Marcus in Retrograde Read online

  I really hoped the dog didn’t put the kaibosh on whatever was about to happen.

  I had ideas.

  Walking in, I flipped on the lights for the kitchen and headed in, pulling out a chair. “You like regular coffee or something different. I have hazelnut and macadamia, light roast and a Kona someone was nice enough to bring back from Hawaii.”

  “Plain old coffee is fine with me,” he answered, sitting down on the chair I had offered. “You really know who lives across the street?”

  “Yeah, there’s a bell directory. I looked.”

  He chuckled and loosened his tie a bit, releasing the first button. I thought I should take a moment to appreciate what he as showing me, but my eyes slid to their task.

  Damn it, libido! The good-looking guy we’ve been getting to know is here. Could you wake the fuck up?

  Kieran cleared his throat. “So, now that we’re not in public anymore, can I ask you a few more personal questions? I didn’t want other people eavesdropping at the restaurant. Most people are fine, but I didn’t want to chance it.”

  I nodded. “I get it.” As accepted as the LGBTQ+ community was in the city—hell, I even lived in Greenwich Village—you just never knew when one of the big mouths was listening. Also, no one needed to know our business.

  Once again, it seemed like I should have a snide internal dialogue that sniped with things like, Mmm but I sure would like to get into Kieran’s business.

  But, alas, the sleeping, lazy fuck of a libido did not stir. Also, I sucked at internal Shakespearean soliloquy. But ask me to draw Aladdin and Jasmine and you’d have them in minutes.

  “You’re a gray-romantic…” he started. “I, being terribly curious, read everything on the internet about it because you’re a hot piece of man and I would like to tap it. I understand that’s not how it works with you.”

  “Not even close,” I said, trying to keep the anger at myself out of my voice.

  “How did you find out you were a gray-romantic?”

  “By not reacting sexually to men in real life. I was only interested in my fictional gay romance heroes that I learned about through the course of a book.”

  “So, no porn?”

  “Unless it has a story.”

  Kieran started laughing. “Stories in porn. That’s a good one. They stopped trying that in the early 80s.”

  “And no one online has a clue that there are people who aren’t into the drill his ass by mark-thirty guideline.” God, I was making coffee and talking porn with a really hot guy who clearly wanted me and there was still nary a wiggle in the willy.

  Christ, I was so broken.

  “So, how do you handle…self…uh…”

  I chuckled, and turned the coffee pot on. “Books. Lots and lots of books. I love series because I get to know the characters and then when they get lucky in the book, I have a conversation with Martin Palm and his five brothers.”

  That had him throwing his head back with a loud laugh. I could see his Adam’s apple bobbing with his boisterous laugh, and…

  Oh. Hello, libido. It’s about time you woke up.

  “So you have a really big collection of books then?”

  “I’m an expert at left hand reads on my ereader.” I opened the fridge and pulled out half and half, then brought it and the sugar to the table.

  He was still laughing at the left hand joke as I found two mugs in the cabinet and put them on the counter. I took a deep breath and turned, leaning back. “Kieran, thank you for being patient with me. It’s so hard to get guys to understand I can’t just hop in the sack. No matter how much I want to, no matter how much I try to explain.”

  He lifted his lips into a small smile. “Are you kidding? Meeting a guy who wasn’t there just for a hookup was a miracle. Most men assume that because I’m trans, I’m just a freak in the sheets and in the briefs and…” He sighed. “It’s hard. It’s all just really hard to get someone to realize I’m not a freak, and I’m not into fuck and flee. Not when I have so much baggage.”

  “I’m getting too old to play the games,” I agreed. “Nothing comes easy.”

  “Well, some people come easy.” He chuckled.

  The coffee pot beeped at me that it was done brewing, and I quickly poured the two mugs. Setting the coffee pot to warm, took the hot drinks to the table. I put one down in front of Kieran, and took a deep breath. “Wanna watch a movie?”

  He nodded and grabbed the half and half. “I’d like that.”

  We both dressed the coffee the way we liked and on the way to the living room, I kicked off my shoes and took off the tie.

