The Name of the Game Read online

  "Sorry," he whispered. "I'm just confused, that's all. You understand, don't you, Clay?" He swallowed hard. "I think I know your secret now. Never get drunk around me again, understand? I'm not ready to deal with this yet."

  One last touch on Clay's foot, and Seth turned to leave the room. "You don't want me, anyway," he said softly. "I'm not good enough for you, Clay. What you need is someone who can really be there for you. Me, I can't even make up my mind about a kiss on the hand."

  He paused in the doorway, a thought occurring to him. "I'll make it up to you. The speed dating, the cruising. I'll take care of you. Help you find someone who could be way better than I could ever hope, even if I did know what to think about myself right now. I can't be what you want, not yet. I think you know as much. So… starting tomorrow, we're going to work on getting you someone good to bring home.

  "And I'm going to work on forgetting this ever happened."

  Chapter Six

  Seth never did make it to sleep that night. He tried lying down, sure, but after an hour or two of turning from one side to the other, punching his pillow into shape and flipping it over to find a cool side, he gave up. Instead, he went to sit by his window and listened to the comforting sounds of surf pounding into sand. In and out they rushed, but for once in his life they failed to calm him down.

  His head raced with thoughts he couldn't understand, much less break down into quantifiable components. Clay, with his kisses and his sweet words -- they defied logic. Seth couldn't wrap his head around why the man would have acted as if, well, he wanted Seth. In that way. Seth wasn't stupid; he knew all the signs. If Clay had been a woman, he still would have tucked her in and not taken advantage, but he'd have been all but jumping up and down with excitement at the she likes me, she likes me of the whole situation.

  But this? With Clay? Seth shook his head. Dawn was rising outside his window. God, had he really stayed up all night long? He shook his head again, then closed his eyes and tried to picture the golden rays gleaming over the blue surface of the ocean. No luck. The only thing he kept coming back to was Clay's eyes, warm and brown. Trusting and… loving.

  This called for drastic measures.

  Pancakes.

  And someone to share them with. A person who'd understand not only Seth's dilemma, but have the inside scoop on Clay as well. Seth could only think of one person who fit the bill. Anthony.

  Quietly and carefully, watching out for any sudden, loud sounds that might wake Clay up next door, Seth picked up his phone and began to dial Anthony's number. Ring. Ring. He began to worry that he was already awake and in his studio, where he didn't have a phone. Ring. Then, he worried that Anthony was fast asleep and ignoring the phone. Ring.

  His heart gave a huge thump of relief when he heard the other line pick up, along with some muffled cursing and the clunking noises of someone trying to balance a receiver between their ear and shoulder.

  "This had better be good," Anthony said, sounding cranky. It'd take a brave man to face the tough little guy down like this, but Seth didn't see that he had any choice.

  "Clay," he said, and waited for it.

  "Clay?" Some of the fogginess cleared from Anthony's voice. "Is he all right? Where is he?"

  "He's here, and he's fine. It's me."

  More sounds, as if Anthony were sitting up in the tangle of his sheets and comforters. Seth could see him so clearly, folding his legs underneath himself and leaning his elbow on one knee. "What's wrong with you, hon?"

  Seth sighed. "Everything?"

  "And it's got to do with Clay?"

  "Very much so."

  "Right." Anthony made a clucking noise with his tongue. "Seaside Diner, thirty minutes? I'll be the one with messy hair because someone woke me up at the ass crack of dawn."

  Relief rushed into Seth's stomach. "Thank you, Anthony. God, thank you."

  "You're paying," Anthony informed him. "And now that I'm awake, I'm going to eat like a horse and to hell with the calories."

  "Deal." Seth didn't care if he didn't have enough money after last night's bar crawl. He'd use plastic if he had to. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."

  "Feed me, and then we'll talk." Anthony snorted. "I'm so easy. A few eggs and strips of bacon, and I spill all my secrets."

  "There are secrets to spill? And don’t forget about pancakes."

  "French crepes." Seth could hear Anthony's smirk. "I told you I wasn't going to go easy on this breakfast. Now get dressed up, tux and tails, mister, and get on over there. I'll be waiting for you."

  "Bless you, Anthony." Seth hung up the phone and searched the room, scanning for something -- anything -- that didn't smell like Eau de Bar, or looked reasonably clean. Finally, he settled on a loose pair of sweatpants and a clean workout T-shirt. Not exactly fancy, but the Seaside Diner wasn't exactly haute cuisine, after all. A good shorefront greasy spoon that served up the best breakfast twenty-four seven that he knew of.

  His favorite bolt-hole, aside from home, when he'd had a bad night. Anthony knew it, too. Good old Anthony.

  Dressed, Seth opened his door with extra care and peered out through the hallway. Good; Clay's door was still firmly closed. He didn't want to risk waking the guy up. That way led to awkward conversations and decisions on whether or not to touch him as he'd always done, and Seth just wasn't ready to go there yet.

  Tiptoeing out of the house, he locked the door behind him. Then he winced. His motorcycle, the good old chopper, would make enough noise to rouse the dead, much less one hungover man. He could take Clay's car, but that would leave Clay with no transport.

