Page 26 of Beau Pair
Gordon
Dolly and Zoe end up taking a cab home. Don’t ask me whose home. I’m too afraid to find out.
What Idoknow is that by Monday, Dolly has declared how much in love she is, and by Friday, they are officially an item and co-writing a book together.
You can’t make this stuff up. Honestly.
But I’m happy for her. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Dolly happy like this, and Zoe is the breath of fresh air she needs. I’m not exactly sure how long it can last, considering Zoe is twenty-one, and seventeen years Dolly’s junior. Reality says it can only be a fling.
Which is exactly why I can’t even contemplate making a move on Beau. He’s twenty-six years younger than me. Even if he likes me, it can only ever be sexual and last as long as it takes to fuck our whole lives up, and then I’d have to find a new au pair.
So, if that’s the case, why the hell can’t I get him off my mind? Why can’t I stop picturing him by my side everywhere I go? Why are Dolly’s words running through my head and begging me to challenge them?
This is the only reason I find any resolve in me—that and the fact that, you know, I’m a full-grown man in control of his feelings—not to do anything stupid. Anything that I, or both of us, oreveryoneis going to regret.
On Wednesday, I leave work early even though I’ve got a crapload of stuff to do. But my classes are done for the day, and I can assess the papers from home. I promised myself I’d cut down on work, so I have to start somewhere.
Okay, if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve been drawn home since Beau moved in. Even though Elsie is still with Dolly, and by extension Zoe, I just want to be around him, breathe in the same air, walk in the same space, co-exist with him.
Which is stupid. We live together, so we already do all of those things.
But I want more. More that I can’t have.
How on earth have I found myself in this situation at forty-seven? Weak at the knees, obsessed with a man so much younger than me, he could be my son. If I’d had any brains for children at twenty-seven of course. Or been straight, even.
The whole point of becoming parents with Dolly was that I’d given up on trying to find “the one.” The one doesn’t exist. It’s all stupid fairy tales I have no energy or heart to believe in anymore.
Maybe I need to get laid. Ever since Elsie has come into our lives, my sex life has taken a backseat. And those hookup apps are so… wild and uninhibited, even I’m scared to go anywhere near them and I’m a seasoned gay. I mean, who shares their kinks on hello?
Yeah, that’s what it is. I haven’t got laid in a while and poor Beau is the object of my sexual frustration.
I still have half a week until Elsie comes home, so there are still plenty of opportunities for me to find someone, anyone—anyone but Beau— to hook up with.
My brain is so occupied by my determination to get home, download those hookup apps again, and find someone to take the edge off, I almost miss the red light.
I press my foot down on the brake and the car screeches to a stop. A few passersby turn to look at my vehicle.
When the light turns green and I set off again, I realize there’s a minor issue in need of resolution.
Beau might have the same apps installed on his phone. Which means if I go online, he might see me. And even if I don’t use my pictures, he will be able to see my distance. And that’s not good.
That’s not good at all.
So, what do I do? Do I go out on the other side of town, so that even if he does catch me on the app, he doesn’t recognize me? That’s a bit far-fetched. I didn’t even go to those extremes when I wanted to buy condoms as a sixteen-year-old.
“For fuck sake. I’m a grown-ass man,” I shout inside the car, and immediately feel like a whack.
So what if he sees me on the app? I have every right to use it. And even if he does like me, we can’t act on it, so screw it. What if he stays with Elsie and me for five years? Does that mean I won’t touch another man? That's crazy talk.
When I finally pull in my driveway, I’m determined to stop thinking like a horny teen and act like me again. I feel like the forty-seven-year-old with the achy legs and the fucked up back man that I am. Not a pubescent idiot.
The house is quiet when I open the door, and I take my shoes off in the hallway as quietly as possible. Beau might be sleeping on the couch like last time I came home early, and I don’t want to wake him up. He’s a sight to behold when he’s asleep. Not that I was looking.
Remember, Gordon. You’re a fucking grown-ass man.
When I peek into the living room, he’s not there, so I put my keys down in the bowl by the corridor and walk to the kitchen island. He’s probably out or he’s napping in his room.
As I approach the fridge, I look over to the utility room door next to it. I did mean to do my laundry the last few days, but I’ve been so busy I kept forgetting. Beau has offered to help with housework, but other than cleaning up after himself, I don’t expect him to be my housekeeper as well as my daughter’s babysitter. It wouldn’t be fair to him.
