Too Stupid to Live(Romancelandia) (3 page)

Sam didn’t go to urgent care; he went to the cafeteria and got coffee. Then he sat down and stared off into various spaces, thinking.

Unrequited love. The bane of the romance novelist. Although it led to a hell of a lot of successful plots.

Actually, it wasn’t so much the bane of the romance novelist as the bread and butter.

Not a plot one wanted to undergo in one’s own life, though. It never seemed to work out quite the same way it did in books. Sam had a lifetime of experiences that told him that.

He was pretty sure he was supposed to want a guy like himself. An awkward, intellectual not-quite-twink who knew nothing about sports and everything about Proust. A guy who was skinny and washed out and maybe even soft-spoken (they couldn’t be alike in every way, after all). The kind of guy who was versatile in bed and didn’t have any domination or submission fantasies.

Okay, well, that part wouldn’t be much like him. Sam had plenty of kink-laden fantasies.

He’d tried to love a guy like that—a guy someone like him was supposed to love—when he first came out. Bryce had been in the same dorm Sam’s freshman year. He was tall and gangly (although not quite as much of either as Sam) and only mildly effeminate (making Bryce the butch one), with hair the same shade of bland as Sam’s, that color somewhere between blond and wet sand. Bryce was a philosophy major to Sam’s English. They’d been a matched set. Salt and pepper. Well, salt and salt, actually. Sea salt and iodized salt?

After about the third month, Sam realized he’d more or less forgotten Bryce’s existence for the past week. So he went down to Bryce’s room in a guilt-induced dither and knocked frantically on his door. Bryce took a while to answer, and when he finally did, the room was cloudy with pot smoke and there was a naked, stoned, African-American guy on Bryce’s bed. Bryce had a sheet wrapped around his hips, and not another scrap of fabric on.

What a relief.

Later, Bryce admitted he hadn’t set out to cheat on Sam. He’d just sort of forgotten he had a boyfriend. And that was before he’d smoked any of the other guy’s pot.

Overall, Bryce hadn’t been a bad experience, really. Not a good experience, either. Sort of just an experience. When Sam had lost his virginity to him, it was an awkward, slightly painful, but mostly boring ten minutes. Later he returned the favor.

Just the year before last, Sam had tried to love a guy who was the opposite of Bryce. Controlling and imposing. A little like Ian the Highlander, maybe—a little, teeny-tiny, infinitesimal bit.

Marley had dreads and was (gasp) shorter than Sam. He drank a couple six-packs a day, collected unemployment, and generally mooched off the world. He had the necessary domination fantasies, but he didn’t particularly care if Sam got off or enjoyed himself.

Not so successful for Sam, in the end.

In the future, Sam planned on loving guys who deserved to be loved by him. Preferably just one guy at a time. One he deserved to be loved by. He stared out the window of the cafeteria. The Highlander would make a nice candidate. Not that his scarred Highlander was interested.

Sigh. Unrequited love.
Hello, old friend
.

Fortunately, before Sam could go mooning off on his personal Fabio (just an expression, because Fabio?
Shudder
. That man’s hair looked like straw and his eyes were too close together), his cell rang. He looked down at it, and Nik’s cheesy grin glowed up at him.

Sam didn’t even think about not answering. He’d hardly seen Nik since last spring when Nik had graduated and moved to Whitetail Rock with Jurgen.

He really needed to talk to his best friend now.

“Hey,” he said.

Nik dispensed with greetings when he called Sam. He said it impeded his flow. “You remember when I told you about that Miller Harpe guy from town?”

“The guy with jungle fever?”

“Oh,
that’s
nice, Sam, very sensitive. He was just . . . sheltered. He’s not the stupid, ignorant redneck I thought he was. Well, he is kind of ignorant, but I’m planning on fixing that. I guess he’s still sort of a redneck, too, come to think of it. I’m not sure I can really do much about that, but I can help him with the gay thing.”

“He’s gay?”

“Keep up, Sam. Yes, he’s gay. The fact that he came around while I was in high school trying to get me to pop his cherry was my first clue.”

“There’s no reason to be a bitch about it.”

“Sorry.” Nik actually sounded it, too. He really
had
changed since he’d met Jurgen.

“It’s okay. You weren’t, exactly. So you’re calling me because of something to do with this guy, Miller?”

“How astute of you.” Clearly, Nik still had a few rough edges Jurgen hadn’t managed to smooth. “Yes, I have a plan.”

“A plan,” Sam repeated slowly.

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Nik sighed into the silence. “I’m going to introduce him to suitable gay men. It’ll be sort of like a gay Big Brothers program. Shepherding him through the world of queerness until he can survive on his own. Until he can find someone else to shelter him.”

For a few seconds, Sam was speechless. “What, like you want to help him catch a husband?” How come Nik didn’t feel the need to help
him
catch a husband?

“No! Like I want to help him get a life. A gay life, maybe a little action. You know.”

Sam’s feathers unruffled.
Ah
. Nik had tried doing that for him. Not such a successful plan, all things considered. “Nik, do you remember when you introduced me to Marl—”

“Anyway,” Nik said loudly. Sam had to hold the phone away from his ear for a second. “I’m not getting a lot of support from my
boyfriend
. But I knew you would support me.”

He heard Jurgen’s voice indistinctly in the background, then Nik practically yelled in his ear, “I am
not
forming up a branch of the Gay Scouts!” Then a slamming door. Then Nik giggling softly. “The big, dumb asshole. He’s so cute,” he whispered. “Do you think he’d give me a badge for woodcraft?”

