Here’s Looking at You, Kid

an accidental romance in fifteen parts

by Douglas

Chapter 4 – Of All The Espresso Joints In All The Towns . . .

It was almost a week before I saw Cole again.

Oh, he didn’t get busted breaking his curfew, or anything; even with all the time it took for us to more-or-less-clean-up, and get dressed, and get back to the car, and all the way back to Berkeley – we still had lots of time . . .

Cleaning up was actually kind of fun.

First, we sacrificed my Hooters® t-shirt; it wasn’t like I was going to wear it getting back to my dorm room, after all. Or anywhere on campus. Or even anywhere NEAR Berkeley city limits.

But between us, we’d made a lot of cum.

And – if you’ve ever tried it – t-shirts ultimately just aren’t all that absorbent; they get kind of slimy and sticky really fast . . . so we sacrificed my sweatsocks, next.

Point of information. Sweatsocks – thick, white sweatsocks – soak up cum really well. Something about the wicking action, I guess.

Anyway.

I didn’t see Cole again for almost a week; and it was for no better reason, than classes – for both of us – and homework, and –

And, really, because we were in that special, after-the-first-date purgatory reserved for two people who had a good time together, who are maybe beginning to really like each other, who maybe are thinking they just might have some kind of future, even a temporary future, with each other – and are afraid to show it. Yet.

Afraid to take that next step. Afraid to seem . . . eager. Needy.

Well, to be honest, it was easier for me, though. I was still theoretically supposed to wait for Cole to call me. When I’d dropped him off in Berkeley, near his house, I’d even asked him – after we grabbed a last, quick, wet kiss – if I should email him; and he’d just said, “I’ll call you,” and then he was gone.

So all I had to do was wait.

Lucky me.

*

Actually, in truth, I really WAS lucky; I had a diversion.

Derrick spent Friday night – the night of the pool party – and Saturday night, with Drew. Now he was back, going through some of the same stuff I was going though –

A little more dramatically.

Okay; a LOT more dramatically. As in, roaming our suite, totally transported by contemplating the wonderful Drew-ness of Drew one minute; and flopping onto the couch, a mass of awkward arms and legs the next minute, talking about how it would Never, Ever Work Out –

Maybe I’m exaggerating; maybe just a little.

But, Derrick really does like to get dramatic about his dates, he always has; and Monday morning before class, it did seem like it was going on, and on, and then sort of on some more, and it wasn’t getting any earlier, and I was hungry, and I knew Derrick was almost as hungry as me, so I suggested that we continue the whole discussion over breakfast.

So that’s how we wound up, on a warm morning, in the Crossroads – one of the bigger dorm dining halls.

I was having some fairly healthy cereal. Derrick was having ham and scrambled eggs, to go with his Drew.

And now – finally – we were getting down to the real issues, about him and Drew. The reasons why Derrick was so unsure; so scared.

“It’s really weird. I mean, he’s just so . . . NICE. Consistently nice, I mean; compared to Peter, anyway. I keep expecting him to – I don’t know. Get more comfortable and start being mean to me, or start ignoring me, or something. Start – you know. Criticizing me. But he doesn’t.” He looked at me sort of plaintively, waving his forkful of ham and eggs, as he tried to explain it. Again.

“That’s not weird, Derrick. That’s normal. And it’s what you deserve.”

It was actually kind of painful, to hear this. Peter – his old ex – wasn’t nice. At all. And in the end he messed up Derrick. And I won’t forgive him.

“I guess,” went Derrick; and he swung his fork again, and I carefully maneuvered my sleeve away from his food.

Derrick really is beautiful; I don’t know how he does it, the way he eats. If it’s got meat, and fat, he loves it; go figure.

“I mean it,” I went on. “Peter was really into you, in some ways; but he’s one of those people who just, kind of, likes to hurt people. Especially people they’re close to. They get off on it; it makes them feel superior, or something. It’s really twisted, and it’s not normal; but it’s not your fault.”

Peter would have treated Derrick even worse, if he’d liked him better. I didn’t say.

“Okay. Yeah.” Another forkful of ham and eggs went into his mouth, and he chewed for a minute; then, his eyes were back on mine. “So – what about Cole? Is he, like, nice to you?” His face was really vulnerable as he asked it.

