Second You Sin (10 page)

“I don’t know—medium height. Brown hair. You know, now that I think about it, I was so caught off guard by his eye patch that I didn’t notice much else.

Weird.”

The eye patch. It was making me think of something, but what?

Focus, Kevin, focus.

Where had I seen someone wearing an eye patch?

The guy who drove the car that hit Randy.
There was something about his eye . . . I knew it wasn’t sunglasses or, sorry, Freddy, a Terminator-like bionic enhancement, but I couldn’t figure out what the black hole on his face was.

It was an eye patch.

Randy was run over by a pirate!

No, that didn’t sound right.

But what were the odds that Randy would be hit by someone wearing an eye patch and then a similar cyclops shows up at his bedside?

The eye patch. Not real y a disguise, but enough of a prop to distract you. It worked with Cody and me.

“Listen,” I said, “this guy with the eye patch? I think he might have been up to no good.”

“What do you mean?” Cody asked.

“I’l tel you in a minute. But first I have to cal my semi-boyfriend.”

Cody went back to his desk while I cal ed Tony from the cafeteria. I told him about the strange appearance of Patchy at the hospital.

First, because he considers me to have somewhat of an overactive imagination, Tony told me to calm down. In his best policeman manner, he got me to admit that I hadn’t real y seen an eye patch on the driver. It could have been a shadow. He asked if this wasn’t a case of my mind fil ing in the blanks. I admitted I couldn’t be sure.

But he also said he’d relay my message to the officers who had taken my report on the accident. In the meantime, he suggested I have Cody cal hospital security to be on the lookout for anyone fitting Patchy’s description. Then he asked, “This Cody guy—the nurse—is he handsome?”

“Why, are you looking for a date?”

“No, I’m just wondering what you’re doing with him on his coffee break. Does he provide this level of service to everyone who comes to visit?”

“He kind of looks like you. Only younger, hotter, and more muscular. And better hung.” Does it count as kidding if one of those things was true?

“Ha-fucking-ha,” Tony answered, ’cause he was classy like that. “Just tel him to keep his stethoscope in his pants, OK?”

“Yes, sir,” I answered. I enjoyed Tony’s jealousy too much to remind him that he was the one who wanted an open relationship.

“OK,” he said. “Be good.”

I went back to the intensive care unit and relayed Tony’s message about alerting security. Cody said he would. He looked nervous. “You real y think someone hit Randy on purpose?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “But watch out for him. And for yourself, too.”

“I wil ,” Cody assured me. “Thanks for the pep talk.

You didn’t have to say al those nice things.”

“Listen,” I said, “you need to get a mirror and realize that you have a lot more to offer than”—I nodded toward his crotch—“Old Faithful between your legs. Trust me, you’re delicious.” This time, Cody’s blush threatened to go nuclear.

But if his dick real y was as big as he said, he’d need a healthy blood flow, wouldn’t he?

He was about to say something when a beep sounded from behind his desk. “I have to distribute meds now. But I’l keep an eye on Randy for you.”

“Thanks. I’l see you later.”

“No,” he said, stil blushing, “thank
you.
”
10

Honey, Can I Put on Your Clothes?

I took a cab to my apartment in Chelsea. Once inside, I stripped off my clothes, set my iPhone’s alarm to go off in two hours, and lay down on my bed. It was going to be a long night. A little disco nap would do me good. I thought I had too much on my mind to fal asleep, but the shocks of the past two days must have hit me harder than I realized. Within five minutes, I was out like a light.

I woke up to my iPhone’s alarm playing an Ari Gold song. Not only is he a terrific singer, but he’s crazy hot. My only regret was that he wasn’t there to wake me in person. I decided to go back to sleep and dream of Ari when his sexy voice was interrupted by a ring tone. I picked up the phone to see who was cal ing.

“Hi, Freddy.”

“Darling,”
Freddy answered, “get out of bed and get dressed. I’l be there in an hour to pick you up.”

“I’m not in bed,” I said, getting out of bed.

“Of course you were. You’re like an old man—you always nap before we go out.”

