Unwrapping Hank (14 page)

“Why not?” I sputtered. “That’s your grand romantic philosophy? Why fucking not?”

“Maybe it’s a motto you should take up, Hank,” Micah told me with a serious glare. “Because yours seems to a whole lot of ‘no’.”

He turned to go out the door.

“That’s not fair to Sloane, you know,” I said loudly. “He doesn’t want to be your bi-curious boy toy.”

“I guess that’s up to Sloane, isn’t it?” Micah shrugged, in that infuriatingly laid-back way of his, and walked out.

        ~11~

Sloane

THERE WAS a last minute run to the mall, then Lilith and I took off for an hour working on our little project. We picked up the turkey on the way home, which had been cleaned and dressed and looked nothing like the bird I’d met personally earlier that week. And thank God for that.

When we got back, I spent an hour on the phone in the blue bedroom, chatting with Mom and Dad in Israel over Skype. They were having a nice time and were enormously guilt-ridden about making sure
I
was having a good time. I turned the camera so they could meet Grinch and that seemed to settle their parental nerves considerably. Before I knew it, it was time to get ready to go out to the friendly neighborhood drag show.

I was determined to have a fantastic night out. It was really sweet of the Springfields to find a show that was gay-themed. And they (read: everyone but Hank) seemed genuinely excited to go. As for me, I was going to look hot and make merry.

Since the mistletoe incident, everyone had been very careful not to mention it or seem upset. Hank and Micah both acted like nothing had ever happened, and when I tried to catch Hank’s eye, he gave me a wobbly smile and looked away.

The Mystery of H.S. #16: Had Micah’s kissing me really pissed Hank off? If so, why? But, as much as I loved a good mystery, it was Christmas Eve and this mystery was starting to get a little too deeply under my skin. My parents might be living it up in Jerusalem, but I was having my own grand adventure in Heartland USA, and I intended to enjoy every Christmasy, homespun minute of it. Maybe I’d even pick up a handsome Pennsylvanian—beard required—at Tally Ho. That would show Micah and Hank a thing or two.

I’d brought a club-worthy outfit just in case—a fitted mauve cashmere sweater that was soft as baby’s hair, and black pants that made my legs look long and my butt invincible. I even used some of the scent I’d brought with me from Paris. I didn’t like cologne as a rule, but this had a musky, earthy tone and was supposed to have pheromones in it. Or possibly that was just a marketing scam, but I loved the smell either way. I put a little behind my ears, in my elbows, and a dab on my balls.

Then I remembered Grinch was sitting by the closed door, watching me.

“You won’t mention that to anyone, will you?” I asked him. He did a curious head tilt, but he didn’t promise me anything.

*             *             *

Hank

I was leery about this whole Christmas Eve expedition, but I kept my mouth shut. I wasn’t going to be the party pooper, even though the idea of going to a gay bar—with my parents and Sloane and Micah—had me in a cold sweat. I wanted to believe they’d come up with this thing as a hospitable gesture toward our guest, and normally yeah, it might have sounded like fun. But there was a lot going on in my head. I had a sense that there was stuff happening under the surface of my skin that I didn’t understand, dangerous stuff. It was like taking a dip in a placid midnight lake only to realize it was full of piranha.

Did my parents think I was gay too? Were they trying to push me on Sloane? Was Micah just fucking with my head, or did he actually want to have sex with Sloane? And what if Sloane agreed?

And why did I care so fucking much?

When we got to Tally Ho, I relaxed a bit. It was a mixed crowd. There were couples of both types there and even families. We didn’t particularly stand out as we took our table, even though my mom was wearing a bright red Christmas sweater and ball ornament earrings. Sloane, however, did stand out. I could tell which guys in the crowd were gay, because they were all staring at Sloane. He was sophisticated in a way that was unusual for this town, tall and lean with that soft, purple-pink sweater hugging his toned upper body. His dark hair curled at his neck, and he’d just shaved so his pale cheeks were baby smooth for once.