“Cole?” I gave it a snort. “I wouldn’t exactly say, ‘nice’. He’s a little brat.” I thought for a second, and I could feel myself start to smile. “But he’s actually kind of a, a, sweet brat. He’s . . . challenging. But he’s got a really good heart . . . ” I trailed off and stirred my muesli, keeping my head down.

I knew he was looking at me, that way Derrick has. I knew he was looking right through me.

“Hmmm . . . ” I heard; and he was back at his ham and eggs, and I munched on some more of my cereal.

“Jeremy?”

I looked up. He was looking at me, really intently. “What?”

“You know how I said we should all go out together? So you could tell me what you think of Drew, and I could say what I think of Cole?”

“Derrick. It’s only been a long weekend – ”

“Please, Jeremy. I really, really need to know what you think of him. Of Drew, I mean. You so called it, with Peter, and . . . I just don’t know.” He gave an embarrassed little shrug. “Please?”

“Wow. You’re that serious about him?”

That brought me an embarrassed look, and a crooked smile, it dawned on me that he really was that much into Drew, it wasn’t just another one of his usual serial-dating crushes.

Which meant, I really needed to know more about him.

“Okay. Absolutely.” I wiped my mouth with the paper napkin. “When?”

“Cool. Thanks,” he said, and reached over and touched my face in that way which would have maybe gotten us in trouble almost anywhere else than Berkeley, California.

“Hey,” I said back at him, and smiled; and it was a warm moment. Then; “When? You know – I’m not supposed to call Cole; so I can’t guarantee he’ll be there.”

“You’re not supposed to call him?” He focused back on me, sharp.

“That’s what he said. He lives with his mom.” I felt, absurdly, like I was defending Cole.

“And you’ll do whatever he tells you to do?” His eyes were shrewd.

“No!” Then, I looked away. “No.”

“Good. ‘Cause, you know, with Jesse . . . ”

“Yeah,” I said, cutting him off. Because, when I was with Jesse, I’d let him run me, run our relationship, way too much, and Derrick and I both knew it. Because, I didn’t want to talk about Jesse and Cole together, in the same conversation; I just didn’t.

“What?” I looked up to see him – not smiling. Sort of.

“You’re really into him too, aren’t you?”

More stirring, in my soggy cereal. “Yeah.” I looked sideways. “I guess . . . but he really is young . . . ”

I hadn’t told Derrick about the scene at Bad Boy Beach. Partly because . . . well, after what happened at the pool party, it was a little much.

But also because I was a little scared, at how much I liked Cole. His . . . well, humor. His cockiness. And the vulnerability underneath it.

And I was also scared by how we fit together physically. Sexually. How little control I seemed to have over that . . .

And I wasn’t fooling Derrick. Of course not. But I wasn’t ready to say it all, yet.

I saw Derrick’s almost-smile bloom just a little more. Softly. “I can’t believe it,” he went.

“What?”

“I can’t believe you’re actually going out on a third date. After all this time!” His smile turned into a real smile; a glad smile.

“It won’t be our third date! The pool party doesn’t count as a date!” I looked down at my cereal, knowing my face was getting a little warm.

“Oh, that’s right. Yeah, the party couldn’t have been a date. I forgot, you don’t get physical with anybody, on your first date. So Sunday must have been your first date.”

I didn’t look up; but I felt my face get hotter, still.

“What - ?” Derrick began; then he started laughing. “Oh. Okay. I see. So, you finally broke that rule of yours?”

“I’m still not sure I should have,” I said, looking up at his grinning face.

“Jeremy. Why not? The age difference?”

“The UNDER-age difference.” I set my spoon down, for a second. “He’s more than three years younger. I checked; his birthday’s in April, mine’s in February.”

His grin vanished. He knew what that meant, from my Jesse days. More than three years’ age difference, in sex-with-a-minor cases, in California, meant a potential felony prosecution. At the prosecutor’s discretion.

“Oh, come on, Jeremy,” he went. Gently. “You went with Jesse for years, and nothing bad happened to him. And lots of other people have underage boyfriends, or girlfriends.”

“Yeah,” I said. Thinking; I wasn’t out to my parents, back then. And my parents didn’t keep me on a short leash, checking my cell phone bills for strange numbers, making me call in several times a day . . .

I shrugged. I DID want to see Cole, again, even if I was – a little ambivalent. And worried. But I really did want to see him again.

