“Not an uncle then,” Elliot says dryly.
My foot starts to stomp without my permission. The only thing that pulls me back from the edge is the thought that I must look like an epileptic donkey.
Finally, I knuckle my tears away and glance up at him.
His arms are crossed, but that lopsided grin is firmly in place. “Don’t mind me. I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
“Sorry,” I pant. “But if JD heard you say that—”
He’d be a hot mess. “We won’t tell him. I definitely won’t, and if you see him again, you shouldn’t either. Just to be safe.”
“What aren’t we telling him?”
“That you thought his husband was our uncle.”
“His… Oh. Okay. Well that explains it. They seemed pretty close when I saw them in the lobby.” He sounds fine, but I see it. The muscles flexing in his arms, the flinch of surprise around his eyes. Surprise is normal. I don’t blame him for it at all. It doesn’t mean anything.
Stop it. You already knew.
But you never really know someone until you mention gay marriage. It’s true.
Tani and I once made up a reactionary scale for people with interracial or LGBT marriage equality issues. It was your basic one-through-ten rating system. One being the black lesbian who goes skyclad to officiate your wedding—we added paganism in there because why not—and ten being the jackoff who goes on the Nazi-leaning news channel to proudly share her decision not to let two grown adults promise to love and care for each other as long as they live. Like it’s any of her business.
We call ten a bitch.
Elliot’s only a two-point-five at the moment. More surprised than I’d expect someone our age to be, but not disgusted. Once someone gets to six, I block their number. Before that, it’s mostly about environment and exposure.
Leave it alone.
But I can’t, and I may as well help to nip this whole situation in the butt.
Bud.
Slip of the tongue.
“JD and Carter met at the pub I was telling you about. They’re kind of famous there, actually. The legendary romance of Green’s Marine is a real story people tell if you get them drunk enough.”
Instead of recoiling, Elliot looks interested. “Yeah? What do you say we go tomorrow night and find someone to tell us their version?”
A number of things are happening in my head in response to that offer. Let’s make a list.
1. Huh?
2. Light the fireworks, because a man I’m both unusually comfortable around and intensely aroused by seems determined to take me out even after ranking at a two-point-five.
3. Two guys getting beers is not a date. It’s a bro thing. Because he’s straight and I don’t know how many times I need to underline that until I manage to convince myself.
4. Fuck you. It’s still nice to be asked.
My list becomes pointless when I remember I have plans. “Tomorrow night isn’t going to work.”
“Nighttime nanny wrangling?”
“No.” I lick my lips. “JD set me up on a blind date. Three actually.”
“You’re going on three dates tomorrow night?”
From his expression, he wasn’t expecting that question to come out as loudly as it did.
“One. The other two are yet to be determined.”
“One date.”
Rip off the Band Aid.
“I got dumped recently, and I don’t have the best track record when it comes to men. My brother wants to help, and I figure, why not? He can’t do any worse than I have. I hope.”
The silence that follows my admission is giving me hives. Did he catch that? The “I date men” part? I think he did. “I have a feeling I’ll need a beer after tomorrow night’s dinner, if you want a raincheck.”
He stands up abruptly, a small frown between his brows and a flush in his cheeks. That look. There it is. I’ve done it now. I have successfully freaked him out and he’s heading for a higher ranking as we speak.
Please don’t go to six.
“A raincheck is fine. We’ll go day after tomorrow. You can tell me all about your date.” There’s a bite to that last bit, but I can’t tell if he’s upset about me turning him down for bro beers, or for being gay and ruining our balcony hangs.
He hesitates, as though not sure what to do with himself, and I take him in while I still have a chance. He’s not trying to be forbidden fruit. He exists and so he is.
He’s also a decent guy. I barely know him, but what I do know, I genuinely like.
I can be good at compartmentalizing. I have my family. I have my friends. I have my “boyfriends.” I used quotations because neither of the boyfriends I’ve had would have admitted to the relationship out loud. I’ve rarely been around a man I wanted in multiple categories. Someone I feel like I can be myself with and someone I want to see naked.