CHAPTER TWO-1
2009 Words
“C’mon in the kitchen,” Stefano said, walking in front of us in his satin pajama pants.I guess I should have felt sorry for him. After all, Logan had just dumped him. His sister and the whole freaking shiver that he ran had betrayed him. It was just a little hard to feel sorry for a man who at our age still had that much bounce to his ass, and also, I really detested men my age who dated guys my nephew’s age.
“How about comfort food?” Stefano asked.
“You’ve had a rough day, huh?” Cole asked.
Cole was always such a dad, even with this incredible looking douche who had seduced his youngest son.
“I think he’ll be fine,” I said with probably a bit of an attitude in my voice.
Stefano was looking into his giant designer refrigerator, but he turned around to look at me and asked, “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Well, exactly what I said. I think you’ll be fine. I love my nephew, and he’s a great guy, but let’s keep this real. You met him less than a week ago. He’s hardly the love of your life.”
“How do you know?” Stefano asked.
“Well, I just don’t think that any man with this house, that super expensive cologne you’re wearing, and that ass that defies gravity, is going to have any trouble meeting the man of his dreams. I am sure that there will be other young men who will fall for you hot and heavy, and they will probably even marry you if you are so inclined, but that’s probably not the best idea next time.”
“What, so I’m not the marrying type?” Stefano asked.
“No, like I said, some young guy would marry you,” I replied.
“But an older one wouldn’t?” Stefano asked, moving closer to me.
“Not one with any sense,” I answered. “Not one who saw how you look at these young guys. To be honest, an observant young man might not even marry you.”
“Is that so?” Stefano asked. “And why is that?”
“Because he would soon realize that men your own age intimidate the s**t out of you. You’re forty and…”
“Thirty-six,” he corrected.
“Okay, I’ll believe you,” I said, raising an eyebrow.
“It’s the truth,” he protested.
“Okay, but even if that’s true…”
“It is,” Stefano said adamantly.
“You look thirty-six,” Cole said diplomatically. “Or even younger.”
“Okay, so let’s say at thirty-six you marry a younger man like Logan again, one who is twenty-two or so…” I began.
“Which no one would say a word about if I were a heterosexual man marrying a younger woman,” Stefano said, jumping in.
“Yeah, they would talk about you then too,” I assured him. “They just wouldn’t say it to your face.”
“He’s right,” Cole said. “There was a guy at my job before I retired. We talked a lot of s**t about him.”
“Thanks,” I said, nodding to Cole.
“Fine, but please continue with your argument,” Stefano said, pulling a large pot out from under a cabinet and filling it with water from the tap.
“Well, I just think that a smart twenty-something would soon catch on to the fact that you don’t like men your own age, that they intimidate you, and they might see that as a sign of weakness and a turn-off. Young guys want their daddy figures to be strong.”
“Wait, you genuinely think men my age intimidate me?” Stefano asked, putting salt into the water and placing it on a Viking range.
“Most definitely,” I said, nodding my head.
“So, you’re assuming that because I dated Logan…”
“I think you actually married him,” I corrected.
“Fine,” Stefano continued. “So, you’re saying that because I married Logan that I must only date, and marry, younger men because men my own age intimidate me and you know all this even though you didn’t meet me until this evening.”
“But I’ve met your type,” I said.
“It must be your open mind that has guys beating down your door, huh?” Stefano asked.
“Well, it’s not my beach house,” I countered.
“So, you’re just one hundred percent sure that I only date, and marry as you pointed out, younger men, because guys our age intimidate me,” Stefano said, with an attitude of which I didn’t think he was capable.
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that’s the case,” I said, watching as he turned on the burner, placed a lid on the pot full of water, and then walked to the pantry.
“It couldn’t be that guys our age are just a bunch of assholes, huh?” he asked.
“Oh, there are lots of assholes our age,” I admitted. “I’ve been on some websites and…”
“And they thought you were an asshole?” he asked, pulling a box of pasta from the pantry.
“Touché,” I replied. “Yes, I’m sure that a few of them did, but I was referring to the guys I met on those dating sites.”
“Wow! I would think they’d be great to you. I wonder why they didn’t like you,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I wasn’t twenty-two,” I countered.
“Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that you’re a confrontational ass who judges people before he gets to know them. Maybe your closed mind and judgmental nature had something to do with it.”
“I hardly think that I have a closed mind and a judgmental nature,” I protested.
“No, people like you never do think that they’re that way,” he replied, walking back to the refrigerator.
“People like me?” I asked. “What is that supposed to mean? Dolphins?”
“No, assholes,” he said. “Perhaps it’s stereotyping, and I shouldn’t do that, but up until now, I had always kind of thought that dolphins were supposed to be kind of forward thinking.”
“We are,” I began. “We’re just not…”
“I also thought you were here to help,” he said, pulling some tomatoes from the crisper.
“We are here to help,” Cole said, patting him on the shoulder.
“No, we’re not here to help your wounded ego recover from yet another let down from some young guy. We’re here to keep you safe, from your shiver or anyone else who wants to hurt you tonight,” I protested.
“Well, you seem to be doing a pretty good job. Just keep going, they don’t need to join in,” Stefano said.
“I wasn’t talking about that kind of hurt,” I said. “And, oh please! Like you really care what I think.”