“I hate you,” I reminded him.

“Yes, yes. Have you opened Rueben’s care package yet?”

I had total y forgotten. “No, how is it?”

“It’s total y, total y hot,” Freddy said. “Very butch. I look like a mil ion bucks. We real y get to keep this stuff?”

“It’s a gift. As long as we wear it tonight, it’s ours.”

“Fagtastic,” Freddy gushed. “This outfit probably costs more than my rent.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“You’l have to see for yourself. Now, go open your little gifty and get yourself ready.”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, hanging up.

Rueben’s package had arrived two days ago, dropped off by a private messenger. It was in a rectangular box about two by four feet long. On the top was scrawled “Do Not Open Until the Night of the Event,” an instruction already hammered into me by Rueben the day before the box was delivered.

“Now, this party is very important to Ansel . He has everything planned to the smal est detail. You must promise me you’l wear exactly what we send,” Rueben said.

“I promise.”

“Al of New York’s fashion elite wil be there,
Kevito.
”

“I get it.”

Rueben was a former rentboy made good. About six months ago, he hooked up with Ansel Darling, one of New York’s brightest up-and-coming young designers. It was love at first trick, and Rueben now lived in Ansel ’s fabulous SoHo loft. He was even pictured in a catty item on page six of the
New York
Post
that asked “Is Darling’s Darling Charging by the Hour?”

I hoped Ansel was good for Rueben. Rueben was a fantastical y beautiful Puerto Rican guy of about my age. Skin the color of caramel and green eyes to die for. But he was also a bit of a party boy, and the last time Freddy and I saw him at a club—about a month before he started dating Ansel —Freddy took one look at the dark circles under Rueben’s eyes and a tel tale bruise on his arm and said “heroin.” I didn’t know how Rueben was doing now, other than being anxious about the party.

“You, Freddy, a couple of my other best-looking friends, and al of Ansel ’s models are going to be wearing the actual designs from his latest col ection.

It’s a whole back-to-the-seventies theme. It wil be like a runway show, but you’l be interacting with the guests. Isn’t it genius? It was Ansel ’s idea, but he’s counting on me to help him pul it off. I real y need this to work.”

He sounded desperate. “Is everything al right between you and Ansel ?”

“Let’s just say,
mi hermano
, it’s pretty crucial I come through for him on this.”

I decided to let it drop. “Cross my heart, I’l fol ow your instructions to the letter.”

“Oh, did I mention there were instructions? They’re right on top of the box.”

“I was kidding. Instructions? I know how to get dressed, Rueben. I may be blond, but I’m not
that
blond.”

“Oh, it’s a whole look you’l be putting together. I picked it out for you myself. I know you’re going to love it. You’l be the hottest thing there.
Muy caliente,
bambino.
You’re not shy, are you?”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s just . . . oh, there’s Ansel now. I have to go.

See you at the party!”

I opened Rueben’s box, excited to see what was in there. As promised, right on top, were instructions, handwritten in Rueben’s casual scrawl. The more I read, the worse it got.

He had to be kidding me. I tore away the paper in which my outfit was wrapped and discovered he wasn’t.

Inside was the clothing and glass vial he described to me.

Oh my God.

I couldn’t wear this.

I couldn’t.

But I had to.

I’d promised.

And Rueben sounded real y urgent that I show up exactly as he described.

Like his life depended on it.

“Love the coat,” Freddy said, when I answered the door.

He was admiring the floor-length, gold-lamé down jacket that Rueben had sent along with the rest of my clothing. I had to agree with him. It was a couture dream come true. A little retro but with futuristic detailing. The down was soft but the coat wasn’t puffy. It felt as light as a feather and molded to my body as if custom made. It had to cost about two thousand dol ars, and I was grateful to have received it.

Something I couldn’t say for the rest of my outfit.

