LUKE
Jeremy looks like he’s glowing when he comes to my door telling me I can drop off Suzy now. I ask him what’s up, but he doesn’t say anything. His jaw slacks with a smile though.
“You gonna come along for the ride?” I ask as I snag my keys and make my way to the truck.
He shakes his head. “Nah, she’s good. I’ll send her out.”
And that’s it. He turns and heads back to his place. By the time I’ve reversed out of the driveway and am idling in front of the house next door, a pretty girl wearing too much makeup comes out.
She looks older than the fifteen she says she is when I ask. I quickly get the feeling she doesn’t want to chat, though, so I turn on the radio and listen to that all the way to her place.
Once we’re there, she gives me a quick thanks and hops out of the car. I wince as the girl walks up the path of a rundown house with rusting car parts in the front lawn, which is so overgrown it’s almost impossible to see the concrete path running up the middle.
I wait until she’s safely inside before I pull out from the curb and drive back toward home. Halfway there, my cell rings. It’s midnight, a strange time for a call, and so I immediately worry something’s happened. Maybe Jeremy is really sick . . . or did something happen to my mum . . . or—
The caller name flashes on my screen, and I hurriedly answer, pulling over to the side of the road. “Sam?”
“Luuuuke.”
My heart beats faster just at hearing his voice. “Hey, man. Are you okay?”
“I’m drunk, eh!”
I smile. “Yeah, I can hear that. What’s up? Are you still with your date?”
“Date?” Sam’s slur sounds confused, and then he lets out an ohhhh. “Nah. Turns out it’s not a date. I think she thinks I bat for the other team, know what I’m saying? Yeah, didn’t get it for a while, but her and her friends kept asking what I think of the guy bartenders.”
He sounds adorably perplexed by this, and I can’t help but smile. I lean back in my chair and reflexively rest my free hand on my pocket. “And?” I said, going for the joke. “Were they?”
“Nowhere near as good as you, my friend.”
I know it’s the alcohol talking and he’s probably just joking, but my chest tightens anyway. It takes me a second before I can speak again. “So . . . why’d you ring? Miss me, did ya?”
He laughs, and the sound is cheerful and free. “It would have been better if you were here to even up the male side of the night.” His voice gets quieter as if he’s not speaking into the mouthpiece anymore. “But actually, I rang because I’m in a pickle.”
I make out the word pickle and sit up straighter. Sam’s voice comes down the line clearer again. I hear cars honking in the background and guess he’s outside somewhere. “Thing is, I’m way too drunk to get home and I can’t afford a taxi. My card just declined at the ATM. I don’t get paid till Monday and I’ve only got ten in cash. Also, I sort of lost Hannah and her friends.”
“No worries,” I say. “I’ll come pick you up.”
His breath crackles down the line. “You will?”
“Of course.”
He sighs. “You’re my lifesaver, you know that?”
“You can thank me later. Just tell me where to find you.” I’m already pulling out and doing a U-turn.
“Um, I’m close to Vivian Street.” He gives me the name of the bar he’s standing outside of.
I don’t like the idea of him standing in the windy streets waiting for me, so I tell him to go inside and I’ll find him.
It takes me twenty minutes to get into the city. I park the truck and run a hand through my hair before I get out and walk into the packed bar. It smells of stale beer and sweat as I push my way through the crowds searching for Sam. It doesn’t take me long to find him, casually leaning back with his elbows on the bar. He keeps glancing at the door, and I grin.
“Sam!” I call out, but my voice is drowned out by the blaring music.
Just before I reach him, his eyes finally latch onto me and he immediately pushes off from the bar and comes over. “Luke!”
I’m surprised by the hug he gives me, but I go with it, squeezing him back. His fingers press firmly against my back and tickle as they skate off me again when he pulls away.
There’s a dopey, drunken smile on his face, and his eyes look a little foggy. I shake my head. “How much did you drink?”
He shrugs. “Lost count.”
“Well, come on. I’ll take you home.”
He nods, but then hesitates when I motion for us to go around the dancers. A new song has come on. It has a catchy beat and I know it’s Sam’s kind of music.
“Um,” he says, looking from me to the dance floor. “You wanna dance for a song before we go?”
I scan the mass of twenty-somethings practically dry-humping on the dance floor. I suddenly feel so freaking old. It doesn’t seem that long ago when I was one of those guys letting loose on the dance floor. But all these guys look so young. My life has moved on from this.
Still, when Sam tugs my arm, I go with him. He finds a part of the dance floor with a few single girls rocking it together. I try and feel the music and sway a bit, but I’m not really feeling it, and seeing Sam dancing toward the girls is about ripping my chest apart.
I lean over to him. “I’m just gonna wait for you outside. Take your time.”
