A Kind of Romance (5 page)

“I’m impressed. You went to Hoboken twice a week?”

“Fuck you.” He chuckled good-naturedly. His eyes creased enticingly at the corners, giving him a boyishly sweet look no amount of eyeliner could hide. “I haven’t been in a while, but I’m going next week. I told Shirley I’d sub for someone on her team.”

“Do you have a big family?”

“Gigantic. I’m Italian. It comes with the territory. My immediate unit is just Mom and me, but I’ve got more aunts, uncles, and cousins than the average human.”

“Trust me, I know the feeling. I’ve got the big Jewish family instead of the big Italian one. Every birthday party and anniversary was a freaking event when I was growing up. It still is that way. No one does things quietly in the Gulden family.”

“Same here. Where I’m from, the quiet ones get ignored. You have to yell to make yourself visible. Or dye your hair.” Benny winked before throwing his hand in the air to get Don’s attention.

Don nodded and motioned to me, silently asking if I wanted another. It would be number three. Hmm. I started to protest but decided to drink slowly instead. Hanging out with Benny wasn’t so bad. Sure, he was dressed a little… differently, but he was easy company. And there was something refreshing about being with someone so comfortable in his skin.

“Did you dress like that when you were growing up?”

“Insulting. Try again.”

I gave him an exasperated look and downed the last of my martini just as Don arrived with the next round. I gently tapped my glass against Benny’s, accidentally nudging his thigh when I turned. The innocent contact made me curiously hungry for more. I pushed the thought aside and concentrated on him.

“What I was trying to ask was—well, no… actually I got it right. Did you? The colors, the makeup… it might be politically correct to say they hardly matter, but let’s be honest, kids aren’t particularly PC. Especially teenagers. You’d have either been teased, beaten up, or both if you’d gone to my junior high school wearing pink.”

“I was,” he said blandly. “Adolescence is not for the weak-spirited gay boy.”

“Truth.” I tapped my glass against his and took a healthy sip.

“Adulthood isn’t, either,” he added with a laugh. “At least I have a better understanding of the kind of idiots I’m up against now. I’ve learned along the way it’s best to just be yourself. You can’t rely on other people to make you happy or speak up for you.
Il silenzio non fu mai scritto
.”

“The silence doesn’t… what?” I prodded.

“‘Silence was never written down.’ It’s an Italian proverb. Loose translation…. ‘Speak up, be heard. Don’t let anyone turn you into a blank page.’”

“I like that.” I grinned, cocking my head sideways to get a good look at him. “I can’t imagine anyone turning you into a blank page. And this might be a strange segue, but I also can’t imagine you wanting a career in the food business. What are you gonna be when you grow up?”

“A costume designer. I’m going to conquer Broadway first. Hollywood next.”

“By way of bagels?”

“Ha. Yes, and pizza. Go on… laugh. It may seem far-fetched, but I have a degree from NYU, and I’ve taken a ton of classes at Parsons. I have an eye for color, texture, and can outsew almost anyone I know.”

“I believe you. Why costumes? Why not
regular
clothes?”

He rolled his eyes at my intonation but chose to ignore the dig. “Because theater is magic and costumes help transform the experience. I remember seeing my first Broadway show as a kid.
Seussical
. I loved the show, but what really got me was the set. The scenery, the….”

I studied his expressive face as he described the sets and costumes in detail. His long eyelashes batted as he warmed to his tale, and his eyes creased slightly at the corners. I noticed his vocal affectations and the way he carried himself. He moved like a dancer one minute and seemed to shift nervously in his chair like a kid the next. He was fascinating in the way odd people could be at times.

“When I graduated last year, I didn’t think it would be this hard to find a real job. I work as a stylist for Spiral, Rand’s band, too. I help them out when they’re local, but all that traveling isn’t for me. I’m still looking for something permanent. Thus the food biz. Bagels in the morning, Italian at night, and a whole lot of sewing in between.” He let out a self-deprecating sigh and smiled wanly. “Maybe someday I’ll figure my life out. Like you.”

His deadpan, teasing delivery made me chuckle. We shared a smile and let the surrounding conversations wash over ours for a moment as we sized each other up. This was surprisingly… nice. An unexpectedly pleasant diversion on an ordinary Friday night. And I had to admit, at least to myself, I liked Benny.