  I hoped that Kieran got the idea.

  I also hoped my libido was paying attention.

  “Let’s see,” Kieran said, picking up the remote. “If I remember correctly, you like sci-fi, superheroes, and Hallmark romance.”

  I coughed and blushed. “I like more than that…”

  He elbowed me and had a cheesy grin on. I blushed harder.

  “So, cable or streaming?”

  “Oh streaming,” I said. “I’m too busy and flighty to deal with cable.”

  Flicking on the TV, Kieran found the services I had and navigated to the screens he wanted. He was on a mission and in seconds he had Jupiter Ascending on the screen.

  I laughed. “Okay, Channing Tatum. I can do that.”

  “I’d tag in on that,” he said, and we both cracked up laughing in the next moment.

  Just a few minutes into the movie, he lost all subtly, and just flat out put his arm around me and started playing with my hair. It felt so nice, and sent a little shiver of delight through me.

  That was something I hadn’t experienced in a while. Deciding to throw caution into a mild breeze, I snuggled into the crook of his arm. He was very comfortable, and my hand found his flat stomach and I traced my fingers over him through the shirt.

  Mm, muscles.

  His hand found my cheek and he turned me toward him. His lips were plump and looked like he had just wet them. They shown in the low light of the television screen.

  Then, they were on mine.

  At first, the kiss was sweet and soft. Almost chaste, but not quite when he opened his lips. I opened mine, and the warmth that passed between us was enough for the moment.

  The moment passed quickly, and we turned into each other. His tongue sought out mine and he tasted like coffee and mocha. He was delicious and intoxicating, and my brain was into this.

  It had been a very, very long time since I’d been interested enough in a man to kiss him. Kieran was a perfect gentleman, and he was so willing and able to take things at my pace. He kissed like a dream, sharing the power of it with me, let me lead and then insisting on leading me.

  I pulled back, and kept my eyes closed as I dropped my head against the back of the couch. “Goddamn it,” I hissed.

  I heard a laugh and opened one eye to find Kieran with a hand over his mouth in a grin. Picking my head up, I raised an eyebrow.

  His lips pursed as he dropped his hand. “Hmm.”

  “What hmm?” I asked.

  “No spark.”

  Rotating on the cushion, I faced him. “What?”

  “You kiss like a god, but…no spark.”

  I sat up. “No spark?”

  Kieran looked sheepish. “No spark, Chase. I’m sorry. I didn’t—”

  Slapping my hand on his chest, I stopped him. “No. No, it’s fine. There was no spark here either. You’re handsome and you’d be an awesome boyfriend, but…”

  His shoulders slumped. “Well, thank God we’re on the same page here.”

  “But, Kieran, I don’t want you to just walk away and never talk to me again because we aren’t going to sleep together. I also happen to think you’d be an awesome friend to keep around.”

  He nodded. “I totally agree with that assessment.”

  “Good,” I said, sitting back on the couch. “Coffee is coffee, and Channing Tatum is still Channing Tatum.”

  “Agreed. May
be I’ll have you over next and we can watch Magic Mike.”

  “I think that sounds like an awesome plan.”

  I settled back and let out a breath. Damn libido. Damn fouled sparkplugs. Damn it all. It was back to my gay erotic romance books and my left hand for a while.

  The damn dog barked all night.

  MARCUS

  THE GUY CAME SPRINTING OUT of the building, looking like hell. He had half a jacket on, and was trying to knot up his tie.

  I yanked Pollux out of the way and laughed quietly.

  He heard me, and stopped at the curb. Looking left and right, he finally let his shoulders slump and turned back to me. “It’s a run of shame, okay? Subway?”

  I pointed east down the street and he waved a thanks as he sprinted off.

  “Well, Pollux, I guess it’s all a balance. You get lucky the night before, you don’t get so lucky in the morning.”

  He barked and peed on the hydrant in front of the building. He’d already peed his way through Washington Square, so he was probably just remarking his territory. Heading up the stairs, I saw the red numbers on the bulletin board.