Sam spins around and clutches my arms before I can pull away. “Nah, Luke, don’t go.” He puts his arms around my neck and continues rocking his hips.
I freeze, because this is new. Sam and I rarely touch each other. We’ve always been so good at keeping a bro-distance between us.
The hairs on my neck prickle and I inhale the honey scent of Sam’s hair. “W-what are you doing?”
“If this is what it takes to keep you on the dance floor, consider yourself imprisoned.” He slurs half his words and then laughs.
The song changes, and it’s cheesy and slow. Sam draws his hands to my shoulders and I think he’s about to let go of me, but then he bites on his lips and shrugs. He slides his arms back around me, and then goes further than that, bringing himself closer so we’re cheek-to-cheek. He chuckles and his lips brush against my ear.
I shiver, and then my body switches to automatic and I wrap my arms around him. He sighs and leans into me. “Hmmm, interesting,” he says.
And on the spot, I develop a love-hate relationship with that word. Interesting good? As in, yeah, I can get into this? Or interesting bad? As in, well at least now I’ve tried it and can say for sure it’s not for me?
I pray it’s the former.
I don’t want to pull away, but I have to, because I’m getting hard and he’ll notice. Sure, it’ll tell him the truth about me, but I don’t want to come out to him like that. Not while he’s drunk.
And I think that sounds reasonable. Except, I also feel like I’m just making up another excuse.
As I start to untangle us, Sam tightens his grip and moves so he can look at me. “Where’re you going?”
God, I just want to run my hands through his hair and kiss him so hard he’ll gasp and so soft he’ll moan.
“It’s getting hot in here.”
Sam gives me a disappointed frown and then shrugs before letting go of me. He follows quietly until we are outside and we’ve rounded a corner onto a barren street.
“Thanks for picking me up,” he says and stops at the passenger side of my truck. I’ve beeped it open, but Sam doesn’t open the door. He rests with his back against the car and looks at me.
I pause close to him, not sure if I should keep moving to the driver’s side or not.
“You okay?” I ask.
Even though he’s against the car, he sways and I reach out to steady him. My hand is at the sleeve of his T-shirt, half on the material and half on him.
Sam swallows audibly and I look up to find his eyes are latched onto me. Onto my lips.
“You meant it, right? That we can experiment?”
Before I can answer or move away, he leans in and kisses me. His lips are firm against mine and taste sweet from Coke.
“Sam,” I say in a strangled voice as I fight all my desires to kiss him back. But then his body arches toward mine in a curve of curiosity and I can’t help it. I smell his warm, honey scent and I’m shaking inside as I lower my head and kiss him back. I graze his lips and then tease them open with the tip of my tongue.
Sam grips the back of my head as if he’s afraid I’m going to draw away again. And I want to laugh because he has nothing to worry about; that’s the last thing on my mind, though it should be the first.
His tongue touches mine, tentative and uncertain. Then he pulls back, giving me a languid, glassy smile. His eyes drift away from mine to my lips again. It makes me nervous and excited, but annoyed. Nervous, because I know he’s going to kiss me again, and excited because I’m looking forward to it, and annoyed because he’s drunk and I wish he wasn’t.
“This also interesting?” I murmur against his jaw as I kiss my way across it to his throat.
He nods. “I just want to get it, you know? I want to understand Jeremy.”
And it’s like ice water has been poured over my head—and other body parts—because suddenly I’m no longer drunk on a fantasy; real life is raising its ugly head and glaring at me.
Shit.
Yeah, of course. This is Sam coming to terms with his son’s sexuality. Not his own.
Of course. I already knew that wouldn’t have been the case.
And if it wasn’t him trying to understand Jeremy, it would be something for him to cross off on his 20s Must-Do List.
“Luke?” Sam asks. “You okay?” He sways again and I prop him up.
“I think I should be asking you that.” I help load him into the car, which he finds hilarious for some reason.
“Alright,” I say as I jump behind the wheel. “Let’s get you home.” I glance over at him, crumpled between the seat and door grinning, and shake my head. “You really did get wasted, didn’t you?”
“Another thing I can tick off my list.”
I turn the key in the ignition and the car rumbles to life. “How is that list of yours coming along then?”
He shrugs and shifts so he’s leaning back on the headrest, messing up his mohawk. “I don’t think I’ll get it all done. Certainly not swimming with the sharks.” He sighs. “Not enough time—or money. Why do we have to get old, Luke?”
I laugh. “I feel you there. I can’t believe I’m in my mid-thirties. I look in the mirror and my image never seems to match the way I feel inside.”
“You’re fit. You don’t look a day over”—he thinks about it—“29.12”
I reach over and lightly slap him on his arm. “So thirty.”
