My Straight Husband by Spencer Spears
Gabe
Iwished I could take the words back as soon as I’d said them.
You look good?
What the fuck was I thinking, saying something like that?
I mean, it was true. Brooklyn did look good. He’d changed out of the clothes he was wearing when I saw him earlier. Now he had on a light jacket, a slim-fitting gray T-shirt, and a pair of skinny jeans, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t been checking him out surreptitiously.
I still wasn’t quite sure what to make of it all. Of Brooklyn, of my reaction to Brooklyn, or of the fact that Bicycle Guy had turned out to be Brooklyn, the other best man at Mark’s wedding.
Jesse had called it an omen. Was it?
Well, regardless of whether it was or not, telling another guy he looked good was still a weird-ass thing to say to another dude. Or, hell, maybe it was something gay guys said to each other all the time? What did I know?
But I didn’t want Brooklyn to think I was hitting on him.
At least, I was pretty sure I didn’t want that.
Fuck.
Did I?
It would have been a lot easier to figure out what the hell I was thinking, what the hell I was feeling, if Brooklyn hadn’t gone and been so nice to me, acting like I was in any way interesting. The guy was getting a PhD for God’s sake, and he was kind enough to act like my job could hold a candle to his.
I’d been on enough dates—to be fair, all with women—to know that my life was pretty fucking unremarkable. I’d seen plenty of eyes glaze over when I talked about my job. But Brooklyn made me feel like he was listening. Like I could be myself, even to the point of confessing how dull my life actually was. And somehow, it seemed less boring when I talked to him about it.
And then he had to go and be all complimentary, telling me I looked good, bringing back that same feeling of nervousness and excitement I’d felt when I’d seen him on my run. My whole body flushed when I imagined his eyes on me. Not that I had to imagine it. His eyes had been on me when he’d said he could tell I worked out. And I was pretty sure I’d liked it.
So maybe I hadn’t been thinking quite as clearly as I should have been when he got all self-deprecating about his own appearance. Maybe I was still reeling from the fact that something in my stomach felt hot and tight when he looked at me. All I knew was that he’d looked so hurt when I’d called him ‘fine’ that I’d said what I said before I could stop myself.
All of the above went through my mind in the space of about two seconds, the time it took for Brooklyn to give me a strange look and say, “Um. Thanks.”
Crap, time to change the subject—and fast.
“I need another beer. You want one?” Shit. Maybe that sounded like I was trying to buy him a drink. But it was the first thing I could think of to say.
And what if I was buying him a drink? Would that be so bad? What if this really was a sign?
What were the chances that the very guy who’d made me start thinking that maybe I should experiment this weekend turned out to be Jesse’s best man? And that he was nice and funny and smart, and even better looking than I’d remembered, now that he was standing a foot away from me?
Maybe it was an omen. Was I really going to let this chance pass me by? Begin my long, slow slide into oblivion and wake up ten years later with a mortgage and plans to buy a minivan?
No. I was putting my foot down. I was not giving up. I would not let boring win. And if that meant I was going to start actively flirting with Brooklyn, so be it. Frankly, as first-gay-experiment guys went, I couldn’t imagine a better one.
Brooklyn looked down at the bottle in his hand, and I felt a flash of embarrassment when I realized it was clearly still half full.
“Sure,” he said with a grin. “I’m glad you’re not one of those ‘my body is a temple’ people who won’t have more than one drink a night.”
“Oh God, never,” I said. “My standard weekend diet is beer and wings, eaten from the couch while watching ESPN.”
“That sounds pretty delightful, actually,” Brooklyn said as I flagged down the bartender.
“Really?” I cocked an eyebrow at him.
He laughed. “What, I don’t seem the type to enjoy a football game and wings?”
“I mean…” I gave him a sheepish smile. “Now I feel like an asshole for judging you. But you seem more like an NPR and afternoon spent antiquing kind of guy, if I’m being honest.”
Brooklyn broke into a guffaw. “Wow, I wish that were what I was like. I can just see myself sipping brandy out of a crystal snifter in my dining room, surrounded by leather-bound books and old-fashioned globes, talking about how much I love Ira Glass.”
“That does sound pretty sweet,” I agreed. “I mean, once I’m sixty-five years old or something.”
“Oh, of course. Because doing that any earlier might mean you were becoming, gasp, boring.”
I flushed.
“I’m kidding. Trust me, I’m in no position to judge anyone for how interesting or not-interesting their life might be.” Brooklyn smiled at me as he dug his wallet out of his pocket.
“Don’t worry about it, bro. You can get the next one.” I waved away the money he offered me and gave the bartender cash from my own wallet for the beers. I looked around the bar. It felt hot and stuffy all of a sudden. “Wanna go out to the patio?”
“Sure,” Brooklyn said with a smile. “And thanks. Bro.”
