"But...."

"No, you are wrong, William." My mother's tone of voice was firm. She stood up and handed me the baby so she could stand nose-to-nose with my father. "Being gay does not mean you molest children. It simply means you love someone who happens to be the same gender as you. Now I suggest you rapidly change your mind and your closed-minded perspective or you may find yourself sleeping in the guest room for the foreseeable future."

Ouch! Mum had brought out the big guns. Banned from the marital bed was Dad's worst nightmare. Dad turned red and huffed and puffed and we all waited for an explosion, but he simply spun on his heels and slammed out the back door, leaving an uncomfortable silence. I called after him, hoping he would hear. "I'm not gay, Dad!"

"Really?" Ben. I gritted my teeth and glared.

Mum patted my arm as she walked past. "Never mind, sweetie. If you decide to be gay, then you will know we are all okay with it."

"But I'm not gay!" My voice was starting to get a whiny singsong sound to it. Maybe the cows were singing? I was now certain no one was listening to me. My brothers were all turning back to their conversations, the situation dealt with and forgotten. Candice and Anita followed Mum into the kitchen and I was left with Alison, who stole baby Isaac off me for a cuddle. She eyed me with a hopeful expression. "Are you sure you are not even the tiniest bit gay?"

"What?"

"It's just if you were you could help me out of a really tight spot."

"Huh?"

She sighed at me. "One of my bridesmaids has bailed on me. I'm short a girl. If you would be willing to dress up in baby pink I could put you into my wedding party." Ben had asked Cameron to be his best man and two other mates to stand up with him. The rest of us brothers weren't in the wedding party, which I was eternally grateful for.

I spluttered. "I am not a girl! Do I look like I wear dresses?"

Alison eyed me up and down as if sizing me for a puffy pink bridesmaid ensemble. "It wouldn't have to be a dress, silly. If I could just find a suit in the same shade of pink...."

"No!"

"Or even a light-gray suit with a pink waistcoat. Could you do that for me?"

"No! I. Am. Not. Gay."

She shrugged as if I hadn't just shouted in her face and cooed at the baby. "I think some men look great in pink."

I had to agree. Jay had worn pink a number of times and looked smashing in it. But of course I couldn't say that to Alison, not after making such a fuss about not being gay. Or should I say after lying about not being gay.

I request a brief recess, Your Honor. The witness's pants are on fire.

I joined my brothers with my beer and some anxiety, waiting for the sly comments, but nothing more was said about the scene, and it was just like any other Sunday Roast. Dad was a bit off, a bit less jovial than usual, but we ignored him. Nothing to make a fuss over unless one of us decided to come out of the closet, right?

Dale and Candice offered me a ride home after lunch and I gladly accepted. I soon found out it was a foolish move. Candice started off the inquisition, turning to look over her shoulder to the back seat where I was sitting next to a sleepy baby.

"Liam, you know that Dale and I are perfectly okay with you being gay, don't you?"

"I'm not gay!" Was I beginning to sound like a broken record to anyone else?

"It's been four years since you had a girlfriend, Liam."

I rolled my eyes at her. "So? That's your evidence? I haven't had a girlfriend so I must be gay? May I point out the lack of boyfriend to prove your point?"

"And it is not like you are an unattractive guy. You are cute and funny, that's why I went out with you."

"Yeah, and then you dumped me. Remember that, Candy? Maybe I am still heartbroken over the loss."

"Don't call me Candy!"

"Then don't call me gay!"

We stared at each other before she huffed and turned around to face the front. I saw Dale reach over and pat her thigh. "Liam, all Candice is saying is that if you are gay, you don't need to hide it from us. We love you. We just want you to know you can bring anyone home with you and none of us will judge."

I scoffed. "Yeah, right. Can't you just see Dad's reaction?"

"Forget about Dad for a minute. If you want to bring a boyfriend, then do it. We will all love for you to bring whoever it is who is special to you."

I swallowed and snarked at him, "So you all would be fine if I brought some guy home with a pink shirt, bleached hair, heels, and makeup? I don't think so, Dale. If I brought home someone like that, you would all be in hysterics."

Dale looked at me through the rearview mirror. He wasn't laughing. "So does he?"

"Does he what?"

"Wear pink shirts, heels, and makeup?" s.h.i.t!

"No." Not the heels anyway. I don't think. "Besides, this is all theoretical. I'm not gay and I don't have a boyfriend." We were approaching my apartment block. Dale pulled over. I opened the door and quickly exited the car to make my escape. He pressed a b.u.t.ton and his window shot down.

