Ian
ONE night at the B&G, after giving my efforts at courting Cory yet another try and failing miserably (which was pretty much par for the course), I decided that it was time I did my homework. I mean, time I really did my homework. No, I wasn’t talking about an American Lit or Bio assignment; tonight I was going to wrap my brain around the real Brett Taylor. You know, study the guy. Okay, okay, so I was going to stalk the man as he performed his duties at the B&G, in order to learn the facts I needed.
No, I’m not too proud to admit it; in any case, the ends would justify the means.
I took a minute to wonder why Cory was so unwaveringly devoted to this guy. The two of them clearly didn’t have a single thing in common: Cory was sweet and sensitive; Brett was gruff and surly. Cory was smart and clever; Brett was one step above caveman. Cory was interested in fashion and art and music; Brett was, well, one step above caveman. It was a wonder that the man had managed to evolve beyond the fur loincloth into those faded Levi’s that he seemed to live in.
So, anyways, tonight I was going to discover, firsthand, the reasons for Cory’s devotion, even if it killed me. Which it might. I could easily choke on my beer; I was so damned frustrated with this whole situation. Somebody in this equation was blind, and I meant to find out who it was. Either I was blind to Brett’s gayness (as well as his greatness), Cory was blind to Brett’s straightness (and his total thuggish-ness), or Brett was blind to his own straightness, or…. Well, whatever the case may be, there we sat, me and Ben, slumped over a pitcher of beer at a back corner table.
And I wasn’t leaving until I had my answers.
“What the hell does Cory see in a guy like Brett Taylor? Oh, other than the fact that he’s king of the pretty boys—but I have to say that he’s a king in dire need of a proper hair style.” I lifted the pitcher to refill my own beer and then Ben’s. “Maybe all it takes to get a guy like Cory is to be a potential contender for Mr. January in the 2013 Hunk of the Month Wall Calendar.”
“Cory’s not that shallow, and you know it.” Ben took a long sip of his beer. His devious expression told me that he was going to stick it to me now. As in get me, and get me good… and enjoy it fully. “Yeah, Brett’s definitely ‘a sweet piece of eye candy’—isn’t that what you always say about the players when we watch ball games on TV?” He made air quotes with his fingers when he said my words for a hot athlete. “Remember that time when us guys all tried to pick out the perfect Red Sox player for you? That was a fucking awesome night! Yeah, good times…. But anyways, you really shouldn’t hold Brett’s good looks against him—it’s not nice.”
“Well, it’s common knowledge that God doesn’t overbless, so Taylor’s probably seriously lacking between his ears… or, I’ve got it—I bet it’s between his legs where he comes up short!” I made the universal sign for a tiny penis with my fingers.
Ben’s last sip of beer seemed to have found its way down the wrong pipe. Looked like I was the one who got him good in the end. “Holy crap, Ian! That’s cold. Taylor’s not such a bad guy.” He coughed forcefully, a few drops of golden lager trickling from his nose.
“You’ve got eyes, Ben. Take a look around at all the women… and I mean all of them. You must admit that they clearly don’t see ‘homo’ when they look at him,” I continued, barely acknowledging that Ben was a participant in this conversation. “They literally lick their lips when they look at him; he might as well be an enormous bowl of triple chocolate brownie ice cream smothered in hot fudge.”
“You know how much college girls like ice cream, Ian.” Ben leaned back in his chair and added, “And chocolate too. Apparently, Brett Taylor’s got both areas covered.”
Okay, so what if I completely ignored Ben’s half of this discussion? What he was saying didn’t amount to very much, anyways. At least I could be thankful that I had a warm body sitting across the table from me so nobody would realize that I was actually talking aloud to myself. “I haven’t done too badly with guys here at school, have I?”
Ben looked at me cross-eyed. “You haven’t done anything at all with guys here at school; that’s more the size of it.”
Well, who asked you, anyways? Oh, yeah… I did.
Moving right along….
“In fact, there’s even been a time or two that I had to fight ’em off, wouldn’t you say?” Maybe I was stretching the truth ever so slightly.
“Like last Halloween? When you managed to ward off that cute little dude dressed up like a Catholic schoolboy as well as that other guy decked out in drag like a Catholic schoolgirl? That was classic! Wish like hell I had video of you trying to fight the two of them off, all dressed up as a piece of corn on the cob! Can you say YouTube?”
“Corn on the cob, my friend, was a stellar costume….” I glanced at Ben, whose eyes were streaming giddy tears, as he mumbled something about a food fight in a parochial school cafeteria. “You’re laughing at me not with me, aren’t you?”