“Are you in the closet again?”

“
What
? I’ve
never
been in the closet.”

Sam did his best to keep his voice calm and level. “Did you slam yourself into the hall closet in a huff and are you currently standing there talking on the phone to me?
Again
?”

There was a long pause. Nik cleared his throat. “Yes.”

Sam sighed and let it speak for him. Non-verbal communication often got his point across with Nik better than a thousand-word essay would. After he’d judged it effective—he could almost hear Nik squirm—he went on to his next point. “You know, this good deed stuff seems unlike you.”

“Being in love has made me a better person,” Nik snapped. “Are you in or not?”

Sam screwed up one eye, thinking it over. “I don’t know, what are the details of your scheme?”

“Well, my
plan
is to invite Miller to our housewarming party and introduce him to the single gay men on hand.” Nik and Jurgen had recently bought a house together after Nik had landed an adjunct position at Cindercone Community College.

Sam nodded slowly. He could probably mitigate more damage by being on scene and pretending to be on board. “Fine. I’ll help you. When’s our first scout meeting?”

“As soon as we can figure it out. I’ll come up this weekend, maybe. Jurgen can go off and have a beer-date with his cousin, and it’ll just be us girls.”

Sam didn’t tell Nik about Ian the Highlander. Instead, he let Nik distract himself—and Sam—with a discussion of plans for the housewarming/introduce-Miller-to-suitable-men party. It was just too embarrassing, and he felt a little too raw. But as his conversation with Nik wound down, the adrenaline crash hit him.

I asked a guy out. And I got shot down in flames.

After saying goodbye to Nik, Sam was forced to put his head between his knees and breathe evenly to keep from fainting. He clasped his hands behind his neck, feeling the bumps on his spine rub against his fingers and trying not to think about how big a freak he must have seemed to Ian the Highlander.

Sam was a dorky, skinny, pale, unmuscled kid who’d tried to hit on a guy so far out of his league that Ian couldn’t see Sam due to the curvature of the Earth.

Sam thought about not telling Nik at all, but in the end he bought a bottle of chardonnay and planned on confessing all when Nik came up for the weekend. It was the kind of humiliation that must be shared in person over fermented fruit.

Driving to Nik and Jurgen’s from the city, Ian tried to remember the last party he’d been to. It was the one his oldest brother’s wife had thrown for him to welcome him back into the bosom of his family when he’d gotten out of the hospital. He’d been so hopped up on pain meds he barely remembered it, and he could have done without the loving family act in the first place.

Tonight’s party would be a different thing altogether. Jurgen had invited him to stay, assuming Ian wouldn’t be in any shape to drive an hour and a half home afterward.

He nearly drove off the road when it hit him that he could get laid now.

I could fuck something other than my hand
.

Couldn’t he?

In his ongoing effort to figure out his life since The Accident that had Changed Everything, he’d committed to not having casual sex. It’d been his idea, and so far it hadn’t been that hard. The last seven months had been all about physical therapy, rehab, and “working on” his psyche. The months before that had pretty much been about pain.

But now . . . He had a new job, he was fully functional physically (he crossed himself and sent up a quick thought heavenward in thanks for that), and he
finally
didn’t have any physical limitations. Not even any pain. He’d played rugby the last two weeks. He could totally fuck some willing guy. He just needed the willing guy.

Ian firmed his grip on the steering wheel. Tonight would be all about his dick, and he refused to feel bad about it. He was going non-committal, just for this one party.

When Jurgen opened the door for him, Ian stepped in and took stock of the men around him. Hell, he could even afford to be picky. It was a large party, and loud. Reminiscent of keggers from college. Which was weird, because he hadn’t thought Jurgen’s boyfriend was the type, but Nik had planned the whole party.

There were a hell of a lot of men on tap. Guys in tight jeans and loose jeans. Cowboy types, cop types, and bear types, with an even mix of the hippie type and the twink type. Ian overlooked the twinks, but stared at the rest of the man buffet.

Jurgen must have read something in his face, because he greeted Ian with, “Nik got lube and condoms for party favors.” Then he led the way to the guest room, while Ian grabbed some
party favors
from a convenient candy dish.

“Hey, there’s a bag on the bed,” he said when he set his own pack down. It was a backpack like his, but that was pretty much where the similarity ended. His was in good condition, solid black, high-denier Cordura, able to take rough travel. The one on the bed was faded dark purple with fraying seams and a broken zipper. It looked so much like a college kid’s backpack that Ian half expected it to weigh fifty pounds with books. But it was light when he hefted it, and it was stuffed so full of something soft and shapeless it looked like it would explode if it wasn’t handled gently. Probably clothes.

“Must be Sam’s,” Jurgen said, and the weird note in his voice made Ian raise a brow and look around. Jurgen was frowning at the pack in Ian’s hand. “Nik must’ve told him he could stay, too.”

Ian smiled. “Guess you picked out my playmate already?”

Jurgen gave him a level look. “No,” he barked. Then he caught himself and ran a hand through his hair, all quarter-inch of it. “Don’t mess with Sam.”

Ian got the message. Jurgen was the first person in the family who knew about him. Knew about that drunken night when he was nineteen and had stumbled into a bathroom stall in the basement of Cambridge Hall. When he’d stuck his dick through a hole in the wall and had his whole world rocked by the feel of a scratchy chin on his balls and some very masculine grunts coaxing the cum right out of him.