Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

Chapter 12

CHAPTER 12

FORD

Zachary hadn’t gotten back to his hotel room to text me until after 1am. I’d been dead to the world, so we missed out on a repeat of yesterday evening’s fun.

I hadn’t lied when I’d told Zachary that experience had been mind-blowing. I couldn’t wait to do it again. I thought I remembered being similarly enthusiastic about sex when my ex and I had first started having it. But over the years, the desire had dulled. Or maybe—the lightbulb moment felt like a punch to the gut—as we’d pulled away from each other emotionally, I’d been less and less comfortable being intimate.

This demisexual stuff was fascinating. I wished I’d figured it out sooner.

I spent the morning relaxing by the pool. Zachary texted me around 10am to tell me he was being coerced into helping set up for the ceremony, but he’d text me to see if I was free if he had any spare time. I’d texted him back something cheerful, but I could admit to being disappointed. I doubted he’d have time to talk. Or do other things.

Maybe tomorrow. He’d be done with his wedding obligations, and all I had was a bus tour in the afternoon. The city’s annual architecture celebration was starting this weekend. My bike tour later today was also all about architecture. I wasn’t particularly interested in building design myself, but Modern & More Bike Tours had had amazing reviews online, and I was looking forward to seeing more of the town. Plus it was another gorgeous day, perfect for resurrecting my bicycle-riding skills.

After a light lunch I presented myself at the bike rental company where I was to meet Brennan, the tour guide. I was the first tour attendee to arrive. Brennan was about my age, handsome with reddish hair bleached by the desert sun, energy for days, and more muscles in his legs than I had in my entire body.

“Hi, I’m Brennan! Welcome to Modern & More Bike Tours! We have a pretty small group today, so you won’t have any trouble hearing me, and when we stop to talk about a house, I’ll have more time to show you photos of the interior on my tablet.”

I faked enthusiasm. Maybe there’d be a cute dog or two along the way. And, I reminded myself, I could use the exercise.

The bike rental people helped me choose an easy-to-ride cruiser, and I practiced riding it in the parking lot while we waited for the other guests. After a wobbly start, I was pleased to feel my body remember how to balance.

“Good job!” Brennan praised me like I’d praise a puppy who’d peed outside instead of on the area rug, and I felt the same urge to wag my tail. Positive reinforcement for the win.

I stopped the bike and dismounted with a minimum amount of awkwardness. “Thanks. I’m surprised how natural it feels. It’s been over twenty years since I’ve ridden.”

He nodded. “Don’t worry, we’ll go slow, and there’s a break in the middle at a coffee shop. Are you in town for Modernism Week?”

I shook my head. “Not specifically. I just needed a vacation. I, uh, don’t know much about architecture.”

He chuckled. “No worries. I’ve got you covered. And if you need any recommendations for things to see, restaurants or whatever, let me know.”

“Thanks, I might take you up on that. My original, uh, plan for the week kind of fell through, and I’ve got some extra time on my hands.”

Just then the door to the bike shop burst open, and the bridal party from Monday night’s drag queen bingo stormed in. Vivian, Regina, Fallon, Jaquae, and Charlene all squealed, “Ford!” when they saw me. They were the entire remainder of the tour group, so it’d be the girls and me. That’d be okay. They’d been enjoyable to talk to on Monday.

Except Fallon and Charlene had to tell Brennan how they’d met me, and the way they told the story, I sounded like a sad stray animal they’d had to rescue.

Suddenly looking at house photos on Brennan’s tablet seemed like the best idea ever. Maybe he’d let me ride my bike next to his for the entire three hours of the tour. That wouldn’t be creepy, would it?

Charlene squealed, “This is a sign, Ford! You have to come out with us tonight! We’ll help you find a cute guy!”

Brennan must’ve seen the desperation on my face. “Sorry, ladies. Ford’s a friend of a friend of my husband’s and mine, so he’s having drinks with us after this.”

I nodded sorrowfully at the girls, and when they turned to look at the bikes, I mouthed, Thank you! at him. He just grinned. He probably had to deal with a lot of bachelorette parties, now that I thought about it. Palm Springs was full of them.

Eventually we were underway, first crossing a fairly busy street but then cocooned in the quiet neighborhoods filled with expensive homes built in the 1960s.

