Chapter 10

I Hate Waiters Named Santiago and I Really Hate YouTube

 

 

VINCE tried to say we could just stay in, but I told him that it was probably a good idea if we went out, given that I wanted to pretend Wheels was a soccer ball and I needed to score a basket. Vince then told me that it was a soccer goal and not a basket and that’s why those announcers always screamed, “Goooooooaaaaaalllllll!” I cocked an eyebrow at him and he just rolled his eyes at me.

There was silence in the car that was almost uncomfortable, but I was distracted by the fact that my face was slightly throbbing. I wondered if I would actually get a black eye or not and if it would be believable if I told people in the office on Monday that it was from the fight I’d gotten in over the weekend, where I took on a gang on the south side with nothing but my fists.

“Don’t keep touching it,” Vince told me as he drove. “You’re going to make it worse if you keep poking your face.”

“I’m making sure I don’t have nerve damage,” I said, poking myself again, feeling the burn. “I may have smashed all my nerves to death, and I want to make sure I don’t get droopy-eye.”

“It’s going to bruise,” he warned.

“Maybe it’s my penance for hurting you. Like some kind of divine retribution for causing pain and misery and giving you two days off from work in a row where you did nothing but text me the whole time.”

“You liked it when I texted you,” he said, sure of himself.

“It was pretty annoying,” I said.

“Then why’d you keep responding?”

I poked my cheek instead of answering him. It hurt. A lot.

Instead of arguing with me further, he took my poking hand in his and held it, intertwining our fingers together, effectively shutting me up, an action I thought impossible. I suppose I could have used my other hand to poke my face, but it didn’t seem all that important anymore.

And since I wasn’t allowed to distract myself by poking my war wounds, I began to get nervous again, realizing not only was I on the date I’d been dreading/hoping for, but he was already holding my hand. This immediately caused me to start sweating, which made my hand clammy, and I was pretty sure that Vince was getting drenched, but he held on anyway, regardless of the fact that my body was leaking all over him, and not in the good way.

He took me down to Fourth Avenue, near where the gay bar was, and I let myself reminisce that this was where we’d first laid eyes on each other… six days prior. I rolled my eyes at my own mushiness, which hurt my cheek quite a bit. Then I started to sweat some more.

He parked near a little street café called Poco’s and asked if it was all right. I’d never been there before. It looked cute and I hadn’t heard any news stories of rats being found in the food, so I figured it would be okay. I didn’t share any of those thoughts, though. I just smiled widely and said this was one of my favorite places ever. I felt bad that I was building the beginning of our relationship on lies, but I figured it was just about a restaurant, so Jesus would forgive me. Then I got stuck on the word relationship and blanched at my audacity to think such a thing, which caused my hands to sweat even more. I’m pretty sure anyone walking by me would have thought I’d just climbed out of a pool. Luckily, Vince had dropped my hand by that point (probably to discreetly wipe his hand off on his shirt in disgust and to wish he had an industrial-sized bottle of hand sanitizer), so I didn’t have to worry about getting him any more wet then he already was.

We were seated almost immediately at a table near the sidewalk where we could see people walking by. Before I could open my mouth and find out exactly what would fall out, we were assaulted (yes, assaulted!) by what had to be the world’s most attractive waiter. He was all skinny and tall with eyelashes that looked like they had to be fake and eyes so green that you would have thought they were made of emeralds. His hair was dark and his skin was a lovely mocha color, like he bathed nude on a beach in the Dominican Republic, his lithe body and tawny muscles browned by the sun. He was wearing a red collared shirt, much like the one I wore, but he looked far better than I ever could. In a nutshell, he was fucking gorgeous, and I was dressed like a waiter at the café. Fan-fucking-tastic.

And of course, when he saw Vince, you would have thought he was going to flop his dick out on the table, crawl into Vince’s lap, and rut against him right in front of me.

“Good evening,” he purred at Vince, ignoring me completely. “My name is Santiago, and it will be my pleasure to… serve you tonight.” He looked Vince up and down, and I had an urge to call 911 for the eye-rape I was witnessing. It didn’t help that Santiago had an accent that made you want to either stab him or touch his balls. Guess which one I wanted to do?

Vince grinned up at him, though part of me realized he was oblivious to Santiago’s (who names their kids like this?) blatant “come fuck me” gaze. The other, more impractical, part of me wanted to punch Santiago in the back of the head and then throw a glass of water in Vince’s face for even considering looking so attractive in public. I was able to choke this part down. Barely.

