Also, I should note how very unlike me it is to reach out and initiate physical touch. If it's not Brody or Marcus? I pretty much start to panic at even the slightest graze of skin from anyone else. This, though?Totallyodd, because no tendrils of fear wrap their way around my throat. None at all.
After an awkward moment of not knowing where to take this conversation from here falls between us, he slips his hand out so hecan speak again. “I’m the one who should be sorry. You were probably hoping to learn something more upbeat about me, and I go ahead and lay that on you. That was four years ago now.”
“I bet it still feels fresh in your mind though. Trauma like that doesn’t really ever go away.”
Something I’m all too aware of.
“Absolutely.” His eyes meet mine for the briefest moment before darting away, as if he’s looking for something—anything, really—to change the subject. Yet anotherthing I’m familiar with. “Anyway… I accept no arguments that the absolute best era music is the eighties, I have way too many vintage comic books than what's probably deemed appropriate for a man my age, and my favorite color is purple,” he adds, finally.
That gets a grin out of me, because I know someoneelsewhose favorite color is purple and whoalsohappens to be gay. “Is that so?” I ask, quickly changing directions and plotting a whole new course for this line of questioning.
Caleb may have no interest in women, but that doesn’t mean I can’t set him up with my sort-of husband. Marcus has been refusing to outsource his sexual gratification since he and the last guy I set him up with—Micah, the owner of the gym I go to—broke their arrangement off. Since then, I’ve been doubling down on my efforts to keep him satisfied. Not that I’m worried he’ll take off and leave just due to a lack of sex, but I routinely initiate intimacy because this girl’s got needs too, and he’s the only one I trust when it comes to getting off on anything other than my toys.
It took years into our relationship for it to go that route, however, us having sex and all. He assures me that he is satisfied with me—that he’s gay, but is still sexually attracted tome specifically—and that helps boost my confidence exponentially. But I can’t help that niggling littlevoice inside my head that keeps telling me that, because I’m a woman, I’m not satisfying enough. He’d tell me that is an unfounded fear, but… what if Icouldset him up with someone else who would keep him more satisfied with his attraction to men, you know?
Caleb nods, the corners of his lips turning upward slightly. I don’t fail to notice the pink stain on his cheeks as well. The moment is broken mere seconds later when he looks down at his watch. “I really hate to do this, but I really do have to cut this off short. Sorry, I totally forgot I have a job interview in a little bit, and I probably should go get ready for it—though, I hate to admit it, this one will probably be a dud as well. I appreciate the coffee and breakfast,” he explains, then adds, “As usual, I’m having a really great time with you, Lauren. Am I allowed to request specifically you to be my sole interpreter from now on?”
I giggle. “Unfortunately, no. However, since I live in the area, I’m probably going to be the one to attend most of your PT appointments with you. We’ll be seeing a lot more of each other in the coming weeks.”
“Oh, perfect. So you’ll get to watch me flop around on an exercise ball.” His expression is unamused.
“I suppose I will,” I quip, grinning. Then, because my brain to mouth filter is apparently broken, I add, “Look forward to seeing you sweat it up!”
His brows shoot up to his hairline. He smirks. “Just for that, I’ll do my best to dress like Richard Simmons.” Then, he winks.
Oh gosh… I actually flirted with him today, and he’s—he’s flirting back? I think he’s flirting back! Maybe he’s bi? Holy shit… what if he is?
Oh man, my gut clenches, and I don’t think I can blame it on the sugar rush of the croissant either. Sure, I’ve admired men from afarsince that night, but I’ve never worked up the courage to actively flirt with any of them. But with Caleb? I don’t know, everything with him has just been soeasy.
Maybe I’m wrong. I could be wrong. He could very well just be polite, and my misguided heart could just be misjudging things. Just because I’m decent enough at interpreting sign language to make a living, doesn’t equate to being able to accurately interpret all other facets of life… such as feelings and intentions. He’s just being friendly, and I’m getting all up in my head.
“I’ll hold you to it, Mr. Dupris,” I snark back, trying to keep my response light and playful. Then I add, “Good luck with your interview!” before grabbing my cup and heading to my next gig.
