Guys on Top 02 - Guys on the Side (18 page)

“Why is that psychotic little troll skulking around again?” Stewart asked.

Corey closed his eyes for a moment, then looked at Stewart. “He’s the one Zach cheated on me with.”

Stewart’s eyebrows shot up. “Carmichael? What the fuck?”

Corey leaned against his car, resting his head on it. “I can’t deal with it. Can’t deal with him starting up again.”

“Stay here,” Stewart said.

Corey watched as Stewart ran after Brooks. Stewart stopped him on the sidewalk, then leaned over, speaking directly into his ear. Brooks looked up at Stewart, then turned and moved away, breaking into a slow jog as he headed off.

Stewart strode back to Corey. “You okay?”

“What did you say to him?”

Stewart shrugged. “Told him if he comes round again he’ll disappear. And no one will find his body.”

Grinning, Corey nodded. “Your Yorkshire street thug roots are showing.”

“They crop up once in a while.” Stewart smiled and patted Corey’s shoulder. “Shake it off, okay? Him, Zach, everything. We’ll all go out tonight and have a good time. Forget about all of this. It’ll buff out.”

“Okay.”

“Yeah? See you tonight?”

“See you tonight.”

Corey got in his car and closed the door, watching Stewart walk back up to the restaurant.

Shake it off.
He started the engine and pulled out onto the road.
Shake it off.
It was good advice, and he hoped he could follow it.

Ignoring the trembling in his hand as he flicked the directional on, he took the turn at the stoplight and headed toward home.

Chapter Eleven

“Do you think it’s too much?” Corey asked Dewey, who stood behind his chair. They both looked in the mirror while Dewey fussed with Corey’s ash blond locks. He’d used a lot of gel to comb it up and forward on the sides, forming a single large curl in the middle of his forehead.

“Too much?” Dewey said. “Since when does Corey Stengel worry about something being
too much?
”

“I don’t know. I’m off my game.”

Dressed in his Rydell High cheerleader costume, blond wig tied into pigtails, Dewey sighed and placed his hands on Corey’s shoulders, assessing his work. “Well, I think it’s fabulous. Come on. Get your letterman jacket on and we’re good to go.”

Corey stood and pulled the jacket on over his white tee shirt and jeans. “You’re driving, right? I want to get drunk tonight.”

“I’m driving,” Dewey said. “Let’s go, your chariot awaits.”

The Horse and Carriage was packed with people, and Corey and Dewey maneuvered through the crowd to the back bar where a group of their friends congregated. Corey spotted Jairo and Rod over by the stage, and Jairo waved to get his attention.

Holding a finger up, Corey pointed to the bar.
One minute. Need a drink
.

He ordered a rum and Coke while Dewey accepted accolades for his outfit. Corey smiled and joked with friends who made a fuss over his hair, though he’d as yet failed to summon his usual, upbeat party persona.

After receiving his cocktail, Corey leaned against the bar and looked over at the stage, where three young women were performing ‘Stop in the Name of Love’. Someone tapped his shoulder, and he turned around, looking directly into Zach’s cute face.

“Hey,” Zach said. “Come here often?”

Corey sighed, but seeing Zach was like a punch in the gut, and he had to stop himself from reaching for him, the natural inclination to touch him not worn off yet. “Zachary. You knew I had plans to come here tonight. Couldn’t you have opted to stay away?”

“I just wanted a chance to talk to you. Just for a minute. I’m not here to be a pain in the ass, I swear.”

Dewey spotted Zach, and stepped up to Corey, beer in hand. “Hey, Doug and Stewart just showed up. You want to go over by the stage?”

“Yeah,” Corey said. “Just give me one minute.”

Dewey gave Zach a dark stare, his tough guy stance a contrast to the fake boobs and pigtails. “Okay. We’ll be right over here.”

When Dewey had gone, Corey turned to Zach. “Okay. Talk. And make it quick.”

“I like your outfit,” Zach said.

“What do you want, Zach?”

“To tell you I’m sorry.”

“You said that already. Multiple times.”

“I know.” Zach wore his anguished expression, the familiar pout and doe-eyes he used whenever manipulation was imminent. “I miss you so much already, and I was hoping we could at least be friends. The idea of not seeing you at all, ever, I can’t conceive of it, Corey. I can’t.”

