Page 45 of Sweet T
“I don’t like talking about me.”
“I know you don’t. Why is that?”
Tucker shrugged. “I’m not that interesting.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re very interesting. You act like a closeted straight man when you’re an out gay man. Assuming you are out. You are, right?”
“Yeah, I am. I just don’t advertise it.”
Evan laughed. “What does that mean?”
“I–” Tucker began, then stopped, gathering his thoughts. “I don’t have a lot of personal experience.”
“Have you ever dated anyone?”
“Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“I went out with Chuck Carter twice. He owns a barbecue restaurant in town. You’ll meet him. He’s a good guy. We’re friends.”
“No chemistry?”
“You could say that.”
Evan threw his hands up, allowing Tucker a surprise, albeit brief, flash of his naked armpits. “I could say anything because you’re giving me nothing.”
Tucker grinned. “Why are you so interested in me? I’m boring. What you see is what you get.”
“You’re far from boring. Aggravating, maybe. But I admit, your being reserved is part of your allure.”
“Allure?”
“Yes,” Evan crossed his arms, giving Tucker the once over. “I find you intriguing because you’re filled with contradiction. For instance, if you're so distraught by your father’s favoring of your stepbrother, then why did you come to his defense when I questioned his motives regarding Pedro?”
“Uh, because he’s my daddy.”
“He was still a white, well-to-do man, with a Mexican migrant worker. Do you not see there’s a skewed power dynamic there?”
“They were in love.”
“So you say. But you were, what, four? Five years old? How would you have known that then?”
“Because I did. I was there. My daddy was a closeted recluse, a widower with a newborn—me. Yes, Pedro worked for us. But that’s only how they met—the only way they could have met. Daddy didn’t leave the house for years after my mother died. Luck had more to do with their meeting than anything. Daddy may be white, wealthy, and successful, but he is not what you’re insinuating, Evan. Folks that know him will tell you the same–no matter what their race. So, you need to drop it.”
Evan placed his hand on Tucker’s thigh. “I’m sorry. I believe you. I do. I was prodding just to prove a point—not that he’s a bad man, but that you defend him even though you seem at odds with him. I didn’t know I was stirring up a hornet's nest. I just wanted to know more about you.”
Tucker looked into Evan’s eyes. When he spoke, his tone had mellowed, but was clear.
“I had a boyfriend once. In school. His name was Emmett. Emmett Walker.”
Ten
Evan slept late the following day. He awoke in Tucker’s bed to the smell of bacon cooking. As he lay there, he gazed at his surroundings, hoping to discover more about his knight in faded denim. He found nothing. Tucker might be gay, but he didn’t inherit the gay decorating gene. The entire room looked as if it belonged to a little old lady.
The room was the same as his Nana P had left it. Tucker either wasn’t much for change, or he had left it that way because he missed her. Whichever, the place was in dire need of a makeover.
He sat on the side of the bed, naked. By the time their late-night conversation had dwindled, he had completely forgotten about his clean underwear in the dryer. He stood, looking around for the discarded swimsuit, still hazy from the painkiller he’d taken the previous day.