Chapter 6
Joey
“He’s straight,” I say, dropping my tool bag near Iggy’s feet.
My cousin blinks at me slowly, not looking remotely awake enough for this conversation. Hell , neither am I. I’ve spent the last two nights tossing and turning, replaying every single interaction I’ve had with Brad, wondering how the fuck I could have gotten it so wrong.
My gaydar has never been this faulty.
Finally, Iggy sets down his thermos of coffee and braces a hand on the ladder beside him. “We’re talking about Brad?”
I nod.
“The guy from the gym?”
Another nod.
“The one who gave you his number and told you to text?”
I cringe. “He was being friendly.”
“That’s…quite friendly,” Iggy points out.
He’s not wrong. The thing is… “I can’t fault the guy, Iggy. He’s… I don’t know how to explain it. He’s just good . He wanted to make a friend, and he doesn’t even realize how half the stuff he says sounds. And fuck , I just like him, okay? I do, and I know it’s a bad idea, but…”
“But?” Iggy prompts.
I groan. “I told him we could remain friends. And he’s trying to set me up.”
“The straight man you’re crushing on is going to find you a date?” he says flatly.
“I know , okay?”
“Do you?” Iggy says, finally cracking a small smile. He laughs lightly, shaking his head. I know the feeling. “You realize this is going to blow up in your face, right? Like…the more time you spend with this guy—”
“I know ,” I repeat. “But he’s just… He’s just Brad.”
“That literally means nothing to me.”
I sit on an overturned bucket and drop my head into my hands, scrubbing my face. A second later, Iggy’s palm lands on my shoulder.
“There, there,” he says, patting me twice.
“I’ve never crushed on a straight guy before, Iggy. I thought I was smarter than this.”
My cousin crouches down in front of me. We look a lot alike. Same dark brown hair and eyes. Same easy-to-maintain stubble. Even similar builds. “Are we positive he’s straight?”
I let out a breath. “He says he is, which is all that matters.”
My cousin thinks on that for a moment before nodding. “And you’re determined to be his friend?”
I groan again. “Yes?”
Iggy shakes his head, standing back up. “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. But hey, who knows? Maybe Brad will find you the perfect guy.”
He’s the perfect guy. Except for the tiny little teensy matter of his sexuality. And the fact that, no matter my own feelings, Brad could never love someone like me.
I drop my head again. I’m so royally screwed.
After allowing myself another minute to wallow, I join Iggy and the rest of our small crew for the day. Hanging drywall is a decent distraction from my thoughts, but when my phone vibrates over and over in my pocket around noon, I have a sneaking suspicion I know exactly who’s rapid-fire texting me. I make it all of five minutes before breaking and checking my messages.
Brad: Joseph-broseph, my man!
Brad: Are you busy tonight?
Brad: If so, clear your schedule.
Brad: You’re going on a date.
Brad: You might want to shave your balls.
Brad: Unless you don’t put out on the first date! Not trying to pressure you, dude. You do you.
Brad: Could you imagine being able to do yourself? I’ve heard some people can self-fellatio, but shit, man. I’m not that bendy. Are you that bendy?
Brad: You don’t have to answer that.
Brad: Shaved balls or not, get excited. I think you’re gonna like this guy!
Brad: I bought you lube.
I take a deep breath. Hold it. Let it out. Laugh a little. Then a lot. When my tears have dried up, I rub my aching chest.
100 percent screwed.
I must be a masochist. I didn’t know this about myself, but I don’t have any other explanation for why I’m meeting Brad outside a restaurant. For my date. With another man.
“Joey Kangaroo!” he calls. “You look banging!”
I don’t have time to respond—or cry—before Brad is greeting me with a hug. It takes me a second to realize he’s counting up from one.
“…five, six,” he says, letting me go. “Are you ready to get wooed?”
“Is…that what’s happening?” I ask, not actually having been given any details about my date tonight. Nor did I ask.
Ignorance is bliss and all.
Brad’s face dips into something close to a frown. “Well, it better happen. Otherwise the guy doesn’t deserve you.”
Oof .
“Don’t settle for less than you’re worth, Joey-roo.”
“Are, uh… Are you coming inside?” I ask around the lump in my throat.
Brad huffs a laugh. “No, man. I’ll wait for you out here. Could you imagine? Me crashing your date? Oh! Here. Your lube.”