“Back to bowling… have you ever bowled a perfect game?”

To his credit, Benny switched gears effortlessly. He struck a comical pose with one hand on his hip in a gesture that plainly said “oh please.” I laughed and felt my shoulders slip away from my ears for the first time in over a week.

“I told you I’m good. I’ve hit three hundred a couple times. Not an easy feat. If you don’t practice regularly, it’s almost impossible.”

“Practice? It’s bowling!”

“It’s a sport like any other. If you don’t—”

“No chance! Baseball is a real sport. Or basketball. Bowling is something you do for kid birthday parties or when the weather is crappy and you can’t come up with anything more exciting than karaoke. Then you realize you aren’t drunk enough and it’s too crowded at the bar, so you go bowling instead. And eat a pile of nachos with a lukewarm beer or four. That, my friend, is bowling.”

Benny’s facial muscles twitched ever so slightly. There was a fierce spark in his eyes I found really fucking sexy. He knew I was teasing him to a degree, but he seemed conflicted about how to best deal with me.

“I challenge you to a duel.”

I barked a quick laugh and grinned at him. “With swords?”

“Kinky, but no. I challenge you to a game. And I promise to kick your ass. Are you in?”

I threw my head back and let out a hearty laugh. “You’re gonna kick my ass? I’d like to say there’s no way, but I haven’t been bowling in a while. My social calendar has been lively enough to ensure a trip to the bowling alley hasn’t been necessary. I’d need a little practice first.”

“Fine. We’ll bowl a practice round or two, and then… I’ll kick your ass. When are you free?”

“Really? You want to go bowling with me?” I asked incredulously.

“No. I want to kick your ass. Don’t tell me you’re nervous the guy with pink hair might actually be a better athlete than you?”

I sputtered like a fish out of water before I could formulate a response.

“Athlete? There is zero athleticism involved in throwing a rock down an alley and hitting a few sticks! Try hitting a baseball coming at you full speed, and then talk to me about a real sport.”

“You sound like a Neanderthal. Or Fred Flintstone. You can’t be that dense. I heard you graduated top of your class at Princeton. There’s got to be a glimmer of intelligence in your pretty little head.”

“Who told you I graduated summa cum laude?”

“Who do you think? George brags about you all the time. He conveniently left out the part about you being a hopeless know-it-all with tunnel vision,” he snarked. “Are you going to accept my challenge or insult my superior skill by labeling my ability as unworthy?”

“Damn. You make it pretty hard to say no without coming across as a real dick.”

“It’s a talent. So we’re on?” Benny held out his right hand. I eyed him suspiciously for a moment before taking it.

“We’re on. Text me next week and we’ll make a plan.”

“Look at us,” he singsonged. “We barely like each other, and we’re going on another date.”

I snorted derisively as I reached for my glass. “I like you just fine. But let’s be serious… this isn’t a real date.”

“What is this, then?” he asked with faux nonchalance.

“It’s a way to get my dad off both our backs. By the way, we better not tell him we’re going bowling too. He’ll start talking about grandkids. Keep it quiet.”

“I’m Italian. Quiet is hard for me, but I’ll do my best.”

“Please do.”

“I don’t lie well either. It’s a personality flaw. I can tell white lies all day long, but—”

“Where are you going with this?”

“If we say it’s not a real date, I might slip.”

“Okay. It’s a real date.”

“It’s not a date unless we kiss. At the very least.” His eyes twinkled merrily.

I knew he was playing with me. He probably assumed I’d back away and reset expectations. We weren’t sitting at a chic SoHo bar on a Friday night because we were attracted to each other. At least that wasn’t how it started, but the truth was I liked Benny more than I thought I would. I liked his spunk and his snarky sense of humor. Maybe my two and a half martinis had something to do with it, but I actually didn’t mind his over-the-top hair color or his bright shirt so much anymore. He was a good-looking guy. Kissing him would be no hardship whatsoever.

I stared at his mouth for a moment before leaning in to brush my lips against his. The contact was brief, but fuck, I had a feeling I wouldn’t forget it anytime soon. I won’t claim I saw stars or anything corny, but I felt an undeniable pull. An unexpected connection. Like an amplified version of that zing I’d felt in the hospital. The urge to deepen the kiss and slide my tongue alongside his was strong. Strong enough to freak me out. What the fuck was I doing?

