“Fine. But I may not sit with you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, you will.”
“Maybe, but I’m not providing dinner. It’s your turn, and it has to start with an F.”
“What the fuck does that mean?”
George punched in a code and double-checked the button alignment on his shirt. “Days of the week. Monday meatball, Tuesday tamales…the first letters match. It was a Murphy thing when we were kids.”
“Murphys are weird,” I sighed.
“You’re weird.”
“You’re weirder.”
“Good one.” He scooped his cape off the stoop and carefully tied it around his neck. His expression was suddenly serious. “Nothing changes tomorrow, Aiden. We can’t be different. We can’t look at each other differently or expect anything different. We have to be us.”
It was tempting to go soft and use my most reassuring tone to let him know I’d follow his lead, but that wasn’t the way things worked with George. He didn’t speak that language. So I pulled my keys from my pocket and narrowed my eyes.
“If you try to kiss me again, all bets are off, Murphy,” I singsonged.
He flipped me off, then opened the kitchen door and disappeared inside.
Balance restored.
I pulled my plaid shirt on and carried my cum-stained T-shirt, whistling as I strode down the driveway. Tomorrow might be another story, but for the first time in a while, I felt cautiously optimistic about the future.
5
Aiden
“Got plans tonight?”
I glanced sideways at my cousin from under the hood of a Chevy Malibu. “Yeah. Why?”
Timmy wiped his hands on a dirty-looking rag. “Oh? Hot date?”
“I’m going to a baseball game.”
“With a new girl?” he prodded, lifting his brows.
“No. With George.”
“The guy with the cape?”
“Yep.”
Timmy crossed his thin arms and leaned against the side of the car. “Cancel your plans. Shelly has a friend she wants you to meet.”
“Maybe another time.”
Timmy didn’t budge. “The Dodgers’ season hasn’t started yet, so this can’t be an important game. C’mon, Aiden. It’ll be fun. I’ve met this girl. She’s pretty, big tits, nice smile. What’dya say?”
“Nope. Thanks for the invite, though.”
“Man, I can’t believe I’m being thrown over by a gay dude and a mega minor baseball game. This must have something to do with his truck or your school or something. What are you up to, cuz?” he asked suspiciously.
I shot a sharp look his way when Hank ambled into the garage, blustering about deadlines and assholes who want deals.
The last thing I needed was Hank’s two cents about anything in my personal life. I didn’t want to hear his views on using company time to fix a friend’s ride or fraternizing with queers or whatever bullshit he decided to spout just for the fuck of it. My time and my friends were none of his business. Of course, Hank wouldn’t see it that way.
And Timmy knew it. I gave him my best “Let it fucking go” look.
“Nothing.”
He glanced at his dad, then at me, and sighed. “Okay. I’ll hit you up another weekend. You need to get laid. Not gonna happen if you’re hangin’ with the gays all the time.”
I fixated on the maze of wires, idly wondering how fast I’d get kicked out of here if any of these guys knew what I’d done this week and what I wanted to do. On one hand, I legit didn’t care, but family really wasn’t that easy. The process of slowly cutting ties was already in effect. But it was going to happen on my terms. Not Hank’s.
Geez, I was nervous.
And I didn’t get it at all.
I reminded myself that this was just a casual night out with an old friend. No big deal.
That didn’t help. I was jumpy and jittery, like a kid on a wicked sugar high as I bypassed my usual path up George’s driveway and headed for the one leading to the front door. I knocked, then stuffed my hands into my pockets and peered through the leaves of the giant amber tree at the stately homes on the quiet residential street.
This was the “nice” area. Some of the houses in this part of the city were over a hundred years old and were well-preserved with antique light fixtures, neatly trimmed hedges, and flower boxes under wide picture windows. George’s rental had a slightly dilapidated air. Like an old lady wearing crooked lipstick and mismatched shoes. You could tell she was beautiful once and now was a tad…eccentric.
Speaking of which…
“You must be the Bronco whisperer. Come in, come in.” A fastidious-looking small blond with round glasses and a cheery smile ushered me into the semidark foyer.
“Thanks. I’m Aiden. Nice to meet you.”
“I’m Asher. George is choosing a hat. I told him fashion matters…even in baseball. He didn’t know what team your players are associated with, so he’ll just have to wing it.” He pointed at the U of M tee I wore under my green plaid button-down. “Is a local team playing Michigan and if so, who are you rooting for?”