Stepping Out in Faith - 3. Chapter 3

Marcus loitered outside of The Owl restaurant and studied the pattern of cracks on the sidewalk. His mother waited inside for their regularly scheduled brunch date, and he had no excuse not to go in. He just didn’t want to.

He had actually wakened with a smile on his face that morning. That usually didn’t happen; he was anything but a morning person. But the smile faded quickly when he realized he was alone in bed, the pillow next to him still smelling like Andy. There was no sign of the man, no note to tell Marcus how to get in touch, just his lingering scent and two used glasses to prove that he had been there at all.

Marcus paced back and forth on the sidewalk. He dreaded going inside. She would know something was wrong and end up dragging the entire story out of him. He really didn’t want to get into the whole thing.

Marcus’ pocket vibrated. He pulled out his phone to see a text message from his mother.

I can see you outside, what are you waiting for?

Marcus suppressed an eye roll; his mother was watching his every move.

Inside the restaurant, Marcus spotted his mother in the corner by the window, sipping on a Bellini. He slid into his seat with a sigh, sunglasses still covering his droopy, tired eyes.

“Hi, Mom.”

Cheryl frowned at Marcus’ tone. “What’s wrong? And take those sunglasses off.”

Marcus reluctantly complied but didn’t bother meeting her gaze. “Nothing’s wrong.” He lied.

“Don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?”

Marcus shot her his best mind-your-own-business glare, and got her your-business-is mine-to-mind eyebrow raise in response.

“I met someone last night.” He admitted. “Well, I don’t know if ‘met’ is the right word to use.”

“You picked up a boy last night.” Cheryl clarified.

“God, Mom.” He glanced around the room to see if anyone overheard. “Don’t say it like that. You make me sound like some sicko pedophile.”

“Oh, please. So, tell me about the boy you picked up last night,” Cheryl asked unapologetically.

“His name’s Andy.” Marcus paused. “Oh, god, I don’t even know if his real name is Andy.”

“When has that ever stopped you in the past?”

“Mom!”

“What? It’s true, isn’t it?”

Marcus frowned because it was true and because it was disconcerting that his mother seemed to have no problem with it.

“Aren’t you supposed to disapprove of something like that?”

“Why? You’ll just keep doing the same thing behind my back. I’d much rather you talk to me about it.” Cheryl waved it off, dismissively. “So, back to Andy. What’s so special about him?”

“I didn’t say there was something special about him.”

That eyebrow again. God, he hated that eyebrow sometimes.

“He...” Marcus couldn’t believe he was actually telling his mother this, “… was a virgin? Is a virgin? I don’t know. You get the idea.”

“Oh.” She paused, a knot forming on her brow. “Well, that’s different.”

“Yeah, no shi—” He censored himself at Cheryl’s scowl. “No kidding. I don’t usually make a habit out of sleeping with… inexperienced guys.”

“So what happened?”

Marcus sighed and played with his napkin. “I don’t know. We met at the bar; he came over to my place. He seemed kind of nervous, but everything was fine. Then he reacted kind of weirdly, and the thought popped randomly into my head that, you know, maybe he didn’t know what he was doing. So, I asked him, and he admitted to it.”

He ran a hand through his hair. “I wanted to stop. I asked him to leave. But there was something about the way he looked, as if he had a lot at stake, and if it didn’t work out then... I don’t know. Besides, I figured if I made him leave, he might just go back to the bar and find someone else. Still can’t believe he wanted his first time to be with some random stranger. Stupid kid, didn’t he realize how dangerous that can be?”

“Kid?” Cheryl asked.

Marcus tsked. “He’s not actually a kid, Mom, probably more my age. But just completely clueless. How do you get to your mid-twenties and still be so naïve? Anyway, it’s not like we went all the way, so I guess I don’t have to feel like some debauched predator preying on an innocent young thing.”

Marcus looked up to find an amused smirk on his mother’s face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Cheryl shook her head. “I just haven’t seen you like this in a long time.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged but didn’t elaborate.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re smitten.”

