
“Right, exactly. God, this is always the worst part,” he said weakly, his head moving slowly back and forth. He lifted his sight from his bare feet. The pain in his gaze made me ache. “That night I hooked up with some guy in the club we went to. It was just a hook-up, right?”
I nodded, because he really looked like he wanted me to get what he was working so hard to tell me.
“Lots of sloppy, not-so-great sex. I was drunk, he was drunk. We didn’t use any condoms. I ended up contracting HIV that night. Happy birthday to me, huh?”
My mind shut down for fifteen seconds. Or hours. It could have been hours. It sure felt like hours with Sal looking at me, waiting for me to say something.
“That dickhead,” I growled.
Sal blinked as if he were surprised by my anger. “No, he didn’t know,” he quickly explained. “When I found out, I spent weeks tracking him down. He’d moved from Elmira to Akron, to work on gas pipelines. When I told him, he cried. Like I did when the lab results came back.”
“Sal, I don’t even know what to say…” I shook off a couple of stupid things that wanted to come out. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay? I mean, are you sick?”
“No, I’m good. I take my meds, eat right, work out, drink in moderation, and don’t smoke or do drugs.”
“Good, I’m glad you’re feeling good.” That was the truth.
“So what are you feeling right now?” He was still standing way across the room, holding himself around the middle, as if he was expecting a roundhouse kick to the sternum or something. “I would totally get it if you walked out and didn’t come back. Most guys do, and I get it, I really do.”
“I’m a little…you know…”
“Nah Aug, I really don’t.” He looked like he was in actual pain.
“I’m just kind of shocked,” I blurted out. His haunted expression didn’t change. “I mean, yeah, that was the last thing I expected to hear tonight, but it’s…um, it’s okay.”
He tipped his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Okay how? What do you mean by that?”
“I mean I’m not freaked out or anything,” I said, which made his fine eyebrows tangle. “Can I take some time to think about it—this? Us. Us and the HIV. I like you, and I want to see you again, but…”
“Yeah, sure.” The tension lines around his mouth softened, as did the staunch set of his jaw and shoulders. “You’d be insane not to want to think it over. I totally get the ‘but’, trust me.”
Awkwardness settled over us like a thick, suffocating fog.
“I think I’ll just, you know, get changed and go home to think.”
Sal gave me a feeble smile. “You should do that—go home and think, I mean.”
Leaving him standing there beside his sink hugging his midsection was hard. I wanted to touch him and tell him I didn’t give two shits about him being positive, but I did. It was important. It mattered. And it made any relationship we might want to have different than if we were both negative. I crept into his bathroom to pull my clothes back onto my sweaty, tacky body. Then, like a real creeper, I opened his medicine cabinet.
Prescription pill bottles, dozens of them, all neatly arranged with his name on them. The only time I’d ever taken a prescription medication had been when I’d had impacted wisdom teeth removed when I was sixteen. Now and then I’d take some Advil for the aches of hockey, or when I overexerted myself, so this sight was a massive “holy shit” moment. I picked one up, read the label and put it back, then read another and another and another. Why? I don’t know. I had no clue what they were or what they did. The names of the medicines were unfamiliar to me. Knowing I was really invading his privacy, I gently shut the cabinet, pulled on my jacket and tried not to look as guilty as I felt.
Sal was standing by his front door with a container in his hand. “It’s some leftover chicken and rice. So you don’t have to eat boxed macaroni and cheese tomorrow.”
He held the plastic dish out to me. I eagerly took it.
“Thanks.”
“Sure. It was nice having you over for dinner, August.” He extended his hand.
Shaking hands felt wrong. I leaned in and pressed my lips to his cheek. His short beard hairs tickled my lips. I heard him inhale sharply. When our eyes met, I saw something like hope in the bittersweet chocolate depths of his gaze.
“If I bring this back empty, will you fill it up with more of your mother’s great food?”
“Yeah, definitely.” He smiled. Now that felt right.
“Cool. See you soon, then.” And that felt even righter. Better? Well, whatever, it felt perfect.