Page 23 of The Texas Sterling Collection
I backed up against the island and laughed, rubbing my noggin. “Sorry.”
“My fault.” Wyl laughed with me and reached down to pick up the lemon. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Wyl reached for my hand, placed the lemon in my palm, and curled my fingers over the fruit. “I’ll use this approach from now on.”
“I like this better than catching.” I realized what I said and how the words may sound. Not that I didn’t enjoy his touch. I hoped he enjoyed it as much as me. “I mean…”
“I do, too.” Wyl released my hand and stepped back. “My fault for the lousy throw.”
“But…what I said…”
“Look, we’re friends, right? If you don’t want me touching you, tell me. Otherwise, I like rubbing your shoulder or grabbing your hand as a friend. No hidden meaning.”
After rinsing and drying the lemon, I peered at Wyl. “I don’t mind the touch. Many people think touching a gay man will turn them gay or something. I don’t want you to think I’m coming on to you.” I held out my hand.
Wyl grabbed my hand and tugged me closer. “You’re intelligent, witty, and fun to be around. You don’t care about my darker skin, long braid, or Apache heritage. I’m relaxed and happy around you.”
“Why would your skin, hair, or genes make any difference?”
Wyl let go and twisted around from side to side, glancing behind him. “I can’t see the label, but I think these are Wranglers.”
After I laid the lemon on the breakfast bar, I punched Wyl’s shoulder. “Shut up. Not that kind of jeans.”
“Roddy, it’s like when people shun you being gay. A segment of the population resents anyone who is different, and skin color is a trigger. They call me Indian, injun, or spic if they think I’m Hispanic. I don’t make friends because people think I'm something I'm not.”
“But…you are a clean-cut Marine.”
“People only see the skin color and the braid. They make assumptions”
I huff. “That’s not fair.”
“People beating you up because you’re gay isn’t fair either.”
“You're right, but I like your braid and never thought about your skin color or heritage.”
“Rod, from the day we met, you treated me with respect. You opened yourself to me and invited me in. When I asked you to be my friend, you didn’t hesitate. I wish all people came across as genuine as you. So, let’s accept each other as friends and stop worrying about who is touching or a hidden meaning in something we do. My fellow Marines never shied from grabbing a hug, massaging a shoulder, or pinching a butt. Why should we be?”
I nodded. “Okay.” I reached up and squeezed Wyl’s shoulder. “Thanks.”
Wyl smiled. “Okay, friend. Wine or beer?”
“Wine. Something red and dry.”
“How about a Zin?”
“Zinfandel is one of my favorites,” I said. “Excellent choice.”
Wyl selected a bottle from the rack. “This Old Vine Zinfandel is from a California winery my parents visited. It’s one of the best and is now aged.”
“I never expected to meet anyone in Blackfield as urbane as you.” I placed a hand on his arm. “I worried about making you uncomfortable because I hesitate to make friends, too.”
Wyl chuffed out a breath. “Uncomfortable is sticking your arm inside a cow to help birth a calf. Uncomfortable is size twelve feet in size eleven boots. You do not make me uncomfortable.” He grabbed my arm and pulled me over to a stool at the breakfast bar. “Now sit, and let’s enjoy these still-mooing steaks.”
Chapter Fifteen
WYL
