Page 26 of Edge of Darkness (Night Prowler 4)
“Okay, we’ll start at the bottom. Assholes, well that speaks for itself. The tricky thing with an Asshole, though, is that they can manage to convince you—sometimes well enough so you’ll marry them—that they’re not really an Asshole. They’re generally charming, intelligent, and magnetic, and it’s easy to mistake that magnetism for maturity, for authentic masculinity. They’re fun and dynamic, they’re exciting. But their true nature eventually reveals itself. These are the guys who walk slightly ahead of you, just a little bit faster so you have to hurry to keep up. They always forget how you take your coffee, they flirt with other women right in front of you, they drive like madmen and tell you—not very nicely—to lighten up when you remark that you’d rather not die in the passenger seat of their car.
“They commit all kinds of minor, seemingly forgivable trespasses against your self-esteem, they make you feel slightly off-kilter and convince you it’s your problem, not theirs. They are masters of manipulation, utterly narcissistic, and very, very seductive. At first. You will never feel so desired as when an Asshole has you in his sights. But as soon as the conquest is made, he’s off to greener pastures and you’re left feeling like a baby duckling who’s had a nuclear bomb dropped on her head.”
Ember laughed. “Duly noted. No Assholes. What about Betas? Isn’t that a fish?”
He chuckled, nodding. “Close. Betas are much more sensitive and nurturing and seem like ideal husband material compared to the Asshole. Again, at first. They won’t stray, they won’t lie, they’re usually solid as a rock. And twice as dull. They’re the mama’s boys, the wimps, the conformists who don’t have the spine to stand up for themselves, let alone anyone else. Ultimately, they bring out the worst in a woman because of their failure to take charge in the relationship, the way a man secure in himself and what he has to offer would take charge. Betas let you have your way in everything and you end up feeling overworked and underappreciated. You end up feeling like their mommy because they’re too scared to make the hard decisions for themselves. If the words, ‘Yes, dear,’ ever leave a man’s mouth, you know you’re dealing with a Beta. There are a lot of women who’ve had enough of Assholes and settle down with a stable, passive Beta, only to regret it for the rest of their lives.”
Okay, that was a lot to take in from a man with a face covered in green beauty cream.
“And the Alphas?”
Asher sighed. “Ah, the elusive Alpha. The cream of the crop, so to speak. He is masculine in the purest form of the word; confident, capable, fiercely protective of those he cares about, a good father to his children, and a good lover to his woman. He won’t always go along with what you want because he’s got his own ideas of how things should be done, but when it really matters, he’ll listen to your opinion. And your feelings. Though he doesn’t often talk about them, he’s not afraid of feelings—yours or his own—and he’s not afraid of commitment like an Asshole is.
“The flip side of that coin is that he’s not afraid of confrontation, either. He’ll call you out on your bullshit. He’ll stand his ground when you fight but forgive you as soon as the fight is over. He says what he means, he means what he says, and he’s someone you can lean on when times are tough. He’s assertive, self-determined, and everything a real man should be. You might not always agree with him, but you will always admire him, and feel cherished by him. That’s how you know you’re dealing with an Alpha male.”
There was a long silence after this speech, in which the two friends stared at one another and the only sound was the clock ticking on the wall.
“Forget about writing about sports, you should write a romance novel! How do you know so much about men and women’s relationships anyway? I mean, seeing as how you only date men?”
Asher cocked his head and smiled at her, slightly sad, and very knowing. “I’ve been around a long time, honey, and I’ve seen a lot of things. I was thirty years old before I came out of the closet, and I dated my share of women before then, let me tell you. Being gay wasn’t accepted back in the day the way it is now, especially in the States. There was a time a man could be arrested just for dancing with another man in public, and I lived through that. I lived in the Village when the police raided Stonewall and sparked the riots. I grew up in a time before Gay Pride, activism, and tolerance, back when the FBI kept records of openly out gays and the Post Office kept track of addresses where materials they labeled ‘homosexual’ were sent. I served in the Marines for eight years and every single day of that time I was scared shitless someone would find out I was gay and deem me unfit to serve my country.”
Ember looked at Asher’s full head of dark hair, the smooth, unlined skin around his eyes, his baby soft hands and muscular limbs. “Ash, I know you once bit my head off for asking this question, but exactly how old are you? I thought you were like, I don’t know, fifteen years older than me?”
He beamed. “Oh, honey, that is so sweet! I’m telling you, if you take care of your skin you can look young forever. Sunscreen is your friend. And…I may have had a little maintenance nip and tuck here and there.”
When she raised her brows, Asher said defensively, “If the roof of your house collapses you don’t just leave it there and say it’s aging gracefully, right? No, you fix that sucker up! Also, remember these two very important words: Bo. Tox.”
He waved a hand, indicating this part of the conversation was over. “Anyway, after thirty years of living a lie, do you know who the first person I told the truth to was?”
Ember shook her head.
“My mother. God bless her, she acted as if I’d just told her I passed the Bar. She said, ‘Finally!’ gave me a hug and a kiss, and that was that. And then I called all the girls I’d dated in college and afterward and told them, too. Every single one of them—except Mary Catherine Campbell, she was always an uptight little priss—told me they were happy for me and wished me well. There were a few tears, a few mutters of ‘I thought something was odd,’ but on the whole they were amazing. So I have experience in relationships on both sides of the aisle, but women have always been my best friends. Just like gay men, they understand what it’s like to be marginalized. They know what it’s like to have to keep their mouths shut and their heads down and their true hearts locked up tight. They know how it feels to smile so hard their cheeks hurt while inside they’re dying.”
He closed his eyes and let out a long, heavy sigh. “Or maybe it’s just because they dress so much better than most men.” He glanced over Ember’s outfit of sweats and a T-shirt and sent her an affectionate smile. “Present company excluded, of course.”
Ember felt a sudden, warm tenderness for him, this comrade-in-arms who’d learned all about pain and shame and loss. It pierced her heart like a spear and she had to make a joke in order to lighten the mood and hold back the tears. “I don’t know, Ash, that outfit of yours isn’t going to win any fashion awards.”
He pretended outrage. “This kimono is Gaultier, honey!”
She smiled. “I should’ve guessed.”
“And don’t think I’ve forgotten yo
ur promise of movies and tapas, baby girl. Get on it.” He shooed her off the couch and lay down with his bare feet up on the arm at one end while Ember went to the kitchen and dug around in the junk drawer for the takeout menu.
Just as she was about to dial the number to the restaurant, the phone in her hand rang. She looked down at it, saw who was calling, and the folded paper menu slipped between her fingers and drifted unnoticed to the floor.
“Hello?”
Her voice was low and a little breathy, as if she’d run across the room to pick up the phone.
“Did you get the flowers?” Christian said, smiling. He’d wanted a bigger display, but the flower shop only had a vase large enough to hold one hundred of the beautiful lavender roses, and he thought sending another vase of a hundred might have been overkill. Especially since she seemed determined to keep him at arm’s length. He was determined to keep it that way, too, but still—a few flowers couldn’t hurt.
“I did.” Ember cleared her throat. “They’re beautiful, thank you. That wasn’t necessary.”
She sounded lukewarm about the roses, a little businesslike, and it made his smile turn to a frown. Did she think he had some ulterior motive for sending them, perhaps to get a better price on the copy of Casino Royale? That was a disturbing thought, and couldn’t be farther from the truth. He’d simply been driving down Las Ramblas, spotted the little floral boutique, and given in to the strong impulse to buy her something that might put that spectacular smile back on her face.
“I didn’t get a chance to ask you what your favorite flower was, so I sent mine.”