“I’m not smitten.” Marcus frowned.

Another shrug. “When are you going to see him again?”

“I’m not. He was gone when I woke up this morning.”

“He stayed the night?” Her voice rose in surprise.

“Clearly not the entire night.”

“You never let the boys stay the night.”

“Well, he didn’t actually stay, did he?”

“And he didn’t leave a note or anything?”

Marcus shook his head and buried his fingers in his hair again, elbows braced on the table.

“Oh, well that’s unfortunate. Is there any way to look him up?”

“I know next to nothing about him. I’m not even sure if his real name is Andy, remember?”

“Hm.” Cheryl fell silent. It was a pregnant silence where she had an opinion but wanted Marcus to draw it out of her.

He rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

She said nothing, but took a sip of her Bellini.

“It’s really not a big deal, Mom.”

A raised eyebrow indicated that she didn’t believe him.

“I don’t know what you want me to do. I have no way of finding him.”

“But you admit that you’d like to find him if you could.”

“What? No, I didn’t say that. I don’t know why you think I’d even want to see him again. He’s too…” Marcus trailed off, shaking his head.

“He’s too what?” Cheryl prodded.

“I don’t know! He’s just too…”

“He’s gotten to you.”

He hated how amused she sounded. “What? No, he hasn’t gotten to me. What does that even mean?”

“It means he’s under your skin.”

“He’s not under my skin, okay, Mom? I spent all of a few hours with him; he can’t get under my skin so quickly.” Marcus pushed back from the table, crossing both arms and legs in a huff.

“Sometimes a few hours is all it takes,” Cheryl said. She sipped nonchalantly at her drink.

“He’s not under my skin,” Marcus insisted, surprised at himself for how forceful those words came out.

“You’re angry at him?”

“What? No, why would I be angry?”

“Because he wanted something from you, and once he got it, he just left.”

When she put it that plainly, it made a lot more sense than he wanted to admit.

“He can come and go as he pleases.” Marcus hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt. “He doesn’t owe me anything.”

“Doesn’t he?”

He glared at his mother. So maybe he did feel like Andy owed him. He could have easily kicked Andy out, but there had been something about the way Andy just sat there on the bed, a little lost, a little hopeless. Marcus hadn’t had it in him to force Andy to leave.

Why did he care so much? He normally couldn’t wait for guys to leave after a hookup, so why did he care that Andy had helped himself to the door? Marcus should be happy that he hadn’t stuck around until morning. Too bad telling himself that didn’t make his mood any better.

“So you really have no way of getting in contact with him?”

“No.” Marcus was too grumpy to even roll his eyes; but really, how many times did he have to tell her the same thing? “Not unless he comes back to the bar, and I doubt that’ll happen again.”

“Why’s that?”

Marcus shrugged. He didn’t know why, it was just a feeling he had.

“Well, you never know. Keep your eyes open just in case.”

“He’s not coming back.” Marcus insisted.

“Just keep your eyes open.”

Marcus suppressed a scoff.

“You know what?” Cheryl went on. “You wouldn’t have this problem if you’d just settle down with someone nice.”

“I’ve had boyfriends before, Mom.” Marcus whined. “You never like any of them.”

“That’s because they’re all those flaky, artist types.”

“What if I like those flaky, artist types?” Marcus countered.

She snorted. “You think you like the flaky, artist type, but they’re too flaky for you. You need someone with more substance.”

Marcus rolled his eyes, but he knew she was right. Those flaky, artist types with their designer hobo clothes and expensive shaggy haircuts were starting to get on Marcus’ nerves. He had always been drawn to their bohemian style, but he never seemed to like what he found beneath the surface.

“You know, I met this nice, young man the other day. He’s helping with the decor for that museum gala I’m organizing.” Cheryl smiled. “I could introduce you.”

“No, Mother. Do you remember the last time you tried to set me up with someone?” Marcus groaned at the thought. His mother was really the worst matchmaker in the world.