“You should have thought of that before you stuck your dick in Brooks Carmichael’s mouth.”

Zach flinched and looked down. “I’m not asking for forgiveness for that.”

“Then let’s just both forget about it, and move on,” Corey said.

“As friends?”

“I can’t offer you friendship, Zach. I wish I could, but I can’t right now. I just can’t.”

“Well, when? If not now, when? ”

Corey’s pulse quickened, pressure squeezing his chest. This felt all too familiar, Zach pushing him into a corner with his nagging persistence. “I don’t know,” Corey said. “Maybe never. You really hurt me.”

“You hurt me too,” Zach said. “Maybe not recently, but in the past you hurt me a lot! Over and over again. But I make one mistake and that’s it?”

“I’m not doing this,” Corey said. “Please, Zach. I can’t do this tonight.”

“Why can’t we be friends? You’re friends with Stewart.”

“Stewart didn’t come in someone’s mouth when he was supposed to be faithful to me.”

“But he left you for Doug! And there he is, right over there. You guys are all buds now. You forgave him almost instantly, but you can’t do the same for me? That’s not fair.”

Corey’s hands went to his temples, a wave of dizziness overcoming him. The air seemed thick suddenly, the crowd overwhelming, the music too loud. “Zach, please. Just stop.”

“You never treated me with the same respect you did him,” Zach said, oblivious to Corey’s discomfort. “Maybe that’s why I went with Brooks, you ever think of that? Maybe if you’d made me feel like I mattered as much as all your ex-lovers, I wouldn’t have been so insecure!”

Corey snatched Zach’s tee shirt, tugging him in.

Zach’s eyes widened. “Corey...”

“I am
so
fucking tired of hearing a litany of my shortcomings! I can’t listen to it anymore! I can’t...” A pain pierced Corey’s chest, and the world spun. He took a breath, but still felt like he was suffocating.

“Corey, let me go.”

Shoving Zach away from him, Corey turned and stumbled through the crowd toward the door. His legs felt weak, like walking through water, and the people he pushed past seemed to be talking in slow motion.

His heart pounded too hard, too fast, thrumming in his ears, blotting out all other sound as he got closer to the front doors.
Boom. Boom. Boom. Boom.

Slamming into the doors, he pushed through them and stumbled out onto the sidewalk. A few weaving steps, and he leaned his back against the building to steady himself.

His heart felt like it was about to explode, and his legs trembled, threatening to give out. Closing his eyes, he pressed his palm to his forehead and concentrated on slowing his breathing.

I’m having a fucking anxiety attack. This is not supposed to happen to me.

He’d tended to plenty of other people’s anxiety, used his calm center to bring them down from the brink of panic. But it had never happened to him. Never to
him
. He needed away from the nightclub, from Zach, from the pounding music he could still feel through the vibrations in the wall. He needed space and solitude and quiet. He needed to stop the resonant pounding in his ears.

“Corey?”

Lowering his arm, he opened his eyes and blinked at the man in the brown cashmere sweater who stared at him. Because of the eyeglasses on his handsome face, it took Corey a moment to recognize him. “Angelo.”

“Are you all right?” Angelo placed a hand on his arm, and the touch instantly soothed him, taking the anxiety down a notch. “You’re shaking.”

Corey took a deep breath and focused on Angelo’s face. “Do you think...maybe...you could get me out of here?”

Angelo’s eyes widened in surprise, then he nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s go.”

****

Corey rolled down the passenger side window in Angelo’s Corvette as they rode through the city streets, leaning his head out and letting the cool night air blast into his lungs.

Angelo was silent as he drove, but kept stealing glances at Corey. He seemed to know that Corey needed quiet right now.

When his phone quacked for the third time, he dug it out of his pocket, hand still shaking slightly. A text from Doug.

‘
Where are you? Did you leave?
’

He tried to reply to the text, but his fingers trembled. Finally looking at Angelo, he said, “I hate to be rude, but I need to call Doug back real quick.”

“No worries, go ahead,” Angelo said.

Corey dialed Doug and brought the phone to his ear, closing his eyes.

“Corey, you okay?” Doug asked.

“I ran into Zach. Had a fight. Had a meltdown. I had to go. Tell Dewey I’m sorry. I just had to go.”

“Okay, I hear you. You gonna be all right? Where are you?”

“I’m with Angelo.”