“I say that a lot, don’t I?” I could feel my face turning bright red as we walked through the bar and out the back door. “I don’t usually notice it around my friends back home, but I guess it stands out more when I’m around brilliant and erudite PhD students.”
It wasn’t really chilly outside, but it felt deliciously cool after the heat of the bar, and we had the patio all to ourselves. I sat down backwards on the bench of a picnic table, bracing my elbows on the tabletop behind me as I looked up at the stars. Brooklyn sat down next to me.
“Brilliant and erudite? Try exhausted and emotionally drained.” He laughed. “And seriously, don’t be embarrassed. It’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t my overbearing advisor or another equally stressed-out grad student for once.”
“Ditto. Except replace stressed-out grad students with college friends who are all getting married now and just want to talk about home equity loans. That, or the Cubs.”
“I don’t know, it sounds kinda nice, having a big group of guy friends like that.”
“Sure.” I nodded. “It’s fun. But our lives are kinda moving in different directions. And to be fair, I’ve probably always been closest to Mark. Well, him and my baby brother.”
Brooklyn smiled sadly. “I always wanted a brother or sister. I’m an only child.”
I laughed. “It’s pretty cool. If you’d asked me when I was twelve, I probably would have tried to sell him to you in exchange for candy or a Nerf gun. But now, it’s nice to have someone else who knows you well. And someone who understands how insane your parents are.”
Brooklyn nodded wryly. “I would love to have someone else who knew what my mother was like.”
“I know a little bit about crazy parents,” I said with a grin. “Lay it on me. How’d she mess you up?”
“Oh God, I don’t know, how didn’t she?” Brooklyn laughed and slouched further down against the table, letting his head tip back for a moment. “Well, there’s the fact that between the ages of five and fourteen, she moved us to no fewer than six different cities. Or the fact that once she did settle down, it was at a hippie commune in upstate New York. Where we lived in an unheated yurt. Or maybe it’s her four different marriages, none of which lasted more than a year.”
“Damn. I think you might win.”
“Oh come on, no fair.” He turned and looked at me with a glint in his eyes. “You don’t get to give up without even telling me what your damage is. Come on, you said your parents were crazy. How?”
“Oh, the usual. Shotgun wedding when they got pregnant with me. Constant fighting coupled with a refusal to get a divorce like any sane people would. Had my little brother in an attempt to save a marriage that never should have existed in the first place. Slowly growing bitter and old in their tiny town, never having seen a city bigger than Peoria.”
“Yikes. That doesn’t sound pleasant.”
“It’s not.” I raised my eyebrows ruefully. “But it’s pretty pedestrian compared to your story.”
“Well, here’s to parental damage, pedestrian or outlandish.”
Brooklyn raised his beer and clinked it against mine. He sighed after he swallowed, looking sleepy and relaxed. It was a good look on him. Though I was beginning to wonder if everything would look good on him.
“So that must be why you’re so dead set against settling down,” he continued, cocking an eyebrow at me. “Can’t say I’d want to either, if I’d grown up with what you went through.”
I shrugged. “It’s not that I don’t think it can work for some people. As a matter of fact, I think I’d probably be pretty good at being married, if only to prove that I could do it even without any reasonable role models to follow. But no, it’s not really what I’m looking for.”
“Fair enough.”
“I’m happy for Mark and Jesse though.” I felt like I needed to add that. “Even if this whole wedding thing is happening a little fast.”
Brooklyn grinned. “It really is, isn’t it? But I guess when you know, you know.”
“Yeah. They’re great together.”
He gave me a sidelong look. “Did it weird you out at all, when you found out Mark was dating Jesse? A guy, I mean?”
I paused, considering.
Brooklyn winced. “Sorry, maybe that’s too personal a question.”
“No, not at all.” I didn’t want him to feel bad. “I’m just trying to think about it. It was surprising, but I wouldn’t say weird. I don’t wanna say like, ‘I’d always known there was something about Mark,’ or anything, because it’s not that. It’s more like, Mark just is who he is. He doesn’t worry about what other people think of him.”
“I can see that.”
“So when he told me he was dating a guy, it almost made sense, in a weird way. That he wouldn’t be afraid to go for it. I envy him.”
“Because he’s not afraid of going for things? Or because he was dating a guy?”
I laughed. “Uh, the former? I mean—”
Brooklyn nodded. “Right, I figured. You mentioned your parents wanting you to find a girl.”
“No, I mean, I was gonna say, the former, like, ninety percent. But like, ten percent the latter.”
A soft sort of pause fell over the conversation, like a bird settling down on a branch, folding its wings over the words I’d spoken. Everything felt hushed.
I’d said it. I’d really said it. And now I felt like I didn’t dare breathe until Brooklyn said something back.
