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“You’re welcome to come along with us,” Ray said. “We’d love to have you.”
“No thanks,” Paul said. “You two should catch up. You guys have fun.” It was the appropriate thing to say in the situation. Much more appropriate than what he was thinking, which was, Keep your hands away from Ian, turn around slowly, get out of here, and never come back!
“It was great to meet you,” Ray said.
Ray was handsome, considerate, and he seemed to genuinely care about Ian’s well-being. Paul hated everything about him. Ian kissed Paul quickly on the lips before he and Ray walked out the door.
All evening Paul sat staring without comprehension at the flickering television, flipping through channels, waiting for time to pass. At 10:00 p.m., he expected Ian to walk through the door. The minutes seemed like hours. By 11:00 p.m., the waiting had become absolutely painful. By eleven thirty, he was angry and resentful that Ian was out having fun without giving Paul a single thought. He hadn’t even called. Didn’t he care at all? Around midnight, he started to entertain himself with masochistic fantasies of Ian’s fair hands on Ray’s dark skin, their lips exploring one another’s. The more he was pained by the images, the more vividly he imagined them. By twelve thirty, they were tearing at one another’s clothes, caressing each other’s shirtless bodies, unzipping each other’s jeans. He seethed with anger and betrayal over an infidelity that existed only in his mind.
Ray’s car finally pulled up to the curb around 1:25. It lingered there for a few minutes with no one coming out. Paul imagined a good-night kiss, Ian running his hands through that thick dark hair, the two of them laughing at the old fool inside. When Ian emerged, Paul ran from the window and leaped onto the futon so he wouldn’t be caught spying.
Ian opened the door slowly and tiptoed inside. “You’re awake,” he said. He skipped over to the futon, jumped onto the spot beside Paul, and threw his arms around him. “I thought you’d be in bed by now.”
“Why? Just because it’s almost two in the morning?”
“It’s past your bedtime,” Ian said with a little laugh. It was meant to be flirtatious, but Paul was in no mood for a comment on his age. For the effect it had on Paul, Ian might just as well have said, “You’re a boring, dowdy old man with gray hair and love handles. I have no idea how I ever got involved with a fuddy-duddy like you. So I was out having wild, passionate sex with someone much hotter and more appropriate for me.”
Ian kissed Paul on the cheek. “We had a really great time. We went and saw this band. Orange something. Orange Divinity? Orange Disaster? Something with ‘orange’ and the letter ‘d’. They were pretty good. Mostly covers, but it was fun.”
“I bet it was,” Paul said with a sneer.
“What does that mean?”
“You could have called me. I thought you’d be back hours ago.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you expected me to. You could have called me if you were worried, I had my cell with me.”
“You didn’t think it might bother me that you were out with another guy half the night?”
“No. You told me to go out with him. How was I supposed to know you’d get mad about it? It’s not normal.”
“What was I supposed to do all night?”
“We invite
d you. You said no. Why are you acting like this? It was your fucking idea for me to go out with a friend.”
“Is that all he is?”
“God! Yes!” Ian got off the futon and started pacing back and forth with his hands on his hips.
“What kind of friends?”
“Friend-friends.”
“You seem close.”
“I haven’t seen him in ages. I told you.”
“Were you close?”
“What are you asking me?”
“You know what I’m asking you.”
“What language do you want me to say this in? We’re just friends.”
“You never slept with him?”