“So – what time? I mean, when should we go to dinner? I’ll set it up with Cole, when he calls.” I spooned some cereal into my mouth, and looked up.

“Friday?” Derrick had the troubled, puppy-dog look back on his face. “We’re definitely supposed to do something Friday, after school. Would that work?”

“Friday. I’ll be there. And I’ll ask Cole . . . ”

*   *   *

I didn’t talk to Cole on Monday. And I didn’t talk to him on Tuesday, either.

But I did hear from him, Tuesday.

I was in my History lecture – it was about Prussia; how the civil government, in the 18th century, was essentially founded by the Quartermaster Corps of the Prussian Army – when I felt my cell start vibrating.

Which was weird. I always mute my ring tones, when I’m in class; there shouldn’t have even been a vibration.

Turned out, he texted me; and I didn’t have the tone for that turned off. Nobody I knew, really, ever texted me, anymore; I mean, at school we all live with our laptops, and email’s so much easier.

I found the message when I left class, and checked my phone, out in the sunlight. The screen read, ‘DiAmato, Cole’ – (I’d added his cell number to my phone book after the party); and the message was brief.

BBB mmmmmmmm

It didn’t take me too long to figure it out. I’d told him it was called Bad Boy Beach.

So I stopped right there in the path, like an idiot, grinning; then I thought for a second, and hit the reply button, and started swearing at the keys as I thumbed out the reply:

yes   wet

I was kind of proud of it, when I hit the send button. Sort of minimalist, maybe; but – it summed it up.

And at the same time – I won’t pretend, I wasn’t . . . well, really glad to hear from Cole. Even if it was a pretty cryptic message.

Really glad. It looked like I was actually going to get a second date.

But it also got me going again, thinking about what we did during the pool party, and then what we did at the beach, and I had another lecture to go to, and I didn’t want to have to run back to the dorm to jack off, which I have to do sometimes when I’m really horny but I need to concentrate, so I closed my phone and started walking fast and tried to think of something else . . .

But I kept sneaking my phone out of my pocket, the rest of the day, and checking for more messages. Just in case.

*

I didn’t get to talk to Cole on Wednesday, either. But I heard from him again.

It was another text message; this time, I was eating lunch, alone, at this kind of open-air place on campus called The Terrace. I was about halfway through – it was just a bento box lunch, that I picked up from a refrigerated case, but it was simple, and really good – when my phone vibrated again.

This one was longer. And it was from another number, that I recognized as Trevor’s.

wen r u gng to sperm in me?

“Fuck,” I breathed. And I looked all around, really fast, paranoid that the whole world could read the screen. “Fuck.”

I was so, so hard. In, like, seconds; I could actually hear the blood pounding in my ears.

I looked down at the chopsticks in my hand; I suddenly had absolutely no interest in eating sushi. I put the chopsticks down.

‘Little brat,’ I thought to myself. He’d taken the trouble to spell out the ‘sperm’ and ‘in me’ part of the message, to make sure I got it. And he’d sent it from Trevor’s phone, to make it . . . more confusing for me to send a reply.

Little brat.

And at the same time, a large part of my mind was taken up with visions of me fucking Cole, me sperming INSIDE of Cole, which is exactly, exactly what he wanted me to be thinking about . . .

I pushed the lunch aside.

sperm u anytm u say brat

And I sent it off to Trevor’s phone; I figured, if Trevor got it instead of Cole, he’d know by now who “brat” was.

But then I sent another text; this time to Cole’s phone.

call me wen u can?

 I thought, maybe it did sound a little – plaintive? But when he did call, I’d have the Friday dinner as a good excuse.

And then I left the sushi and the rice and went back to my dorm room, in a hormone daze, and this time I really did get naked and jack off. Big time. Making a mess all over myself. Because I needed to.

*

It was later on Wednesday when he finally did call.

Of course; he had to get home from high school, first.

This time it was from a whole new number. I answered it anyway.

“H’lo?”

“You shouldn’t be texting Trevor with messages like that. He’s really sensitive; it’s probably bad for his nerves.”

“Yeah.” I looked at my phone, again. “Where the heck are you calling from?”

“It’s a pay phone, actually. Outside this little store near my house. Can you believe, they still make them?”

“Yeah. I mean, I guess. Listen, I was wondering . . . are you doing anything, Friday? After school, I mean. Dinner, actually.”