  Wait, it was my turn for the note.

  I looked down at Pollux. “Dude, you didn’t bark all night again, did you?”

  He whined and sat his ass in front of my door. Rolling my eyes, I grabbed the note. Pollux trotted in happily once I opened the door.

  I took off his leash, hanging it up. I had enough time for a shower and breakfast and once more to the curb with the miserable barking disaster.

  Unfolding the paper in my hand, I sighed. It was a picture of Pollux—no, it was a lot of pictures of Pollux, all of them barking and in several states of distress, insanity, concern, hunger, and pee-need.

  Dear 302,

  Could you please consider getting your pooch some doggy Xanax? How about doggy Benadryl? Or perhaps doggy Ambien? …Well, no. Skip the Ambien. I don’t want to know what dogs do on that stuff.

  I need your puppers to be quiet. I do. He barks against my wall. I don’t want to escalate this to management. I don’t have the haircut for that. Could we try something, please?

  Your Neighbor 301

  Doggy Xanax. Seriously?

  Still, the neighbor—a woman by the haircut comment?—was right. I couldn’t let the mutt just yammer against the walls all night. Someone either above or below was going to get into the act with her and report me to the landlord. I didn’t want to send Pollux back to my parents.

  I ducked into the shower and hosed off as fast as I could. I felt like I swallowed my breakfast whole before I took Pollux back out for a quick pee break and then headed off to work.

  Today I was taking a long lunch for a date. My first official date in New York City. The guy had been quietly eyeballing me at a meeting the day before and it only took him most of the day to ask me out.

  He was really cute, and really unsure if I was gay, or into twinky guys. I didn’t so much care about effeminate or not. I wanted a fun personality.

  Ashton seemed like he might have that. It didn’t hurt that he had a nice ass.

  I leaned down and scratched Pollux behind the ears. “Listen, bud. Get your bark out during the day when no one is around. I don’t want to piss off the neighbors any more than we have. We got a great deal on this place and we need it. I don’t want to find a new place, and I don’t want to commute more than I already do.”

  He yipped and walked away from me, hopping up on the couch and circling a few times to settle down. Idiot. Adorable, fuzzy idiot.

  Sorcha met me at the door of her studio, leaning against the wall. She had a giant smile on her face, and barred me from going into her studio like I had been.

  “You got your own board, Marcus. I showed the boss what you did the other day and he was tickled pink.” She tossed a chin down the hall to her left. “You’re in the studio beside me, and you’ll find all your assignments in the mailbox on the front of the door every morning.”

  My jaw dropped. I’d been here just under two weeks.

  “You’re lying.”

  She pointed down the hall. “I’m not, go look.”

  I walked down to the next door. There, on the frosted class, was my name. Marcus C. Romano, Sound Eng.

  I whipped my phone out and took a picture as Sorcha doubled over in laughter. While she was trying to compose herself, I texted the picture to half the damn planet.

  “Go in, jackass.” She held up a pair of keys.

  Snatching them out of her hand, I unlocked the door and pushed it open.

  I stepped into my own studio.

  “This is amazing,” I breathed.

  “Feel free to fill it up with pictures of hot guys,” she said from the door way.

  “I’d never get anything done if I did,” I answered. “Door would have to be locked at all times.”

  “Ew!” She laughed. Taking a few steps in, she clapped me on the shoulder. “Congrats, man. Seriously. You’re good at what you do, and you don’t need tutoring from the likes of me. Assignments are on the door, and you know how to access the filing system. Go to it, Marcus. Knock their socks off.”

  “Only if they use Gold Bond,” I mumbled.

  Her head bobbed in approval of my stupid joke. “You up for lunch?”

  Sliding my eyes back over to her, I shook my head in the negative. “Not today.”

  “Why? Hot date?”

  “Yes.”

  That made her laugh. “Ashton finally got up the nerve to ask you!”

  “He did.”

  She headed for the door. “Good. He’s been eyeballing your ass for the past four days.” She looked back at me. “Not that I blame him.” With a wink, she was gone.

