He patted the blue polo shirt over his flat belly, the one I'd seen bare too many times to forget. The afternoon sun was scorching, and once the day's catch was out of pinching range, he peeled those shirts right off. He was golden and sculpted, and I only allowed myself briefglances.
"You've been kind to let me stay here, Owen," he said. He shrugged, kicking the emotion out of this moment. "Much more of this home cooking and good conversation, and you're going to ruin your reputation as apirate."
"Fuck off, McClish," Imurmured.
A smile pulled at my lips. This companionshipwasnice. The domesticity, too. Looking after someone fed an urge that I'd otherwise ignored, and there were moments when caring for Cole satisfied me more than anything I could imagine between the sheets. I liked our dinners on the porch together, even his nonstop questions and chatter. We often sat out here long after the meal was over, drinking beer and admiring sunsets. I didn't mind that our evenings put me behind on my reading, even if I told my houseguest otherwise. Whitman could wait. Thoreau,too.
Cole tipped his beer bottle to his lips and shot an anxious glance at me. "You know…you don't have to wait on me. I won't get into trouble around here." He turned his attention to the cove before continuing. "I'm sure you have friends. A girlfriend, or you know, someone you like to spend time with. You don't have to put your life on hold because I'm hanging out at yourplace."
I reached into the ice chest between us and grabbed two more longnecks. It wouldn't be Maine if you didn't have beer available indoors andout.
"I'm still worried that you're going to accidentally shoot yourself," I said, knocking the bottle caps off. Another mouthful of cold beer washed down my internal debate. I wasn't ashamed of myself, and while I didn't hide my sexual orientation, it wasn't something I offered up. I favored gay bars, Pride events, situations where it was implied. Where I didn't have to hide. Where I was with my people, my family. Not my blood relations, but my truefamily.
Even after more than twenty years of comfort in my queer skin, I didn't savor coming-out conversations. But I'd done basically that this afternoon, with that hug. I was still feeling every spot where his body had connected with mine. There was no mistaking the heat between us, and I couldn't be the only one feelingit.
Here goes nothing."No girlfriends. I'm not interested inwomen."
Cole cocked his head to the side as if he'd misheard me. "Does that mean you prefer men?" he asked, his brow furrowed. He looked like a puppy who couldn't find his ball. "Or do you consider yourself asexual? Not that a lack of interest in women is indicative of asexuality. You could identify any number of ways. It's aspectrum."
"I'm gay, if that's what you're asking," Ireplied.
Cole's mouth fell open as my words registered, but he rapidly schooled his expression. "That's cool," hecroaked.
Fuck. Fuck itall.
"Is that going to be a problem for you?" I asked, studying hisreaction.
"No," hesaid.
It was a little too forceful, as if he knew he was walking the line between acceptable responses and honest ones. It would be a real shame if he was a bold-faced homophobe. Couldn't have that. I gave no quarter to thehaters.
"No," he repeated, pushing his glasses up his nose. "Not at all. You just caught me by surprise." He threw his hands up, then pressed his fingers to his eyelids. "Shit, that's not the right thing to say. I don't have to prepare myself to respect anyone's sexual orientation. No one should need an adjustment period to accept another human being. It's not like you're telling me you keep a bag of your ex's old hair with you at alltimes."
"No worries," I said. I meant that. Eventually, there'd be a time when we led with curiosity rather than assumptions about sexual identity, race, faith, ability…all of it. But today wasn't that day, and considering I had a roof over my head, food in my belly, and the sea in my backyard, I could cope with humanity's shortcomings. "Are wegood?"
"No—I mean, yes—we're cool. Yes." He scrubbed his hands over his face and then picked up his beer, gazing at the bottle like sweet salvation. "If you're seeing someone, please don't change your routine on my account. You're welcome to bring, ah, himaround."
I watched his throat bob as he guzzled his beer, and while I felt better that I'd cleared the air between us, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't disappointed that he didn't offer up his own big gay announcement. That would have improved this conversation considerably. It also would've helped me understand the constant fizz and pop of tension I felt when he was nearby. It would've explained the way my body reacted to his touch today, and his starring role in all of myfantasies.
But this was the way of it for me. I was forever falling for men who had neither the room nor interest in their lives for me, then hating the world for a time. That was why I didn't dothis. I didn't get to know men, and I didn't bring them home or let them into my world. I kept it clean and easy. A night in the city, a bar or club, a guy I'd never see again. A boozy weekend in Provincetown with a handful of bears who knew what I needed and expected nothing come Monday. It was better when it didn't mean anything to me. When I didn'tcare.
"I'll keep that in mind," I said, the words rough as I forced themout.
"Come on," he said, gesturing inside. "The game is starting soon, and you're miserable if you miss the firstpitch."
I shook my head at that, sweeping away my dark and broody thoughts. "I like to watch the entire game. That doesn't mean I'm miserable if I miss the first pitch," I said. "That you can live on highlights alone means you were dropped on your head as ababy."
"But the games are so long," hewhined.
"Baseball is meant to be appreciated in its complete form," I countered. "You need to realize that life shouldn't be condensed down to a couple hundred characters,McClish."
He stopped gathering our plates to glance at me. "Wait. Was that a Twitter reference? I thought you were taking Thoreau'sWaldenapproach to life, but you're a down-low Tweep, aren'tyou?"
Cole extracted a great deal of pleasure from ragging on my low-tech lifestyle. "That sounded like a gay slur,McClish."
"Not even a little bit," he said, laughing as he walked to the kitchen sink. He set the dinner dishes in the basin, stacking them just as I'd instructed. "I'll washtonight."
"I don't know anything else about Twitter," I confessed, grabbing a dish towel off the oven door handle and slinging it over my shoulder while he filled the sink with water and soap. "I don't understand what all those internet things are about, or why anyone usesthem."
