Guys on Top 02 - Guys on the Side (6 page)

Corey smiled coldly. “You made your wishes clear, Tommy boy. But my answer is no. I will not refuse your father service. If Leonard calls me, and wants to book a session, I will comply with his wishes. It’s his decision. Not yours.”

“Listen to me, Corey,” Angelo said, desperate to diffuse the situation. “Leonard is in a delicate mental state right now, and you’re not qualified to be giving him advice, much less taking money for it. It would be expedient for you to cease all dealings with him.”

Corey raised a brow at Angelo. “Expedient? Well, well, the bulwark has a vocabulary. Who are you to tell me what I’m qualified for? What takes place between me and my clients is our business, not yours, or anyone else’s.”

Tommy took a step toward Corey, palpable hostility vibrating through his body.
Don’t hit him
, Angelo thought.
Please Tommy, don’t hit him
. “Maybe you don’t hear so well,” Tommy said.

“Oh I hear just fine.” Corey’s jaw tightened. “I heard you call me a faggot clearly enough.”

“Let me put it another way,” Tommy said, getting right in Corey’s face. “You see my father again, I’ll fucking kill you.”

Corey’s hands curled into fists. “Threatening someone’s life is a criminal offense, you realize. Though you kind of look like you’d fit right in at the state pen.”

“Fuck you.”

“You wish,” Corey said through clenched teeth.

“Think you’re funny?” Tommy spat out. “I’m gonna kick your ass.”

“Tommy!” Angelo said, panicking now.

Corey glared down at Tommy, eyes hard. “Not if I kick your ass first.”

“Corey,” the brown-haired guy on the stairs said.

He stepped down onto the lawn and approached. The guy’s voice was calmer than Angelo’s had been, more steady. He offered Angelo a quick glance, and something passed between the two of them, an agreement of sorts.
We need to stop this
.

“Corey,” he said again.

“
What
, Doug?”

“That’s a nice car, don’t you think?”

Corey’s eyes were still on Tommy, who glared up at him, practically foaming at the mouth he was so angry. “What car?” Corey asked.

“The Corvette,” Doug said, coming to stand beside him. “Check it out.”

Corey finally took a step back from Tommy, and glanced at the road. “Yeah. Not bad.”

Doug looked at Tommy. “What’s that, a ’67?”

Tommy glanced at Angelo.

“It’s a ’68,” Corey answered.

Angelo was surprised, and a little impressed.

Doug let out a whistle. “Be nice to own a car like that, don’t you think, Corey?”

Corey nodded slowly, the tension easing from his jaw. “Yeah,” he said. “That would be nice.” He turned his gaze to Tommy. “Okay, Tommy boy. You want to punch me? Go ahead.”

Tommy sputtered, then huffed. “What, you
want
me to punch you?”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Doug said. “Tommy should punch
me
.”

“No way!” Corey said. “I want the car.”

“What the fuck?” Tommy said. “Neither of you assholes are getting that car.”

“We are if we sue you for assault and damages,” Doug said. “And I want it. It’s sweet.”

“Why should you get it?” Corey said, turning to his friend.

“Because!” Doug threw his arms up dramatically. “You already have a vintage sports car. It should go to me. Hey, Tommy. Hit me in the mouth.”

Tommy shook his head. “You two are fucked.”

“Fuck you, Doug,” Corey said. “Why is it whenever I get something pretty, you want it for yourself?”

“Oh, not this again. Are you serious? I didn’t steal Stewart from you.”

“You did! He was my boyfriend, and you stole him! I should get the Corvette just as payback.”

Doug pointed a finger in Corey’s face. “The Corvette is mine.
Just like Stewart
.”

Corey grinned, leaning in to Doug. “Maybe we could share. The car.
And
the guy.”

“Hey, I like the way you’re thinking,” Doug said. “Maybe we could share the guy...
in
the car.”

“Not sure we’d all fit in there.” Corey glanced down at the road. “It’s a two-seater.”

Doug wrapped an arm around Corey’s waist. “We’d find a way.” He winked at Tommy.

Tommy’s face screwed into a grimace. “That’s
disgusting
.” He turned and stormed toward the street, shouting back over his shoulder, “I’m not playing games, Stengel. If my father comes back here, then so do I.”