He chuckles and closes his eyes. His next words are as slurred as all his others have been, but I hear it with more clarity than the others. Maybe because of the way it makes my heart freaking flutter. “But seriously, Luke, you look as good as you did when I first met you.”
“I look good, eh?”
He smirks. “And you know it.”
I can’t help but smile. It hovers around my lips almost the entire way home. When Sam falls asleep, his head lolling around as I drive, I want to drive slower so I can commit everything about this moment to memory.
He’s not going to remember nearly as much as I will, and I want to be able to give him all the wonderful and nasty details of his drunken state. Like the cute way he slurred his words, and the way drool runs down the corner of his mouth.
Looking at him takes me back to the countless times I got so drunk that I had no idea where I was anymore. Once I even ended up sleeping in a ditch somewhere in the Wairarapa.
Sometimes I cringe when I think of the crap I did, but it also makes me laugh. It’s a story to tell. And it makes me feel I’ve lived, too.
I park the car in front of Sam’s place and look over him at the house. I get why Sam needs to do this. More than that, I want his list to happen too.
He grew up far too quickly. I want that he cuts back a bit—that he gets to be the carefree guy he never got the chance to be.
“All right, love,” I say quietly as I unbuckle my belt and lean over to do the same to his.
He stirs, opens and shuts his mouth, and then starts snoring. Chuckling, I climb out of the car and move to the passenger side. I duck my head in and lightly pat his cheek. “Wakey-wakey.”
He rolls his head away from me, his mouth dropping open as he lets out another snore.
“If you don’t wake up,” I growl gently, “I’ll have to carry you inside. I won’t let you forget that detail for a long time, either.”
He lets out a small sound, but his eyes are still closed.
“Fine. But you asked for it.” I slip my arms under his knees and shoulders. It’s awkward shuffling him out of the truck, but soon I have him securely against my chest, though his head is lolling back over my arm, exposing his neck.
I kick the door shut and carry him to the house. I’m thankful for all the weight training I do, because the guy isn’t light. I grunt as I try to fish for my set of house keys, propping the backs of his knees on my thigh.
It’s not working. “Sam. Help me for a sec, okay?” I brace his arms and gently lower his legs to the ground. He stirs and mumbles something, but he’s holding most of his weight now.
I get the keys and unlock the door.
When I switch on the light, Sam groans and blinks. “Where . . .? Oh.” He rests his forehead on my shoulder. “Ugh . . . I don’t feel so good.”
He gives a little burp and clutches his stomach. “Just hold on,” I say, steering him quickly down the hall. He makes another sound—and it doesn’t sound healthy. I fling open the bathroom door and yank up the toilet seat. “Chuck in there.”
Sam doesn’t waste a second. He collapses to his knees, clutches the toilet bowl and throws up.
I open a window, hoping the fresh air will help him, and then crouch next to the guy, rubbing circles over his back. There’s a book at the side of the toilet—Moby Dick I find out as I push it against the wall, out of any potential splatter-radius.
Sam continues to throw up, swearing between each retch, and I lightly chuckle.
There’s a movement in the hall and I turn my head toward the partially-open door. A bleary-eyed Jeremy comes into focus. He rubs his eyes when he sees me with his dad. “Huh?” he says, frowning.
“Nothing to worry about,” I say. “Go back to bed.”
“Need to piss,” he says. “What’s going on with Dad?”
Jeremy pushes the door open and his eyes ping wide. “No way.” He laughs. “That’s freaking epic.”
“Leave your dad alone,” I say. “He just ate something bad, that’s all.”
“Stop shitting me, Luke. I can smell the alcohol. Dad’s totally wasted.” He shakes his head, eyes holding a mischievous twinkle. “I’m never letting him live this down.”
I let go of Sam to steer Jeremy out of the bathroom. “Go piss in the garden and get back to bed.”
He laughs again, but does as I say. This time I shut the bathroom door. “How you doing?” I ask Sam.
He mumbles something and then flushes the toilet for the fourth time. Pushing himself up, he manages to stumble to the sink. “Oh, fuck. I look a wreck.” He turns on the taps and washes his hands, face and mouth. After he does the second round of teeth brushing, he wipes his mouth dry and blinks up at me in the mirror. He looks exhausted. “I just wanna curl up and sleep now.”
I make sure he gets to his bedroom, and while he sits on his bed and struggles to take off his shoes, I get him some water and a bucket. “In case you need to puke suddenly,” I say, and rest it next to the bed.
He slides out of his jeans, but doesn’t bother to remove anything else. He rests back against the pillows, throwing an arm over his face. “Have a funny feeling I’ll regret this night in the morning.”
I laugh, and leave the room. “See you tomorrow,” I say as I shut the door to his house and make my way back to mine.