“Being gay isn’t a condition.”
“It is where I’m from. More like a disease. Cured with prayer and pussy in equal doses—tried that for a while.”
“Did it work?”
He gave me a hangdog look. “Obviously not, Martin, or I wouldn’t be here. Anyway, I went back to my old hookup spots. There was this guy….” He trailed off, anger flashing in his eyes, which was rare for him. Without giving me the details, I knew he’d been abused, which made me want to find that guy and beat the living shit out of him.
“Afterward, I was on my way home and I passed by this tattoo parlor and was just like, fuck it. I saw this and I thought it fit. Like, my life was shit, but maybe it wouldn’t always be this way. One day I’d get shot off like this here arrow.” He made a motion of his hand flying through the air. “Whoosh. And look where I landed.”
“Here with me.” I traced his lower lip with my thumb.
“Shacked up with an artist. Living it up in gay paradise.”
I smiled, then leaned down and kissed his tattoo. My heart felt heavy for him, everything he’d been through in that small-minded town. “I wish I could take away all those bad experiences,” I said softly. “I wish I’d known you when you came looking for someone.”
He glanced away. “Yeah, me too.” His gaze drifted back to me. “What was it like your first time?”
I smiled at the memory. “Ricky Espinosa. He was a couple years ahead of me in school, an all boys’ Catholic high school. I thought he was cute, but he always had a girlfriend. Then, after he graduated I saw him again at a party. His parents had a condo on the beach that they rented out to tourists. It was empty, so we went there.”
“How was it?” he asked and propped himself up on his elbow.
“It was… awkward. Neither of us really knew what we were doing, but we managed, thanks to YouTube and a bottle of Jack Daniels.”
“Was he your boyfriend?”
“No, he had a girlfriend. He was in denial, I guess. But we kept hooking up. For months after he’d call or text me and ask me to watch the Heat game with him. That was our code.” I remembered how the games were always playing in the background, like the fans were cheering us on.Fuck yeah.I didn’t give a shit if the Heat won, because it was always a win for me. “It was a good season,” I said with a smile.
“Didn’t it make you mad? Hiding it from everyone?”
I shrugged. “It seemed right at the time. I wasn’t wrapping myself in the rainbow flag just yet. It felt very… experimental.”
“You still friends?” he asked me.
“Only on Facebook. He’s a firefighter here in Miami.”
“No shit.” His face lit up.
“It’s true. He’s out now and he’s ripped, so I bet he’s getting play like nobody’s business.”
“Why haven’t you looked him up?”
“I don’t know. He was nice to look at, but we just never clicked, I guess.”
Andre shook his head. “I bet you had a lot of boyfriends in art school.”
I shrugged. “I mostly hooked up with my teachers.”
Andre’s eyebrows lifted. “For real?”
“After the class was over. Not during.”
He shook his head. “Man, I wish I’d known you coming up.”
I didn’t remind him that he was still coming up, because it seemed condescending, especially with all that he’d been dealt in Alabama. He might be young, but he’d already lived a lifetime there.
“We’re together now,” I said, tracing his jaw with my thumb. “I’m glad you came to Miami.”
“Yeah, me too,” he said in a throaty voice. He licked his lips and his eyes locked on mine, urging me on.