“Hey, Santiago,” Vince said. “We’re going to need some time to decide.”

“Oh, of course!” Santiago gushed. “If you need any help with the menu”—or getting your cock sucked was the clear implication—“please don’t hesitate to flag me down, because I’m here for you. I’m sure I could see those arms from a distance, though.” He winked and dragged his fingers along Vince’s bicep. I eyed the tight polo shirt Vince was wearing, his arms straining against the sleeves, his chest hard against the fabric. I could even see the outline of his nipple piercing. I’m sure Santiago could too, because his gaze strayed over Vince’s chest and stopped exactly where the bar was poking through. He didn’t lift his fingers from Vince’s arm.

“Can we get some bread and some butter up in here?” I blurted out, sounding way fatter than I actually was. “I’m hungry.”

Santiago looked startled, as if he was only then aware of my presence at the table. When he saw me, a grimace came over his face like he smelled something awful. But then he twisted his lips into what I’m sure he thought was a professional smile, but was absolutely sardonic. “Of course, sir,” he said politely. “I shall get you some bread and butter. Lots and lots and lots of butter.” He turned back to Vince and the smile turned dazzling again. “And you, sir? I can get you anything you want while you wait for your”—he glanced back at me—“father’s bread.”

“Father?” I repeated, outraged.

Vince didn’t get the dig. “That’s not my father,” he said to Santiago. “That’s Paul.”

“Oh!” Santiago said, as if that explained everything. “So he’s your accountant or something?”

Vince’s brow furrowed. “He’s not an accountant. We work together.”

Relief spread over Santiago’s face. “Do you?” he asked, his voice again a purr. “Well, that certainly is good news. I’ll be right back with your coworker’s loaf of bread that he really seems to want, and then maybe you and I can get to know each other a bit better.” He winked and walked away, his hips doing enough of a roll to put Helena Handbasket to shame.

“Wow,” Vince said. “He sure seemed interested in you. I wonder if I should be jealous at all.” He looked at me with a pretty smile.

“I don’t think it was me,” I said, trying to keep the bitterness out of my voice. “In case you didn’t notice, he was practically fucking you right in front of me.”

Vince laughed. “What? You’re so full of shit. He was just being nice.”

“He was rubbing all over you!”

Vince shrugged. “I didn’t even notice. I was too busy watching you.”

My eyes bulged. “What… you can’t say shit… like that… so unfair… I don’t even….”

“You’re so cute when you sputter, you know that?” Vince said, reaching over to take my hand on top of the table. I thought about pulling it away, but his hand was warm and it seemed awfully rude to not allow him the comfort of my touch.

Santiago chose this moment to walk back to the table, and I knew the moment he saw our hands joined because he almost tripped and fell right into Vince’s lap. Vince didn’t even look up at him; he sat there, rubbing his thumb over the back of my hand. Santiago scowled at him, then looked at me with a dark smirk. “What happened to your face?” he asked me. “You look like you got punched in the eye.”

I blushed and mumbled something incoherent, looking down at our joined hands.

Vince took that as his cue. “Me and Paul are into some pretty kinky shit,” he told Santiago, whispering loudly. “You should see the bite marks on my ass. Nobody gives it to me like my boyfriend.”

I don’t know who was more shocked at Vince’s pronouncement, me or Santiago. While Santiago was probably more focused on the kinky-sex aspect of it, all I could hear in my head was the word boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend over and over again. I tightened my grip on Vince’s hand and I’m pretty sure I almost broke three of his fingers by the slight wince he gave.

“Boyfriend?” Santiago asked in a low voice, sounding incredulous.

“Boyfriend?” I asked, high-pitched and slightly hysterical.

Vince shrugged and smiled at me.

I didn’t even notice Santiago leaving because I was staring at Vince like he’d made the most insane statement in the history of the English language, which, to be fair, he pretty much had. Granted, I did maybe spend a second or two at the thought of putting bite marks on his ass (I mean, come on; who wouldn’t?) but I couldn’t seem to wrap my mind around the word boyfriend. As sad as it might seem, I couldn’t think of a time when anyone had actually called me that before, nor did I think there was anyone I had thought of that way. The last guy I’d dated (the psychic psycho, for those keeping track) turned out to be batshit crazy. I didn’t do the boyfriend thing. I was fucking Paul Auster. It didn’t happen to me.