Angelo winced. He’d hoped Tommy wouldn’t leave the threat hanging in the air upon departure. Corey looked livid as he glared down at the sidewalk where Tommy now loitered by the Corvette. Doug’s flirtatious smile was gone. Angelo knew their display was calculated to distract and deter Tommy. Tommy probably knew this as well—he was irrational sometimes but not stupid. Either way, it had worked. Doug now stood with hands on his hips, scowling at Angelo, who wasn’t quite sure himself why he hadn’t left yet. “I think you’re done here,” Doug said.

Angelo offered him a quick nod, then turned and strode toward the car. He respected the way Doug had conducted himself, quiet yet protective, more bent on diffusing the anger flying around than igniting it. Angelo had felt like he wanted to say more to him before leaving, to both of them. He’d wanted to smooth things over, tell Corey this wasn’t his idea, and that he’d find a way to placate Tom and work things out with Leonard.

But Angelo had gone there as backup for Tommy, and as much as he disliked his cousin’s behavior in this matter, he couldn’t undermine him or humiliate him. So he simply walked away, allowing the men to believe he was just a bulwark in a leather jacket.
With a good vocabulary
.

A smile twitched his lips. Angelo kind of liked Corey, though he’d never say so to his cousin, and made sure to wipe the grin off his face before reaching the car.

When Tommy pulled open the driver’s side door, Angelo said, “Uh-uh. Keys.”

Tommy let out an exasperated sigh, and threw the keys at Angelo, who caught them. They passed each other as they switched sides, and Angelo got in and started up the Vette.

Tommy slammed the door as he slid into the passenger seat.

“Hey, easy!” Angelo said. “Don’t take it out on the car.”

“Fuckin’ queers,” Tommy said. He turned and peered back up at the house as Angelo pulled away from the curb. Corey and Doug stood on the front lawn. Doug watched them with hands on his hips. Corey smiled and waved. “I’m gonna kill that asshole,” Tommy said.

“You’re going do no such thing. Just forget about that guy. In the meantime I’ll try to find a
legitimate
therapist to talk to your dad. But you need to stay out of it, or you’re asking for trouble you don’t need.”

“I really wanted to hit that guy,” Tommy said. “I don’t think I’ve ever wanted to hit someone that bad.”

“I know. But I’m glad you didn’t.”

Tommy ran his hands through his thick dark hair, then hung his head, sighing.

“You okay?” Angelo asked as they headed down the road.

“That didn’t go the way I expected. Guy fucked with my head.”

Angelo chuckled softly. “Yeah. He did. But beneath the façade of their little performance, they had a point. You could get sued if you do something stupid. You want to lose the garage? You finally got your own business, Tommy. Don’t fuck it up by letting your emotions get the better of you.”

“I’m trying to protect my family.”

Angelo glanced at his cousin. “Do you want my honest advice?”

“Of course,” Tommy said. “That’s why I called you.”

“I thought you called me to be your bodyguard.”

Tommy grinned at him. “That too. But I’ll take some free advice if you’re offering. You’re the professional after all.”

“Okay,” Angelo said. “But this may not be what you want to hear.”

“I can handle it. Go on. Lay it on me.”

“All right. I think you’re focusing all your hurt and anger over your parents splitting up on this massage therapist, because it gives you a target. Someone solid you can blame. You’re telling yourself Corey brainwashed your father, that way you don’t have to believe the truth. That your father is actually gay.”

Tommy scowled at the windshield, but remained silent.

“Maybe you should try talking to your dad without shouting at him. Listen to what he has to say.”

Tommy sneered at Angelo. “I know you’re a shrink and all, but quit talking like a fucking—”

“Queer? That’s another thing. You might want to amend your language if you’re gonna talk to your dad. I doubt you’re helping his emotional state by railing on about faggots and going to confession.”

Tommy laughed. “Why are you all pro-faggot suddenly?”

“I’m pro-family,” Angelo said. “And you should be, too. I get that yours is torn apart right now, and you’re pissed off. But honestly, Tommy? You’re only gonna tear your family apart further if you don’t cut the homophobic crap with your father. He’s still your old man, so try treating him with a little more respect. You wanted my advice? There it is.”

Tommy sulked for several moments, staring blankly out the window. Then he looked at Angelo. “You know what I think?”

“No, Tommy. What do you think?”