“Nope.” He sounded smug, even over the outdoors-pay-phone connection. “What, are you going to try to take me to Foreign Cinema, again?”

“Not exactly. Remember Derrick, and that guy Drew that he met at the party?” And I filled him in on Derrick’s idea. Without mentioning the rest of it – the part where Derrick got to inspect Cole – of course.

As if he’d miss it.

“So – you’d be doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to go alone, like just me and the two of them. And, you could tell me what YOU think of him, Drew, I mean, too . . .  And, and, it’d be . . . fun.” The last part sounded a little lame, even to me.

“Okay . . . sure. Why not? Only” – and I could just mentally see that ironic smile start up, just from the tone of his voice – “only, the thing is, I was maybe supposed to do something with Trev, Friday night, a little later.”

“Oh . . . ”

“So, why doesn’t he come, too? That way there’ll be even more opinions to go around.” It came out about as dryly as you can get.

“Yeah . . . right. Good, actually.” I looked at the books, piled up on the edge of my desk. “I’ve been wanting to meet Trevor, too.”

Silence, for a second, while Cole digested that. Then I heard him kind of laugh.

“I thought you wanted me to call, so you could yell at me for texting you.”

“I should. I missed half a Chemistry lecture because of that last one.”

“Why would you . . . ? Oh, no.” He really started laughing.

“Oh, yeah. I had to go all the way across campus to get back to my room, AND clean up after, AND get back to Chem, AND I missed half of lunch to do it. You owe me.”

“It’s not my fault that I’m irresistible.”

“Well – it’s Chemistry 1; it’s really dull, and I already know some of it . . . Like, how would I have been able to concentrate - ?”

“Oh . . . that explains it.” He was back to sounding smug.

“Yeah. Brat.” I paused, a second. “So. Are we on for dinner Friday?”

“Sure.” And we arranged the details. And I was grinning like an idiot again, but this time nobody could see me.

*  *  *

The three of us – Derrick, Drew and me – met up with Cole and Trevor outside the restaurant; a couple of blocks from Bancroft.

I was glad I’d let Derrick bully me into wearing something nice. Cole looked –

Well.

He had on some sort of jacket – I mean, like a blazer, with lapels, and things, but it was black, and kind of form-fitting and a little rumpled, and he had black-ish, kind of loose fitting pants, and a button-up white shirt with a funny kind of collar –

And flip-flops. Somehow, with his bare feet peeking out like that – it set off the whole outfit. He was so beautiful.

And he knew it, of course.

“Hey . . . ” he went, as the two groups of us began to converge. And, amazingly, he came right up to me, and craned up a little, and pecked me on the lips, right there, in front of everybody, and I just felt myself burning bright red. “You look nice,” he went on. “I’m surprised.”

“Thanks. A bunch.”

“No, I mean it.” He looked me up and down; I had on, well, a decent shirt, and some of my better pants, and a jacket – a coat jacket I got for Christmas . . . “You’re Derrick?” he went, looking over at him.

“Yeah.” Derrick blinked at him.

“I’m Cole.” He reached out, and they shook hands. “Nice job,” he went on, nodding at me.

“Thank you! It wasn’t easy,” went Derrick, grinning over at me.

I tried to rise above it. “Hey,” I said to Trevor – I vaguely remembered him as the shaggy-blond boy who wrote down Cole’s number for me – and held out my hand. “Good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” he said, taking my hand; then he looked me up and down. “Although I’m not seeing nearly as much of you, this time.” I rolled my eyes, and he grinned up at me, and it was Cole’s mischievous grin on somebody else’s face, and it occurred to me that him and Cole together might be a dangerous combination . . .

We finished the introductions, and went in to dinner.

Me, cautiously.

*

The meal was – fun. Kind of weird; but fun, at the same time.

Partly it was the dynamics; there was that slightly uncomfortable, be-on-your-best-behavior, first-date feeling in the air, even though it wasn’t a first date for any of us; still, we all knew how important it was to impress our potential boyfriend’s best friend. Much more important than impressing his family.

But Drew was easy to talk to, and I was able to relax about him and Derrick together, because it was so, so clear – just from the walk to the restaurant, actually – that Drew was one of those deeply, absurdly, totally sweet boys that would never, ever willingly hurt another soul. The kind of boy where the niceness just sort of shines out of him, in whatever he says or does . . .

