Page 41 of Maybe
“Gerald.”
“Hi, Gerry. I’m Ezra. Isaac’s older brother. He asked me to drop by to tell you he’s been held up at work. Terribly sorry about that.”
Apparently, this guy was an optometrist. From the suspicious way he eyed me, that might have been a cover story for his detective work. Although, to be fair, most people were flummoxed when a scruffy bum like me opened my mouth and twelve years of expensive schooling came out. He checked his phone. “Why didn’t Isaac text me that himself?”
I shrugged. “Gosh, don’t ask me. I’m merely the messenger. And we all know how frightfully busy that ED gets. Poor thing works so hard.”
“When did he say he’ll be back?”
Ah, dear Gerald seemed genuinely disappointed. I almost felt sorry for him until I reminded myself Gerald was the competition. Another bloke recognising Isaac's magical combination of beauty and innocence, mixed with an utter lack of awareness he possessed either. “He didn’t,” I said, cheerfully. “He’s probably pulling a late one.”
“Oh. I see.” Sizing me up, Gerald gave me a final onceover. Clearly, he sensed something fishy skulking in amongst the posh vowels, but didn't possess the balls to push a ratty oik like me any further. “In that case, can you… can you tell him I came over anyhow. And that I’ll call him.”
“Gosh, absolutely.” I gave him my brightest smile. “One hundred percent consider it done.”
On a scale of one to ten, Isaac’s outward enthusiasm on discovering me camped out on his doorstep rated a solid F. Ah, well, the bigger the battle, the more glorious the triumph. On a more positive note, he didn’t stop me following him up the steps to the front door, despite his clucking sounds of disapproval.
“Letting you in doesn’t mean I’m not still cross with you, by the way,” he warned, jiggling the key. “I’m just not prepared to have a public tussle with you, of any sort, out here on the street. Not now I’msober.”
He treated me to a pointed look, and I threw him my most innocent one back.
“Don’t blame me! I’m aware you find me irresistible, but how was I to know you’d throw yourself at me after four pints of lager?”
“For fuck's sake, Ez. That’s not how it… ugh.”
Isaac vented his frustration on the stairs up to his flat, stamping his feet down hard on each step. Two flights of them gave me plenty of time to admire his arse. High, solid, and comfortable-looking. Rounding off a pair of chunky thighs my head would look amazing nestled between.
“Anyhow, you can’t stay long as I have a friend coming over.”
Reluctantly, I steered my thoughts back to where they needed to be. “Yes, you… ah… actually did have a visitor drop by, about ten minutes ago. Your non-fuck buddy, Gerard.”
“He’s not… don’t call him that! And it’s Gerald. He’s been invited, not like someone else I know.” We arrived at Isaac’s door. A touch breathless, he peered over my shoulder. “Where is he?”
“Er…” I peered up and down the staircase and shoved my hands in my pockets. “I kind of told himnot today, thanks.”
“You…” Isaac gave me his annoyed face. Damned cute. “He’s not the fucking milkman, Ez!”
“Less useful. The milkman who comes up our road delivers eggs, too. And cream.”
I slipped through the gap in the door after him, before he had a chance to slam it in my face. “Honestly, Isaac, you can do so much better. If you won’t date me, then at least date someone who’ll suck your private parts, not your energy. Gerry has a face a dog wouldn’t lick.”
“Dating? You’re my goddamned brother! Who the fuck said anything about dating? And it’s Gerald, not Gerry, not Gerard, and no, he doesn’t!” Isaac threw the keys into a bowl and marched into the kitchen. “His face is perfectly acceptable.”
“For a warthog, yes.”
Isaac huffed. “Really, Ezra? Are we that superficial?”
Needless to say, I followed him, like I was being pulled by a string. “Deeply, deeply superficial, yes. That’s me.” I addressed his back. A pleading note sneaked into my voice. “I’m saying you’re too good for him. You’d be much better without him.”With me.
“I’m not with him!” With a gargled huff, he began pulling stuff out of the fridge, seemingly at random. “And I’ll never be with him now, will I? Not since my big scary brother frightened him off!”
He selected a different frustrated sound, then rounded on me. “Have you seen me, Ezra? The London gays are not exactlyqueuing up, are they?” He plucked at the front of his plain work shirt. “I look like a worn-out, hairy… baked potato.”
“I think you look great,” I said, stoutly. “More than, in fact.”
Yanking a saucepan from its hook, Isaac stomped over to the sink, blasting water into it. “You know how it is. Even on bloody Hinge they writegym-fit only. As if I’ve got time to go to the bloody gym!”
“I don’t either,” I pointed out.
