LUKA (The Rhythm Series, Book 2) (13 page)

“I know and I’m sorry. But . . . I just want the evening to go well.”

I scrubbed my hands over my hair.

“This is bullshit!”

He tried to grab my hands and hug me, but I pushed him away roughly.

“Please, Luka. These are my friends.”

“And what am I?”

“Everything.”

His reply stopped me in my tracks, but then my lip lifted in a sneer.

“If that was true, you’d accept me as I am.”

“I do! I do accept you! I lo—I really like you.”

I blinked, pain and pleasure shooting through me. He said the words like he meant them. Almost. But what was love? Just one chance to get it right? Or horribly, horribly wrong.

“You . . . you love me? It’s too soon to say that.”

“Is it? Maybe, I don’t know. I’ve never felt . . . so much. It scares me how much.”

His beautiful blue-gray eyes were glazed with passion and a little desperation.

I dropped my gaze. “I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do.”

I chewed on my lip and looked away.

“So now if I don’t do what you want, that makes me an ungrateful bastard.”

“That’s not why I said it.”

His voice sounded pained but lined with exasperation, too.

I didn’t want to love him—that wasn’t part of the plan. It was supposed to be a summer thing, casual, fun. Not . . . not what it was becoming. I didn’t do serious. I stayed away from complicated. Being bi was complicated enough. People would say they accepted it, but I could see the questions, the doubt in their eyes. Even Seth. Especially Seth.

I stayed away from relationships and kept everything platonic with my work friends. Or I tried to. But this felt like the beginning of needing someone.

I was fucking terrified.

“You understand what you’re asking me to do by lying to them?”

I could tell from the look on his face that he knew.

Coming out as gay or bi is one of the hardest things you can face as a teenager, even as an adult. To be confused about your sexuality, to know that you’re different, but not to understand how or why. First, you have to face the truth yourself—that’s really hard, really painful, because you know you’re separating yourself from the norm for the rest of your life. No wife and 2.4 children for you.

Then, you have to tell your friends and your family. And that can go really, really badly. Speaking from personal experience.

It took even longer to recognize and acknowledge my bisexuality. So for the man who was becoming important to me, for him to ask me to lie—it really fucking hurt.

He was watching me, his eyes pleading.

“Fine. I’ll do it. But don’t ask me to lie for you again.”

He walked up and put his arms around my neck, resting his cheek against mine.

“I won’t. I promise.”

I let him hold me for a second, and then I pushed away, picking up my jacket and keys as I went.

“Where are you going?”

“Home.”

“But . . .”

“I need some space.”

“Luka, I . . .”

“Just for tonight.”

He nodded, his expression torn. My place in his life seemed fragile, uncertain.

“I’m sorry,” he said again.

“Yeah, I got that.”

“I love you, Luka.”

I didn’t reply.

By Monday evening, I’d let the irritation fade, and I’d let Seth make it up to me in bed. He was a very sensitive lover—he seemed to know what I needed before I did. It made the sex hotter. If it meant more than that, I wasn’t admitting it.

Seth had planned to bring in caterers until I reminded him that I could cook.

“But I don’t want you spending your day off in the kitchen,” he said.

“I don’t mind. I like cooking. I was thinking pea and mint soup, mushroom
rižota
—risotto to you—with
kislo zelje
—you’d call it sauerkraut, and
palačinke
for desert.”

“Sounds wonderful. Um, what’s paller-chinker?”

I laughed at his butchered pronunciation.

“They’re thin pancakes filled with nuts and apricot jelly, topped with melted chocolate and served with sour cream.”

“Wow, you can do all that?”

“My
babica—
my
grandmother taught me.”

“Have I told you lately how amazing you are?”

“Not since I was fucking you last night.”

His eyes crinkled at the edges as he grinned back at me, running his tongue over his teeth. Then he glanced at his watch.

“Ah, shit. I’m going to be late. You’re really okay with making dinner?”

“Sure. Just bring wine. Lots of wine.”

