CHAPTER SIX

“Do you know how to work this thing?” Brian asked.

We stood in the kitchen of our apartment, preparing our first dinner after our arrival in Tallahassee earlier in the day. Brian clutched a manual can opener in one hand and a can of peas in his other.

I squinted. “You’ve never used one before?”

“My mom does all the cooking at our house. When would I learn?”

I shook my head while demonstrating the workings of the can opener. I showed Brian how to position the blade on the can’s lid and then how to squeeze the grips to pierce the lid’s surface before rotating the bar. Already I found myself wondering if I’d made a mistake by rooming with Brian. Sure, he was sexy and self-disciplined, but I wasn’t going to nanny him for nine months.

Our apartment wasn’t much, just a one bedroom, one bath unit in a cinder block building a few blocks from campus. Brian’s great aunt had recently passed away and Brian’s dad inherited her estate, including a collection of high-end Louis XV-style furniture. Brian brought a load of the pieces to Tallahassee in a U-Haul van: two beds, a mirrored double bureau, a nightstand, a sofa, two armchairs, and a pair of ottomans. The furniture looked ridiculous with its red brocade upholstery and curvy wooden frames painted gold, but at least it was free. Brian also brought a Formica dining table and three metal chairs his mom had bought at a garage sale, so the place was fully furnished. The apartment had a mini-split air conditioner, so we wouldn’t sweat in our beds at night, and we could walk to campus in five minutes.

What more could a couple of twenty-year-olds ask for?

Now, while a shirtless Brian worked on opening a can of new potatoes, a tingle arose between my legs when I studied his lean torso and the trail of dark hair spilling from his navel. Seven weeks had passed since I’d last touched Jeff Brucelli, and I hadn’t thought much about sex since his departure for Indiana.

Would that change, since Brian and I would enjoy complete privacy any time we wanted it?

While pre-heating the oven, I basted two chicken breasts with olive oil and seasoned them with salt, pepper, and rosemary leaves. I thought about my latest phone conversation with Jeff, several days before.

“I’m already back in Bloomington,” Jeff told me. “I felt bad about leaving my folks, especially my mom. She’s been so sad since my grandma passed.”

Back in early August, I had made a proposal to Jeff: I would take a bus from St. Petersburg to Peru. But then his grandmother died, and Jeff told me my proposed visit wouldn’t be a good idea.

“I’d love to see you, but it’s too depressing around here right now. Plus, we wouldn’t have any privacy. My folks are at the house all day and night, so we couldn’t…you know.”

So, I had lived the last seven weeks sans Jeff, walking through my days like a guy in a trance. In my mind, I kept replaying the times I’d spent with Jeff and the things we did. I often lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling and recalling our sex, and—I swear—I smelled the musky aroma of his groin and the scent of his hair.

Every time I heard his voice over the phone, my belly muscles knotted and I flexed my toes because I craved his touch so badly. But now he was at IU, and I was in Tallahassee, and I doubted I would see Jeff anytime soon.

Shit…

*

A month into fall semester, Brian and I had fallen into a comfortable routine. Weekdays we rose at 7:00 a.m. While Brian showered and shaved, I brewed coffee and wolfed down a bowlful of Cheerios and milk. Then I took my turn in the bathroom. Just before 8:00 a.m., we walked to campus for our first classes of the day, or to study in library carrels.

At noon, we returned to the apartment for a quick lunch, and then it was back to campus for afternoon classes and more studying. We both arrived home around 4:00 p.m., and maybe once a week, we devoted an hour to sex. I always took Brian on his back with his legs slung over my shoulders, his preferred position. Squeaks from his bedsprings filled the room while I thrust my hips and gazed at the upholstered headboard behind him.

Sex with Brian was something I always looked forward to, but it wasn’t the same as with Jeff, because I felt no deep emotional connection with Brian. And I often thought of something Jeff had said to me when I told him about my sessions with Brian.

“Don’t you want something more than that?”

But having Brian was certainly better than having no one.

Weekday evenings, following dinner, Brian and I studied for a while. Then we watched movies or sports on a TV I’d bought from home. Brian liked watching reruns of Friends, while I preferred cop shows like CSI:NY. And we both enjoyed watching Monday Night Football.

Weekends, we spent our days shooting baskets or tossing a baseball back and forth on Landis Green at FSU. We visited the campus swimming pool and sunned ourselves on chaises. Friday and Saturday nights a party happened somewhere, and certain weekends the Seminoles played football games at Doak Campbell Stadium.

Although I’d initially doubted the wisdom of rooming with Brian, my decision turned out to be the right one. Brian exercised self-discipline when it came to his studies, and his habits quickly became mine. We didn’t let anything get in the way of school, and I was pretty sure my grades would dramatically improve over the mediocre marks I’d earned the previous school year.

Brian was a neatnik. He made his bed each morning before leaving the apartment. He kept his toothpaste tube capped and all his belongings organized. We took turns doing the daily dishes, and once a week we cleaned our bathroom from top to bottom, scrubbing the sink and tub with cleanser till they sparkled, and brushing the toilet bowl.

A couple of guys from our old dorm visited our apartment and gave us shit about the Louis XV pieces—they called them “faggot furniture”—but I didn’t care and neither did Brian. The sofa was a nice place for taking a nap, and the chairs and ottomans were super comfortable for studying or watching TV.

Jeff and I continued to speak by phone a couple of times each week, but the conversations grew shorter as the weeks passed, I suppose because the intensity of our summer relationship had lessened. We spoke about classes and our respective schools’ football games, but not anything personal.

When Jeff asked if I were still having sex with Brian, I took a few seconds before I answered.

“I am, but it’s not the same as with you.”

Jeff cleared his throat. “Is it okay if I tell you I feel a bit jealous about you and Brian doing that sort of thing?”

“Should I stop? I will if you want me to, I mean it.”

Jeff let out his breath.

“No, don’t—at least you’re getting laid.”