I did my best to keep up with Brennan as he led our little group. Luckily the girls were mostly interested in chatting with each other when we weren’t stopped to hear about this or that historically significant home. I was pleasantly surprised at how interesting the spiel was, though that was in no insignificant part due to Brennan’s engaging delivery. At many of the stops he did pull out an iPad to show us photos of the décor inside, or of the celebrities who used to own the homes we were looking at. It helped me connect to the information and have more of an appreciation of how Palm Springs had been developed.

Huh, I was learning about architecture and enjoying it. Who would’ve thought?

By late afternoon I was regretting how little sunscreen I’d put on and more than ready to get off the bike. Back at the bike rental place, I was guilted into hugging the girls goodbye, but I determinedly went to hang out by the register as if I were waiting for Brennan to finish his paperwork or whatever he had to do.

They left at last, heading for some trendy hot spot to have refreshing cocktails. That didn’t sound bad at all, but I wasn’t in the mood to be their pet gay tonight.

“I’ll wait here for a few more minutes until I’m sure they’re gone, then I’ll call a car,” I told Brennan.

He looked at his watch. “I’ve got about an hour to kill before my husband gets done with work. You up for a margarita?”

I blinked. “Seriously? I mean, sure, but don’t feel like you have to.”

He waved this off. “Today’s the last day before Modernism Week starts. I’ve got bike tours in the mornings, and I volunteer as a guide for the architectural bus tours in the afternoons. It’s a lot, and a margarita is exactly what I need to fortify me.”

I smiled. “Okay, but I’m buying.”

He drove us to an out-of-the-way Mexican restaurant that smelled amazing. I figured I’d stay and have dinner when Brennan left to go home to his husband. But I was already hungry after the long bike ride, so I ordered us some guacamole to go with our margaritas.

A few minutes into our noshing and sipping, he asked, “So what was the big plan you had for your vacation? The one that fell through?”

I winced. Of course he’d remember me saying that. Well, what the hell. It wasn’t like I’d ever see him again. “I was going to get laid.”

He coughed, choking on the chip he’d just put in his mouth.

“Shit, sorry. Here, have some water.” I handed him the glass.

After a couple of sips, he made a go on gesture. “I gotta hear this. You shouldn’t have any trouble getting laid, especially here in Palm Springs. And, why can’t you get laid at home? You’re from Austin, right?”

I ducked my head in assent. “Nearby.” Fuck it, might as well spill the entire tale. “I got married when I was thirty. We lasted four years before we admitted we were better friends than spouses. She moved out of state, and I started my own veterinary practice.”

“Okay, then what happened?”

I shrugged. “It’s more what didn’t happen. I got caught up in getting the clinic off the ground, and there was always an emergency, or one of the vets called out. A couple of years ago I looked around and realized I hadn’t had sex since my wife and I split.”

He blinked. “Wow.”

“Yeah.” I sipped my margarita. Brennan wasn’t the only one who needed fortification. “I’m bisexual, but I’ve never been with a man. So I decided I wanted to have sex again, but with a guy.”

“And this was an issue at home? Austin’s got a decent LGBTQ scene.”

I grimaced. “That’s the thing. My little town, Bent Oak, it’s hella queer. I swear three-fourths of my clients are gay men. But sleeping with any of them would be... awkward.”

He winced in sympathy. “Yeah, I get it.”

“So I planned this trip. I scheduled things like the bike tour—which was excellent, by the way—but I left my evenings—and, uh, mornings—free so I could....” I made a vague circular motion with my margarita glass.

“Boink?”

And then I was the one coughing.

Brennan smirked, but then he sobered. “So what went wrong?”

I told him about going to the bar Monday night and not finding anyone sexually attractive. “When I told my friend Zachary about it, he suggested I might be on the ace spectrum.”

His expression changed to one of understanding. “That makes sense.”

I nodded. “It took ages for me to even ask my wife on a date, much less have sex with her. Once we did, it was great, but getting there took a while. I feel silly for not realizing sooner that I was demisexual.”

Brennan shook his head. “You can’t beat yourself up. People our age, we didn’t have the knowledge about sexuality that we do today. We were pressured to conform.”

I tipped my almost-empty glass toward him. “Good point. Anyway, it doesn’t matter now. My dry spell is broken. I had phone sex with Zachary.”

Brennan stared at me. Then he held up a finger. “Hold on.” He waved down our server. “Two more margaritas, please.”