Tipping the Balance (43 page)

Brad didn’t tell him that his dad had literally beat the concession of his separation from Sundstrom Homes being only temporary out of him. “You know about that?”

Bob put a hand on his shoulder. “Brad, you’ll find that the home trades in this area are a very small community, and there’s not a whole lot that won’t get out eventually. It’s something to keep in mind.”

“Good advice,” Brad said, nodding slowly. “I wonder if Drew realizes that sometimes.”

Bob considered the matter for a few moments. “He’ll have a tough row to hoe by being out in this business. Things are changing, but I’m not altogether sure if he appreciates how slowly.”

“I doubt it.” Brad didn’t think Drew had any clue whatsoever about just how homophobic construction workers could be. He knew, and it was one of the reasons he struggled with being out. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to take advantage of being a man of leisure who only works two jobs to go have lunch with a friend.”

Bob laughed and waved him off. It’d been more than a week since he’d e-mailed Morgan, but it was the first time his erstwhile rival could meet during his busy final year of college.

Brad met Morgan between classes, figuring since Morgan was doing him the favor of listening, he could at least not make the man drive to meet him.

Perhaps for the first time, Brad noticed that Morgan looked amazing. Morgan was tall, almost as tall as he was, which was why they’d been paired in the boats, but where Brad resembled a linebacker, Morgan possessed the classic rower’s build, defined without being overbuilt, long of limb and lean of muscle. Add to that his dark curly hair and fair skin, and the man looked like a cover model. Brad could see what must’ve drawn Nick.

But Morgan possessed more than those physical attributes. There was a confidence about him, a natural poise, an ease in any surrounding that proclaimed louder than words that Morgan, sooner or later, got what he wanted. For his part, Brad just assumed he himself was the alpha. No wonder they’d been rivals. Brad had no idea how he’d missed it before.

“Hey, buddy, thanks for meeting me,” Brad greeted him outside one of the campus eateries.

“You’re welcome. You said you needed to talk about things,” Morgan said, “and given how edgy you are and evasive you were in the e-mail, I’m guessing it has to do with being gay?”

“Let’s order,” Brad said shortly, moving past him into the self-service coffee shop. With a raised eyebrow, Morgan followed in his wake.

After they ordered and found a seat, Morgan said, “So what’s going on?”

“I don’t want to be gay,” Brad blurted. He didn’t know Morgan well enough to engage in small talk beyond the crew, and he was too nervous for much of that.

Morgan looked at him levelly. “Interesting. I’d say that you already are and don’t have a lot of choice in the matter. I certainly hope you don’t think I’ve got information on reparative therapy.”

“There’s a cure?” Brad said, not expecting a positive answer. If a real cure existed, he’d have heard about it.

“No, it’s a misapplication of psychology that leaves troubled people even more deeply scarred. It’s nothing but manipulative bullshit,” Morgan spat. “Okay, I have to ask… how come?”

“It’s hard,” Brad began and then realized what he said. But even as Brad turned redder than a sunburned tomato, Morgan didn’t snicker. He had to give the man points for that. “I’m just figuring out that I’m… that I like guys, you know,” Brad said. “
That
way.”

“Go on,” Morgan said.

“It’s a lot to deal with at once. I thought it might help to speak to someone who’s obviously gay. Wait, I mean someone who’s gay and accepts it and… everything,” he trailed off lamely. Why was it he could think this so clearly in his car, but when faced with someone he’d asked for help, he tripped over his own tongue?

“You’ve gone from just figuring out you might be attracted to guys to being in a serious relationship with a man whose level of comfort with his own sexuality doesn’t leave you a lot of room to negotiate or let you get used to this at your own pace?” Morgan summarized.

“Something like that. I mean, I can barely say I’m gay to myself, let alone out loud,” Brad said, eyes darting around nervously, “and he wants to go out and hold hands.”

Morgan nodded slowly. “I can see how that’d be rough.”

“Why can’t he just let me do this on my own schedule? When I’m ready? When I’m comfortable, damn it. Why am I suddenly his latest project?” Brad demanded.

“I’ll tell you something about Drew St. Charles,” Morgan sighed.

Brad frowned as Morgan told him about Drew’s high school experiences. “Yeah, he’s told me all of that.”

“Okay, what he didn’t tell you is what it means. He had to struggle to be himself, and that taught him to fight for what he wants. It also gave him the utter conviction that you can only be happy—truly happy—if you’re out, and the faster the better.”

“Hmm. I guess. Why aren’t you as pushy? How long have you been out?” Brad asked.

“I don’t really remember not being out,” Morgan said with a shrug. “I noticed boys when my friends noticed girls. My family noticed me noticing, and it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t have to fight to be who I am. Drew did. That makes him impatient with people who aren’t on his timeline, and since yes, he likes projects, he’s made you one,” Morgan said.

“Sometimes I wish he’d just back off,” Brad muttered.

“Understandable,” Morgan said. “Do you wish you weren’t together?”

Brad thought about it. “No,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation. “No. I really like being around him. He’s a great guy, and honestly, other than this, I’m pretty happy. I just want to do this at my own pace.”