My eyes snapped open. I leaned back on my barstool and noted Benny staring at me intently. There was humor in his gaze as well as something akin to desire. He felt it too. I could hear the clinking of glasses and the buzz of friendly conversation mixed with an occasional high-pitched laugh above the strains of a Cure song I remembered loving in college.
Just Like Heaven
. The song awakened a feeling of freedom and possibility I’d felt as a young gay man. Hearing it now seemed like a sign. We held eye contact for a second longer and then shared a light chuckle before pulling away.

And the spell was broken. Maybe.

I sat back on my stool, observing his graceful movement as he stirred the contents of his colorful drink with his straw. My hour was up, but I wasn’t going anywhere. I was curious about him, and he was right… I didn’t know nearly enough about him. I changed the setting on my phone to Silent and slid it into my back pocket.

“This is now officially a real date. Tell me something else I don’t know about you.”

Benny blushed. True, the lighting wasn’t optimal in our corner of the bar, but when he bent his head and nervously swiped at his hair, I felt perversely satisfied knowing he was in the same state as me. Confused as fuck, but willing to go along for the ride. At least for tonight.

WE TALKED
until midnight. I didn’t think about the time, nor was I tempted to check messages except once when Benny left to use the restroom. I’d missed about seven texts and a voice mail from Carter wondering where the hell I was. I typed a quick message letting him know I wasn’t meeting him tonight, to which he immediately replied with a thumbs-up sign and a winking emoji. I wanted to tell him he had the wrong idea, but I didn’t know what the right idea was, so I left it alone. I’d deal with my curious friend tomorrow.

Tonight I was content where I was, chatting away with a pink-haired fashionista who countered witty barbs with homegrown wisdom. Every story came with a prequel and epilogue. Sometimes he peppered Italian into his speech, especially if he was talking about his family. After a while, I hardly noticed his tendency to pitch his voice higher when emphasizing a point. It was strangely endearing. And the pink didn’t bug me. Not that he gave a shit either way, and maybe that’s why the bright hue faded from view. It wasn’t important unless I was stupid enough to make it so. I wasn’t.

WHEN WE
stood outside Antigua sometime after midnight, I wondered if things would get weird now. In the dark, the sway of his hips was alternately sexy and off-putting. But I was somehow aware it was
my
vision that was skewed. I was the one setting up barriers based on stereotypes, and I was as gay as Benny. Affectations, clothing, and a little hair dye didn’t make either one of us more gay than the other.

“Penny for your thoughts.” Benny bumped my elbow, interrupting my internal musing.

I gazed up at the street sign distractedly and stuffed my hands in my pocket. “You taking the subway?”

“Hell no,” he quipped. “I had a bad after-midnight experience once. I called for a car.”

“Smart. I’d offer you a ride home if I’d driven.”

Benny crossed his arms and gave me a thorough once-over. He’d done it a few times tonight. Each time the gesture seemed to indicate he was seeing something different. It might be good, bad, or plain irritating. But this time, I could tell he was pleased, and fuck if my designer jeans didn’t feel suddenly snug.

“That’s awfully gallant of you. I’ll take you up on it when we go bowling. Unless you want to take the PATH to Hoboken,” he teased.

“I’m not going to Hoboken. There are bowling lanes in Manhattan.”

“True.” He narrowed his eyes and hummed softly. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I want to kiss you again,” said someone who sounded like me.

Surprise and pleasure flitted across his lovely face. He gave me a crooked smile that slowly blossomed into a gorgeous megawatt grin I couldn’t help returning. I moved toward him and raised a tentative hand to cup his chin. This wasn’t a dare or a trick. This moment in the moonlight wasn’t orchestrated. It simply was. I could take it or leave it. His gaze was steady. I had a sudden notion I was looking into the eyes of an old soul. The shirt, the hair, and the eyeliner were surface affectations, designed to fool the casual observer so he could hide in plain sight without ever truly giving himself away. I smoothed my thumb over his bottom lip and then bent to kiss him.

It was a featherlight connection. A mere touch. Until he licked the corner of my mouth. I crushed him against me and drove my tongue between his lips. He tasted like honey and sunshine and something I’d always wanted but didn’t have the name for. I ran my fingers through his hair and tilted his head to deepen the kiss, loving the feel of his small body and sure hands on my back and over my ass.