This Crazy Love: A Gay Romance Collection

Chapter OneI couldn’t suppress a sigh as I pulled my hair back into a short ponytail. Ersan and Kyle had been badgering me to go out with them for the past month, and as it did not look like they were going to let up at any point in the near future, I decided to just give in and get it over with. I did not want to leave the comfort of my house, let alone go out to dinner, and going out to club? The last thing I wanted to do. Ersan and Kyle were persistent, though, and even though I didn’t feel like going out, I didn’t want to lose them as friends, either. So, I agreed to go, when what I really wanted to do was to sit on my couch in lounge pants and my ratty flannel bathrobe, have a nice glass of wine (or four) and eat ice cream straight out of the carton. That had been my nightly ritual for the past six months. Sometimes it was beer instead of wine, and sometimes it was cereal out of the box, or mac and cheese still in the pot that I cooked it in. It really didn’t matter... nothing really mattered. I knew I should take better care of myself -- I was starting to develop a little chub on my once-flat stomach -- but I couldn’t seem to muster up the energy to care about anything. “Hellooooooooo!” a chipper voice called from my living room. Ersan. “Be right out!” I called back, turning to look at the mirror above my dresser. My face was pale, and the skin around my eyes looked too dark. And it made my gray eyes look buggy. My nose looked too big for my face. Wrinkled blue jeans, slightly ratty sneakers, and a boring brown t-shirt. At least my black hair was smooth and shiny, and my ears didn’t stick out. I sighed again. Hair and ears aside, I looked like crap, and I was only too aware of that. “You’re not even dressed yet!” Ersan whined. I glanced in the mirror and saw him standing in the doorway. I raised an eyebrow. “What! You are not!” “Huh? I didn’t say anything,” I defensively. “Hon, you didn’t have to. That’s what you were planning on wearing! I can tell by the look on your face. And let me tell you, I’m not being seen with you looking like that.” “Oh,” I said flatly, “Guess I’ll stay home then. You guys have fun without me.” Ersan snorted at me and crossed his arms over his chest. He set his jaw and shook his head while he stared at me. A strand of light blond hair fell over his forehead, and he blew at it in an agitated manner. It was a look I was actually growing quite familiar with, because I every time I hung out with him I’d get this look at least twice. I frustrated Ersan, and I don’t think he knew quite how to deal with me. This time, though, I stared back for a moment longer than usual, and I saw his face soften before I dropped my eyes and turned to stare at the top of my dresser. “Trevor,” he said soft and low, coming over to me and putting his hand on my shoulder, “I’m sorry. I know this isn’t easy for you.” “Whatever. I’m fine,” I said as nonchalantly as I could as I shrugged my shoulder. “I just don’t know what to wear.” “Yeah, of course,” Ersan said softly before clearing his throat and continuing in his normal voice, which was higher and, if I’m being completely honest, kind of gay sounding, if “gay” can be a considered a tonal quality. “I always have that problem! Takes me an hour to get dressed!” “Seriously?” “No!” he said, laughing. “I’m not that gay! Jeez. Well, okay, I may be that gay, but it doesn’t take me an hour!” “Don’t listen to him; he’s lying,” I heard Kyle say from the doorway. He gave me a lopsided grin and a wink. “I do not!” Ersan snapped. I swear I saw him stamp his foot as he said it. “I only take five minutes. I’m faster than you, even.” “Five minutes?” Kyle repeated. “Yes. I’m in and out, like that,” Ersan said as he snapped his fingers for emphasis. “I don’t know if that’s something to brag about, Ersan,” I said quietly. Silence. I hate that, and for a moment I wondered if perhaps nothing had really come out of my mouth, because they both just looked at me. Then I realized they wouldn’t be staring at me if nothing had come out of my mouth. Failed joke. Note to self: don’t make jokes. Ever. Again. “You made a joke,” Ersan said incredulously, right before Kyle burst out laughing. He continued, and he sounded almost excited, the weirdo. “Aw, honey, you made a joke!” “Uh, yeah,” I said, suddenly uncomfortable again. Never ever going to tell another joke again, I swear. “So, we leaving or what?” “Clothes, silly!” “I’ll wait in the living room,” Kyle said, still grinning. In the end, Ersan picked out a black t-shirt for me to wear under a short sleeved white pin-stripe button down that looked more casual than it sounds. We managed to find a pair of jeans that I never wore in the back of the closet, and Ersan dug up some black shoes. “They’re hot, Trav, why don’t you wear those jeans? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in them,” Ersan said as stepped out of my bedroom. I shrugged; I knew why I hadn’t worn them after I had bought them, and I didn’t see as it was really relevant. “You do clean up well, Trevor,” Kyle told me, his easy grin making it impossible for me not to smile back. Just a little one. Tiny. “Seriously, why don’t you wear them?” Ersan asked again. I shrugged again. “Marcus didn’t like them on me,” I said quietly, not looking at either of them, because I didn’t want to see the reactions. Neither of them said anything, but Kyle jingled his keys, so we headed out into the night. I could count the number of times I had been in a gay club on one hand, that’s how inexperienced I was with these places. One hand! And I was 28, not exactly new to the whole gay scene. The truth was, though, I probably would have gone clubbing more if it wasn’t for Marcus. I’m a rare oddity that actually enjoys listening to club music, and I used to love to dance. Past tense. It had been six years since I had been out dancing, and I could not imagine