“Oh.” He looked at me like he was seeing me for the first time. Maybe he was, in a way. Maybe I was seeing myself for the first time too, reflected in his eyes. “Really?”
“Uh…yeah?” I laughed, nervous. I couldn’t help it. Now that I’d said it, I realized I had no idea what came next. So I started to babble. “I mean, like, I really do think Mark is awesome. I always kinda looked up to him, because he’s brave, and true to himself, and even when we worked together, you could just kinda tell that he had this inner sense of strength, and he—wait, are you laughing at me?”
“Oh God, Gabe, no. I’m sorry.” Brooklyn put his hand on my shoulder. The weight of it was comforting in a way I couldn’t articulate. “I’m not laughing at you. Or if I am, it’s only because I recognize myself in you right now.”
I squinted at him. “What do you mean?”
“Is tonight…” he smiled gently before continuing. “Is tonight the first time you’ve said that?”
“Said what?”
“The latter. The part about dating guys.”
Something fluttered inside my chest. I realized Brooklyn’s hand was still on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I said softly, looking down. “Sorry, is that a weird thing to tell someone? God, I barely know you and here I am like, telling you these deep-seated—”
“Gabe?”
“Yeah?”
“No.” He gave my shoulder a squeeze before letting go. Why did I want to shiver at the loss of his touch? “It’s not weird. It’s totally normal. And I’ve been through this. If you want to spend the rest of the night talking about it, that’s fine. But if you want to change the subject and start talking about the Cubs, that’s fine too. I promise.”
What the hell was happening? Here I was, thinking I was flirting with Brooklyn, maybe going to get drunk and mess around, and instead the guy was trying to reassure me like I was having some big coming-out moment. This night had gotten away from me.
And yet, despite all that, when I looked at Brooklyn, all I felt was warmth. All I wanted to do was tell him every little thought inside my head about dating and relationships and attraction and how confusing it could all be, and how, maybe, just maybe, I just really wanted to feel his hand on my shoulder again.
“I just don’t understand why it has to be such a big deal, you know?” I hadn’t planned on saying that sentence, but as soon as I heard my own words, I realized that was exactly what I felt. “Like, it shouldn’t matter what gender someone is. If you want to kiss them, you should just be able to kiss them without it being a whole thing.”
The words just sort of fell from my lips, but the more I talked, the more emphatic I found myself. It was stupid that this kind of thing had to be a big deal. It was stupid that I’d been spending all night trying to assess whether or not I could be into guys. This guy in front of me in particular. Why couldn’t I just try it and see?
“I’m not disagreeing with you,” Brooklyn said after a moment. “But that’s easy to say when you’ve never felt a moment’s confusion about who you’re attracted to. Sometimes it can feel like a really big deal, especially if you’re in high school or something, and you’re just starting to figure out that you might not be as straight as all your friends are. If you come out, and people don’t take it well, it can be a fucking huge deal to say that this is who you are, to claim your identity in the face of all that disapproval. And no one wants to be someone’s experiment.”
Fuck, that stung. Was that how I was treating Brooklyn? As an experiment?
Maybe I’d started the night thinking that this could just be a fun way to try something new. But the longer I talked with him, the more confused I got. In fact, the only thing I was certain of was that this wasn’t something I could just laugh off and treat as an interesting story later on.
‘Never felt a moment’s confusion?’Fuck. If only Brooklyn knew how freaking confused I’d felt for the past hour. But then, that probably wasn’t really what he was talking about. He probably meant serious stuff, identity crises and trauma and bullying. I definitely hadn’t gone through any of that.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you.”
He looked at me in surprise. “What? No, I’m not offended. Honestly, I think it’s really cool that you’re so laid back about it. A lot of straight guys would be more uptight.”
“I guess I’m not as uptight as I seem at first glance,” I said with a grin.
‘Or as straight,’ part of me wanted to add. But that wasn’t the kind of thing you said without being able to back it up. Was I ready to?
Flirting with Brooklyn, kissing Brooklyn—that would certainly qualify as not boring. But was that really why I would be doing it, anymore?
Or was it because, the more time I spent around him, the more I found myself actually wanting to kiss him. Wanting to know what this smart, funny, way-too-sweet guy’s lips would feel like on mine.
I didn’t know if it had to do with the way that Brooklyn’s arm was resting against mine on the tabletop, or the fact that I could still feel the spot where he’d pressed his hand onto my shoulder. Maybe it had to do with the way I could smell his aftershave, smoky and sweet, like orange blossom and campfire. Or the warmth in his voice when he spoke, and his easy smile, and his bright hazel eyes. Maybe it was just the way he seemed to actually look at me when I talked, and listen.
All I knew was that suddenly, I was desperate for him to lean over and kiss me.
“Or as straight,” I added softly, my heart in my throat.
No taking it back now. I wasn’t sure I could look at Brooklyn. Not until he said something.
