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“I insist.”
I knew his stubbornness well enough to give in before this turned into an hour of back and forth. “Fine, you can make it up to me.”
“Great. What would you like?”
“Hmm, not sure. Can I think about it?”
“Yep. No problem.”
I moved to lie on the couch, one leg resting on the floor. “So, did you get your dark chocolate and strawberry cake?”
“No! Melissa made apple pie, which between you and me was a bit on the dry side. One of the guests also brought a lemon cake. Alemoncake, Ethan. Why on earth would you put lemon in a cake? So gross.”
I chuckled. “Serves you right.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Did my parents call?”
“Of course. They also did FaceTime with the twins.”
“Did my mom sing?”
“Twice. She’s... getting better.”
I laughed. “Liar.”
I heard a voice in the background. Chris moved away from the phone and said something to someone, then told me, “I’ve got to go help clean or I’ll be sleeping on the couch. Talk to you soon.”
“Bye,” I said, but he had already hung up.
I felt better with the air clearer between us, but that left my messed-up fantasy to deal with.What was that?I had plenty of fantasies involving submissive women through the years, but they never involved men.
If I was being honest with myself, there were times in my life when I felt an occasional attraction to men. It happened rarely enough for me to easily dismiss it without diving deep into my subconscious in search of answers. It used to make me ponder whether I was perhaps bisexual, but bisexuality always seemed complicated, adding pressure and question marks I didn’t want to deal with. A successful business, a lovely wife and two or three children, all happily living in a killer Manhattan penthouse. That had been my golden plan for years, and being partly attracted to men didn’t fit that equation. But it wasn’t like the other parts of my plan were shaping up so great.
I rubbed my face and forced myself to calm down. It was a fluke, I decided. A porn fluke. A result of a long day and a crappy mood.
Nothing to stress over.
3
I was the last to arrive at Henry's, which was more crowded than the last time I was here. Jay and Anthony got up to hug me hello from the booth they were sitting in.
“Almost didn’t recognize you without the FedEx costume,” Jay said and took a sip of his beer. He was wearing his signature leather jacket that could have seemed silly if he wasn’t able to pull it off so well. In the old days, Jay could have been modeling for a cigarette commercial while sitting on his bike; a sharp contrast to the Rolex commercial Chris would have scored. In our group of four, I was the plainest. Although handsome with my brownish hair and green eyes, I didn’t possess any exotic features.
The waitress came and took my order. Meatloaf was playing loudly in the background, and it seemed that Cher was also singing on that track.
“You’re looking good,” I told Anthony. His dark hair was cut short, but not enough to hide his natural curls. His smooth face emphasized the sharp lines of his cheeks and jaw. As always, his Italian skin seemed tan regardless of any exposure to the sun.
Although we spoke frequently, I hadn’t seen him face to face in ages. Both of us were forced to move in the last year for different reasons, and that added extra distance between us. Years ago, the four of us decided to leave Connecticut in favor of the big city. Chris and I were fresh out of college, and Chris had been nagging me for months to rent an apartment with him where both of us could make it big. Once I realized he would never stop nagging, I was able to get Jay and Anthony on board as well. Heck, it felt logical that none of us would stay behind, regardless of how expensive rent was going to be.
“I’m getting back to life,” Anthony said with a meaningful nod. He had a deep voice like how radio hosts used to sound. “Self-pity doesn’t pay the bills according to Doctor Phil.”
“Jesus,” Jay muttered. “Don’t start quoting that has-been.”
“He says some good things. Anyway, I’m doing better.”
“Good,” I said. “Any word from your folks?”