“That wasn’t my fault. How was I supposed to know that he wasn’t gay when he dressed like that? And he agreed to meet you, so what was I supposed to think?”

“He was new in town, Mother. He thought I was just showing him around the city.” Marcus shook his head at the memory of the disastrous date that ended with him trying to kiss a straight guy. “You’ve got the worst gaydar I’ve ever seen.”

“Well, there’s absolutely no doubt with Charles. I asked, just to make sure.”

“You asked him?” Marcus said incredulously. “That’s awkward.”

“Quite the contrary; he was very polite about it.” Cheryl looked pleased with herself. “So? I’ll give him your number? It’ll take your mind off this Andy character.”

Marcus’ first reaction was to say no, but he didn’t really have any excuse. Friday nights were getting tiring, and the empty gnawing feeling was becoming more pronounced with each hookup he escorted out the door. The idea of spending a quiet night just hanging out with someone sounded nice, Marcus admitted. So maybe he could give this Charles guy a shot. What’s the worst that could happen?

“Also, your father wants you to catch a ballgame with him.”

Marcus rolled his eyes and groaned. “Does he want to? Or do you want me to?”

“Does it matter?” Cheryl narrowed her eyes at Marcus’ tone.

“You know it always ends up with him chatting with his work buddies and me playing on my phone,” Marcus whined.

“You should be more grateful. Your father is trying his best, and you need to cut him some slack. He’s an old, straight white man who doesn’t know how to communicate his feelings. But he loves you and he loves baseball, and he’s just trying to connect. You need try a little harder.”

“Okay, fine.” Marcus sighed. “I’ll call him later. I guess there are worse things in the world than sitting through a baseball game.”

Cheryl raised that eyebrow again, and Marcus just smirked in response.

*****

Marcus checked the time on his phone and then the scoreboard and cursed. It was only the third inning, but he felt like he had been there for ages already. This game couldn’t end soon enough.

“Marcus!”

He turned at the sound of his father’s voice.

“Come here, let me introduce you to someone.”

Marcus obediently went to join his father with one of his work buddies.

“Marcus, this is Bill Newbury of Newbury Capital. Bill, this is my son, Marcus, an art director with Stratified Studios.”

Marcus shook hands with Bill Newbury as if he knew what the hell Newbury Capital was.

“Very nice to meet you, sir.”

“Stratified Studios, that’s that advertising company, isn’t it? You guys did the great campaign for the wristwatch last summer, right?” Bill Newbury kept up with the trends, apparently.

“Yes, that was us.” Marcus smiled politely. “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find the men’s room.”

Marcus beat a hasty retreat. His father had done this type of thing before, trying to get him to talk business with one of his buddies. Marcus always found it was better to escape before they got too far into that conversation.

He ventured down the hall and walked right past the men’s room. He figured he would wander a bit, kill some time; hopefully, when he got back to his father’s box seats the game would be almost over.

As Marcus meandered through the halls of Yankee Stadium, his mind drifted back to Andy, as it had whenever he had a quiet moment. He shoved his hands in his pockets and glared at the concrete floor. It had been a month already, and he still couldn’t get those big brown eyes out of his head.

He had gone on a date with that Charles guy his mother set him up with. They had a good time over dinner and drinks, chatting about design stuff. Charles was a good-looking guy, Marcus could admit, and they even ended the night with a quick kiss on Marcus’ stoop. But he had no real desire to take things beyond that—very unusual for him. They hadn’t arranged a second date yet, but Marcus wondered if there was even any point.

“You guys all have your money for food?”

That voice. Marcus had heard that voice before. He scanned the area looking for the soft brown hair and big brown eyes. When he finally found it, he did a double take.

Andy was talking to a small group of kids—maybe twelve, thirteen years old. They were in line for the concession stand. But it wasn’t the kids that surprised Marcus, it was the black button-down that Andy wore, complete with a white priest collar.