  Nothing for it. Seth threw one leg over the saddle and let the bike coast down the driveway out into the street. Once there, he turned the key in the ignition and revved up her motor, speeding away fast as he could. He knew the way to the diner like the back of his hand, and he prayed that Anthony would have some answers for him.

  If he didn't, Seth was screwed.

  * * *

  Clay sat up in his bed -- or tried to. A pounding head arrested him a few inches off the pillow. He slitted his eyes open and peered out at the world around him. Oh, thank God. Someone had left aspirin and a glass of water on his bedside table. With clumsy hands, he reached out and managed to fumble the pills into his palm. Popping them into his mouth, he grabbed the water next and sloshed it into his mouth. The pills went down, and he collapsed back onto his pillow.

  What the hell had happened the night before? Last thing he remembered was taking shots at the bar Seth had dragged him to. Lots of shots. Groaning, Clay dry-washed his hand over his face. He put the water back in its place and used the second hand to rub his eyes. Jesus, this was the mother of all hangovers. There must have been more shots than he recalled.

  How had he gotten home? Had to have been Seth. Clay struggled to recall the details, and slowly bits and pieces began to fade back into focus. Yeah… Seth had helped him to the car and buckled him in. There would probably have been a drive involved at some point.

  The vague memory of dancing trees came back to him. Had he babbled about them? Clay groaned in embarrassment, burying his face further in the pillow. And then… and then…

  Oh, shit. His eyes flew open. He'd kissed Seth. Just his palm, but all the same. More, he'd let his guard down. Treated Seth like a lover who was taking care of him after too much to drink.

  Even though his head protested, Clay began to fumble his way out of bed. He realized he didn't have a shirt on as he went to straighten the hoodie he last remembered wearing, and his cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Who'd taken it off? Him, or Seth? At least his pants were still on, thank God.

  More memories floated into his mind. Seth had been so gentle, listening to all of Clay's yammering with good humor and then… Clay froze. Seth had lain next to him on the bed. He couldn't remember any touching, but the man had actually shared his bed and he couldn't recall anything beyond the fact!

  Oh, man, if he'd only been sober. The devil rum, indee
d. Clay stood, paused as the room swayed around him, then headed for the door. The knob proved a little hard to work as his hand was shaking, but eventually he wrestled the stubborn thing open. Stumbling out into the hallway, he steadied himself with a hand on the hallway wall, and peered around to find Seth's door.

  Open.

  "Hey, man," he mumbled, inching closer. "Look, I think we need to talk. About last night. You know."

  He knocked. No response. "Look, I just want to apologize, okay? I don't remember what I did, but if I made you mad, then just --"

  The door swung open. Clay stared inside. Seth's usually neatly-made bed was in disarray, and a chair had been pulled up to the window. His heart sank. He'd seen this kind of thing before, usually on nights when Sophie had been acting like a class-A bitch. Had Seth been so upset he hadn't been able to sleep, and then sat by the window until dawn? The sound that woke him must have been Seth's motorcycle revving up to leave.

  Clay sagged against the doorframe. Seth, gone. No chance to talk things over and explain himself.

  Well, hell.

  * * *

  Seth pushed open the door to the Seaside Diner. The waitress, a young girl with her head shaved almost to the scalp, greeted him with a grin. "Hey, man. Table for one?"

  "Actually, no. I'm here with someone this morning." Seth scanned the booths. To his relief, he spotted Anthony's curly head in a booth, bent over a menu. Man, he could already feel the cash slipping out of his wallet. That little guy could flat eat. Seth didn't understand how Anthony managed to inhale such huge amounts of food and still keep his slender figure. Sophie never ate anything but steamed vegetables and on occasion, a tiny, carefully weighed portion of plain roasted chicken.

  "That's my party over there," he said, pointing. "Hey, Anthony!"

  "New squeeze, huh?" the waitress asked, grinning. "He's a hottie, man. Not the place I'd bring someone to impress him, but best of luck, yeah?"

  Seth managed to grin. "He's not the one I'm interested in, but I'm hoping he can help me out with the one I do want." I think. Maybe? "Has he already ordered?"

  "No, but he's drunk three iced teas and he's been making a list while he reads the menu." At Seth's dumbfounded expression, the hostess laughed and clapped him on the back. "Get over there before your friend decides to order one of everything."

  Accepting a menu of his own, Seth tucked his motorcycle helmet under one arm and started to weave his way between booths. "Anthony!" he called when he was close enough not to disturb too many diners bent over their Big Skipper Specials. "Hey, Toni!"

  His head came up, and that wide, Anthony smile broke across his lips. Felt like a warm, soothing balm. Seth basked for a moment before he joined the man, sliding into the booth across from him. He glanced down, realizing that Toni had made a list.

  Anthony took the last sip of his tea and grinned at Seth. "So," he said without any preamble, "did the earth move for you?"

  Seth spluttered. "Christ, Anthony!"

  "Well? Did it, or not?"

  "No! I wouldn't do that to Clay, not when he was drunk."

  Anthony pounced. "But you wanted to, didn't you?"