"Liam?"

"Yeah?" I paused on the pedestrian island in the center of the street. I was anxious to get away and hide myself in my apartment. This had truly been a s.h.i.t-awful day.

"Candice and I would love to meet him one day. Just say the word and we can meet for dinner-just the four of us. No one else has to know. Love ya, bro."

I stood motionless on the island, not even noticing as he pulled out and drove away. I was too busy visualizing the four of us-Dale, Candice, Jay, and me-having dinner together. Unfortunately, it was too easy to see. s.h.i.t!

Chapter 4.

AFTER TWO weeks of ordering Jay's girly mocha drinks and another endless weekend of missing him, I actually found myself looking forward to placing our coffee order on Monday morning. I found out that Jay took a connecting bus from one suburb over and it only left him with a few minutes to get our coffees and make the train, so I offered to pick them up every morning instead of taking turns. Jay beamed at me and handed over twenty bucks for his share. I smiled and handed it back. He tried to tuck it into my backpack, but I deftly held it out of his reach so he couldn't get to it. He begged me to take it. I refused. He pouted at me. I laughed at him.

In the end Jay won that fight. As we moved off the train in the small crowd of people, he tucked the note in the back pocket of my dress pants, giving it-and my a.r.s.e-a little pat. b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

I glared at him and he smirked, then waved happily and tripped up the stairs where I couldn't follow.

But I still brought his mocha the next morning. I was becoming addicted to the sounds he made when I placed the drink in his hand. His initial relief at receiving the cup would be expressed with a "Oh, yes, thank you!" or a "Gawd, I need this!" He would moan his way through the first mouthful and end with a loud "Ahh. That's good!" and then punctuate the next few mouthfuls with "Oh, delicious!" or "Heavenly!" or even "That feels so good!"

It was a wonderful torture-extremely erotic in an environment where I could do absolutely nothing about my arousal. I was looking forward to the next installment.

I waved as I finally spotted him coming down the stairs, motioned to his cup on the seat next to me, and waited for my morning provocation.

"Liam! Oh, boy! I have been waiting for this all morning!" He picked up the cup and excitedly sighed with a mouth full of hot mocha.

Down boy! "Jay, you d.i.c.k. How can you have been waiting for it all morning? It's barely twenty past five. How long could you have been up for?"

He looked at me and fluttered his eyelashes in my direction-eyelashes that I noticed were wearing a layer of blue sparkle. "Do you think that this type of perfection comes easily? I'll have you know that I am up before four so that I have time to get ready properly."

Four? Like four in the morning? Like four hours after midnight? "How the h.e.l.l can you take that long to get ready?" The train was pulling in, sending streams of freezing air swirling around the platform. I shivered and pulled my coat tighter as I stood. "What the h.e.l.l do you do? Make your clothes from scratch or something?"

We boarded and settled in our usual seats. "Oh daahling, you have no idea of what a man has to go through in the morning to get the perfect image!" I shook my head at his "daahling." It often peppered his speech when he was teasing. It didn't bother me at all. Strange.

"I'd rather snuggle in bed than be messing with my hair or chucking goo on my face."

I grinned to myself as Jay's soapbox made yet another appearance. "It is not goo! I'll have you know that I use the finest, most pure products available on the market. No harsh chemicals for this skin! And no animal testing, either. I just can't stand to think of those poor bunnies having their skin burnt and all just so we can have some new cosmetic. I hate animal testers with a pa.s.sion. I cannot believe what they will subject animals to. They ought to all be burned at the stake. Or at least taken out and chained naked in a room full of hungry rats. They have no hearts. No hearts, I tell you!"

I listened to his pa.s.sionate defense of poor bunnies and the agony he would submit the scientists to for the next two stops before I'd had enough. I b.u.t.ted in.

"Jay! Enough with the bunnies."

He dribbled to a stop and looked at me beseechingly. "But they are being tortured."

"I know, dude. But I don't wear anything on my face apart from soap and water, so you can't blame me."

"Really?" He looked at me closely, his finger coming up lightly to caress my cheek before quickly pulling away. Oh, shiver! "You don't wear moisturizer or anything like that? But your skin is so smooth. Tell me you at least use an exfoliator?"

I frowned at him. "A what?"