Looking at him made me feel things—itchy, wanty things. I’d been trying hard to ignore the things Sloane made me feel. But whether it was the way he looked tonight, or the loathsome idea of Micah touching him, I didn’t seem to be able to control it anymore.

Our table had three chairs on either side. Sloane sat opposite my mother, in the middle chair, and Micah quickly grabbed the one on his left, so I took the one on his right, subtly pulling it a bit closer as I sat down.

Sloane turned his head and looked at me, full-on, eyebrows raised in a
what the fuck.
I managed not to put my hand on his leg only by picking up my glass of water.

What was I doing?

“What time’s the show start?” I asked my mother.

“Fifteen minutes.” She had a sparkle in her eyes. “This is so much fun! I’m so glad you’re visiting with us, Sloane. And it’s joy to have my two boys home for Christmas. I suppose there will come a day when that won’t be the case.”

“What are you doing after graduation, Micah?” Sloane asked, turning toward my brother.

“Not sure. There’s a job fair in January. We’ll see what’s out there for eco-science majors. I’ve also applied to the grad school program at PSU in case I don’t find a job. Pretty sure I can get most of my ride paid by TA’ing.”

“If you stay at PSU, will you continue as president of the Delts?”

“I guess that depends if anyone else wants to take it on. Last month….”

Sloane and Micah talked on. And on. There was a flirtiness to it, or possibly I was making up shit in my head. Whatever. I didn’t want to be there anymore.

I stood up. “I’ll go to the bar and get some drinks. What do you all want?”

“A server should be by in a minute,” my dad said.

“Okay, then I’ll just get something for me.” I walked away from the table.

There were a few empty seats at the bar. I picked one next to the straightest-looking guy in the place. I was already too confused for my own good, and I didn’t need to be hit on by a total stranger.

If gay men even found me attractive. Maybe they didn’t.

The guy was in his early thirties, and he was huge. He shaved his head and had a big reddish-blond beard. I sat down next to him on a barstool and ordered a Diet Coke. I had a fake ID, but I didn’t like using it and wouldn’t even try with my parents around. I snuck a sideways glance at my neighbor. Being seriously into muscle building myself, I appreciated his physique. He was wearing a short-sleeved T-shirt that showed off a powerfully built upper body.

He saw me looking and smiled. He held out his hand. “Hey, there. I’m Jake.”

“Hank.” I shook his hand, feeling stupid for having been caught looking at him. “I was wondering what gym you go to around here.”

“Eh, I just go to the YMCA. They’ve got a good weight room. You been?”

“Nah. I live in Mount Joy. Got a weight room setup in my parents’ basement.”

Jake turned and gave me an evaluative once-over. “Yeah, you look good, from what I can see.”

“Thanks. I’ve been training seriously for about four years.”

“Yeah? Lemme see your guns.”

I felt a little embarrassed about it, but I was wearing a long-sleeved black shirt so you really couldn’t see my arms. I clenched my right fist, keeping it low, and he felt my bicep.

He whistled. “Like a rock, man. A big fucking rock.” He sounded impressed. “What do you do for arms?”

My Coke came, and Jake and I sat and talked about our workout routines and protein shakes and some of the crazy people we’d met at the gym. It took my mind off all the shit that was rolling around inside me, and I found myself relaxing. I started having a good time.

“So, I’ve never seen you here before,” Jake said, as our gym talk lost steam.

“First time. I’m here with my family for the show.”

“Ah.” Jake tilted his head and gave me another evaluative stare. “You gay?”

The question shouldn’t have been surprising, given the venue we were in, but my relaxation evaporated in an instant. A hot, slightly nauseating wave of anxiety washed through me.

“I don’t know,” I said. It was the first time I’d said it out loud.

Jake pursed his lips thoughtfully and nodded at me. “Well, what do you think?”