“How do you know I don’t?” he asked.
“Because you’re you, and I’m forty plus,” I replied.
Stefano shook his head. “You really need to get over yourself.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” I asked.
“It means you’re a d**k,” Stefano answered, cutting a tomato rather viciously while he said it.
“Mark, stop talking,” Cole said. “We’re guests in this man’s home, and he’s trying to make us dinner. He stopped Sam and the twins from being at the bloody bottom of a shiver war, and we should both be grateful to him for that.”
“He doesn’t need to be quiet,” Stefano said.
“Yes, he does,” Cole said, looking me straight in the eye, the way he had when he was my commanding officer. “He is also pretty good in the kitchen and he can lend a hand. Do you need any other vegetables cut up?”
“Yeah, maybe a few onions and some summer squash,” Stefano said, returning to the refrigerator and grabbing the squash from the crisper, and onions from the pantry.
Cole took the vegetables and brought them to me. I placed them on the island and walked to the sink and washed my hands.
“Here you go,” Stefano said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out a cutting board.
“Thanks,” I replied.
“You two actually have a quite a bit in common,” Cole said.
Stefano and I both looked at him with a bit of a smirk.
“Seriously,” Cole said. “You’re pretty close in age. You’re both good in the kitchen. You’re both gay.”
Stefano and I laughed.
“What?” Cole asked. “What’s so funny?”
“Do you want to explain, or should I?” Stefano asked.
“Cole, every gay man on the planet has had at least one well-wishing friend tell them that they wanted to fix them up with someone,” I began.
“And when you ask them why,” Stefano added.
“Like, why do you think we’d like each other?” I said in a serious tone.
“They simply say…,” Stefano continued.
“Because they’re gay,” Stefano and I said in unison, and then began to laugh.
“Seriously,” I said, looking at Cole. “If I wanted to fix you up with someone and you asked me what you had in common and all I said was that she was heterosexual, you would think I was crazy.”
“I actually did that to a friend once,” Stefano confessed. “I think he got the point.”
“That’s perfect,” I said, and smiled at Stefano.
“I think we finished the pitcher of Shark Bites. Want to get us some wine?” Stefano asked Cole. “There’s a whole rack over there. Pick something you think we’ll like.”
Cole returned, bringing us each a glass of Riesling, and we worked in silence for a minute. Stefano sautéed garlic in a frying pan, I sliced tomatoes, and Cole just sat on a stool relaxing with a big smile on his face.
“So, what are you cooking?” Cole asked. “What’s this comfort food?”
“Just a very simple tomato vegetable sauce with a ton of Parmesan on a big bed of pasta,” Stefano said. “Although, there are probably some people who think that I would never eat pasta this late.”
“I know you wouldn’t if there were young guys around,” I said with a laugh.
“d**k,” Stefano said, grabbing a dish towel and smacking me with it.
“Troll,” I said, catching the towel and throwing it back at him.
“What’s a troll?” Cole asked. “Do you mean the kind from story books?”
“No, we mean the kind from gay bars,” I explained.
“Troll is a word our generation used to refer to old men who chased younger men,” Stefano said. “Of course, we were much younger then.”
“Oh,” Cole said. “You guys are playing now when you’re calling each other names though, right?”
“Completely,” I assured him, smiling at Stefano.
“Because we have a lot in common,” Stefano added, and we both began to laugh.
To say dinner was amazing and that Stefano was good in the kitchen, is to say that Van Gogh liked to paint, or that Aristotle had a few ideas about philosophy. The food was divine. When we finished, we sat on stools at the island in the kitchen, and finished the rest of the bottle of Riesling.
“I have another bottle,” Stefano said. “Actually quite a few.”
“I’ll get one,” Cole volunteered, returning with another bottle of Riesling and filling my glass and then Stefano’s. “I would love to join you two, but I’m really tired. Where should I sleep tonight, Stefano?”
“The guest room is down that hall,” Stefano said, pointing to a side of the house. “Oh, s**t. Tom slept there last night, and I haven’t changed the sheets.”
“No worries,” Cole assured him. “I can do it myself.”
“There are tons of sheets and pillowcases in the linen closet in the hall near your bedroom,” Stefano began. “Really, let me…”
“I won’t hear of it,” Cole said. “You relax after a trying few days. Why don’t you guys take the wine in the living room and get more comfortable?”
Stefano looked at me with a raised eyebrow.
“Okay,” I said. “That sounds good.”
Cole made his way to the guest room, and Stefano grabbed the wine and sat on the floor in front of the glass coffee table. I sat across from him, resting my back against the couch.
“So,” I said. “I imagine it has been a rough day.”
“It’s getting better,” he said with a smile, and then took a big sip of his wine.
“We could play a game,” Stefano said, looking at me with what appeared to be mischief in his eyes.
“A game?” I asked, giving him my most serious look.
“It’s something my sister invented,” he said nonchalantly.
“Do I need armor for this?” I asked.
Stefano laughed, and I have to admit, there was a certain charm to it. I was perhaps seeing what the younger guys saw in him, or maybe he was just more relaxed than he had been since I met him.
“No, it’s nonviolent,” he said, and then raised an eyebrow. “Unless you want to play it rough.”
- Writer