But Vince continued to smile at me and he continued to hold my hand. He looked like he was going to say something further, but he stopped himself. He was obviously waiting for me to say something, anything, but since it was me, I let the silence drag on, making things even more awkward than they were before. Finally, I said the only thing I could think of.

“You’re really not Freddie Prinze Junioring me?” I asked faintly.

“Only if you want me to,” he said with a wink. I still didn’t think he understood the concept of being Freddie Prinze Juniored. He made it into something dirty and that was not helping the situation in the slightest.

“You’re the weirdest person I know,” I told him. “And Santiago is probably going to put pubes in my food.”

Vince rocked his head back and laughed. “I’ll make sure your food is pube free.”

My eyes burned a bit. No one had ever said that to me about pubes before. Part of me still wanted to believe he was pulling my leg, that this was all going to end badly. But that little hopeful part that had grown out of nowhere, that little light flickering way down in the dark, got brighter, and I latched onto it, hopeful for something I couldn’t quite name.

And then Vince had to go and ruin it by asking seven words that I should never be asked, given my history of being incapable of holding any kind of intelligent conversation with a hot guy, even if he’d just essentially proclaimed he was my boyfriend. I wanted to stay in the afterglow of the moment, staring deeply into each other’s eyes as if to communicate with each other’s souls without speaking or some such bullshit. I couldn’t make a jackass of myself if I didn’t speak (well, that’s not entirely true, since I’d proven earlier that I was perfectly capable of being a jackass by simply trying to walk down a hallway).

But Vince must have realized that we couldn’t spend the rest of our lives just staring at each other, so he made it all that much worse. “So, Paul,” he said as he leaned forward, “tell me more about yourself.”

“Excuse me?” I squeaked.

“Well, I know a few things about you. But since you’re my boyfriend now, I obviously need to know more. I don’t know if I can get by on just knowing you like black dildos and action movies.”

“Keep your fucking voice down,” I hissed at him, looking around to see if Santiago was listening in, trying to eavesdrop for the intel he could use to tear me away from Vince like some Victorian heroine. I saw the top of his perfectly manufactured head through the window near the kitchen, and I wondered if he was pulling out his pubes one by one in preparation for when we ordered. “I told you that dildo wasn’t mine! I’m holding it… for a friend.”

“You’re watching a dildo for a friend?” he asked in disbelief.

“Yes! My friend….” Think of a name, think of a name! I looked down at the table. “My friend… Salt. Cup. Straw. Table. My friend Saltcup Strawtable. He’s Indonesian.” I was building a relationship on lies, all lies.

Vince waited with a smirk on his face.

“Fine,” I growled at him. “It’s mine, okay? I tried to use it once, but it was too big, so I put it in the box under my bed and left it there. It felt like it was going to tear me in half.”

“We’ll just have to try it out again,” he said, his voice going all husky.

Synapses fired. Fireworks across the sky. Angels sang. Jesus clapped politely.

“Sure,” I managed to say.

“What about the other ones in there? Blackie wasn’t the only dick in the box.”

“No comment.”

He smirked. “So what else?” he asked. “I want to know everything.” He leaned forward again.

And there it was, folks. One of those defining moments. This was the beginning, the start of something that I thought could quite possibly be amazing if it turned out to be real. I’d been alive for thirty years. There was thirty years of history that he could get to know. I glanced into the café again and saw Santiago scowling at me, and I knew I needed to make it something badass. Sexy. Dangerous. I could have told him about the time Sandy and I had gone to Hawaii and went snorkeling and that I’d thought I was going to get eaten by a shark (conveniently leaving out the fact that the “shark” turned out to be a rock). Or I could’ve told him something heartfelt. Sweet. Kind. I could’ve told him about how I sometimes volunteered at Wingspan, which helps GLBTQ youth in Tucson who are going through a tough time with their family or friends or school. I could’ve told him about how I dreamed of quitting my job and one day traveling across Europe. Or that I wanted to learn to speak Italian. Or that I was still kind of scared of the dark some of the time. Or any other number of things that had happened in the past thirty years that made me who I was.

But no.

Of course not.

My subconscious hijacked my mouth and made me say the one thing I didn’t want to say at all. My deepest shame. My darkest moment.

“Last year I fell into the hippopotamus exhibit at the zoo.” Oh sweat balls!

He twitched his lips as he stared at me. “I’m sorry. You did what?”

“What’s good to eat here?” I grabbed the menu and put it in front of my face.