“I… I don’t look gay. I don’t act gay. The stuff I like to do—not gay.”

Jake shrugged. “Because you love lifting weights and doing ‘boy stuff’?”

I shrugged.

“Do I look gay to you?” Jake asked.

He hadn’t when I sat down, hadn’t while we’d been talking, and I looked at him more closely now, looked into his eyes, trying to see some telltale sign. But there was nothing. “No.”

“Well, I am. And see that guy over there?” He pointed to another buff older guy, this one with long hair like a redneck. “That’s Charlie. He’s gay. And that guy….” Jake continued to point out a handful of men in that room, men that I wouldn’t have guessed were gay in a million years.

“Guess my gaydar sucks,” I said.

“Hey, little muscle dude. It’s not about what you look like on the outside, it’s in your mind.” He tapped my temple. “It’s how you’re wired, what floats your boat, know what I mean? Who the fuck knows what causes it. I mean, why do some guys get off on dressing up like a baby or seeing grown women wear Catholic school uniforms? It is what it is, man. Own that motherfucker. That’s my motto.”

I felt something inside me ease a little, like a catch in a muscle that finally lets go. Maybe I’d been looking at it wrong. Maybe admitting that I was attracted to guys didn’t mean I had to change who I was. I loved the gym, and I loved tattoos, and I loved being a sweaty, beefy guy. I was more conservative than my parents… but Jake was no more fem or liberal looking than me and he was gay.

And maybe, too, I didn’t have to have the entire thing figured out to the last detail before I said or did anything about it. God knows, I hadn’t come to any definite conclusions about anything else in life. Imperfect understanding is the human condition. George Soros said that. Who the fuck am I to think I’m smarter than him?

“Hey, thank you. That helps a lot. It was great talking to you, Jake. I should probably get back to my family, though.”

“Take my number, little muscle dude. If you ever want to talk, or maybe work out, give me a shout.”

I put Jake’s number into my phone, and he hugged me roughly before I went back to my table. Ah, man. There was something to be said for Christmas spirit.

*             *             *

Sloane

The show was a riot. It was a contest where various men in drag would get up and sing or do comedy or a dance number. At the end, the audience got to vote on their favorite via the highly scientific method called ‘the loudest applause.’ The acts were more than a little raunchy, a lot campy, and awkward in ways that were priceless.

Hank had come back from the bar looking relaxed, and the Springfields all seemed to like the show as much as I did. Kar laughed so hard, he had tears in the corners of his eyes, which made Micah and Hank laugh harder.

When the show was over, Lilith and Karma suggested we stay and do some dancing before we went home. There was a little wink-wink-nudge-nudge to it that implied they wouldn’t mind some time alone on Christmas Eve. Micah and Hank seemed determined to ignore that innuendo.

They hugged all three of us before they left.

“Merry Christmas, boys!” Kar said. “Have fun and remember, Santa won’t bring you presents if you’re too naughty tonight.”

“And don’t forget—you two are underage.” Lilith looked at me and Hank. “And someone has to drive home. So stay sober.”

“I’m not drinkin’,” said Hank just as Micah said, “I’m totally fine.”

The brothers gave each other a frowny look, which was my cue to turn on my heel and leave them behind as I hit the dance floor.

I started dancing by myself, but it didn’t stay that way for long. A couple of gentlemen joined me in a heartbeat. I felt a little overwhelmed by the attention, honestly. I felt like there should be a coin slot on my belt buckle, sort of like a parking meter. But I danced, shying away whenever anyone tried to pull me closer for a more intimate grope-and-grind. I found myself scanning the sidelines to see where Hank and Micah had gone.

I spotted Micah a few feet away, dancing. He caught my eye and smiled, holding his nose and shimmying in ‘the swim’. I laughed, and he started to push toward me. That’s when I felt a strong hand on my elbow. I was spun around and landed against a muscular chest in a black shirt. Hank. He looked down into my eyes with a strange intensity.