Marcus stared as Andy chatted animatedly with the kids and threw his head back to laugh at something one of them said. It reminded Marcus of how Andy threw his head back that night in an entirely different manner.

Marcus set his jaw and marched up to the group. “Excuse me,” he said through clenched teeth.

Andy turned with a smile that quickly faded when he saw who it was. His normally rosy cheeks paled.

“Do you have a minute?” Marcus stole a quick glance at the kids, who were watching them with interest.

“Uh...”

Marcus cocked his head as Andy stared at him, speechless.

“Father Dylan?” One of the kids asked.

Andy blinked once, twice, before coming to his senses.

“Um, yes. Yes. Peter, you’re in charge. Take everyone back to our seats when you’re done.” Andy gave instructions without taking his eyes off Marcus.

“Sure thing, Father Dylan,” said the kid named Peter.

Marcus turned on his heel and made a beeline for the men’s room. His heart pounded as thoughts raced through his head. He had spent so much time this past month thinking about what he would say to Andy if he ever saw him again. And the more he thought about it, the angrier he had gotten over the whole situation. But now that they were here, all those words escaped him.

In the bathroom, Marcus faced a solemn-looking Andy, still pale, eyes a little wild, hands clenched in fists by his side. He was wound up so tight that Marcus wanted to grab him and kiss the tension out of him.

He shook his head at the thought. That’s the last thing he should be doing.

“Father Dylan?” Marcus’ question came out as a snarl, and Andy flinched at the tone. “You’re a priest?”

“Yes.” Andy’s voice was small.

“I’m guessing you’re not out.” Marcus almost felt bad for the panicked look on Andy’s face.

“No, I’m not g—” Andy started, then backtracked. “Nobody knows about that night. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell anyone.”

Marcus scoffed. “Who would I tell? I don’t even know if Andy is your real name.”

“Of course, it is,” Andy answered. “Dylan is my last name. You thought I gave you a fake name?”

“I wasn’t sure what to think after you ran out on me.”

At least Andy was embarrassed enough to blush and look away.

“Well?” Marcus went on. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Marcus wasn’t even sure what kind of answer he wanted. Some sort of justification for why he ran out? Some sort of placating “it’s not you, it’s me” type of excuse?

Andy frowned and opened his mouth, but no words came out; it looked like he was just as much at a loss. He swallowed, which drew Marcus’ attention to the bobbing Adam’s apple and white collar. The sight simultaneously caused a stirring in Marcus’ pants and amped up the anger that had been simmering over the past month.

“Say something!”

“I... I didn’t think you’d want me to stay,” Andy said. It came out slow and measured. “Isn’t that how those things work?”

“What things?”

“One-night stands?”

Marcus took a step back at those words. Suddenly all that anger rushing through his veins evaporated as he realized what a fool he had been.

“Right,” he said, much less forcefully than before. “That’s exactly what it was.”

He moved toward the door but Andy was in his way.

“Move,” Marcus said quietly but firmly.

“No, wait—”

“I said, move!”

“Wait!” Andy’s hands came up against Marcus’ chest to physically stop him.

Marcus felt the heat of those palms seep through his shirt and warm his skin. It mixed with whatever strange feelings were running through him, and before he understood what he was doing, he grabbed Andy behind the head and pressed their mouths together.

Andy resisted for a heartbeat before he melted under Marcus’ hands and parted his lips for Marcus’ invading tongue. He took full advantage. He ravaged Andy’s mouth hungrily and poured all the anger, frustration, and yes, pent up sexual need into that kiss until Andy clung to him and whimpered.

He pulled back suddenly and considered Andy’s unfocused and bewildered eyes. Andy’s lips were red and swollen, hair mussed, and every breath was a little gasp of air.

Then Marcus leaned down until his lips hovered right above Andy’s ear. He breathed onto the delicate skin and felt the other man shudder beneath him.

“Fuck you,” he whispered before he pushed Andy away and marched out the door.