CHAPTER 2

“Sir, can I help you find something?”

I tore my eyes away from the choking chaos of the shelves and looked at the sales girl. Her name tag, skewed on her vest, read Olosa. She was little more than sixteen. Her bouncy ponytail and wide, doe-like eyes almost made me confident enough to request help, but I avoided it. This was not a conversation an awkward adult male in a suit was supposed to be having with a hardly-teenager.

"Just Browse. Thanks." I instantly regretted using it. Who was this snobby person "browsing" at a cut-rate grocery store? The only reason I was there at all was because I was on my way to pick up Camille and she'd instructed me to swing by a emergency run for tampons. Sal's Superstore was the only one on my way that was even convenient.

Olosa nodded slowly, condescendingly, and continued to stock shelves. I found my purchase one aisle over, but also enjoyed the added bonus of walking on a huge glob of gum. "Great," I growled, trying to scrape the sticky glob off the sole of my wingtip on the lip of the bottom shelf, which was metal. It wasn't my finest moment, but I hadn't been sleeping much, and my patience was on a razor's edge.

Irritated with the choices of tampons, I chose a multipack box and, together with the chocolate bars I had chosen, headed to the self-checkout. In line for what seemed an eternity, I felt myself becoming more resentful by the minute. Not at Camille—she was a player in a game that she didn't even realize was being played—but with the inability that I had to control my own life.

Why was I, a fellow who did not care about women, buying female stuff on my way to visit a girlfriend I didn't want? The response was always the same: Stephen Ashford Sr. and my future. Three days prior, I had gone out for a run and seen a wedding in the park. When I saw that there were two grooms, my chest tightened, and I couldn't breathe. I stood and observed them until they were kissing, pleased for them and empty for me. The memory brought the tightness at the base of my sternum back around again. I unpopped the top button on my shirt and rubbed my hand against my chest. Fuck, I'd be dead before forty if I kept going.

Daydreaming, I almost caught the fact that the following register was open. I rushed to the front and tried to attempt to scan my products quietly, but one of them would not scan, and the machine required employee assistance. Thirty sets of eyes looked at me and I became red with shame. When the red light glowed above me, my contempt for the moment only grew stronger.

That is when I saw him.

Down the line, waiting for the manned checkout was the prettiest man I had ever seen. He had an armload of groceries folded in the crook of his elbow, and the weight was making his biceps swell. Just seeing him made my fury melt, replaced by unadulterated lust. He was the kind of man I longed for, though never in a lifetime would be allowed to pursue. His skin was ravishing brown, a color only children of two colors seemed to have. His eyebrows were as dark as the whiskers on his chin. A backward hat covered up his hair, but one black lock on his forehead was enough to cause me to flush with heat.

I was tracing the tattoos on his arm with my gaze when he looked at me with narrowed, cold blue eyes. No way in hell they were natural. One look at his face and I knew his expression meant: Why are you staring at me, psycho?

I quickly shook my head, got out a stiff, penitent smile, and focused on my own problems. Olosa strolled over, corrected my mistake, and allowed me to finish checking out. I inserted my black AMEX card into the machine, took my bag, and headed for the door, hoping against hope for one last glance at the man in front of me. I'd had my fill of embarrassment and kept my eyes on the sliding glass door ahead, happy to escape under the overwhelming scent of cheap disinfectant.

My dress shoes clicked on the asphalt as I hurried through the parking lot. My sports car unlocked as I approached, and I pulled out Camille's things and pushed them into the passenger seat. I pulled it inside, let out a bitter sob, and put my head against my hands wrapped around the steering wheel. I succumbed to despair for an instant. My parents knew I was gay but the ultimatum they had given—this arranged marriage among other things—meant that I lived a lie daily. Other times I was so overwhelmed with work that I could fulfill the role quite nicely, but between the park wedding and the man in line, I was shaken. There was a craving now running through me, as if the dark-haired god had awakened some latent animal. I had felt his eyes, his presence, in the marrow of my bones. I was drawn to him more than ever before. Attraction, lust, and passion coursed through my body like blue flames that burned everything else around them to smoldering ash. I was drawn to him like I couldn't look away. The fact that he probably thought I was judging him by what he was wearing in his suit and tie made me sick to my stomach.

Anxious for the day to be over at last, I got the car into reverse and started backing out when I saw the man in the backwards hat exiting the store. His pants were filthy, and his fitted t-shirt exhibited the outline of bulging muscles along the chest. In a fit of desperation, having to do something about taking control of my life and this want, I kept retreating as a horrible plan evolved in my head. I went slowly, not wanting to call attention to myself. It was fortunate that this Maserati looked right at home amidst the Toyotas, Hondas, and Kias in the dealership. I mouthed a prayer of thanks that I hadn't driven my Corvette today.

I followed him until he went to his own car—my heart palpitated—a black vintage Dodge Challenger, maybe a '75? Just the right one for him. I parked in his stall and let him back out. I nearly felt bad about it, but I knew his metal bumper would destroy my front end. I'd get all the damage, as I deserved for trying this little trick. I coasted into his blind spot and stopped.

Within five seconds, I could hear the revolting crunch of plastic and metal. I couldn't help but smile like the lust-crazed idiot I clearly was. Instead of jumping out of his car, angry, he leaned back into his seat and massaged his hands over his face. Frustrated in wanting to ease his upset, I got out of my car and rapped on his window. It suddenly struck me how manipulative and selfish this was. I was appalled with myself for sinking to a whole new low. It was a witness to how far out of control I had allowed my life to become. Too late to turn back now, I screamed through the glass.

"Hey, man. Are you alright? I really apologize about that."

He glared at me with those striking eyes, saw me in the checkout line, and his face darkened. Shit, he's even better-looking close up. He'd had little black gauges in his ears and a tiny silver ring in his nose. The little one added to his hotness in a way I never could have pictured. My dick seemed to agree.

He opened his door, and I stepped back, much as I'd have liked to sandwich him between his car and my hips. "Didn't they teach you to see reverse lights at prep school?" he sneered, then looked at my car and shuddered. "I really didn't need this today."

"It's uh…it's okay. All my fault." I stammered, not sure what to say. He was looking at my bashed front bumper, and I was looking at him. My angle was improved.

"It's clearly not okay," he said, pointing towards our cars. "I trashed your entire right quarter panel, and there is no way that I can get it done at the dealership price on this."

I massaged the back of my neck, trying to placate myself after I'd heard the sound of the word "fucked" leave his mouth. What was I going to tell him? That I didn't like this car anyway? That I'd just drive another two-hundred-thousand-dollar car tomorrow morning? Something in me recognized that he wouldn't be impressed with any of that. And something in me already loved him for it.

"I'm really not worried about it. I don't need it fixed right away," I tried, holding back until it was a suitable moment to ask for his name and number for the insurance claim that never was going to be done.