Derrick and I had a friend just like that in high school, Chris Mullen; totally sweet, totally gentle. Once, coming into the kitchen at my house, he bumped into the refrigerator accidentally, and he apologized to the fridge. Automatically, but very sincerely. It was totally Chris.

Come to think of it, Derrick had a crush on him, for awhile; but Chris was hopelessly straight. And in love with Becky Meyers – but that’s another story.

Anyway. Watching Drew and Derrick together – especially watching the way Drew was looking at Derrick, smiling, but also with a kind of anxious, puppy-dog eagerness to please, with that sweetness just shining out around the edges –

Nope. No concerns there.

Well, except maybe for Drew. I love Derrick, and he’s almost at the same caliber of sweetness as Drew; but. He can get mad, sometimes, and he’s good at holding a grudge. He says it’s his Greek heritage.

Still. No real worries, there.

If Derrick and Drew were one side of the equation, Cole and Trevor were the other.

They WERE a handful, together. One minute we’d all be talking about something – being very mature, very adult, Cole making a point of leaning across to listen to Derrick, all poised and polished – and the next minute he and Trevor would be sixteen going on thirteen, giggling together about something, bumping shoulders, snarking about somebody at some other table . . .

It all sort of came to a head, for me, when they shoulder-bumped each other too hard, and Cole bumped into me, and I sloshed my iced tea over my hand . . .

“Hey!” I glared over at them both, brushing at my wet sleeve. “Settle down, okay?”

And Cole gave me back this beatific, serene look, and Trevor grinned openly, and I knew in a second that it was all deliberate, it was their ironic take on Going Out With The Adults –

And I was horrified; because the tone, what I said, the way I said it – I was channeling my father. It was exactly what my dad said, when my sisters and I were acting out. Exactly the same way.

I couldn’t look at Derrick; I knew he’d be trying not to laugh. So I did the next best thing; I went to the washroom to dry my sleeve.

When I got back –

I should explain.

We were at a really old-fashioned, higher-end seafood restaurant in Berkeley; the kind with big, cushioned, semi-circular booths, and linen tablecloths, and everything; and when I got back, Cole and Trevor had scrunched over next to Derrick and Drew, and as best I could tell, Cole was calmly discussing some sort of Internet business models with Drew, back to acting forty-five or so –

I slid into the booth, next to Trevor; and all at once, everyone was sort of not-looking at me, and I swear I saw Drew begin to blush . . .

“What?” I went. Lamely.

“What?” went Cole, just as innocently as before. Derrick’s eyes flashed at me; but it was a mischievous, gleeful kind of look – I know him as well as he knows me – so I let it go.

 “We were just talking about – well, internet privacy,” said Drew. Not looking at me. Still maybe a little flushed. “I was asking them about the social networking sites like MySpace and Facebook, and . . . like that.”

“There isn’t any such thing as privacy on the internet,” Cole went, flatly. “Everything – absolutely everything – you write, or post, or email, is public. Or it will be. Nobody gets that.”

“Emails?” went Drew, a little tentatively. “I mean – ”

“Everything.” Cole was totally focused, now; intense. “Even emails. Every byte, every character you email or post – anywhere – gets stored and cached. Somewhere. Have you ever gone to the Wayback Machine? The internet archive? At archive dot org?”

Trevor just looked patient; the rest of us shook our heads.

“It doesn’t matter.” Cole half-shrugged. “It’s a site that archives web pages over time; billions of them. Not every page, but it’s their goal  The point is, everything, absolutely EVERYTHING on the internet is saved and archived somewhere. Which means, it will be searchable, and accessible, sometime.”

“But,” went Drew, “ISPs and websites have privacy agreements – ”

“Do you really think that matters?” Cole almost snorted. “And if your email provider goes bankrupt, or gets bought out or merges, or the government decides to read everything you post – ”

“Like that’s not already happening,” I said. Cole flashed his eyes at me, and nodded.

“Don’t even get me started, on that. The point is – the only real barriers to absolute transparency of all your internet postings are technical; storage costs, and mostly, indexing, which just means computing cycles. Which means, over time, with Moore’s Law and systems getting more powerful, there are no barriers at all.”