moving to the music, at least not at this point in my life. I used to be able to dance -- and enjoy it -- but I was no longer the person I used to be. Gone was the happy and idealistic wanna-be rebel. Gone. Does it bear repeating? Yes. Gone. The sooner Ersan and Kyle realized that they happier they’d be. I’d say that we’d all be happier, but that would be a lie. I wouldn’t be happier -- I would be the same miserable wretch I’ve been for a while, but at least I would be a less harassed miserable wretch. “Drink!” Ersan said, plopping down something that looked a toxic shade of pale green. “What is it?” I asked warily. “Margarita, silly,” Ersan said. Then he added slyly, “Cadillac! Only the best for our boy. Drink up!” I did. It was surprisingly good; definitely better than the margaritas I remembered. I perched on the stool while Ersan and Kyle danced, and sipped my drink. At the end of almost every song one of them would come over and try to get me to dance, but I wouldn’t leave my spot. Every time I emptied my drink one of them would buy me another. It may not sound like it, but I was actually having fun watching everyone dance. For once, I wasn’t lonely. I was just watching the men dance, and sipping a nice drink, and not thinking about my life. I was almost content when we left. I could tell Kyle and Ersan were worried that I hadn’t enjoyed myself, but I was just telling them that I did actually have fun when I saw him. Him. Oh, him. If this was a different kind of story, I would start describing the man of my dreams, and how he was staring at me and licking his lips. How I knew he was imagining all the things we would get up to in the privacy of… anywhere private, really. It’s not that kind of story. It was Keifer. Dear Keifer. I have been avoiding him for a while. When he would call, I would answer, but blow him off so I didn’t have to see him or talk for very long. The only reason I answered at all is because I was afraid that if I didn’t, he would come over, and I really didn’t want that happening. Perhaps it was the fact that I had a good night, and my guard was down. More likely it was because I had drank a number of Cadillac Margaritas and was probably drunk. For months -- ever since I got the news about Marcus, in fact -- I had felt cold inside, like ice ran through my veins, or nothing ran through them at all. At the sight of Keifer, however, I felt fire. It was like a heat was consuming me, and I got tunnel vision. All I saw was Keifer. Gangly, pinched-nose Keifer. The bastard. I had walked up to him before I realized what I was doing, and in the split second before I punched him I could see his face light up at the sight of me. f**k him. I punched him. He staggered backwards, and I grabbed his shirt and shoved him up against the brick wall of the club. I heard Ersan and Kyle call out, but I didn’t care. My focus was on Keifer. “You thought I’d never find out, huh?” I growled into his face. “How could you?” Ersan and Kyle -- at least, I think that’s who it was -- pulled me off of him before I could do any more damage. Keifer was crying. “I’m sorry! Trevor, I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you --” “f**k you,” I spat at him with a glare. We locked eyes. His eyes were wet and his nose was bloody. My heated glare lasted all of two seconds, though, and before I could stop it I felt my face crumble. f**k. Me. Tears. “Let’s go,” I growled to Kyle and Ersan, who still held onto my arms. I let them steer me toward their car, and we left. Simple as that. “What was that?” Kyle asked calmly. We had been driving for several minutes in silence. I was slumped in the back seat. A million non-committal answers went through my head, warring with the million lewd answers that ran through my head, but none of them were what came out of my mouth. “He had an affair with Marcus.” “What?” Ersan gasped. “Are you sure?” Kyle asked from the driver’s seat. “How do you know?” “Marcus kept a pretty detailed journal. Keifer,” I replied flatly, almost choking on his name, “He wasn’t the only one, but he was...” “Your friend?” Ersan supplied quietly. I grunted in affirmation, and I fought back a fresh wave of tears. I hadn’t allowed myself to cry, not since the week after Marcus’s funeral. The tears tonight were not welcome. “How long have you known, Trevor?” Kyle asked me. I stared out the window and thought about it. I had always known he kept a journal, and I had actually never snooped, but after Marcus died I started flipping through some of them. I missed him so bad sometimes that I couldn’t breathe, and I wanted to see his writing, read his words, do anything that would bring him back to me, even if it was only for a moment. Honestly, though, it was dull. I don’t really know why he felt a need to write about going to the grocery store or what we cooked for dinner, but he did. He wrote every day, documenting his main activities and not much else, in a calm and detached way, mostly. So, I flipped through, because I couldn’t deal with how boring most of it was. Hey, I may have been mourning my dead lover, but that doesn’t make reading last month’s grocery lists any more interesting. I was flipping through the older journals, skimming the occasional entry, when I saw something that made my stomach drop. While at the Stop & Shop, Keifer “accidently” ran into me again. He wanted to go somewhere, so I followed him back to his place. Then he told me that he wanted to tell Trevor about the affair, and that he can’t handle the guilt anymore. I managed to talk him out of it again, and I think I really got through to him this time. It was less than a year ago, and just four short months before Marcus had died. I dragged out his box of journals, his carefully documented life. I started at the beginning, or at least as far back as I could find. Almost seven years’ worth of journals, and at least six affairs that I could find. Almost one a year.