Page 8 of Mr. Frosty Pants
It wasn’t like Joel had any illusions about who he was and what his future held, even if he liked to talk big about his dream career as a writer. But it didn’t have to be that way for Casey. He’d go to some fancy college, find a career, make a million dollars before he was twenty-five, and wonder why he’d ever looked at Joel with the hero-worshipful eyes he was flashing now.
And that was the way it should be. The way Joel wanted it to be. He cared too much about Casey to drag him down in the gutter with him. RJ and Becca were already gutter kids. They didn’t have anything to lose by being friends with Joel. But Casey sure did.
Besides, maybe he didn’t want to share Casey. Not even with his bandmates. But he couldn’t admit that to anyone and barely even to himself.
Joel sighed. “If listening around the corner is what you normally do, why not just keep doing it?”
Casey deflated a little and tweaked the collar of his white, long-sleeve polo shirt worn beneath his navy-blue Timberland coat. His clothes were so bland, so personality-free, that sometimes Joel wondered if Casey was actually trying to make himself invisible by wearing them. He figured Casey would have some geek pals by now if he ever wore some T-shirts with science jokes on them. Though Casey was more of an art guy. So T-shirts with art jokes, whatever.
Joel huffed. He knew Casey would be better off if he had other friends, and, frankly, so would Joel. He’d have fewer black eyes and bruises, that was for sure. But Joel couldn’t shove Casey away either. Because he was dying to know what Casey Stevens looked like naked, what his mouth tasted like, and what noises he made when he came. Hell, he’d have done anything to just hold Casey in his arms and smell his hair, touch his skin, and get to love him. But wanting those things was a lot like breathing underwater. It was going to get him killed. And also like breathing underwater, in the end, it was inevitable. A person could only hold their breath for so long.
If he were smart, he’d beat the shit out of Casey and kill this thing between them once and for all, instead of letting him stay. But that was another thing he’d never do, just like he’d never kiss Casey or let him glimpse how he really felt.
Because a queer wasn’t something he could ever be. Even if Casey let him. Even if the world allowed it. His dad had made it more than clear with his fists that Joel couldn’t ever be a queer and live. Not ever.
“I want to stay here to listen when the band comes,” Casey said, his amber eyes flashing and his jaw setting stubbornly. Joel knew that look. It meant Casey Stevens was about to get what he wanted, and Joel Vreeland wasn’t going to stop him. “And I don’t care if you’re an asshole about it.”
Joel’s lips twitched as Casey sank down to the cold concrete floor of the garage to sit with his legs crossed. His tight jaw dared Joel to do something. Defiantly, Casey opened up his sketchbook, revealing the doodles and small, fake ads that he made up for fun. His talent wasn’t huge with a pen, but Joel had seen what Casey could do with the digital art apps on his iPad, and it was good stuff. He caught Casey’s eye and raised a brow.
“Not leaving,” Casey said again, his pouty mouth thinning.
Joel shrugged, elated and scared at the same time. “Fine. Be stubborn.” His heart beat faster, and his palms started to sweat.
Casey broke into a smile, and damn if that didn’t make Joel’s stomach churn with strange, messy excitement. He might puke if Casey didn’t stop looking kissably obstinate like that. Joel concentrated on strumming the chords of the band’s new song “King’s Pride,” and Casey sang along quietly. Casey’s tenor was sweet like honey, and Joel held himself back from putting the guitar aside, sliding down to his knees, and grabbing hold of Casey’s cheeks to kiss him.
He cleared his throat and schooled his mind again. Kissing Casey was a super queer thing to want to do. Really damn queer. Why couldn’t he just stop imagining it and wishing Casey wanted it too?
Then the dark thoughts descended. The ones he tried to ignore almost as much as he tried to ignore the kissing thoughts. What if someone else saw Casey’s special beauty one day? What if that someone was a girl? How would he ever survive if Casey fell in love with someone? Held hands with her in front of him? Kissed her?
He’d curl up and die, that’s what, if he were being honest.
Sitting up and rubbing his face, Joel groaned. Honest about his feelings for Casey Stevens was something he’d never planned to be, and with Casey suddenly returned, he sure as hell wasn’t about to start now.
Chapter Four
Casey couldn’t believewhat a dickwad Joel had turned into. Yeah, he’d always been cranky like his old man, and he’d been a jerk sometimes, but that was when they were kids. They were adults now. Grown men. And Casey hadn’t expected Joel to treat him like a stranger. Not that he’d thought Joel would give him a giant bear hug, pat him on the back, and welcome him home either. But a few minutes of his time? The chance to make amends and reconnect? He’d thought he’d at least get that.
Should have known better.Casey berated himself for hoping and tried to banish the knot of pain that tightened in his gut.
But, if he was honest with himself—something Ann was teaching him how to be—maybe he deserved the reception he’d received. Friends grew apart, true enough, but most did it naturally. He couldn’t claim that the end of his friendship with Joel had been natural at all. No, Casey had turned his back on Knoxville and everyone in it after he came out as gay to his parents and headed off to NYU still shaking with the fright.
Frankly, he’d been too scared to look back. He’d always thought if Joel really knew how he felt and the things he wanted to do with him, he’d be disgusted. Joel was straight after all, and most straight guys in Knoxville didn’t have a very open mind about gay sex.
So maybe that was it. Joelwasdisgusted. Joel had probably heard through the grapevine about Casey being a big ol’ queer who enjoyed sticking his dick up tight, sweet man-butt. Maybe that idea grossed Joel out so much he couldn’t even be polite to Casey. Maybe he hated him now. That was probably what this cold shoulder was all about. Casey’s heart ached.
Casey couldn’t be too surprised. Homophobia was a real thing, after all, and he’d experienced it before. Though he hadn’t expected it of Joel, who’d always been cool with both RJ and Becca being gay. What could have changed? Had he found religion? Been saved? Gone conservative?
Casey’s chest went tight the way it always did when shame clawed into him. He closed his eyes and breathed through it, trying to listen to his inner Ann-voice. What would she say about Joel? She’d probably suggest that Casey not jump to conclusions, and then she’d ask if this kind of cold, distant behavior was normal for Joel.
And, yeah, Casey would have to say that it absolutely was. Even if he didn’t want it to be. There hadn’t been a single time Casey could think of when he hadn’t been initially rebuffed by Joel when they were kids. But if he persisted, Joel always came around.
Maybe instead of Joel turning into a giant homophobe, he was doing what he always did: playing the straight-guy friendship version of hard-to-get. Like back in the day when Joel used to tell Casey he should leave the garage before Becca and RJ showed up for band practice, but then was secretly happy when Casey stubbornly stayed anyway. Casey hadn’t missed those subtle smiles or the flash of amused satisfaction in Joel’s eyes when Casey had juststayedand been his friend, no matter how Joel grumbled about it.
Casey stalked up and down the rows of Christmas trees. At the end of one identical line, he glanced back toward the store. Joel had initially disappeared somewhere deeper inside, but he was visible now through the well-lit windows, instructing a teenage girl wearing a black sweater with white skulls, helping her arrange some fir and holly wreaths. The girl frowned and sucked on her finger like the holly had pricked her.
Joel motioned with his hands. He no longer wore the thick fleece-lined jean jacket he’d had on when Casey pulled up. He’d taken it off, revealing a white short-sleeve shirt and jeans that clung to his ass. His arms bore tattoos that hadn’t been there the last time Casey had seen them bare.
Casey couldn’t make out the details of the tats, but they were all black and most were in script, clearly words of some sort, except for one on his right forearm that was bright red. An upside-down heart—depending on which direction a person looked at it. It would be right-side up to Joel and upside-down to others.