He stared at me as if I had announced that Adolf Hitler was receiving a n.o.bel Peace prize. "Oh, daahling. Your education is sadly lacking! Don't you have sisters?"

I shook my head. "Nope. Just four brothers."

He tilted his head at me. "Never fear! You now have a gay friend who knows all about these things. I will pick something up for you to try and you will be amazed at the difference!"

"Ahh, Jay? I don't do makeup, dude. Now the stuff looks great on you, but it is waay beyond my comfort zone. You feel me?"

He t.i.ttered-I don't know how he did it, but the laugh could only be described as a t.i.tter. "Relax! Just a little moisturizer to start off with. No makeup."

I wasn't quite sure about his "to start off with," but he distracted me with some news. "Anyway, I have to tell you before I forget; I won't be on the train tomorrow so you don't have to worry about my mocha."

"Oh." I was terrified at how disappointed I felt.

"Yeah. My grandma has emphysema and can't drive any more. So we all take it in turns to drive her to her doctor appointments. It's my turn tomorrow."

"s.h.i.t. I'm sorry. Is she bad?"

He simply waved away my sympathy. "Tsk! She's been dying for years, man. Still smokes like a chimney. She'll outlive us all!"

"So you're taking the day off?"

"Nah. Just the morning. Harry will still need me to do Wrap-Up." He'd talked about his job and I was fascinated with how much work went into a three-hour program. I thought that radio announcers simply chucked on a couple of CDs with some ads in between and made up the rest of the stuff on the fly. But Jay had taught me different. He was Harry's right-hand man. He did everything for Harry, from making his coffee to fan mail to security. He would spend chunks of his day finding information about Harry's up-and-coming interviews, including gossip, speculation, and hard facts. He had to make sure Harry knew the interviewee's spouse's name and all their children, as well as where they went to school, who their best friend was, and even how much money they were worth.

He made calls, set up interviews, spoke to the media, handled threats, chose music, negotiated with advertisers, met with sponsors, and kept Harry running on time. The PQ program ran from 9:00 a.m. until midday, with an agenda of easy-listening music and talk-back radio, with the main interview for the day around 10:00 a.m. After the interview, there would be questions from the listening audience, and then discussions from specialists on the subject. And Jay made sure it all ran smoothly.

Once the show finished at midday, there was a wrap-up meeting where Harry and Jay would thrash out problems with the other staff and plan their following day.

"Grandma's appointment is at eight, so I should be able to make it in by nine with any luck. Hey! What time do you take your lunch break? Do you take it early because you start early?"

"Ahh, usually ten. Why?"

"I owe you for the coffees. How about I buy you lunch instead tomorrow? Suresh is taking lead tomorrow to cover for me, so I'm not needed. I can meet you at your end of town for a burger?"

"Ahh...."

"No pressure. Just two friends catching lunch. Is there somewhere you like? My treat, man."

Just two friends catching lunch. Lunch. I could do lunch with Jay without raising eyebrows, couldn't I? We were friends. And as Jay said before, can a gay man not have straight friends? Not that I was exactly straight, anymore. I don't think. It's not like going to lunch with a gay man makes you gay, does it? Besides, who would see me?

"How about that little cafe across from London Court?" I proposed. "You know it?"

Jay grinned. "Yeah. Good choice. Meet you there at ten tomorrow, then?"

"Sounds good."

The tunnel came into sight, which meant we were going to have to part again. I was beginning to hate that tunnel. Jay dug around in his bag and fished out his phone. "Give me your number, just in case I get caught up with Grandma or something. I'll text you if I'm running late."

I recited my number to him as the train pulled to a halt. We shuffled off with everyone else and followed our usual routine of heading for the escalators. Jay was fiddling with his phone. "There! I just sent you a message so you have my number. Just in case you come down with a case of gastro or something horrible in the next twenty-four hours." Sure enough, there was a dim chime sounding from my pocket.

"Good idea."

He b.u.mped shoulders with me. "There's my bus. Gotta go! See you tomorrow, man!"

I waved. Tomorrow. I had a date with Jay tomorrow.

Chapter 5.

HAVING JAY'S number tucked away in my phone was rather arousing. I must've had a goofy grin on my face, because several people asked me why I was so happy that day. Chan arrived at work at 10:00 a.m., as usual (he preferred to start late and work late), and dumped his bag on the desk next to mine, which signaled it was time for my lunch break.

"Morning, Chan!"

"Blah blah blah. Morning is never a good time." Chan was his usual grumpy self. I liked him.