“Tell him that,” Morgan said. “See how he responds.” Then he grinned. “Remember Nick’s Five Cs?”

“Jeez, how could I forget?” Brad groaned.

They looked at each other and laughed. “‘Coach, coxswain, crew, communication, and commitment’!”

“It’s the communication that’s the important one in this case,” Morgan said. “So what’s your pace? How out are you?”

Brad shrugged uncomfortably. “Not very, I guess. He hasn’t met my friends or anything.”

“Your friends are a bunch of frat rats. You need grown-up friends,” Morgan pronounced. “What about actual sex? Have you gotten that far?”

Brad felt his face heat right up, and that answered the question.

“Look at you, Mr. Bashful. I’m not sure who this new Brad is, but I like him,” Morgan said.

“That’s the problem, it’s a new Brad, and I need time to get used to him,” Brad said. “And yeah, we’ve had sex.”

“So who’s the top?”

Brad choked on his soda. “What’d you mean, who’s the top?” Brad demanded. “Isn’t that obvious? I’m no one’s bitch.”

Morgan leaned back, smirking. “Let’s just say Drew’s not the total bottom you might think, and,” he said, looking at Brad intently, “I don’t think you’re quite the total top you appear.”

“What the hell, Morgan? I ask you for help and you—”

“Easy, Brad. Calm down,” Morgan said. “It’s not an insult. If it weren’t for the bottoms, the tops wouldn’t have anyone to fuck, would they?”

“What?” Brad shook his head, trying to make sense of that. “Maybe that’s the problem. I didn’t think I was anyone’s bitch, but….” He gulped. “I was. Once. Kind of.”

“And?” Morgan said.

“I liked it.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that, either,” Morgan said gently. “It’s called being versatile, or, as I prefer to think of it, a good lay.”

Brad hunched his shoulders miserably. “I don’t want to be gay. I don’t want to be the girl in the relationship.”

Morgan stared, mouth agape. “Brad, somehow you’ve managed to acquire an idea of masculinity—to say nothing of homosexuality—that’s long out of date. Sexual position and gender role within a relationship aren’t even remotely the same thing.”

“They’re not?” Brad looked puzzled.

Morgan shook his head. “Uh… no. You’ve got to separate them. You maybe more than most people need to. They’re not the same,” he repeated. “The old dude/bitch dichotomy is nothing but heterosexual homophobia—the inability to conceive of sex as anything other than something between a man and a woman. If someone’s doing the fucking, he’s a man, because that’s what men do. So the one getting fucked must obviously be the woman, because a woman is by definition the one who gets dicked.”

“Dichotomy. That’s a big word,” Brad said, laughing to cover up his nervousness.

Morgan shot him a look that told him he’d seen right through it. “Try to stay with me, big guy. Those definitions don’t apply to us. We’re not heterosexuals, we’re gay. We’re not women and men, we’re men. And don’t go by appearances. I’ve known some pretty effeminate-looking guys who were hardcore tops, and some big macho brutes,” Morgan said, looking him right in the eye, “who couldn’t get enough cock up their asses.”

“Aww, jeez, thanks for the visual,” Brad said. Part of him thought the idea was hot, but talking about this? This made him cringe in shame.

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Any of this getting through to you? I know how much you play stupid, but we both know you’re not.”

“Has
everyone
figured me out?” Brad demanded. Really, discussing his sex life with his former rival was embarrassing enough without the guy looking through him like he was glass.

“Relax, Brad, your secret’s safe with me,” Morgan promised. “I don’t even think Stuart knows about your serious side. You might give him a chance, by the way. You bust his chops a lot, but he’s a great guy and good friend, and he and Jonathan haven’t figured out yet that not only are they going to start banging each other, but they’re probably going to live happily ever after too.”

“Yeah?” Brad said. “I thought it was just me, but Nick mentioned something about them too.”

“Nick and I talk about it a lot.” Morgan smiled. “But I’d like someone else to talk about them with, too, and maybe be there for them when it’s time too.”

“That sounds nice,” Brad said.

Brad walked out of lunch feeling buoyed, but still unsure. It was just so hard moving past the idiotic—he saw Morgan’s point, rationally at least—notions of male and female he’d picked up from his dad and working construction all those years. Some of those guys had probably been gay, but Brad sure hadn’t known it. Hell, he hadn’t known it about himself.

Yeah, he was gay, but damn it, why did he have to be? It’d be so much easier if he weren’t. But with that realization came the knowledge that if he weren’t gay, he wouldn’t have Drew, maybe not even as a friend, and Drew… Drew had crept under his radar and into his life before he’d even realized what was going on. Now, he couldn’t willingly part with Drew any more than he’d willingly surrender a testicle.

He kicked at a weed in the sidewalk. But damn, couldn’t they just go back to the way it had been, him fucking Drew and both getting off without making a federal case out of everything?

Drew
loved November in the Sacramento area. The weather was cool enough to justify his favorite suits and sweaters without being off-puttingly frigid, and he spent the weeks before his birthday getting back up to speed with his real estate business. It meant, more often than not, spending the early evenings going over the day’s work on the Bayard House with Brad by light of the work lamps, but there was no help for it, just like there was no help for the softening winter home market.