  I was really, really starting to like that woman.

  Turning a small circle, I looked around. This was my studio. This was my workspace. Even some of the best sound engineers I knew didn’t get their own space—they had to share and book studio time. I didn’t, not anymore.

  This was amazing. It seemed this move was going to be working out better than I thought.

  Moooom: Congrats, Marcus!

  Marcus: Thank you!

  Moooom: Knew you’d do it!

  Marcus: Didn’t expect to have my own space in under two weeks.

  Christy-Anne: DE-COR-ATE, butthead.

  Charlene: Please listen to her.

  Daaaad: Did you at least put a sheet on your bedroom window like I said?

  Marcus: I live in the Village, it’s a free show. At 7 and 7 every day!

  Moooom: Marcus Chastain!

  Charlene: I’m sending you curtains and a rod.

  Marcus: There are plenty of rods in the Village

  Christy-Anne: Whoa!

  Charlene: Wow!

  Daaaad: TMI, Son!

  Moooom: …and now I need brain bleach. [crying]

  I chuckled. My parents weren’t all that shocked at my text. They were unbelievably supportive of me, and could be just as rough and tumble as me and my sisters. It was all in fun with us.

  Christ, I loved my family.

  Tucking away my cell phone, I headed to the door and grabbed the assignments someone had dropped off. I was going to take a cue from Sorcha and set up a white board on the outside of the room, so no one had to ask where their pieces were and wreck my concentration when they knocked.

  There would be shopping tonight at the business supply store. I had a burning desire to go at lunch, but I wasn’t going to reschedule with Ashton for business supplies.

  Shuffling the papers, I sat down at the desk. I had to do some adjusting to the room before I could get going on the first assignment. This was my office and I wanted to set it up the way I liked.

  My office.

  That sounded amazing.

  Ashton was possibly the least compatible person I’d ever taken out on a date.

  Twinky was one thing. Fun was another.

  Ashton was a whole other ball game.

  He was the guy in the room that had t
o let everyone know he was gay. He affected the lisp, the wrist, the giggle, the hip twitch. His speech was peppered with ‘honey,’ ‘sweetie,’ ‘darling.’ I was shocked he didn’t just come right out and yell “yas, queen!” when I mentioned the studio I’d just been assigned.

  Ashton was the kind of gay that I could only compare to a fire and brimstone southern evangelist preacher, screaming about Jesus and trying to convert everyone. Thumping the Bible, screaming about sin.

  If Jesus was a Ferragamo-Loafer, Brioni High-sheen two piece suit, pale blue shirt with salmon silk cravat wearing gay man.

  And Vogue was the Bible.

  I was far from closeted. I had been brought up to believe there was nothing wrong with me. But I had also been brought up to know when to let my inner gay man out, and when not to. To know the kind of people I wanted to be surrounded by, and make sure that they were there for me and not for what I could get them or give them.

  Apparently, Ashton hadn’t had a single one of those lessons. Or, maybe he did and didn’t care.

  I’d heard the disgusted sighs of the people at other tables while we were eating. It was easy to tell that they weren’t because we were a gay couple.

  They were sighing because Ashton was so fucking loud.

  He giggled and leaned forward, sipping his third or fourth lunch mojito. I lost track of the mojitos when he tossed in a Lemon Drop and California Sunrise.

  “So, do you have a lot to do at work this afternoon?”

  “Not much, but I wanted to get some stuff set up—”

  “Let’s pop over to my place.” He grinned. Finally, he dropped his voice. “I’d like to see if the tight end has all the right kind of on-field skills.”

  And that was another mistake I’d made. It had just slipped out when we were discussing our younger lives. And despite the fact that I had been a wide receiver, and occasionally a center, he just liked to say tight end.

  “Ashton—”

  “Come on, come back with me. It doesn’t have to be anything but a good fuck.”

  “No, Ashton. I’m risking my job.”

  “Then let’s use your—”

  “This date is over, Ash,” I said, tossing the napkin on the table. “We’re not looking for the same thing, at all, and this needs to end right now. I can’t handle this.”