I accept the sixteen-ounce bottle of lube Brad passes me, wondering if I’m dreaming. Or if, perhaps, this is a nightmare. “Um… Where am I supposed to put this?”
Brad frowns down at my pockets. None of them are big enough. He spins me around and pats my ass. “Huh.”
Hallucinating, maybe?
“Okay, I’ll hold on to it for you,” he says. “Just text me if you need it.”
“While I’m inside the restaurant?” I question. “On my date?”
Brad shrugs, like it’s perfectly reasonable that I might need sixteen ounces of lube on my first date inside what appears to be a mom-and-pop Mediterranean restaurant.
“What, uh…what’s this guy’s name?” I ask, feeling slightly faint.
“Oh! Lewis. He’s five-foot-eleven, a self-described twunk, and he’s really excited to meet you. No green eyes, sorry about that. They’re uncommon, did you know?”
I did .
“Where’d you find him?” I ask, my concern starting to grow. Honestly, I don’t know why it took this long.
Brad waves me off. “It was easy. I just started a dating profile for you on three different sites, mined through about six dozen messages, and decided Lewis was the place to start. Do you know how many dick pics I got sent, dude? One was wearing a hat. The dick. Not the guy. Don’t worry—it wasn’t Lewis. Good luck!”
Brad shoves me toward the door, my thoughts stuck on the many dick pics he was apparently sent. In a single night. While trying to find me a date.
Was he analyzing which ones he thought would be best for me?
The idea is alarming. Oddly gratifying. More than a bit confusing.
The door to the restaurant jingles as I pass through. Belatedly, I realize I have no clue what Lewis looks like beyond five-eleven twunk . As it turns out, it’s not difficult to spot him. He waves, a giant smile on his face. He clearly recognizes me. Which begs the question…
When did Brad get my picture?
I head Lewis’s way, my mind racing a mile a minute. Admittedly, I don’t have high hopes for this date, but I try my best to paste on a smile regardless. Lewis deserves me leaving everything else behind and making an effort tonight.
And, maybe, I deserve that, too.
“Hey,” he says, standing as I approach. “Joe, right?”
“Joey, actually,” I tell him, although it’s not even close to the first time someone assumed Joey is a nickname, as opposed to my legal name. “Joe is fine, though. You’re Lewis?”
He nods, his gaze raking over me as the both of us sit down. “Shit, you’re even hotter in person.”
“That so?” I ask carefully.
“Yeah. You could hardly see your face in your profile pic.”
What in the hell did Brad post?
“I’m glad you agreed to meet,” Lewis goes on. “It’s so hard to find guys who are into the same thing as me.”
I swallow, filled with equal parts dread and curiosity. Curiosity wins out in the end. “And, uh, what would that be?”
Lewis gives me a secretive grin. “Watersports.”
Oh, God. Oh dear God.
When I leave the restaurant three and a half minutes later, Brad does a double take.
“Dude, you’re done already?” he asks, eyes widening as I grab his arm. I lead him around the street corner, out of sight of anyone coming or going from the restaurant. In particular, Lewis.
“I told you I liked boating,” I say, letting him go.
He nods. “Yeah?”
“Which, I assume, you put as enjoying ‘watersports’ in my profile?”
“Yeah?” he says again, slower.
I let out a breath, a small laugh escaping with it. “He wanted me to piss on him, Brad. You know… watersports ?”
His eyes ping wide. “Oh, my god. Is that… Oh, no. I owe Belinda the biggest apology. Dude , I didn’t realize.” He cringes. “I take it you didn’t want to piss on him?”
“No,” I say plainly, huffing another laugh. “I did not.”
Although the ridiculous thing is, if Brad asked me to piss on him ? I’d probably agree. Hell, I might even be into it. Just the idea of him standing in the shower, water dripping down his back and ass stuck out as he waits for me to mark—
Nope . No, no. Shut it down.
“Damn,” Brad says, sounding bummed. “That’s too bad. Poor Lewis.”
“Uh-huh,” I mutter, scrubbing my face for what feels like the hundredth time today. “Poor Lewis.”
“Oh, man, no,” Brad says, stepping closer and rubbing my arms in a soothing manner. “Joey, we’ll find you your guy. This was just the first attempt. A blank shot, if you will. Don’t…don’t worry. Next time, it won’t be a dry run.”
