Chapter 6 Alexander
SIX
ALEXANDER
A lawyer? I’m not so sure. Will I fit into his A-gay world?
I don’t even own a suit, but maybe he likes a guy who’s rough around the edges when the suit comes off.
I suppose I should worry about that later.
Dirk is gorgeous and I’m doing this, so the potion must have a plan.
The results were instantaneous, so that’s something.
It’s not like I had to do anything. We had our leash-fueled meet-cute, and all I need to do now is call him for the rest of the romcom to play out.
But the image of Emerik kissing me on the beach sticks in my head and I can’t shake it. There’s obviously a spark there, literally. We’ve barely met, but there’s something about him…I can’t quite put my finger on it. Comfort and attraction and admiration all wrapped up in one adorable package.
Max leads us down the sidewalk to Perk Up, a cute neighborhood coffee house with a mom-and-pop vibe.
Art on the wall, interesting pastries, and the sign I always look for: Fur People Welcome.
As I’m reaching to open the door for Emerik, it slams open, nearly smacking me in the face.
A guy dressed in dance gear—leg warmers, rainbow headband, and tights that leave nothing to the imagination—backs out juggling a box full of coffees, shouting, “Coming through, girls.”
“Rude!” I mutter as he pushes past us, but then he looks over and catches my eye, stopping in his tracks.
“Well, I never!” he gushes. “Alexander Cooper. My stars, girl, the years have been good to you.”
I look again and barely recognize him under the makeup. Seth Sweeney, the only proudly out student in my high school class.
“Sorry about my hissy fit, handsome,” he apologizes. “I’m late to my rehearsal, and it’s my turn to fetch the life-restoring stimulants.”
“No problem, Seth. Good to see you again. It’s been years.
” I always had a thing for him, or maybe more of a wistful feeling.
I have to wonder: what would my life have been like if I got to know him in high school, and didn’t dither so long before coming out?
He always seemed to know exactly who he was, and I’m still trying to figure that out.
We never had much in common, but maybe opposites attract?
“Too many years,” he says, looking me over. “Honey, you’re all grown up. Tragically, I need to dash, but the show is opening on Friday. If you’re interested in catching up, I’ll leave you a ticket at the door. And one for your, um, boyfriend?”
“Thanks,” I say, not quite knowing what else to say. “This is Emerik. We’re just friends.”
“Nice to meet you, friend of Alexander,” he says, giving Emerik a few fingers to shake.
He turns back to me and says, “Don’t forget, sweets.
Friday at seven, the Next Stage, downtown.
Drop by backstage after the show and we can get all caught up.
” He packs a lot of promise into that word all, suggesting that he’ll introduce me to everything I missed out on in school.
He breezes off to his car with a new lilt in his step, and all I can do is stare at his perky butt. That was odd.
When we get inside, a sporty fellow in rugby gear is in line before us. He’s patting his tight shorts, pulling our focus to his shapely ass, and he says in an exasperated voice, “Sorry. I left my wallet at home. Could you cancel my…”
Emerik immediately steps up to the counter and says, “You can put that on my bill.”
The guy looks at him and smiles, saying, “Thanks, champ! Just when I was thinking the world was shit.”
“I’m happy to help,” Emerik says, stepping back to me.
His smile gets even bigger, looking at the two of us.
“You know, guys, I’d like to return the favor sometime. Any chance you play rugby? I organize a gay group. We play down at the park on weekends, and we’re always looking for new blood.”
I say, “I used to play in high school, but it’s been years.”
“I bet you did,” he says, giving me a once-over and nodding appreciatively.
Emerik laughs and says, “I’m afraid I’m not built for it.”
“No problem. We’re competitive, but friendly about it. You’re welcome to join us and watch when your boyfriend plays, if that’s better. I’ll also be happy to give you both some personal training.”
“Um, we’re not…” Emerik starts, but the sexy stud continues.
“Really, think about it. If you don’t want to play, we have a few rugby widows at the game who always seem to have even more fun than we do on the field. I have a little website with the schedule…take a look and you guys can join us sometime.”
He dashes off a name and web address on a napkin and hands it over to me. Beckham. Why am I not surprised?
“Thanks again for covering the coffee,” he says, giving Emerik a rather masculine slap on the shoulder. “I’ll be sure to pay it forward.”
He grabs his coffee and heads out the door, smiling and shaking his head.
“Hey, Emerik,” the cashier says. “The usual?”
“Perfect. Alexander, how about you?”
“Flat white, and two of those cookies for my pup…and let me get it.”
The place is filling up as we loiter by the counter, waiting for our drinks.
Emerik ordered something fancy, so it might take a minute.
I watch the barista, a cute hipster fellow with a ponytail, face hidden behind an epic beard.
His nimble fingers fly, but he keeps darting shy glances at me as he works.
He’s adorable, but so young. That beard, though, looks entrancingly soft.
He sets up two drinks and calls, “Alexander.”
I reach over, and my flat white has a beautiful heart in the foam, complete with Cupid’s arrow. The barista gives me an adorable glance just as a thick, hairy hand reaches past me to the cup.
“Think that’s mine,” the guy says in a gruff basso rumble. He’s a giant, towering over me in a red-checked flannel shirt, open enough to show an expanse of wiry black chest hair. My hormones threaten to make me do something foolish with all that manly vigor right there, easily accessible.
“Yours is up next,” the barista says, looking at the lumberjack with an apologetic pout.
“Sorry, boss,” the hulk says to me. “Name’s Alex too. I’ll get out of your way.”
“No problem at all,” I say, grabbing both drinks.
Emerik watches the whole scene with an amused smile. When I hand him his sweet concoction, he says, “If you have a minute, let’s sit. We should talk about this.”
We find a seat by the window and Emerik gets to work on his whipped cream, saying, “Seems like my coven and I may have made the potion a bit too strong.”
“It does seem to be giving me, um, options,” I say, watching the other Alex give me a rather suggestive glance as he pushes out the door.
“Sorry about that,” Emerik says. “As I said, potion-making isn’t an exact science.”
“Not a problem,” I say, and it’s true. “It’s already been a lot of fun, and I have some exciting possibilities. Any of them could turn into something special, and I’ll certainly have a good story to tell when it all sorts itself out.”
“Thanks for being a good sport about it,” he says.
Just then, Marty Jameson, of all people, walks in. We were best friends in trade school, friends with benefits, but we drifted apart when he moved east for a job. Damn, he still looks great. He was bulking up for a bodybuilding competition when I knew him, but he looks even thicker now.
“Alexander!” he booms. “As I live and breathe!”
“I just leave you to it,” Emerik says, standing to leave, and adds, “Whatever you do, don’t drink any more of that potion.”