Any Closer

I nodded.

“So it was all staged, but fuck.” He exhaled sharply. “It’s so real and so totally hot, but suddenly after that, Chaz is gone. There’s no more movies, no pictures, nothing. And since then, Doran Lear’s got nobody like Chaz. Nobody has his sex appeal or his body or anything. I mean, he was gorgeous, no doubt about it, but he was also cute and adorable and wicked and wild—everybody wanted him. He was, like, this perfect combination of seduction and innocence and sweetness and heat. He was a big tease, and then he’d deliver, and when he had sex… fuck, Leo,” he groaned hoarsely. “He was loud and expressive, and it was all, ‘fuck me, do me, give it to me or I’m gonna die.’”

I looked at him, and there was almost a sadness that crossed his features.

“Guys like that, who make you believe it, make you believe they want it—they’re so rare. Normally the acting is so bad and you know the guy’s just sayin’ the words, but with him it was different.” He sighed heavily. “Like I said, I have everything the man ever made.”

We were silent, and I found that as he stopped talking, I calmed.

“And now he fuckin’ works for you putting up drywall.”

“He does more than that,” I assured him.

“For how long?”

“Three years now.”

“Well, it’s been four since he made a movie. I wonder what he was doing for the year before he started working for you.”

“I have no idea.”

“Jesus Christ, Leo, you have a porn star working for you.”

But I really could not have cared less.

I had put an ad in the local paper for a driver, and Charlie had shown up. Everything he owned in the world, he had brought with him to the interview, and I had liked him right away. What I didn’t like was how jumpy he was around me. Finally, three weeks later, having thought it would fix itself but no longer willing to wait, I had yelled at him and told him that I was done walking around on eggshells because it was my goddamn company, and he had better stop being scared of me because it was pissing me the hell off! Those huge chartreuse-colored eyes of his, his glorious cat eyes, got big and round.

“Don’t be scared of me,” I ordered him. And I had snarled at him, which I knew was counterproductive, but I was mad. I had stood there, looming over him, and he was six feet tall, but I had three inches on him, so he still had to look up at me. “You make me feel like I’m a bad man, and I’m not. I’m one of the nicest guys you’ll ever fuckin’ meet. Ask my mother.” I was indignant.

“Your mother?”

“Yeah, my mother,” I groused at him, grabbing his bicep, nearly yanking him off his feet.

“Do you have any idea how big you are?”

I knew exactly how big I was. I had played football in high school, and when I blew out my knee in my junior year tackling a quarterback in the Sugar Bowl, my football career was over, but my engineering degree carried on. I graduated a year later and moved back to Nevada, to Easton, outside of Carson City, to get a job in construction.

It didn’t take me long to realize that being gay in the construction industry was a tough sell. So I used the money I had saved when I got my full scholarship, took out a loan, and started Foster (for me) West (for him) Construction with my brother-in-law, Paul. His marriage to my sister had not lasted, much to his regret, but his partnership with me had. I knew without being told that he hoped that one day my feisty little sister would take him back. They had divorced because they weren’t happy, but I had never thought that was a good enough reason. Yes, Paul needed to communicate more. Yes, Theresa needed to be more forgiving of other people’s faults, but I had never thought it was reason enough to split up a home or a family.

But what did I know?

Our loan was paid in full in two years, and we were in the black in four. After that, it was all smooth sailing, except for my social life. I still didn’t have one.

What I did have was my family, a strong circle of friends, and a professional network that was thriving. So having Charlie Ryerson jumping at his shadow around me was annoying as crap.

I had dragged him to my truck, thrown him into the passenger seat, and told him that I would pulverize him if he tried to get out. When I slid in behind the steering wheel, his eyebrows were still raised.

“What?”

“I dunno, am I allowed to breathe?”

“You’re fuckin’ hysterical.”