“Paul,” he said, sounding like he was choking.

“Yes, Vince?” I muttered.

“Did you say that you fell into the hippopotamus exhibit at the zoo?”

“No. I said I once had a problem with my hypothalamus gland and it caused me to get the flu. You really need to get your hearing checked. I’m thinking of having a salad.”

“Are you guys ready to order?” Santiago asked as he appeared at the table, sounding extremely put out.

“I think,” Vince said as he gasped, “that we’re going to need more time.”

“Why is your face all red?” Santiago asked. “Did the accountant say something stupid? I’ve heard that accountants can be really boring lays.” He turned to me. “Are you a really boring lay?”

“Be gone, you he-bitch!” I growled at him.

Santiago rolled his eyes at me and scowled before walking away.

I hazarded a glance at Vince. He was on his phone, looking like he was going to explode.

“What are you doing?” I asked suspiciously. “You better not be texting anyone right now!”

“I’m not,” he said, tears streaming down his face as he laughed. “I’m looking you up online. There has to be a news story about this.”

I made a grab for his phone. “Don’t you dare!”

“There’s a YouTube video?” he said, pulling the phone away, just out of my reach. “With a million hits? Oh my God, you’re famous!” He squinted. “Wait. The user who uploaded it was DancingQueenSandy? No. Fucking. Way.” I made a play for his phone again and he looked up and glared at me. “You stay on your side of the table,” he told me. “This might be the most important thing to have ever happened anywhere.”

“That’s bullshit! What about Jesus being born? Or the advent of nuclear physics? Or gay-for-pay porn stars?”

He shook his head. “None of those even compare to this.”

“Remember how I said I didn’t use that black dildo?” I said desperately. “I lied. I use it all the time. As a matter of fact, I used it right before you came over. I laid on my back and shoved that whole fucking thing up my ass as I moaned your name and pretended it was you. How about we get out of here and I show you how I do it?”

He licked his lips as he glanced up at me. “Yeah. That’s… that’s quite a thought. But we both know this is going to happen, so it might as well happen now.” He raised his finger and started to lower it to the touch screen on his phone.

“You play that video,” I warned him, “and I swear to God I’m going to break up with you. You told me I was your boyfriend seven minutes and twenty-six seconds ago. It’ll be the quickest relationship of your life.”

“Gonna press it,” he said, lowering his finger even further, grinning at me.

“I’ll suck your cock right now under the table if you don’t!” I shouted.

That got his attention, and he jerked his hand away from the phone. Unfortunately, it hit his glass filled with water and knocked it all over me. Water splashed up into my face, and only then did I realize it was filled with at least nine billion lemons. “My eyes!” I screeched. “I’m blind!”

“I’m so sorry!” Vince said, even though he didn’t sound sorry in the slightest. “Here, have a napkin. Have a bunch.” I felt a handful of napkins press into my hands and I grabbed them and started rubbing them over my face, which immediately hurt my nose and cheek.

“You can’t say stuff like that,” Vince scolded.

“Obviously,” I snapped at him. “I’ll never say that I’m going to suck your cock again because apparently you throw citric acid in my face!”

And then I heard a tinny voice coming from his direction. Sandy said, “Paul, back up just a little bit so I can get the whole area behind you.”

“Like this?” I heard myself say.

“You’re watching the video?” I yelled at him, still unable to see. I knew right then what it must have felt like to be Helen Keller. Well, except for the deaf part. Whatever. We were both American heroes for what we had to put up with.

“Well, yeah,” he said as if I was stupid. “You fell. Into a hippo exhibit. Of course I’m going to watch it.”

“Can you stand up on that metal part?” Sandy asked as the video resumed. I tried to place a curse on Vince so that his face would melt, but then I remembered I didn’t know any curses and that curses weren’t a real thing, unless you were me and had lemon water thrown at your eyes.

“Probably. Give me a second. You know what? I don’t really understand the point of hippos.”

“They are definitely God’s mysteries. They’re pretty ugly too. Not so high, Paul. You’ll fall in. Be careful.”

“I won’t fall in. I know how to keep my balance. I’m not that big of an idiot. Have a little—Waaaaaaaaaaauuuuuughhhhh!”

A great splash.

Sandy screaming: “Paul! Paul! Oh my God! Someone save my friend! He’s dying! Oh Saint Janet Jackson, Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty! He’s drowning in fetid hippo water!”

“Sandy!”

“Paul!”