  Seth realized his mistake a minute too late, and put his hand over his face. "You tricky little bitch," he mumbled. "You had that all planned out, didn't you?"

  "Yes, and if you call me a bitch again, I'll empty this glass of ice on your lap," Anthony said sweetly. "Look, it didn't take a genius. A man like me sees a lot of things when it comes to his best friend, and that's my Clay. Hurt him, and I'll have your balls for a necklace."

  "Anthony, back up!" Seth waved his hands in the air, forming a T sign. "Slow down. You're reading all kinds of things into the situation here that just don't apply. I don't even know if I… I mean, Anthony, I'm straight." He paused. "Aren't I?"

  The look on Anthony's face changed from teasing to sympathetic. "Honey, you're the only one who can answer that question."

  "That's a lot of help," Seth griped. "I don't understand myself, Toni, and I don't have a single clue as to what's going on. I mean, this all started out as a joke, right? A way to get Sophie off my back. But then we went drinking, and he had to be all nice and sweet and gentle, and oh, God, am I gay now?" He dropped his head onto the table with a thump.

  "Are you, uh, ready to order?" Another waitress, one Seth didn't recognize through one barely open eye, stood in front of them, looking understandably nervous. "I can, you know, come back if you're not."

  Poor kid looked like she wanted nothing more than to escape. Anthony jumped in with the save. "I think we need a few more minutes. Another tea for me, though."

  The waitress nodded and beat feet. Anthony gave Seth's shoulder a thump. "Get with the program, buddy. You asked me out for breakfast, in your favorite stomping grounds no less, so I want to see you eat. No one ever accomplished anything good on an empty stomach."

  "I don't know if I can." The thought of bacon and eggs had been unbelievably tempting before Seth had smelled them, but now he wasn't sure at all if he could keep a single thing down. "I'm tied up in knots inside, Toni, and you're worried about a pancake or two?"

  "Pancakes, good idea!" The waitress came back with Anthony's iced tea. Anthony flashed her one of those wide smiles, and handed over the menu. "French crepes, two scrambled eggs, a side of bacon, and a side of seasoned red potatoes for me. Warm maple syrup for those crepes. For him, a small Fisherman's special. Butter on his pancakes."

  Seth groaned.

  The waitress took the menus hesitantly, then scribbled Anthony's request down on her notepad. "Be just a minute," she said. Then, after another second's pause, she offered: "If you are gay, it's not that bad. My best friend is gay, and he's a great guy."

  As she fled, Anthony stared after her, shaking his head. "Girls these days," he said absently. "She can't be over eighteen, and she's already learning the ways of the fag hag. God bless America." He raised his fresh glass of tea in a toast. "Here's to the modern youth."

  Seth sat up. "Anthony," he said, without patience for dancing around it any longer. "What's going on with me? I've been straight all my life. Now, a couple of kisses with Clay and I'm starting to doubt myself."

  "Hmm." Anthony stirred the ice in his glass with a straw. "Do you think it's all guys, or just him?"

  "Say what, now?"

  "Well, do you fantasize about Clay?"

  "Anthony!"

  "Come on, do you?" Anthony nudged a place mat towards him. "It's just Sister Toni here. All secrets spilled in confession remain confidential."

  Seth sighed. "Yeah," he admitted grudgingly. "A couple of times."

  "Such as when?"

  "Once in the shower."

  "Mmm. Bet you came like a pulse cannon."

  Seth stared at Anthony accusingly. "That is so far off the list of things I want to discuss that it isn't even in the same ZIP code. There will be no discussion of my…" He fumbled.

  "Ejaculatory competence?"

  Seth closed his eyes tightly. "Yeah. That." When he opened up, Anthony was grinning at him like a cat who'd stolen the cream. "You're loving this, aren't you?"

  Anthony shrugged. "I'm a yenta at heart. What can I say? More to the point, I'm not blind. I know how Clay looks at you."

  "How does he look at me?" Seth's heartbeat sped up. He leaned forward, although he still wondered at himself and why he was doing so. He'd wanted Anthony to convince him he was straight -- hadn't he? "Like a friend, or…?"

  "Honey, he wants you." Anthony took a long drink of tea. "He'd never say it himself, and he'd kill me if he knew I'd said a word about the matter, but you know as well as I do that Clay's had the hots for you since he moved in. He's just too much of a gentleman to say a word about it when he knows you don't swing that way." There came the grin again. "But now, looks like you might be starting to butter your bread on the other side."

  Seth shook his head. "You're not being any help, you know. I came here for advice, and --" His mind backtracked. "Clay wants me?"
/>   "Like a cigarette wants a match. Snap, crackle!" Anthony gestured with his hands. "The man has spent hour after hour keeping me awake with talk about how fantastic you are. Trust me, no gay man goes on and on and need I say, on, about a man unless he's interested." Another sip and a sly look. "Then there are the times he's just said it outright."

  "Oh, man." Seth sat back. "Anthony, this is a whole lot to deal with. I could have handled pretending for a little while, but if Clay's really in love with me, and I -- I --" He faltered. "What if I love him back?"