That’s news to me. “My dad and I don’t get along so well either,” I tell him, revealing more than I ever intended in coming here.
“Is he an asshole?”
“Yeah, a little bit.”
Uncle Theo shrugs. “Must run in the family.”
I laugh. I don’t know if he realizes what he’s saying or if he’s just being agreeable, but it does make me feel a little better that I’m not the only one having a hard time of it.
A male nurse comes up to us then, short and chubby, and in his midthirties if I had to guess. He rubs his hands together as he greets my uncle with a little bow and a deferential “Good afternoon, Captain Wooten.” Then he turns to me. “My name’s Manuel.” He offers his hand to me in a very gentlemanly gesture. My limited-range gaydar goes off immediately as I shake the guy’s hand and eye him up and down. He’s cute in a cuddly sort of way. His demeanor seems very gentle, and he has sweet brown eyes with long lashes, kind of like a Jersey cow.
Manuel turns back to my uncle. “Gloria said you were asking for me.”
“I’m ready to go back to my room,” Uncle Theo says. He drops his cards and braces his hands on the table to stand. I don’t bother reminding him we were supposed to play a game of gin rummy. I don’t think anything could distract him from Manuel at the moment.
“What about your visitor?” Manuel says, looking apologetically at me.
Uncle Theo glances down and glares at me, irritated that I might ruin whatever rendezvous he has planned.
“I was just leaving.” I stand, curious to know where this thing is headed.
My uncle nods sharply, as though saluting. He lifts one hand, and Manuel supplies his arm for my uncle to take. Manuel glances back at me, “Nice to meet you,” he says with a smile and then softer, to my uncle, “Should we take the long way?”
“Yes, of course,” my uncle says gruffly.
They shuffle slowly out of the room. Manuel walks much slower to match my uncle’s pace, perhaps letting him think he’s leading. They cross the hallway to the elevator, and Manuel waves at me from inside it. My uncle stares straight ahead, at attention.
I wander back to the window, stunned, while Gloria collects the playing cards and places them back into the cardboard case. “I’ll bring these back to him later,” she says. “He hates it when the other residents lose his cards.”
I open my mouth to ask Gloria about my uncle’s relationship with Manuel, which seems to me almost like… a crush? But then think better of it—this is something for me to investigate further on my own, and I wouldn’t want Uncle Theo to find out I’ve been meddling. As I’m about to turn away from the window, I see Manuel leading my uncle down the sidewalk toward the concrete seawall that overlooks the water. Manuel talks animatedly and my uncle, I’m shocked to see, is smiling.
WTF, Part 1
I’M STILLcontemplating my visit with Uncle Theo when I return home to find Chris out front in his driveway shooting hoops, shirtless, of course, and glistening with sweat. Positively mouthwatering. Ugh.
“Up for a game?” he asks, faking to my left, then dribbling around me for a basket. I could watch him shoot hoops all day, in slow motion, on repeat.
“Yeah, sure.” I roll my skateboard into the grass where we won’t trip on it and toss my shirt on top of it because I’m already sweating. “To fifteen. Make it, take it,” I tell him. If I don’t settle the terms ahead of time, Chris will use it to his advantage. Like if we’re tied up for the win and I get the point, we’re suddenly playing to twenty-one, not fifteen. Chris hates losing, and when he thinks he might be, he’s a bit of a cheat.
“I get the ball first, since you’ve got two inches on me now,” he says.
“You’ve got twenty pounds on me,” I protest, sure he’s angling for an advantage.
“Are you calling me fat again?” Chris asks with a grin, lobbing the ball at my chest for a check.
“Pleasantly plump.” I beam it back at him. He’s far from fat, and he knows it.
To prove his superior level of fitness, he dribbles by me and spins around my back, then does a flashy layup, using my shoulder to get more air. I let him by me because I can’t take my eyes off his basketball shorts and how they hang just below his hips, exposing the waistband of his briefs, how easy it would be to yank them both down around his ankles and….
“Foul,” I mutter, knowing it’s useless.
“Got to get comfortable with a little contact, Wooten,” Chris says, strutting back to the line while dribbling. I roll my eyes and can’t help smiling at his cockiness.
This time I’m ready for his round-about move and when he turns, I’m there to use my height to my advantage and strip the ball from him, then double back and take the shot. But my aim is off, maybe because I haven’t played since my growth spurt. The ball hits the rim and bounces off into the bushes. I practically have to climb into Chris’s hedge to retrieve it, and when I back out of the greenery, Chris is there waiting.
“Where’d you go this afternoon?” he asks, like we’re not in the middle of a game.
I press the ball into his chest, thinking how if it weren’t for this ball, it’d just be him and me, chest to chest, skin on skin. Wouldn’t that feel good? Amazing.