“Got it. Or I could bring champagne.”

“Are we celebrating?”

“Always,” he winked at me.

I pulled him toward me and kissed him hard. “Now get your sexy ass out the door. I’ll see you later.”

“You think my arse is sexy?”

“Yeah, especially when I’m pounding into it.”

He left, grinning, with a promise that we’d be returning to that topic later.

I spent a chill day shopping for groceries, cooking and hanging out with Michael.

I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I wanted to make a good impression for Seth’s sake because it seemed to matter to him. But it was my night off, so I wasn’t shaving and pale gold stubble covered my cheeks and chin. Arlene insisted that her dancers were clean-cut. No body hair either, so once a month, I got a chest, armpit, sac and crack wax, as well as a spray tan. Fun times. Contractually, I didn’t have to do the manscaping, although a lot of male dancers did. For one thing, it makes your dick look bigger, not that I had any concerns in that department. But when I dance, I sweat a lot, so I just prefer it.

I changed into my favorite jeans and a long-sleeved knit tee that belonged to Seth. But then he texted me to say he was running late.

I’m on my way. Promise. Please don’t boil Michael!!

But he still wasn’t back by the time his first guests arrived. Unfortunately, it was the dickhead Julian with a new guy that I didn’t know, named Eugene.

“Oh!” Julian said with exaggerated surprise. “You’re answering his door now?”

I smiled and moved to let him in. “Looks like I am.”

“Something smells good,” Eugene said politely, handing me a bottle of Prosecco.

“Seth uses this amazing catering service that . . .” began Julian.

“Actually, I didn’t,” Seth said, appearing from behind and shrugging off his jacket. “Luka cooked. Sorry I’m late, baby,” and he kissed me firmly on the lips and squeezed my ass.

I raised an eyebrow, surprised by his territorial possessiveness. I hadn’t seen this side of him before.

“Eugene’s right—it smells amazing. I’m just going to jump in the shower. I’ll be right back.”

“What do you think of Seth’s little Euro twink?” I heard Julian say to Eugene.

Yeah, I wasn’t going to let that go.

“Do you have a problem with me?” I asked, leaning against the doorframe so my biceps bulged and my six-foot height towered over him.

“Not at all, darlin’,” Eugene answered for him with a smile. “Just crazy jealous of your hotness, that’s all,” And he winked at me.

I turned my eyes to Julian who seemed surprised that I’d called him out. He refused to look at me and pushed past into the living room.

“Don’t worry about him,” said Eugene, slapping me on the shoulder. “He’s been PMSing all day. Now, let’s get this party started.”

More people arrived, including Jeff, Chris and Edwin that I’d met at the
Yard
,
and a couple of older guys, until there were ten of us sprawled out in Seth’s enormous living room, drinking and chatting in small groups.

Seth’s friends were welcoming and curious—except for the dickhead—appreciative of the fact that I’d cooked for them.

Seth helped me serve the food, and I was pleased with the sudden silence that descended as they tasted each course.

Jeff turned to Edwin with a grin.

“I’m trading you in for Luka—he cooks better than Paula Deen and has eyes like Paul Hollywood.”

“And a body like Steven Chevrin. Flirt away, darling, he won’t look twice at a teletubby like you.”

“Maybe he likes chubsters.”

And they all turned to look at me expectantly.

“Chubster?” I asked, pretending I hadn’t understood. “Like Seth?”

I stroked my hand down his chest, enjoying the feeling of hard planes and lean frame.

Edwin laughed at the look on Jeff’s face.

“Never mind, lardy boy, I still love you.”

“Nothing wrong with a little flesh on the body,” Jeff grumbled.

But I could tell that he and Edwin were good together.

“Queers are such body fascists,” chuckled Chris. “Oh you know we are, darlings. Us fuller-figure types have to put up with two lots of discrimination. Being plus-size and walking into a club like G-A-Y was worse than coming out to my Aunt Grace.”

“Yeah, no pecs, no sex.”