“The hippos are going to eat me! They’re going to eat me because I look so big and delicious! I don’t want to die!”

A helpful bystander: “I think hippos are herbivores.”

The zoo tour guide: “Actually, they’re omnivores. What you also might not know is that hippos are responsible for more human deaths in Africa than any other animal. They can sometimes even resort to cannibalism.”

The tour group: “Ohhhhhhhhh.”

Sandy, shrieking: “You’re standing there giving a lecture on hippos? Are you out of your fucking mind! My friend is going to be eaten!”

Me, in the background: “Pretty sure a hippo just shit in the water! I’d really like to get out of here now! Hello? Somebody?”

Tour guide: “Sir, please stop kicking and flailing your hands! You are attracting the hippos to you! Take a deep breath and calm down!”

Me: “You fucking calm down! If I get eaten, I swear to Christ I will sue your asses off!”

Sandy, murmuring: “He won’t sue you. At least I don’t think he will. Love those shorts, by the way.”

Tour guide, grinning: “Yeah? I always thought they were too short, but we’re required to wear them. Gives me a pretty good tan, though.”

Helena, purring: “Oh? And how high does that tan go, Mr. Zoo Man?”

Tour guide, voice husky: “Pretty high up. I like to lay out sometimes with the zebras when no one’s looking. Naked. My name’s Jerry, by the way.”

Me, splashing loudly: “Sandy! Oh God, Sandy! I think I got some of the hippo shit water in my mouth! Call the fire department! Call the army! Send big guns! I don’t want to die! There are still so many things I need to do! I always wanted to learn to line dance!”

Helena, ignoring me completely: “Jerry, huh? That’s a hot name.”

Jerry, the bastard: “Yeah? What’s say we get out of here later and you can show me how hot it can be?”

Helena: “Oh, Jerry. You can’t even begin to imagine the things my tongue can do. I’m going to wrap my lips around your—”

Me, screaming: “Are you flirting? Seriously? Oh my fucking God, Sandy! I will fucking murder you! The hippos are getting in the water! Get laid another fucking time!”

Jerry: “Guess I better go rescue your friend. Wait for me here?”

Helena, sighing: “My hero. I’ll count the seconds until your return. Paul? Paul! Jerry’s going to come down and save you! Isn’t he just so awesome?”

Me, outraged: “Jerry? Jerry? You’re already on a first-name basis? You fucking whore! This is all your fault!”

Sandy, returning: “Paul, Jerry says you need to keep quiet so the hippos don’t eat you. I’d listen to him since he is obviously a consummate professional.”

Me: “Fuck Jerry! Fuck hippopotamuses! Fuck the fucking zoo!”

Sandy, smirking: “Paul, there’s a piece of hippo shit floating near your mouth.”

Me: “Aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhh!”

The video ended.

“Paul?” Vince said, his voice neutral.

“Yes, Vince?” I still hid behind the napkins even though my eyes were no longer filled with lemon water.

“Remember when you were taking me home from the hospital a few days ago and you thought I was just really stoned and you were talking about your period ghost and I said I thought I was going to fall in love with you?”

I thought he hadn’t even remembered saying that. “Yes, Vince, I remember.” And I did. It wasn’t something I thought I was ever going to forget. Not for as long as I lived. I was pretty sure he was going to retract that comment pretty damn quickly.

He took a deep breath. “Well, I’m pretty sure I’m about halfway there now.”

I lowered the napkins from my face and stared at him. He looked uncharacteristically flustered and couldn’t quite meet my eyes. His cheeks pinked a bit. “You just watched a YouTube video of me falling into a hippo exhibit at the zoo and swallowing hippo-shit water and now you’re halfway to being in love with me after knowing me for only a few days?”

He nodded. “Sounds about right.”

“Oh sweat balls,” I said. But I reached out and grabbed his hand.

He grinned and squeezed my hand back.

And that would be a great place to end the first date, right? That declaration, the knowledge that I’d swam with hippos, that Santiago might or might not have put pubes in the food that would come later. It’s magical! It’s wonderful! So very, very romantic! Nothing could make it better!

Nope.

“Paul!” my mother shouted from behind me on the street. “Yoo-hoo! Paul, dear! It’s me, your mother! Your father is with me too! Paul! Oh, for heaven’s sakes, Larry, I don’t think he can hear me. I’m practically screaming his name. Maybe he’s going deaf.”

“You aren’t practically doing anything,” my father said mildly. “I’m pretty sure they can hear you down in Mexico.”