Ben was rapidly becoming far too enthusiastic about this topic. I didn’t like it one damn bit. “And after winning football games, E, women really want us bad, you know—us guys on the team. It’s more like they actually have to have us! Not that I’m interested, ’cause of Ally and all. But it feels good to be in demand, you know?”
“But neither of us have ever been in demand like this guy, and I don’t even think he graduated from high school—he’s one small step up from a hoodlum. And just look at all of the chicks staring at him… just look… you see, Ben? Some of them are actually obnoxious, the way they’re trying to get his attention. Look at that one….” I attempted to point nonchalantly with my elbow.
“The one with the big—”
“Hair—yeah, the one with the big hair…. See that? She just dropped her purse right in front of him.”
“I’d say it’s more like she pitched it at his feet. Geez, that fastball must’ve hurt like hell when it hit his ankle. The babe is hot, and she has one hell of a windup.” We watched as Brett bent over and retrieved the girl’s purse, and then spoke politely as he handed it to her. “Her strategy worked.”
At this point I was starting to feel like a sports commentator doing a play-by-play. “Look, her lashes are fluttering at him like her eyeballs are trying to take flight. The dude must be fucking blind—he hasn’t even noticed her flirting her ass off with him!”
“From where I’m sitting, it looks like that gal’s ass is completely intact. Uh-huh.”
I slugged Ben’s arm hard for Ally’s sake and watched as the girl shimmied her way over to Brett’s side and then pressed one abundant breast boldly against his bicep. “He’s gonna make a move on her now, just watch. No het dude can resist a boob in that kind of close proximity.”
Ben nodded in agreement. “Yeah, Taylor took a direct hit with that girl’s hooter, that’s for sure. Tough to pass up… and I’m speaking from heterosexual male personal experience.”
Now, Brett could’ve easily taken a handful of that willingly offered breast, but the only thing Brett took was a single step backward, retreating from the fluttering lashes and the large boob that was clearly crowding his personal space, his eyes leveled at the floor.
How utterly disappointing.
“Sorry, dude, but Brett Taylor hasn’t even realized she’s female. Or, maybe, it is just possible he doesn’t care that she’s female.” Ben didn’t seem particularly astonished by this revelation.
Well, you had to hand it to her; this young lady certainly was no quitter. She persisted in putting on quite a titillating show for Brett’s exclusive benefit. At the moment, she was arching her back seductively, reaching to adjust the buckle on the side of her boot, the other arm slung carelessly across a thrusting hip, and her eyes raised in a coquettish expression. All at the same time. Now, that took coordination.
But still no reaction from Brett, and I’m talking about zero.
It’s almost as if he isn’t interested in her. Hmmmm.
“I’m gay, and I’m getting kind of hot from watching her… um, her little display. What’s up with this guy?”
Ben picked up a menu off of our sticky table and proceeded to fan himself. He was clearly not unaffected by the little lady’s shenanigans either. Then finally, after one last desperate slide of her pink tongue over her sparkly teeth, the poor girl’s shoulders drooped in defeat as she gave up on the man and trudged away, not even a trace of spring left in her step, or wiggle in her walk, or whatever. Ben dropped the menu on the table and filled his glass yet again, sucking the entire beer down in a single gulp as if to cool himself off.
I wasn’t finished with my case study yet, not by a longshot. My specimen had merely passed test number one, but no straight man in his right mind could resist a double whammy, and it looked like Seduction of the Bartender, Phase Two, was strutting Brett’s way. I’d heard that Megan Trasker, one of the B&G’s waitresses, and the recently crowned Miss Leighton University (which proved that she had her attractiveness act together, didn’t it?), refused to take no for an answer when it came to getting the guy she set her sights on. Rumor had it—rumor being defined as Darlene Wilcox, my Renaissance Art class study partner and, coincidentally, Megan Trasker’s big-mouthed roommate—that Megan and Brett had a history together. Granted it was a one-sided history. Megan had been chasing Taylor’s ass around the B&G since school had started. (In fact, I’d made it my business to tell Cory all about Queen Meg’s designs on his “fiancé”—in vivid detail, of course. What kind of a friend would I be if I left out the specifics?) I watched with bated breath as Megan marched right up to Brett and started performing her well-rehearsed male-tantalization repertoire, but it was immediately clear that her attempts were going to be as miserably unsuccessful as her predecessor’s.
No dice for pretty Miss L.U. either. And she didn’t look particularly pleased.
Maybe Brett Taylor has no sex drive. None whatsoever. He’s a redneck, right? Maybe he lost his libido in a hunting accident.
I scanned the crowd of mainly women, most of whom were gazing hungrily in Brett’s direction. “Look at the man, Ben; he hasn’t even realized that any of those babes are alive, let alone that they are more than ready and willing to jump his bones!”
