19. Trey
Chapter nineteen
Trey
Fuck.
This is bad.
Jim and I went out to Olde Ebbotte Grille for a boyfriend experience. We do these a few times a month, and it serves a few purposes - he gets companionship he hasn't been able to find since coming out of the closet, and it gives him practice being comfortable "out" in public.
Jim's a nice man. I've caught longer, lingering glances from him when we're together, but he hasn't gotten the nerve to ask for more. So, I'm perfectly happy to continue booking his appointments.
But then Gareth walked in for happy hour with his coworkers a few minutes ago and it feels like a powder keg is about to go off.
I feel bad - guilty. Like I've somehow cheated on him, even though we never had that conversation.
Things may have progressed into less than professional with him - spending the night is definitely something I don't do with my clients.
But we're not together, so I'm not sure why I feel so awful.
Jim's tucked into my side, his lithe body fitting snugly under my arm. His hand rests on my thigh as my hand rubs up and down his bicep. We take turns spoon-feeding each other tiramisu, looking at each other lovingly.
Gareth's laughing with his coworkers at the bar, completely unaware that I'm even here, let alone on a date.
But it's as if he can feel me, because his eyes sweep the room and find me.
I watch in slow-motion horror as his eyes go from surprised, to happy, to slide down my side to Jim, then my hand on Jim's bicep.
His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. I can see from here the muscle in his jaw tick as he grinds his teeth.
This is a nightmare. When it's just the two of us it's easy to forget what I do for a living. I never wanted him to see me with someone else. I'm sick to my stomach at the hurt and anger I see flash across his face. I need to get out of here.
I flash my gaze to his, willing him to look at me and widen my eyes in warning. He looks around at the buddies he walked in with and continues their joking and jostling. Half of them look drunk already.
A wave of anger rolls through me. I don't know who I'm angry at right now; me for hurting Gareth, or Gareth for continuing to pretend he isn't hurt.
The waiter comes and delivers the check, and I drop my credit card on the tray. As the waiter leaves with a promise to return shortly, I give Jim a kiss on the cheek.
"Let me run to the restroom really quickly before we leave."
Jim's all sweet smiles and doe eyes as he makes room for me to get up out of our booth.
I walk past the bar where Gareth and his friends are, making a point not to look his way. The best scenario for both of us is to act like we don't know each other. What's he going to do? Introduce me to his homophobic friends? What am I going to do? Introduce one customer to another? Yeah, no.
I shoulder into the restroom and relieve myself at the urinal. I'm washing my hands when the door is thrown open hard enough that it bounces against the wall.
I'm rushed before I even get a chance to dry off my hands, and shoved into a stall. I'm a big guy and am not used to being manhandled.
When I get my bearings, it's Gareth, and he looks positively unhinged.
He's a few inches shorter than me, but he's pressed me against the wall with his forearm to my chest. His chest is heaving, his eyes blurry, his hair unkempt.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?!" he whisper-shouts at me, tears brimming in his eyes.
I place my hands on his shoulders, trying to calm him.
"Gareth, I don't know what you mean."
His forearm holds me against the bathroom tiles.
He's shaking. I could easily overpower him, but I don't think that's what he needs in this moment.
His other hand roams wildly, frantically, clutching at my neck, my hair, my chest, until he shoves his hand roughly down my slacks, eliciting a grunt from me.
He slams his mouth to mine before I can push him back.
I don't want our first kiss to be like this - angry and hurt and horrible.
His wild eyes finally latch onto mine, and he cups my dick hard. It swells at his touch, but it's not the right moment. This isn't sexual. He's angry and trying to claim me.
"Why the fuck are you touching him?! You're mine. Goddamnit, Trey, you're mine," he growls, a tear finally breaking free.
Jesus, I've really hurt him. How do I tell him that I'm not sleeping with anyone else? That I want to be his. I want him to be mine. I was going to ask him out, on an actual date soon.
But a sickening realization settles over me. What if he doesn't want to be "out" yet?
"Walk back out of here holding my hand. Introduce me to your coworkers as your boyfriend," I challenge.
It's a shitty thing to do, and everyone's experience coming out of the closet is unique and shouldn't be pushed.
But I can't be with him the way we both want, if he's still firmly in the closet.
He leans back as if I've punched him, fear crossing his features.
My stomach sinks. He's not ready. How long am I going to wait for him? I'm here, ready to quit sex work for him, ready to move him into my house so the kids can have their own rooms again and a backyard.
And he's still got both feet firmly in the closet. He's been so comfortable being with a man, but apparently the progress he's made in the bedroom hasn't spilled over into his public life.
"I... I... I can't," he whispers, horrified.
My heart breaks. For myself. For him. I've fallen in love with him over these past few months.
Against my will. I knew he was trouble. I just didn't realize how much this would hurt.
It's not even a rejection. It's not an "it's me, not you".
It's that his fear won't let him. And I won't help him stay in the closet by being a dirty little secret.
If it's what I thought he needed, I would.
But he deserves to live and love out loud.
Fuck his coworkers. They don't even know him.
They're not his friends. And he's still terrified of their opinion.
I sag in defeat. "That's what I thought."
And when I turn to leave, he lets me.