“Lawrence Auster,” she scolded. “What a mean thing to say.”

“Just… ignore them,” I ground out to Vince.

“Are they your parents?” he asked, looking over my shoulder. “They look like that picture you have in your bedroom.”

“When I say so, get ready to run, okay?” I whispered harshly. “On three.”

“What? We’re not running.”

“One—”

“Yoo-hoo, Paul!”

“Two—”

Vince waved over my shoulder at my parents.

“Three!” I got up and started running, but Vince didn’t let go of my hand. Apparently his muscles were quite real and Vince was just a tad bit stronger than me. I only made it two steps toward the exit before I was jerked back to the table. Vince spun me around neatly so that I landed on his lap, my back to his chest. To give him credit, he didn’t even cry out in massive pain as my bulk landed on him, surely crushing him to dust, especially given how sore he still must have been. I was too shocked at this sudden turn of events to even feel remotely sorry, given that he was a traitor along the lines of my dog.

“You can’t run away from your parents,” he admonished lightly. “It’s rude.”

“I don’t want to be your boyfriend anymore,” I told him, quite sure of myself.

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you do. I make you so fucking happy.”

“Gross. You do not,” I mumbled, doing my damnedest to ignore that little glowing light in me.

Matty and Larry Auster were very curious by this sudden turn of events, watching the two of us closely as they walked up the sidewalk toward us. I tried to move off Vince’s lap, but he wrapped his arm around my waist and gripped me tightly, his point very clear. It probably didn’t help things when I wiggled in his lap to get more comfortable and felt his dick against my ass. He groaned just once, and it was quiet, but it was enough to make me freeze as his cock hardened while my parents were standing two feet away.

“Paul,” Dad said in greeting, looking amused. “Nice to see you, son.”

“Dad,” I managed to say. “Mom.”

My mother’s eyes sparkled. “Paul, what a surprise this is!”

“Oh no. Not a surprise. I’m pretty sure this is God fucking with me,” I told her.

“Language!” my father frowned.

“Sorry,” I said, even though I wasn’t sorry in the slightest.

“Hello,” my mother said over my shoulder. “I’m Matty Auster, and this is my husband, Larry. We’re Paul’s parents.”

“Nice to meet you,” Vince said cheerfully. He very smartly extended the hand that was not wrapped around my waist, knowing that if he let go I would use that time to escape. To exact my revenge, I flexed my ass against his lap and felt him shudder underneath me. To his credit, his voice was only a little tight when he shook my parents’ hands and said hello. “I’m Paul’s boyfriend, Vince Taylor,” he said, squeezing me again.

Goddammit.

“Boyfriend?” Dad said, sounding perplexed. “Paul, you never mentioned anything about a boyfriend.”

“It’s a new thing,” I said as I blushed.

“At least fifteen minutes now,” Vince agreed.

“Fifteen minutes?” Mom said. “That’s fifteen minutes longer than anyone else.”

“Mom!” I hissed.

“Well, it’s true, dear. You don’t normally have boyfriends, though for the life of me I can’t understand why. I think you’d make the perfect partner to a nice man.”

“Oh, he does,” Vince said.

“What happened to that guy that Sandy said you spit on last weekend?” Dad asked. “I thought you were going to try and get with that?”

I groaned. “Dad? Do me a favor. Never say ‘get with that’ ever again. You’ve just fried my brain. And you guys really need to stop talking to Sandy.”

Dad looked over at Mom. “How else am I supposed to say it?”

Mom shrugged. “Maybe you were supposed to say ‘make love to.’ You know Paul is secretly a romantic at heart. Once you get past that icy cold exterior it’s like his insides are made of marshmallow fluff. You remember those letters we found that he’d written to Zack Morris from Saved By The Bell? I’d never read such beautiful love poems. Paul has such as sweet way with words.”

“Oh right,” Dad said. “How did that one go? ‘Hark! And behold/Your love is but my soul/Us together would be like the greatest art/I would give you the world and my heart/How I wish I knew thee well/Oh, Zack Morris! From Saved By The Bell.’”

“I didn’t write that,” I told Vince hastily as he laughed at me. “That was my twin brother named Toby who died under suspicious circumstances when we were twelve. My parents deny he ever existed, but he’s the one that wrote love poems to fictional characters.”

“Paul, really,” my mother sniffed. “You didn’t have a twin brother. My uterus wouldn’t have survived another one of you coming out.”