“Well, you’ve got to admit, Ian, Taylor’s a good-looking dude. I mean, you don’t call him ‘The Ken Doll’ for nothing, right? And he may not be a varsity athlete like me, man, but check out the dude’s pecs. That guy’s put in his share of hours at the gym.”
I’m gay, not visually impaired.
Yes, I had already taken ample time to inspect Brett’s arms and shoulders and face and butt and… and, well, let’s just say that the whole package had been closely scrutinized. And I’d reluctantly admitted that the “whole package” had passed the rather stringent list of requirements to qualify as a hottie in my book. With flying colors. But that was neither here nor there. “And what is it with the whole ‘tortured soul’ thing he’s got going on?”
“I don’t know, but the chicks seem to dig it.” Ben got up with a grunt and headed off to the men’s room leaving me alone to wallow in my bewilderment. I wasn’t yet finished stalking my unknowing prey. I continued to observe the subject through narrowed eyes. Twenty-five or so eager, horny, and slightly tipsy women surrounded him (easy pickings for the straight man, or so I hear), all clamoring for his attention, but it was nothing but business as usual for Brett Taylor.
Oh, but when Brett approached his beloved Cory, still perched at the bar on the very same stool where he’d shot down my most recent, and quite creative, I must say, come-ons, all I could do was watch helplessly. The two of them pretty much melted into a couple of piles of mushy goo the very second their eyes met. No doubt about it, there was a raging love fest in that glance. Yeah, get a room.
And I was forced to admit that Brett Taylor had handsome, chivalrous, devoted, tortured, and faithful all wrapped up and stuffed deep in his back pocket where I couldn’t get at it. Time to face the music. (Quite possibly it was well past time for that, but who was watching the clock?)
I have no chance with Cory.
That sad fact was becoming increasingly clear. Brett Taylor couldn’t see anyone but Cory. And vice versa.
Let me reiterate it so there’s no room for confusion: I am the snowball in hell. That pretty much sums it up.
Just then Ben wobbled back to our table grasping another full pitcher, beer sloshing onto his wrists with every step.
“I’ve been thinking,” I informed him gravely, “I might just back off from Cory a little. You know, give him a chance to come to me.”
Ben winked at me, a knowing look in his eyes.
“Maybe, and don’t get too excited, Ben, because this is only a maybe, Cory’s destined to be like a little brother kind of buddy to me.” I felt my heart sink right down to the tips of my combat boots. I guess I wasn’t yet feeling too enthusiastic about a completely platonic state of affairs between Cory and me.
Ben put his hand up to slap me a high five, looking enormously relieved at my sudden change of heart. “You’ve already got four brothers at home, and all of us guys who live in the suite are like your brothers too—another bro is just what you need for your collection!” Ben was laughing, but he sobered quickly when he saw my expression. “Seriously, E, Brett isn’t such a bad dude. And he really does love Cory a lot.”
Despite the fact that I was planning to let up a bit on my hot pursuit of Cory, I wasn’t planning on crowning Brett Taylor as some sort of saint. Therefore, I successfully managed to completely ignore Ben’s most recent defense of the man. “I guess having Cory as a kid brother is better than having nothing with him at all.” I lifted my glass to my lips knowing that tonight I’d studied hard and learned the cold and bitter facts firsthand: Brett Taylor plus Cory Butana equals True Love Always.
Brett
STANDING at the bar beside my trusty bartender, Barry, I struggled with Cory’s “friendship” with the entire L.U. Hawks varsity football team and that there artsy-Goth dude who might as well’ve been their fuckin’ quarterback; them dumb jocks hung on his ev’ry word. And it wasn’t no secret that Ian Webster was basically knocking himself out to get into my husband’s skinny jeans. “That guy is so into my fiancé. Check out the way he’s gawkin’ at Cory,” I complained to Barry, noddin’ toward Webster and his bulgin’ eyeballs.
Barry glanced over at me, and grinned. “I recognize the smitten expression, Boss—it’s written all over your face too!”
“Believe me, I know it is; I gotta see this here lovesick mug in the mirror every mornin’ when I shave.” Lookin’ over at where Ian sat with Ben, his dark eyes gapin’ all the way across the bar at my baby, I gotta say, I felt a tiny bit sorry for him. Just a tiny bit, though. ’Cause who could blame the dude for bein’ hooked on Cory? Nobody could, that’s who. My adorable little husband had it all—brains, beauty, sweetness… fuckin’ everythin’. And I could deal with all of the kid’s football buddies and head-over-heels Ian Webster ’cause I knew for a fact that I could trust my boy with my life, and more important, with my heart.
But still, I didn’t enjoy watchin’ a crowd of high testosterone levels in the human form flock around my pretty partner.