Chapter 9: Smitten
915 Words
Chapter 9: Smitten
“Brayden has me exactly where he wants me,” I said to Ging, who had decided to make an appearance at my bungalow the following morning, checking on me.
“You’re playing hard to get,” he said, enjoying a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. “Nick and I both agree that we would have bedded him by now because he’s top-notch hot.”
I shook my head across from him at the kitchen table and said, “I don’t play that way and you both know it.”
He laughed like a mischievous boy, nodded, and said, “Maybe you should start to play that way. Brayden is amazing to look at and he’s a nice man. I demand that you stop dragging this out and start playing with his cock.”
I contemplated his demand for a few seconds and eventually said, “He has a secret.”
“Most men do. Nick likes kink. He’s big on leather. I can’t keep him out of handcuffs even if I try. Secrets are what keeps life interesting.”
I was not at all surprised by his news. Nick had confessed to me a few months ago that he had a skin-tight leather outfit from head to toe and enjoyed wearing it. “I can’t sleep with the guy until I know what he’s hiding from me.”
“That might be a long time coming at your turtle pace.”
His pun was enjoyable and a smile creased my face. Sometimes he could be smartly witty, which I enjoyed. “He’s worth the wait, and I am too.”
“You’re smitten by this guy.”
“I am. But who wouldn’t be in my position? He’s a professional, smart, handsome, polite, fun, and charming. The list regarding his attributes is limitless. Of course I’m smitten by him.”
He took a sip of his orange juice, swallowed it down, and said, “Let me pose a position for you.”
“Go for it. I’m all ears. Hit me. I love positions, particularly those in bed with a naked man.”
“What if Brayden doesn’t have a secret? How will that change your feelings for him?”
“I haven’t found that out as of yet. But as soon as I do, you’ll be the first to know.”
“In the meantime, he could meet someone else and fall head over heels in love with him.”
“Or her,” I corrected him, waving a finger in his direction.
He shook his head. “There is no her in that man’s life. He’s strictly queer and doesn’t play that way.”
“We don’t know that for sure, but I’m in the process of finding out. For all I know he’s a merman, has three kids, has murdered a number of eighteen-year-old football jocks, and is a whistleblower like that Snowden guy.”
Ging laughed at my comments, shook his head, and said, “Don’t lose this one. He’s a nice man. He’s a good catch. Reel him in, Ian. Because if you don’t, someone else will, and then you will be broken.”
“I’m listening, and respect your opinion. Honestly, though, I’m just going to ride this out. If he’s the right guy for me, Brayden will stick around. If someone else gains his attention, he’s not the right guy. Does that make any sense to you?”
“It’s foolish,” he said, downing the last of his orange juice. Then he retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his right pocket, stood from the table, walked outside, and was positioned at the screen door where he faced me and lit up. Once he consumed a drag of his cancer stick, he said, “You’re walking on dangerous ground, my friend. This is how good guys get away.”
“We’re making baby steps.”
“Baby steps can get you in trouble, Ian. You know that. Remember what happened with Oliver.”
Oliver Cannon was an angel: twenty-seven years old with a crew cut, impassive chocolaty eyes, and had the clever skill of entertaining readers with his lyrical and humorous short prose. I was also smitten by the author, failed to make a desired advancement on him, and ended up losing him. Oliver was a well-built fish in the sea of men, but was unfortunately caught by another editor, leaving me single and broken.
“Don’t let that happen again, Ian. It’s time to sink your teeth into this man before he gets away.”
“I will do my best,” I said, believed the matter over, and realized that he was right. If I wanted Brayden as someone important in my life, a boyfriend, lover, or husband, then I had to act. Otherwise, he would be another Oliver Cannon and be swooped out from under me by another Barefoot Beach predator.
He puffed on his cigarette outside the screen door and seemed to have enjoyed his vice. Then he said, “I’m afraid to say that your best isn’t good enough. If you want this guy, you have to give it your A-game, which is above best. Do you realize that?”
I did. Honestly, I did. Aggressive action with my heart was if I wanted to land the realtor. I couldn’t possibly sit back and let him get away from me like Oliver, could I? What Ging was saying had made perfect sense to me. If I failed, Brayden would be whisked away by another queer, which I really didn’t want. Therefore, I had to step up to the plate and have at him. If he complied, which I believed he would, neither of us would be single.
He pointed the end of his cigarette at me, almost burned a hole in the screen, and challenged, “Don’t f**k this up, Ian. If you lose this guy, which you have the potential of doing because of your previous guy-hunting f**k ups, you’re the only one that I can blame.”
“I get it,” I said, nodding. “Stop being a drill sergeant.”
“Trust me. Someone has to be your drill sergeant. Otherwise you’ll be single forever.”
“Thank you,” is I could say, and meant such a comment. “I’m glad you’re my friend, Ging. You have my back.”
He snickered, took a drag of his vice, exhaled, and said, “And someday soon Brayden York will too, but in a naked way, my friend.”
- Writer
