At the dinner table, he had the nerve to try to school me on the redundancy of placemats. Have you ever? His eyes glittered and the sinews in his throat tensed as he spoke. He gave me a bright fake smile that arranged his face into a picture that could easily be used to advertise tooth-whitening products. His eyes filled with venom as his voice adopted a supremely nonconfrontational tone that seemed designed to grate every nerve in my spinal cord. He raised his chin at me defiantly, emphasizing the line of his stubborn jaw, and said, “Do you know, Stuart, we don’t use placemats at our house.”
He looked so attractive when he said it that I wondered if that wasn’t part of his problem. Maybe he’stoogood-looking, and it’s messing with his sense of himself.
He’s not tall, but not short enough to explain the chip on his shoulder—maybe five-ten or five-eleven on a good day—but he’s built. Bulky but not rock hard. I have a feeling he likes his physique because he wears his T-shirts at least two sizes too small.
His dark hair is spiked and styled in a way that makes it look like he towel dries it and heads out the door. If the length of time he takes in the bathroom in the morning is anything to go by, I’d hazard a guess the process is a lot more involved than that. He has a high brow and a straight, refined nose. His eyes are molasses brown and, along with the fleshiness of his lips, there's a softness in them that conflicts with the masculine lines of the rest of his face.
I’ve met plenty of brats in my time. They’re nothing new. I’ve been around the block a time or two, and I’ve seen it all: rude boys, stroppy boys, obstinate boys, boys who brat for attention. It’s all par for the course for a man like me. I’m used to it. I’m not saying I’m immune to it. I’m only saying I’ve seen it before.
As he sat there looking at me, his handsome features were alight with condescension and a sense of smugness that I suspect runs bone deep. He had a cheerful smile, though the dark shadows rippling in his eyes belied the expression completely. I couldn’t help thinking that I’d never met a boy who could benefit from a damn good spanking more than Elliot Gould could.
“Elliot,” I said, meaning to put a firm end to the matter, “in this house, we use placemats.”
He glared at me as his eyes sparked viciously. I was instantly hit by a feeling of dread that was so intense and all-encompassing it made my bones feel like they were made of warm liquid.
This boy is the definition of hard work. He’s rude and entitled. Ungrateful in spades. He’s arrogant and spoiled and has no clue how to behave. He couldn’t adult his way out of a paper bag if his life depended on it. Not only that, he’s angry and defensive about it. I don’t think I’m overstating when I say he’s the proud owner of the single biggest attitude problem I’ve ever encountered.
To put it another way…he’s like catnip to me.
3
Elliot
Thingsaregoingfrombad to worse. My living arrangement is completely unbearable. I’m doing my best to be polite, but Stuart is making it so fucking hard. He has something to say about everything. I haven’t gotten laid since I got here, and my dick’s gone into such shock it’s decided to chub up every time Stuart so much as looks at me.
I’m a fucking mess.
I can’t go on like this, so I’ve made plans to go out to rectify the dick problem, at least.
“Lukeyyyyy!” I yell when I see my best friend, Luke, across the bar.
I look at his fiancé, Jessie, raising my eyebrows expectantly until he finally relents and replies, “Pookie.”
His delivery is far from enthusiastic, but I know from experience it’s the best I can expect from Jessie. This little greeting might seem dumb to most, and it is, but I started doing it when Luke and I were nine, and I can’t stop it now. Luke loves it.
I grab Luke in a bear hug and crush his huge frame until Jessie’s eyes narrow. I’m not saying Jessie’s response is the entire reason I do it, but I’m also not saying it isn’t.
I work the room between each drink, and unfortunately, it looks like I’m going to strike out. Well, not strike out exactly. I have options. Believe me, I have options. I’m just in one of those moods where I can’t decide if I want a girl or a guy. I think it’s called the bisexual dilemma or something. I feel it a lot.
I know we’re all supposed to be cool with everything and accept ourselves as we are, but in my case, it bothers me quite a bit. I have this deep yearning for something. I’m always looking but never quite sure what I’m looking for.
A lot of the time when I hook up, I get that feeling you get when your back is itching like crazy, so you ask someone to scratch it, but they keep missing the spot. That’s what it feels like to me. A lot of the time—most of the time, if I’m honest—my hookups feel like they scratch a little too high. Or a little too low.
It’s fucking frustrating.
By the time I land on a decision tonight, Luke and Jessie are making a big show of yawning.
“Wow, is that the time?” asks Luke, looking at his wrist and giving me the impression he and Jessie spent some time rehearsing their exit strategy before they left home this evening.
I try not to be too bleak that they’re heading home early because I know they’ve come out tonight purely because I asked them to. I know they’re worried about everything that’s happened in my life recently and are trying to be here for me. I appreciate it.
Luke and Jessie are at a stage in their lives where they don’t really enjoy being out late during the week. It irritates me, but I can’t get fully mad at them because of how adorable Luke is. He’s the best. No joke. He might actually be the best person in existence. He’s like bottled sunshine. Like everything good in the world got rolled up and then molded into the shape of a man.
Jessie is very different. It took some time to come around to him, but I have to admit, he does have his moments. Over the years, he’s surprised me by becoming a way better friend than I ever thought he would be. It’s not easy getting to know him, but once you do, he’s a really solid guy.
When I first met him, I was a little pissed about him and Luke getting together. It put my nose out of joint for a while. And not only because I may have had a slight crush on Luke at the time, or because Jessie is his stepbrother, but because of the fact that right from the start, they were both so fucking whipped.
I hate it when my friends meet people and get pussy whipped, or ass whipped, or whatever kind of whipped does it for them, and stop coming out. It’s the worst. It really gets on my tits. That’s not the only issue when it comes to Luke and Jessie. They’ve been together for years, but they still haven’t managed to get over that stage where they’re only out for a few hours before something happens between them and Jessie gives Luke this thirsty look and whispers, “Can we go home, please?” in his ear.