There was a silence for a few seconds, then Trevor broke in; his face glowing a little, as he looked at Cole.

“I used to do MySpace under my own name, until I quit; now I wish I never had. Cole never did; just a really simple setup, no pictures, no names – nothing. He’s always known. He doesn’t even give his right name out offline, to anyone, unless he absolutely has to.”

“You mean your last name isn’t really DiAmato?” I blurted out.

“Yeah, it is,” Trevor smirked. “He told me to put down his right name. When I wrote it out for you. That’s when I knew he really liked you – ”

“OUCH!” I yelped, as something kicked me in the shin, hard. Trevor, next to me, grinned wider, and Cole looked more embarrassed than I’d ever seen him – it was like seeing a cat embarrassed about something, and pretending not to be.

“Sorry,” said Cole. “My foot slipped.” His face was red, and he was trying not to glare at Trevor.

“My fault,” went Trevor. Smirking at Cole. “I moved my legs.”

“So – privacy,” Drew said, gently. Rescuing us. “If it’s really like that – what about, say encryption?”

“Everybody should use encryption,” went Cole. Firmly. After a hard glance at Trevor. “For any email, any attachment, that they wouldn’t want to be visible to the public. Every time.” I saw him reach down, slowly, to surreptitiously rub at his toes.

“So. Pervasive encryption. Encryption for everybody.” Drew looked thoughtful. “It sounds like, well, a real business opportunity. For someone in the for-profit area, anyway.”

And I watched as Derrick nodded by his side, smiling, just shining, and I knew he was just totally lost to Drew; halfway in love.

And I thought, this time it might actually work for him. I really, really hoped so.

*  *  *

The only real drama – and it was more comedy than drama – happened after dinner, when we went to a little place off of College for coffee and dessert.

And it taught me something, about Cole, and Trevor. About the two of them, together.

It was the kind of place Drew said he liked; quiet, comfortable, smelling like dark roast coffee, and not a Starbucks.

Turns out, even though Drew’s a business major – he’s not a huge fan of big business. He wants to specialize in micro-startups, actually; preferably working for a non-profit.

Given how sweet he is, I should have known.

So it was a little dark, inside, and wood-paneled, and we were almost the only ones there, and the display cases of cakes and sweets were brightly lit, as we filed up to the coffee bar to put in our orders.

And Cole stopped cold right in front of the dessert display, and I bumped into him. “Oops, sorry,” I went.

Cole didn’t say anything, and I followed his look to the barrista boy.

Nope; no mistaking. Biceps as big around as – well, almost as big as my thighs, anyway. A five o’clock shadow that would’ve taken me days to grow, on a pale, white face under black hair and blue eyes.

Way too cute. He even had dimples.

“Hey, Michael,” went Trevor, on my right; and Michael looked up at us, and I saw his eyes blink at Trevor, then sweep over me, and come to rest on Cole, and his expression – changed; softened, I guess.

“Hi, Trev. Hi, Cole.” He glanced at Derrick and Drew, on Trevor’s far side, then a little longer, at me; then back at Cole; and he smiled, and it was definitely soft. Exercising his dimples. “Hey. It’s good to see you again.”

“Yeah,” said Cole, which could have meant almost anything. And I felt his hand come out and take mine, at our sides, where nobody could really see, and he leaned in a little closer to me. “You working here now?”

“Just Fridays. You know,” he shrugged. “I can always use the money.” He grinned a beautiful grin, and tamped down some espresso, and slotted it into the maker, and pressed a button. And his expression softened again, as he looked back at Cole. “So, how are you doing?”

“Okay; okay.” He paused, and gave a shrug. “Really good, actually.”

He wasn’t. He was shaken; I could tell. I knew him well enough, now.

“You should come by, sometimes. Here, or at the Blue Lagoon, when I’m there. Free coffee, as long as nobody’s looking.”

“Thanks,” went Trevor, at my other side. Ironically. “Maybe I will.”

“Yeah,” said Michael, looking a little confused, for a second. It occurred to me that Michael wasn’t necessarily the quickest on the uptake. “So, you want the usual?” At Cole, not Trevor.

“Okay.”

And that’s when Trevor started.

Oh, looking back on it, he was brilliant; he wasn’t really obvious, at all, he just moved in closer to me, and took my other hand – and I almost pulled it away, automatically, but I didn’t – and just, sort of, moved into my personal space . . . and changed his body language. Towards me.

