Page 54 of The Legend Next Door
You know what, fuck it. I have the weekend off for the first time in a really long time. The entire weekend. I can let my hair down as much as I want tonight. I have the whole day tomorrow to recover.
Jeremiah and I each carry a couple of platters and bowls to the living room and sit on the good sofa. The Hot Sardines are playing their soulful, sultry brand of jazz. A distinctive sound that’s somehow youthful and nostalgic at the same time. A sound that’ll transport you to a dark, smoky bar in New York if you let it.
Part of me, the part that’s spent most of today trying not to think about purple sex toys, was worried it would be awkward when Jeremiah got here. It isn’t though. It’s the opposite of awkward. We fall into an easy conversation about everything and nothing. Jeremiah still has his cap on backward, and for some reason, that makes a lot of what he says very funny.
“So, are you going to reschedule with that guy? The random?” I ask, despite the fact that it has nothing to do with what we were just talking about, and I promised myself I wouldn’t bring it up again.
“Nah,” he says. “That ship has sailed. I’ll find another one when I can be assed. Like I said, one of the perks of being gay is that it’s easy to get laid.”
Prickly heat crawls in my chest and snakes downward. “And that’s what you want? To get laid left and right?”
“'Course it’s what I want. Who doesn’t want that? Don’t act so surprised, Ben—I told you I was a perv the day we met, didn’t I? The first day on the porch. I did. I remember because your face went like this…” He opens his eyes really wide and pinches his mouth into a small, tight dot.
See?He’s being so funny tonight.
“I didnotpull that face…but yeah, you did say you were a perv.”
I raise my glass to my lips and take a sip, letting it pool in my mouth for a beat so I can appreciate it. It’s good. Balanced and complex with a light floral note.
Fortunately, it pairs well with melted cheese.
Jeremiah chuckles softly. “So, yeah, being an established perv, getting laid is what I want. Of course it’s what I want. I’m a horny little shit, and I like doing horny little shit things…” His voice drifts and fades as though he’s forgotten he’s talking. Or he’s forgotten who he’s talking to, “…right up to the point I get what I want.”
Even though the relief is the same as it was last night, weighted and profound, this time, it’s tinged with concern. His expression has changed. Humor has been wiped off and replaced with something else.
“Then it’s not what you want anymore?” I finish for him.
“Yeah.” He sighs, and when he speaks again, his voice is quieter. “Then it’s not what I want. When it’s done, and I’m home, I feel…I dunno…used, I guess. Then I feel sad. Then I feel bad. Then some time passes, and I feel horny again, so the whole cycle starts all over again. It’s a bit of a shit show, really. A catch twenty-two. Sex is right there, ready to be had, but it’s not what I want. At least, not the way I want it. I want something that’s… Something that isn’t impersonal or mean. Or meaningless. I want to wake up with the same person over and over and know that they don’t regret what they did with me when post-nut hits. Or hurt me. Or leave me. Or ghost me. Or cheat on me. Basically, I want to be with someone who makes me feel safe, not like a piece of shit.”
“I know what you mean about impersonal sex. I was a slut before I met Liz, but”—his eyes widen more than they did when he was doing his impression of me. His neck goes pink and a little blotchy. Must be the wine. Red wine makes a lot of people flush—“I don’t think I could go back to that kind of fucking. Once you’ve had sex that matters…”
There’s a painful stab in my side, between my ribs. A missing. A warning. A reminder that since I’ve opened the floodgates with Jeremiah once, they’re unlocked for good. They could open again at any time because he knows me now. Really knows me. I don’t mind that he knows me. I like it, but the Ben that cried in his arms isn’t the version of myself I want to be tonight. I want to be the old Ben. The one that was happy and fun. “It’s hard to go back.”
“I wouldn’t know,” he says. “I’ve never had sex that mattered.”
“Surely you can have it if you want it?”
“Oh, you’d beveryunpleasantly surprised by what dating while gay is like. The bar is so low it’s in hell. It’s a shit show out there. Getting laid is one thing, but trying to date is…fuck. It’s hard. It’s an awful, counterintuitive mess because the apps make it so easy to hook up, but they also make it so hard to find something that sticks. Something real. Something that lasts for more than one night.”
I top off his glass and mine and try to imagine a world where a guy like Jeremiah doesn’t have an army of men lining up, wanting to sweep him off his feet. I can’t see it.
Mind you, I’ve been out of the dating world for over a decade, so what do I know. Maybe things have changed.
“God,” I groan. “I’m no help. I know less than nothing about dating anymore. Did I tell you what happened the other day? With that woman in the park?”
He shakes his head firmly. “No, you didn’t.”
“Are you sure? I thought I did.”
“Yep, I’m positive. If you told me about an altercation you had with a woman, I would have remembered. Believe me.”
Wait. Is he flirting again?
He looks away and a gentle line forms on his cheek, near the corner of his mouth. When he looks back, his eyes flicker, heating and darting left then right as he takes the measure of me.
He is flirting. He definitely is. That look was flirty as hell.
Not that I’m complaining.