Freddy, meanwhile, real y did look hot. His outfit seemed to take its inspiration from the costume worn by the construction worker from the Vil age People. Black, square-toed boots, tight jeans that were frayed in al the right places, a shirt with epaulets that looked like denim but, I could see, was real y a midweight silk that draped perfectly over his prominent chest, and a matching faux-denim jacket that was actual y blue-dyed leather. It sounds like a mess, but it was actual y pretty cool. The mix of fabrics, cotton, silk, and leather, was very sexy and surprising. Al the pieces made you take a second look at them.

“Wow,” I said, “you look amazing.” I grabbed him by the arm. “Let’s go.”

Freddy pushed me back. “Wait a minute,” he said.

“Let me see the rest of your ensemble, darling.”

“It’s nothing,” I said, pul ing his arm again. “Come on, I don’t want to be late.”

Freddy didn’t budge. “What are you, retarded? Let me see.”

“You’l see at the party.” I tugged at him. “We have to leave. We might have trouble getting a cab.” Unfortunately, Freddy had about fifty pounds of muscle on me. “I am not moving,” he announced regal y, “until you open up that coat and let me see what Ansel made for you.”

“OK,” I said, “but you have to swear you’re not going to tease me.”

“Tease you, why would I tease you? You’re wearing something by one of the hottest designers in the . . . Oh. My. God.”

Freddy’s jaw dropped as I opened my coat.

“Don’t you say a word,” I cautioned him.

Freddy used the palm of his hand to push his mouth closed.

“You swore you wouldn’t tease me.”

“Did not.”

Damn. He was right.

“Wel , you shouldn’t tease, anyway. It’s mean.”

“You’re, you’re . . .” Freddy searched for the right word. “You’re
golden.
”

“Kind of.”

“And naked.”

“Not
naked.
Exactly.”

“And you’re so . . . bulgy.”

It was true. If my clothing were any skimpier, I’d be arrested for indecent exposure. My entire outfit consisted of a pair of gold-lamé shorts. Short shorts.

Low cut, high on the legs, and with a built-in pouch that lifted me in the front. I felt like my bal s were wearing a push-up bra. The effect was more provocative than if I were nude.

The only other thing I wore were a pair of Ked sneakers, spray-painted gold to match.

Oh, I almost left out the contents of the vial Rueben sent me—gold body glitter, which he instructed me to apply liberal y al over.

I looked like something that gets handed out at a kinky awards show.

My front door was stil open—I prayed none of my neighbors would walk by and see me like this.

“Ugh,” I said. “I can’t go. I look like a freak.”

“A freak? You look incredible! How come I didn’t get an out-fit like that?”

“I told you not to tease me.”

“I’m not teasing.” He pul ed me toward him. “You have no idea how sexy you look in that, do you?” He ran his hand over the back of my shorts. “These are amazing. So smooth. The way they fit you. You look like an angel . . . a real y raunchy angel.” His voice was getting huskier and his crotch pressed a little more insistently. “Damn, boy.”

Freddy felt real y good against me. For a moment, I considered throwing him to the floor and showing him how easily the shorts slid off.
Just friends,
I told m y s e l f ,
we’re

just

friends,

just

friends,

justfriendsjustfriendsjustfriends. . . .

Problem was, my pants were rapidly getting bulgier by the moment and the only kind of temptation I was good at resisting was the kind that wasn’t offered.

“Maybe we should . . .” I began.

“Right,” Freddy said, pushing himself away. He cleared his throat. “We should. We should get going.”

“Right,” I agreed. I pul ed my coat back closed.

There was a brief awkward silence, which Freddy merciful y broke. “You going to be OK at the party?”

“Yeah, I guess. I just wish I didn’t feel like such a slut in this.”

“Darling, please don’t make me bite my tongue. I might need it later.”

“You promise I don’t look ridiculous?”

“You look fine. Come on, Oscar.”

We left my apartment and headed for the elevator.

Usual y, there wasn’t a quiet moment between us, but I think we both felt awkward about what we almost did in my apartment. Freddy pressed the down button and I tightened the belt on my coat. We watched the numbers over the elevator’s door change as it neared us. Fascinating. Then a soft
ping
as it arrived on my floor. We hurried on with the zeal of thieves escaping a crime.