“So, what are you getting us?” Trevor went, and he turned his face towards mine, and reached up and flicked a strand of hair out of my eyes, really quickly –

“That’s right, you promised,” went Cole, on my left, and his hand squeezed mine, hard; ‘play along’, was the message.

“Uhhhh . . . ”

All right. So I’m not necessarily the quickest guy around, either.

“I know I want the tiramisu,” Cole went on, gazing down at the desserts. “Mmm . . . I can just feel it in my mouth, now. Melting in my mouth. Sliding down my throat . . . Yum.”   He looked up at Michael. “And this is Jeremy, by the way; and he’ll have a soy latte.”

I actually don’t really like lattes, soy or regular; but I tried to look innocent. I just nodded and smiled at Michael.

“Nice to meet you,” said Mr. Dimples, and I nodded and murmured something back.

“And you’ll get me the carrot cake. Won’t you, Jeremy?” went Trevor, leaning in closer to me. I could feel his shoulder warm against mine, and Trevor’s eyes on me as he smiled. “You promised we’d each get our own dessert, if we were good. And we can share.” He leaned over and looked at Cole. “Again . . . ”, and he giggled.

I felt myself flushing hot; I glanced over quickly at Derrick, who was covering his mouth, trying not to laugh, and Drew, whose jaw was dropped, then I looked back up at Michael.

“Boys,” I went, a little weakly. “Always hungry.”

“Yeah,” said Trevor, under his breath, in a tone that everybody could hear. “AFTER . . . ” and he giggled again.

And it worked.

As Michael pulled the espressos, and dealt with the cakes, I noticed – his ears were as red as anything; really, really bright red, and his cheeks were flushed.

“The drinks are on me,” he said, through his flush, pushing the coffees towards us. And trying not to look at Cole. Or Trevor.

Or me.

*

 “Open,” went Trevor. So I turned towards him – we were back at one of the tables, in a corner by ourselves – and I opened my mouth, and he carefully fed me a bite of his carrot cake. “And try to relax; smile, sometimes, okay? Remember, we’re your harem, and we’ve spent all afternoon having fantastic sex together, and now you’re rewarding us with dessert.”

I did my best to chew like I was relaxed and sexually satisfied. It wasn’t something I’d ever tried, before.

“Michael’s my ex,” Cole explained, from my other side, to Drew and Derrick. “He – well, he basically kind of screwed me over – ”

“He screwed around on Cole. Behind his back; all the time, – ” went Trevor.

“Yeah. Yeah, he did,” Cole said, and I thought he leaned a little harder against my shoulder. “And, well, the thing is, doing a three-way with Trevor and me was one of his major wet dreams – probably, it was his absolute, all time favorite wet dream – ”

“He TOLD you?” I blurted. Cole looked over at me, with that Cole half-smile.

“Sure. He talked about it a lot.” He shrugged. “Especially in bed – ”

The carrot cake aftertaste in my mouth suddenly didn’t taste all that sweet. I didn’t like thinking of Michael and Cole in bed. Together.

“But he didn’t say anything – to you, did he?” Derrick asked Trevor. Drew was looking on, fascinated; I had the feeling he was learning a lot, tonight.

“Well, yeah. Some jokes,” went Trevor. “And some hints, here and there. And the way he looked at me . . . and of course, Cole told me everything.” He smirked. “It made me want to take a shower; but still.”

“My turn. Open,” said Cole, and I turned and let him spoon some tiramisu into my mouth.

“Mmmpphh,” I said, around the tiramisu. It WAS really good; but I wasn’t exactly in the mood . . .

“So the idea,” Trevor went on, “is to torture him. Just a little. With what he might have had, if he hadn’t screwed up.” And I felt him snuggle a little closer into my side, and just gently touch my arm, on the table top, for just a second –

It was deeply weird. On my left side, Cole was warm, and close, and holding my hand under the table where nobody could see – and it felt so, so good; so real. And on the other side, Trevor was warm, and close, and it was all pretend, and I had to keep reminding myself to relax, to not pull away.

“But he’s not really going to believe it, is he?” went Drew. “I mean – is he even looking?” He glanced over at the bar. “The espresso maker’s in the way – ”

“Shhhh! He’s looking,” went Trevor. As he fake-smiled up at me, for a second, then back at Drew. “He’s been watching us the whole time.”