I let my arms drop. Brad is smiling at me encouragingly, and it’s all I can do not to kiss him. Not to take his face in my hands and just…kiss him for every goddamn thing I’m worth.
Instead, I ask, “Can I see the picture you posted of me?”
“Sure,” he says, pulling out his phone. He flips the screen my way after a minute of tapping.
The shot is taken from behind. I’m in the middle of a sumo squat, a barbell resting on my shoulders, my gym shorts clinging obscenely to my ass, and my thighs straining with the move.
Good grief . I suppose it could be worse. Somehow.
When I look up, Brad is still smiling at me.
“When did you take this?” I ask, although it must have been when we worked out together.
“The other day at the gym!” he answers. “Look at your form, man. Beautiful.”
My heart thumps painfully.
“Hey, Brad? Think we could grab some dinner?”
Before I faint.
“Oh, sure, dude! Yeah, you’re probably hungry. Sorry again about Lewis. The next one will be better, I promise. I’ll switch that whole watersports thing to motorboating. No way to confuse that.”
As Brad grabs my arm, leading me around the corner and in the opposite direction of the Mediterranean restaurant, I wonder what it is I’m doing. Iggy is right. This is bound to go badly for me. Yet I can’t make myself stop.
Don’t even want to.
“Thai?” Brad asks, stopping in front of a takeout place.
I nod in agreement, and he opens the door, waving me in with a grin. Brad and I order our food and get in my truck to head to his apartment. It’s a little surreal stepping through his door, considering the last time I was here I was striking out with a straight man.
This time, I follow Brad inside. His place is neater than I expected it to be. Maybe it was a poor assumption on my part, but based on Brad’s chaotic energy, I figured his home would reflect the same sort of mayhem. He does have a couple controllers out on the couch and more than one coffee mug sitting on the low table in front of it. But, otherwise, everything is clean and tidy.
Brad swings into his kitchen. “Drink?” he calls.
“Water?”
He returns with two bottles, our food hanging off his arm. Brad bypasses the dining table, so I follow him into the living room, taking a seat next to him on the couch.
“How’d you get into construction?” Brad asks, setting our drinks and food down on the coffee table. I have no clue what he ended up doing with the lube, but I’m afraid to ask.
“It’s a Delgado family trade,” I tell him, accepting the to-go container Brad passes me. He opens up his own before giving me an expectant look. “My dad and uncle co-owned the business before my dad passed. We never got on well, me and my dad. At least, not after he and my mom divorced. But…I always liked the idea of construction. Of working with my hands and building something from nothing. Always loved the smell of sawdust, too. It reminds me of my childhood, I guess. Or at least the good parts.”
Brad nods before saying, softly, “Delgado. That’s your last name?”
I nod, and he whispers it—“ Joey Delgado ”—like he’s testing the syllables on his tongue. I shouldn’t like that so much.
“And you?” I ask.
“Bradley,” he answers before taking another bite of his food.
I pause, my fork halfway to my mouth. I set it back down. “Your name…is Brad Bradley?”
His head bobs in a nod.
Oh, good Lord.
I have to ask… “And your middle name?”
“Ulysses,” he answers, easy as pie.
I take a slow breath. Expel it. Hold back my laugh. “Your full name is Brad Ulysses Bradley?”
“Sure is,” he says, shooting me a grin. “What’s your middle name?”
“Francis,” I tell him.
He hums. “I like Joey-roo better.”
Clearing my throat, I say, “You realize when you call me that, you’re basically calling me a baby kangaroo-roo?”
Brad pauses, considering that, before a smile splits his face. “ Dude . That’s awesome.”
I huff a laugh and pick my fork up again. “Whatever you think, bub.”
His eyes widen to a ridiculous degree. “B-U-B. Bub. Holy crap! I never realized.” He lets out a small laugh, sounding so pleased my chest warms. “That’s pretty perfect, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I agree, trying not to think too hard about why the endearment felt so good to say. Nor why this right here feels like an infinitely better date than my brief meeting with Lewis, even though this isn’t a date at all.
No, I don’t linger on any of that. I enjoy my dinner beside Brad Ulysses Bradley, and when he asks me to tell him more about construction, it’s all too easy to let the hours while away.