Tommy pointed at him. “I think Stengel fucked with
your
head, too. Ha!”

Angelo laughed. “What are you talking about?”

“He used his gay laser beams on you. His gayzer beams fried your brain. Turned you into a pussy.”

“Okay, Tommy. If you say so.”

He dropped Tommy off, and made his way home, exhausted. It wasn’t until he reached his building and pulled into the driveway that he realized he was still wearing Tommy’s leather jacket, and had neglected to collect his clothes from the apartment.

Taking the old cage elevator up to his loft, he began to calm down. The altercation had gotten his blood up, but he was angrier at Tommy than he was at the strangers they encountered. Tommy should have told Angelo of his plans when he initially called him. He felt tricked and he didn’t like it. But knew he’d get over it. Family was family; they pissed you off, you forgave them and moved on.

When the elevator stopped at his floor, he pulled open the cage and stepped out, soothed by the familiar brick walls of the old mill building. He loved where he lived, his home, his beautiful, spacious loft. He’d grown up in a medium sized house with three siblings, and had shared a room with his brother until he moved out to go to college, then lived in a dorm room with two roommates. One of his prerequisites when he was finally able to buy his own home was
space
. Lots of space, all to himself.

He shrugged the jacket off as he got inside, then poured himself a Scotch. Settling down on the sofa, he took a sip, and let out a long sigh, then grabbed the remote and turned on the big screen, flicking through channels.

But he couldn’t concentrate on anything the television had to offer, and found his mind wandering back to the awkward confrontation at Corey Stengel’s house. He glanced over at Tommy’s leather jacket on the chair.
“Did you buy it at ‘Thugs R’ Us’?”

He found himself grinning again, thinking about Corey. The man certainly wasn’t what Angelo had been expecting. But what did that say? That Angelo had some gay stereotype in his head? He’d always tried to avoid generalizations, but realized now that yes, he must have had some prejudices he wasn’t aware of. Because he hadn’t expected Corey to be so...
manly?
He winced, chastising himself for the thought.

Though he’d met all manner of people in his life, he realized now he’d never had a gay friend. In the past, when homosexuality entered his mind, he usually imagined one of the men he knew, his friends, and therefore found the concept slightly repulsive. He loved his friends, but sex? With some of those guys, like his buddy Jake—with his belching and farting and frequently questionable hygiene—Angelo couldn’t even imagine how
women
would want to do it with them.

But Corey...he could see how a man might want to kiss him. A gay man—he quickly corrected himself. A gay man. Not him. It was understandable that someone
else
might want to kiss Corey. With his fit body and those hypnotic eyes and that smart mouth of his.

Something not altogether unpleasant stirred in his body at the idea.

What the fuck am I thinking about this for?

Angelo shut off the television and headed to the shower. He had some client files to go over tonight before bed still, and needed to wake himself up and clear his head of the day’s events. This is what he assured himself—that he needed to rejuvenate—when he stepped under the shower stream and set the water temperature to cold.

Chapter Four

Zach wiped the bar down a second time. It was still early and only a handful of customers lingered here and there, chatting in small groups or swaying to the house music that played over the sound system. He relished this time, as in a few hours, Immunity Dance Club would be wall to wall people, all of them vying for drinks. The only thing that prevented Zach from completely drowning in the weeds on a Saturday night was the fact there were two more bars—one at the other side of the club, and one in the back room that led to an outdoor patio—so on weekends the clientele was shared between himself and two other bartenders.

The three women sitting at the end of the bar waved to get his attention. He smiled as he approached. “Another?”

“I think this glass is broken,” the brunette said, holding up her empty martini glass. “The liquid keeps evaporating right out of it!”

Zach laughed. “That’s tragic. Here, let me try and fix that for you.”

As he refilled her drink, one of the blondes said to Zach, “You’re cute as hell, you know. You’re gonna get a great tip.”

Zach flashed a smile as he set down her friend’s drink. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She laughed. “I doubt that!”

Rolling his eyes, Zach moved to the cash register, grinning. Immunity was a gay bar, but he was used to groups of straight women coming in for happy hour. The owner hired only young, good-looking men like himself to bartend, and while the women surely knew they’d not get anywhere with them, they seemed to enjoy the scenery. Zach was more than fine with that, especially since they
did
tip well.