“See?” I whispered to Vince. “I told you.”

“You wanted to make love to that guy you spit on?” Vince said, sounding positively gleeful. “And you already told your parents about it?”

Of course he was still stuck on that. “I never said those words!”

“I’m the guy he spit on,” he told my parents.

“Technically, I spit on the twinkie barback,” I reminded him.

“It was meant for me,” he said, absolutely sure.

“Oh, that is so lovely!” my mother said, her eyes brimming with tears.

“Certainly an interesting beginning,” Dad said.

Apparently, Vince had no problem with meeting parents because he wouldn’t shut the fuck up. “This is our first real date, even though I consider it our second, or maybe our third.”

“Your first date?” my mother exclaimed. “How wonderful! And you brought him—”

“Are you guys finally ready to order yet?” Santiago interrupted.

“My wife was talking,” Dad told him sternly. “It’s not polite to interrupt, young man.”

Santiago rolled his eyes. “All I want to do is my job.”

“We’re not ready,” Vince told him as Santiago glared at me sitting on his lap. “I’ll let you know, okay?”

“Whatever,” the waiter said, spinning on his heels and going back inside.

“Well, he was a rude little bitch, wasn’t he?” my mother said. I grinned at her.

“Language!” Dad snapped at her, but I could see his mouth quirking at the sides.

“He was trying to get in Vince’s pants,” I told them, only because I tell them pretty much everything. Well, some things.

My mother narrowed her eyes as she glared inside the restaurant. “Is that so? He looked like the type. Little floozy. I hope you saw right through that, Vince.” Her voice was hard, as if daring him to contradict her.

“I did,” Vince assured her. “I have a one-man heart.”

Oh Jesus Christ.

“That is so sweet,” my mother said, wiping her eyes.

“Why do you have a black eye?” my father asked me suspiciously, reaching over to turn my face so he could see it better. I’d totally forgotten about it.

“Dear,” my mother whispered loudly. “Isn’t it obvious? Vince is the Dominant and Paul is his submissive. Look how Vince is holding onto him like he owns him. It was probably just from a rough scene in Vince’s playroom. Vince may have made him pretend to be a pony, like on that one HBO show that we watched. You remember? Where that one man put that bit in the other man’s mouth and made him wear a saddle? We promised ourselves we’d always support Paul with whatever he chose to be. It just so happens he’s kinky. We’ll support him no matter what.”

My father nodded as if this made complete sense. “You a pony, son?” he asked me.

I tried to keep from screaming. “No, Dad. I’m not a pony.”

“I don’t like horses that much,” Vince said, obviously not understanding at all. “They scare me a bit. I don’t like the noises they make.”

“It was Wheels,” I explained. “He tripped me and I hit the wall.”

“With your face?” Mom asked sympathetically. “You do have hands, you know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” I promised her.

“He does that a lot,” Mom told Vince. “He’s always been a bit klutzy. This one time, he was trying to walk down the stairs, chew gum, and talk on the phone at the same time. Ended up with a broken arm.” She shook her head. “He always runs into things or falls down. It would be endearing if it wasn’t so painful. And expensive.”

“I’m nowhere near that bad,” I muttered, glancing at my dad for help.

He took the hint. “Matty, I think we should leave these boys to their date,” Dad said. “I’m sure they don’t want us hanging around. Besides, we’ll be late for our own reservations.”

Mom leaned over and kissed his cheek. “You’re absolutely right, my love. You may wine and dine me, and then maybe we can get out the spurs.”

“Oh. My. God,” I groaned.

“Giddyup,” my dad said, grinning at her.

“Oh, Vince!” she said. “Before I forget. We are having a get-together tomorrow for Paul’s birthday at his nana’s house. You must be there. I won’t take no for an answer.”

“Is that the one with the homophobic parrot?” he asked me.

“Yeah,” I sighed. “You don’t need to go. It’s not that big of a deal.”

“Are you kidding me? You bet your ass I’ll be there.”

“Language,” my father scolded him lightly.

Mom clapped her hands together. “Wonderful. Maybe I should get your phone number so we could—”

“Mom. Stop it.”

“Oh, you’re right, dear. I’m sorry. You’re on a date now. I can get it tomorrow, Vince. After all, I’m sure I’ll want to talk to my future son-in-law on the phone at some point.”

“Mom!”

“Time to go, Matty,” Dad told her gently.