What if he thought I was joking? What if he thought I was making fun of him somehow? If he accused me of treating him like an experiment?
If this was an experiment, it was one I was a lot more nervous about than I’d ever expected. My heart was beating so fast now, I could barely follow my own train of thought. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but Brooklyn and his body, so close to mine.
“Oh,” he said quietly. He waited for a moment, then spoke again. “So what would you do if I kissed you right now?”
I turned and stared, but now he was looking straight ahead, across the patio and out to the dark sky beyond. A small smile played at the corners of his lips.
“Are you serious?”
Brooklyn turned and looked at me, his eyes intense and gleaming in the starlight. “Are you?”
Something felt funny in my stomach. Was it nausea? Nerves? God, was it butterflies?
I’d always heard that expression, but never quite known what it felt like. Was it butterflies, if you felt like you couldn’t breathe too deep or you might explode? Was it butterflies if it felt like someone had set a blender on high in the middle of your stomach? Was it butterflies if you simultaneously wanted to run away just to make the feeling stop and slow the moment down so it lasted forever?
“Forget it.” Brooklyn shook his head. “If it’s taking you that long to answer, I know what the answer is. And it’s fine, I was only joking anyway.”
“What would I do if you kissed me?” I repeated quietly. I stared at him.
“It’s okay, we can definitely pretend that I—”
“I guess there’s only one way to find out.”
Brooklyn’s eyes went wide, his brows raised in astonishment. I watched as it faded into confusion, then hesitation.
“Are you serious?”
“That phrase seems to keep coming up.”
“That’s probably because this is nuts.”
“You’re the one who sug—”
Brooklyn’s lips cut me off. They were on mine before I realized he’d moved. He leaned in, his left hand going to the back of my head, pulling me towards him. My body moved of its own volition—certainly not under conscious control, because my mind was still trying to process what the hell was happening.
Brooklyn had kissed me. Brooklyn was kissing me. As in, still engaged in the act of.
I should probably pay attention.
His lips were soft but insistent and they moved across mine gently, massaging them, until I found myself opening up to him. He tipped his head forward, sliding his lips across my mouth, and I felt his stubble graze my chin. And then his tongue was on mine, quiet and sweet. I could hear our breathing in the still night air.
He slid his right hand behind my back and pulled me forward. I let myself be pulled. It was strange, letting someone else take the lead in a kiss. But not altogether unpleasant. And he certainly knew what he was doing, the way he kept his palm on the small of my back and kneaded the muscles in my neck ever so slightly.
I let out an involuntary moan when he bit my bottom lip and sucked it into his mouth before releasing it. Fuck, he was a good kisser. I was starting to lose control of things, starting to lose track of the fact that I was kissing a guy in a bar for the first time, and slipping into just enjoying it.
I was enjoying it a little too much, maybe. Because as Brooklyn’s tongue caressed mine, and his hands kneaded tension out of my body that I hadn’t even realized I was holding, I felt my cock begin to stir, waking up to the fact that this was definitely not just an experiment, this was something that, God help me, I wanted. The longer this kiss went on, and the warmer my body became under his hands, the harder I got.
Brooklyn tugged me closer, and I felt like I was falling. I reached a hand out, bracing against his chest to keep my balance. I tingled, feeling his pecs beneath that one, thin layer of T-shirt. What would it feel like to touch his skin?
The neckline of his shirt was so close, and slowly, ever so slowly, I let my fingers creep towards it. Brooklyn slid his tongue along my lower lip like he was savoring the taste before kissing his way onto my jaw and down to my neck. His hand moved from my lower back around to my stomach, and then it dropped, coming to rest right where my cock was doing its best to strain through my jeans.
He stroked me there hesitantly, and I moaned. His second touch was firmer, more confident, and it made my eyes shoot open.
Holy fuck, what was I doing? I was in a bar, for Christ’s sake. And I was starting to lose myself, starting to let go in a way that was entirely unfamiliar and more than a little frightening.
I pulled back, my heart racing, and stared at Brooklyn. I had to tell him sorry, had to tell him this was a mistake. Not a mistake to kiss him, exactly, but a mistake to let either of us take this further. A mistake to give in to how much I wanted it.
He looked back at me, his eyes heavily lidded with desire, and my stomach tightened. He looked like he wanted me, like he wanted to keep going. He looked…he looked the way I must have looked, too.
It was time to put an end to this. For tonight, at least. Because even if part of me wanted to keep going, to see where this led, it was more than a little terrifying to realize just how out of my depth I was.
But just as I opened my mouth to speak, Brooklyn flushed. A tiny hint of pain crept into his eyes. I felt like I’d been stabbed in the chest.
Whatever I wanted, I knew that I didn’t want to see that. And so I changed what I’d been going to say.
“Do you want to come back to my hotel?”