“Not necessarily!” Jeff laughed.

“What happened?”

“She cried and asked what she was supposed to do with the Christening robe she’d crocheted for my firstborn. It had only taken her 11 years.”

We all laughed, because what else can you do?

“Everyone knew I was gay before I did,” said Eugene in his musical Irish accent. “I worry about that. At primary school, all the boys wanted to play football at break time. I didn’t. I wanted to stay inside and do Art. I was a gold star at Art, but I was only a brown star at football.”

Several of the others murmured with sympathy. I understood what he was saying, but I’d always liked soccer. Still did. I didn’t play very often because a bad tackle could put me out of work for months.

“Ah, my school was very holy,” Eugene went on, a broad grin on his face. “I was taught by the Christian Brothers. I t’ink that’s where I got me love of leather. Never without the strap, them Brothers.”

“They . . . beat you?” I asked, uncertain whether he was joking or not.

“They did indeed,” he said solemnly. “I still like a little bondage and leather to this day.”

He smiled, but I saw the sadness in his eyes.

“The day I left school, I planted a smacker on Paddy O’Donnell’s mouth, right there in front of all the teachers during Assembly. We rode out of there on his scooter. Ah, great day, so it was.”

Then he turned to me.

“What’s your story, Luka? I already know all these gossipy little Tinkerbells. How did you come out, beautiful?”

Seth pulled a face, and I knew he was worrying that I’d tell them I was bi. I was tempted, and not just because of the four glasses of champagne I’d drunk.

“A teacher at school saw me being sucked off by an older guy in the locker rooms at school.”

There was a shocked silence.

“Shite, sorry,” said Eugene. “I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just one of those dinner party questions . . .” his words tailed off.

I shrugged.

“I got called
fegi
, fag, gay, for years because I went to dance classes. I beat the shit out of anyone who called me that. They left me alone pretty much. I didn’t think of myself as gay.”

“Obviously not if you got sucked off in a changing room by an older boy,” sneered Julian.

“Since I’d been dating girls, yeah, it surprised me,” I said calmly.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Seth said tightly.

That made me pissed, because I knew it wasn’t concern for my
feelings
.

“I don’t mind,” I said, throwing him a challenging look.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned back in his seat with his arms crossed.

“The teacher told the Principal, and the Principal told my parents. My mother hit me so hard she knocked out a tooth. My dad threw me out, so I went to live with my grandmother.” I paused, seeing the looks of acknowledgement and recognition on their faces. “Things were better after that.”

“How old were you?” Eugene asked gently.

“Fourteen when it started; fifteen when they found out.”

I picked up my champagne flute and took a long drink.

Seth gave me a sad smile.

“The gang already knows my story,” he said softly, watching me the whole time. “I was 23 and I’d just broken up with my long-term girlfriend, upsetting my mother’s plans for a big wedding and grandchildren. I’d known Edwin since university and needed someone to talk to. We went for a drink together and I got bladdered. We ended up at
Heaven
and I had my first gay experience in the men’s lavatories.” He smiled. “And very nice it was, too.” His smile fell. “Telling my mother ranks as one of the worst days in my entire life. It was two months before she spoke to me again, and only then because Sarah begged her.” He shrugged. “A lot of dreams were destroyed that day,” and he looked directly at me.

I nodded minutely, showing that I understood. It explained so many things: why he hated the fact that I was bisexual; why he didn’t want anyone to know. I didn’t like lying to his friends, but at least now I understood his reason.

Shame
.

He thought he knew what his life would be, and now he was having to find a new path. He was still struggling.

“Wow, that’s a real mood killer,” said Eugene. “Maybe I should tell you about the dream I had last night. I was in this changing room and there were all these men’s clothes scattered around. I knew, I just
knew
that all these gorgeous guys were naked in the sauna. So if I could just get inside . . . but there was this really irritating noise, and I didn’t know where it was coming from. It sounded like a pig with sinus problems:
Uuugh-snort-uugh-gggggng
.”