She leaned in to kiss me as my father shook Vince’s hand. Then they reversed and my dad shook my hand as she kissed Vince on the cheek. He looked surprised, just for a moment, bringing his hand to touch where her lips had been. I wondered at it but didn’t ask.

“I’m sorry,” I said, unable to think of anything else to say.

He arched an eyebrow. “About what?”

“Them. My parents. I told you they were weird.”

“I thought they were okay,” he said. And it looked like he meant it.

“Oh.”

“You want to get out of here?” he asked suddenly, looking thoughtful,

“Uh, sure.” I wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Good. I want to take you somewhere.”

“Don’t you want to wait and say good-bye to Santiago first?” I teased him.

He shook his head and stood, holding out his hand.

Surprising even myself, I didn’t hesitate.

 

 

WE WENT to the park and sat on a set of swings in the dark. He was like a kid, trying to go as high as he possibly could and laughing when I told him he needed to be careful because I wasn’t going to take care of him if he fell off the swings and became paralyzed. I already had one handicapped animal to look after.

“Would you get me my own set of wheels?” he asked.

“With streamers hanging off,” I threatened.

He laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the center of the park to a little stretch of grass away from the lights and the traffic. And away from where anyone could hear us scream. “You know,” I told him, “this is probably a perfect spot to get raped and then murdered by a homeless person with a hook for a hand. I don’t know if that’s the best first-date memory to have. I like my blood on the inside of me.”

“I’ll protect you from the murdering homeless rapist with hook hands,” he promised. “I have really big muscles.” He lowered himself to the grass and lay on his back, staring up at me. He patted the area beside him. I looked around, sure there’d be some hobo wanking it behind a cactus, but it looked like we were alone.

I tried to lie on the ground next to him, but he wouldn’t have it, so I found myself with my head on his stomach, our bodies making a T shape. It took a bit of getting used to at first, but then I allowed myself to focus on every breath he took in and every breath he let out. I rose and fell with him. It felt surreal.

I was quiet for a time until he started twisting his fingers in my hair lazily, and I made an embarrassing little moan in the back of my throat that caused him to chuckle, a sound I felt before I heard. It rumbled against my ear and I felt it down to my toes.

“What?” I asked.

“I like the noises you make,” he said, a smile in his voice.

“Um. That’s good to know. But I’d rather you didn’t hear all the sounds that come from my body. And I wish I hadn’t just said that.”

He laughed. “I’m sure I’ll hear them all.”

I didn’t even know how to begin to take that.

Silence, for a time.

Vince sighed, tugging gently on my hair. “Do you know constellations?”

“Some. My dad showed me when I was a kid.”

“Oh.”

“Do you?”

“Nah. My dad didn’t have time for that.” He tried to laugh it off. It didn’t work.

I waited to see if he would say more. He didn’t. “You know Orion’s Belt?” I asked him.

I felt him shrug, which I took to mean no. I moved off his stomach and onto my back, pressing our heads almost together. I took his hand in mine and pointed out three bright stars with our fingers. “Alnitak,” I said for the first star. “Alnilam,” for the second. And, “Mintaka,” for the third. “My dad said Orion was a great hunter, the son of Poseidon, the sea god. He could supposedly walk on the waves because of that. He once went hunting with the goddess Artemis and her mother Leto. For some reason, during the hunt, he said he was going to kill every creature on the planet. Mother Earth hated him for this and sent a giant scorpion to kill him. And it did. The goddesses then asked Zeus to place him in the stars. Zeus agreed, and as a memorial to Orion’s death, he also added the scorpion to the sky as well.” I took his hand and moved south, tracing over the other constellation. “And that is where Orion and Scorpius are still locked in battle.” I lowered our hands but I didn’t let go. He placed my hand on his chest. His heartbeat was soft.

A moment later, he turned his head toward me. Our noses almost touched. His dark eyes searched mine. I waited.

“You’re so smart,” he whispered finally.

I flushed. “Nah. Just something my dad taught me. I liked the story, so I remembered it. That’s all.” I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.

He reached out and touched my cheek. “That’s not all.”

We watched each other quietly until I finally worked up the courage to ask what I’d been thinking for hours. “Vince?”

“Yeah?”

“Is this for real?”

“What?”

“You know.” I swallowed. “You and me.”

No hesitation. “It is.”

“Okay.”

He watched me. “If you need me to, I’ll tell you every day it’s real.”

“Okay.”

“It’s real.”

“Okay.”

“Paul?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Just make sure you—”

And then he kissed me.