Angelo glanced at Corey, then set his eyes back on the road.

“Oh. Good. I guess a psychiatrist is a good person to be rescued by when you’re having a meltdown.”

Corey laughed, feeling the calm seep back into his body. “Yeah.” He looked at Angelo. “I guess a psychiatrist
is
a good person to be rescued by during a meltdown.”

Angelo chuckled.

“You sure you’re gonna be all right?”

“I will be. Call you tomorrow. Again, tell Dewey I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about Dewey. Just take care.”

“Bye.”

Corey’s hand dropped to his lap and he rested his head against the seat.

“Feeling better?” Angelo asked.

“I think so.”

Angelo was quiet again for a minute, then he asked, “Did you get to sing?”

Corey smiled. Angelo was trying to distract him, get him talking about things other than his meltdown. A calming tactic.

“No,” Corey said. “Didn’t get to sing. Got all dressed up for nothing.”

“What songs were you going to do?”

Corey clasped his hands together—they seemed to have stopped trembling, but his gut still felt wobbly. “We were gonna do ‘Whole Lotta Shakin’ Goin On’ by Jerry Lee Lewis. After that, ‘Little Queenie’ by Chuck Berry. Dewey was gonna dance with his pompoms and do cheerleading jumps.”

“Good choices,” Angelo said. He glanced at Corey. “Any idea where you want me to take you now? Or we can drive around for a while longer if you want.”

Corey stared out the window. “Somewhere with space. And no people. The moon, maybe.”

“Well,” Angelo said, “if you don’t mind the company of one, I could take you back to my loft for a bit. It’s spacious, quiet, and I have lots of liquor.”

Corey looked at Angelo. “Oh my God, that sounds perfect. Do you mind?”

Angelo smiled. “It would be my pleasure.”

Chapter Twelve

Corey stood beside Angelo, his back to the wall as the rickety elevator took them up to the loft. He felt worlds better, but now that his anxiety had ebbed and he was no longer pumped with adrenaline, he was fully cognizant of this new situation he found himself in.

Being alone with Angelo, going back to his place, was the last thing he’d expected to happen tonight.

But Angelo was kind, and his energy was soft and gentle. It felt good, if not right, so he decided to just go with it. Angelo had no expectations of Corey, would make no demands on him, and after seeing Zach tonight, that seemed like a blessing not to be questioned.

“I like your glasses,” Corey said, still staring straight ahead. “Very hot-professor.”

“Thanks,” Angelo said. “I like your ensemble. Very disgraced prom king.”

“Yeah.” Corey laughed, reaching up and tangling fingers through his hair. Dewey’s perfect jellyroll had come undone, probably when Corey stuck his head out the car window. The gel had maintained a slight wave, but he could tell without looking that it was a disheveled mess.

The elevator stopped, and Angelo tugged back the cage door. “This is it,” he said, and Corey followed him out.

It was an old mill building, red brick everywhere with high ceilings. Corey was thinking the dim hallway looked like a good place to get murdered, but when Angelo opened his door and led him inside the loft, that all changed.

“Holy crap. This place is fucking awesome.”

Angelo flicked on some overhead lights. “Thank you. I like it.”

Stepping farther in, Corey looked around. Spacious, yes, that was an understatement. From end to end, it was wide and open. Same brick walls as the hallway, but everything else was elegant and streamlined, from the swanky yet sparse furnishings, to the artwork on the walls.

“You want a drink?” Angelo removed his glasses and set them down on an end table, rubbing his eyes.

“Hell, yes.”

Corey followed Angelo across the vast space that served as a living room with a large screen TV, onto the next section with a dark wood dining table, then to a large kitchen with shiny appliances and an island in the center. There were no walls separating the rooms, and the sense of openness further eased the lingering anxiety he’d had at the crowded bar.

He took a seat at the island and watched Angelo pull two glasses from a hanging display over the sink. Amber bell-lamps hung from long stems attached to the high ceiling, giving the kitchen the same pleasant dimness as the rest of the loft. Everything here was sleek and polished and looked like something out of a home décor magazine.

“Wow,” Corey said. “You’re like, a grownup and shit.”

“I guess.” Angelo set the glasses down on the island. “What sort of grownup beverage would you like?”

“What have you got?”

“Everything, pretty much.”

“Hmmm. Too many choices. My brain is kind of broken tonight.”