“But he still isn’t going to really believe it. Is he?”

Cole leaned in, and nuzzled me with his lips, twice, gently, right under my left ear; and I jumped, a little, and Drew blinked, and Trevor gave out a puff of laughter.

“He won’t be sure. And that’s good enough.” And Trevor leaned in and did the same, nuzzling-under-my-ear thing on the other side, and I saw Derrick cover his mouth to hide his laugh again, and Drew blinked again – I’m not sure he knew what to believe, himself – and I tried again to look like Cole and Trevor’s Daddy.

*

“Still,” went Derrick, a little wistfully, as we walked away from the coffee shop – “Even if he is a, a jerk – he really does have a nice body. Those arms . . . ”

Drew’s got a nice upper body, himself; relatively big pecs, and nice, toned biceps. Derrick’s always appreciated muscles. More than I do.

“Compensation,” Cole snorted. “Believe me. I wish there was a way to show him Jeremy’s . . . oh, that reminds me.” He pulled a DVD jewel case out of his jacket pocket, and handed it over to me. “Trev’s pictures of us, from the pool party.” In the glow of the streetlights, I could see him start to smirk at the reaction on my face.

“Oh.” I was eloquent as always, as I remembered, and it sank in. And the blood started rushing down to below my waist. “Oh. Thanks – ”

“You took PICTURES?” Derrick stopped walking, for a second.

“Well, sure,” said Trevor. Acting completely cool, unembarrassed. “Just a couple. I knew Cole’d want to capture the moment. And I was right.”

And as Derrick looked at Drew – they were already exchanging significant looks, just like any other couple – Cole leaned in closer to me, to whisper. “There might be a few bonus shots of me on that, too. Just so you know.” And the whisper turned into a quick, darting brush of his lips on my neck, as I shivered.

*

I walked Cole most of the way home.

We split off from Derrick and Drew first – we were really close to Unit 2, after all – and Trevor only stayed with us a few minutes, before he went off on his own way.

I found out later, he lives really close to Cole; he obviously just wanted to give us some time alone, together.

Either that, or Cole gave him some kind of signal; I wouldn’t be surprised. It’s the kind of thing best friends understand, with each other.

It was a nice end to the evening; walking down the sidewalks, crunching through the leaves in the warm California-Fall dark, not saying much. My footsteps echoing with Cole’s flip-flopping.

I was still thinking about Michael, of course. I couldn’t help it; it still bothered me, a little. But I was also playing back the revenge show that Trevor orchestrated, the really, really gleeful way they’d both pulled it off –

“Well,” went Cole, stopping, and turning a little towards me, in the gloom. “I should probably let you get home, now.”

Meaning, I probably shouldn’t walk Cole to his front door. Or get too close to Cole’s house, even. Because his mom or his neighbors might see. Because he was underage. The Dance, again.

Reality crashing down, again. Hard.

I tried to ignore it.

“Yeah . . . yeah. So – ” I tried to keep it casual, and light; as my heart speeded up. “Are you doing anything, like, tomorrow? I thought we might do something . . . I don’t know, go to Tilden Park, or - ?”

“I’m not sure,” he said. “I’ve got a thing with my mom during the day tomorrow.” He made a face. “And I think I’m tied up tomorrow night, too. But I might be okay for Sunday. I think, anyway. Maybe. I’ll call you.”

And I just gaped at him.

Because, at that moment, it was so clear to me – I’d had lots of experience, after all – it was so clear to me, that Cole was . . . not telling the truth. About something. Being evasive, at best.

Okay, lying. I thought. To me.

Yeah, it was only our second date, and he didn’t really have any obligation to be totally honest with me, tell me all his plans, everything he was up to –

But.

A charged silence, just for a second; then – we were sort of in the shadows, between two streetlights – he raised up, grabbed my face between his two open hands, pulled it down and gave me a soft, sensuous, lips-sliding-over-mine, lips-and tongue-tip-sliding-between-mine, lingering wet kiss, and it went on, and on, and I was hard, and I was pressing really painfully against my jockey shorts, a LOT harder than when I’d been thinking about the pictures on the DVD –

And then he was gone, and I was listening to the flip-flopping, and the leaves crunching, as he went down the street.

*  *  *  *  *

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