Chapter Two
“Fuckin’ hate this job,” I mutter to myself as I get undressed before hopping in the shower. “Hatethese stupid fuckin’ shorts. Istrongly dislikehaving the cat-calling older lady, Beatrice—who I’m quite certain has the hots for a particular Door Dasher too—come out in her robe to collect her packages, all while making googly eyes at me like I’m a piece of meat. And Iloathestepping in dog shit.”
My nose reflexively scrunches at the memory of my second delivery of the day. I swear the stench is simply burned into my nostrils now because I pulled that fuckin’ truck over at the nearest boat launch and thoroughly scrubbed my boots off in the ocean. Why don’t they ever teach you about that shit—literal shit—when you’re in “parcel delivery bootcamp?”
I make a mental note that I am out of body wash and lather up with Lo’s cucumber melon scented stuff instead. Do I mind smelling like a nineties era Bath and Body Works scent tester? Nope. Will shehave a conniption about me dipping into her cosmetics and toiletries again? Probably. But that’s a choice she made when she agreed on this complex relationship we have.
At least I’m not stealing all her clothes anymore. Couldn’t even if I wanted to anyway. She and I haven’t been able to fit into the same size in quite some time—like right around when I traded working out for spending time with my family. I now have a stash of my own skirts and dresses that I enjoy wearing in my private time, such as tonight. Since Lauren reminded me that Brody had a sleepover to go to, I’ve been practically humming with excitement to come home, change out of that damn turd emoji outfit, and rock out in my newest acquisition. It’s a satiny, thigh-hugging, above-the-knee skirt with pleats, and, above all else… it’s purple.
It went right into my online shopping cart just as soon as I saw that it was in stock, in my size,andon sale. The golden trifecta, right there.
So, here’s the thing: I just love the way a nice skirt feels when I’m wearing one. Truly, I do. I hate the confinement of pants and shorts. But with skirts, I enjoy the movements they make, the way they swish and sway. I love the way they make me feel when I am wearing them—like suddenly I have all this confidence that I don’t normally have in my day-to-day life.
I know, it makes no sense. Me—a big, beefy dude who literally hates taking his shirt off at the beach—instantly goes into slay mode when besotted with the prospect of donning lace, tulle, and silk. I have a maxi dress in my closet that I absolutelylovethe look and feel of when it’s on, though, and oftentimes have fantasized about how great it would have been if I had mustered up the courage to wear something like it to prom back in high school.
Granted, I wouldn’teverdare wear one outside of these four walls, nor would I allow my son to catch me in one—because he’s ten, andthat would be something he’d blab about to his friends. Then, before you know it, everyone in Ternbay knows Marcus Antonucci enjoys crossdressing and then everyone’s got the impression that I sexually fetishize the act or something, which is totally not the case at all.
No, what I enjoy about it is the renewed conviction I get towards taking gender stereotypes and stomping all over them. I’d like to think that maybe someday I’d be brave enough to go out in public in whatever I’d truly feel comfortable in, but in a town like this, I don’t see that happening right off. Evan Waters, a well-known former Ternbayan, came out as a gay a couple of years ago, and that was hella news back then—I can’t imagine rocking the boat with news that not only am I gay, but I also dress androgynously.
I step out of the shower, towel off, and then pad into our bedroom to get re-dressed. I toss on a plain white t-shirt, not really giving a shit about pairing it with something that matches on top tonight, and then tear into the packaging the skirt is in. I briefly hold it up, admiring the color, before stepping into it and zipping up the back. I do run into a little trouble there because—as Lo graciously pointed out earlier—genetics dictated I inherited a generous slice of cake back there.
Thanks a bunch,biology. Got my distinctively Italian looks from my father and was gifted an ass you could practically track from space from my mother. Not sure which parent my mop of curls on the top of my head came from, but I don't cut them off because Lo loves them, and I love when she runs her fingers through them.
Once the skirt is on, I smooth out the wrinkles with my palms and then do a little spin in front of the mirror. The fabric has a nice swirl to it. I feel comfortable, finally, and even more than that? I feel eye-catching. Seems almost wasteful to not be able to show it off to anyone but Lauren, really.
