HeartOn

1

Carlos didn’t mind being the handyman on call for all his friends, but he was thinking seriously about setting up weekend classes. The number of people who didn’t know how to wield a drill or even a hammer was ridiculous. In the meantime, he was happy to show up with his tools and help out, especially when Benji had promised to put on a full brunch spread. And Benji’s boyfriend, Josh, had committed to putting his health-nut instincts on hold and not complaining about how much butter and cheese were in anything Benji made .

Totally fair trade.

Besides, those guys were showing some real wisdom by calling him, considering what had happened the last time they’d attempted to attack a home-improvement project together.

Some couples were not meant to follow IKEA instructions in tandem without a restraining order.

At least when Benji tried to micromanage him, Carlos knew they weren’t going to still be irritated with each other in bed that night. Go away, please. Your input is not required.

I just wanted to suggest. . .

Suggest nothing. Make that lunch you promised me, he said firmly. He’d been building things since his abuelo first put a hammer in his hand when he was five years old and spending all his free time in the garage under his grandparents’ apartment at the back of his parents’ yard. He didn’t need Benji to remind him to put a drop cloth down to protect the floors or to make sure he anchored the bookcase to a stud. That was the deal.

Okay. . . Benji eased out of the room, staring back over his shoulder every two steps, biting his tongue the entire way.

With the door open and his music on low, he could hear the noises of two people moving around the kitchen: pots and pans clattering on counters, curses when someone forgot a potholder before grabbing a hot handle or got too careless with the grater, the low hum of conversation between one man who loved to cook, especially in the bigger kitchen of his friends’ new apartment, and another who happily followed instructions.

After a half hour of work, Carlos paused the Spotify app on his phone to call out a question about shelf placement to the guys, only to hesitate when he realized he could hear their voices more clearly now.

And they were talking about him.

Duh, your boy Carlos is definitely on the down low, or else why would he be hanging out with all you gay dudes?

Benji must have raised a demanding eyebrow at Josh’s phrasing, because the big guy laughed and rushed to clarify. "With all us gay dudes. You know what I meant. I wasn’t part of your high school crew."

Carlos and Benji had met their freshman year at the high school for the performing arts they’d both attended. Hundreds of late nights playing jacks-of-all-trades backstage while scoring bit roles onstage later, they’d both graduated, Carlos to head off to Columbia College’s theater program in Chicago to learn how to act for real, and Benji to begin a decade of working in coffee shops and bars in Miami. Carlos had felt like the one with his shit together back then, studying at one of the best colleges in his field while Benji bounced around in the service industry, claiming he didn’t know what he wanted to do with his life. But then his friend had settled down and gotten his massage therapy license and a hot ex-football player boyfriend, while Carlos realized his acting chops were minimal, although his ability to wield a hammer and saw always had directors hiring him for help backstage. He’d come back home to Miami, frustrated with his choices and wanting to be close to people he knew and loved. Plus, most of his friends came from large families, and supporting himself by building custom wood furniture—earning enough money to live off of in the theater world was hard—had always been easier where the market knew him.

Years later, Carlos and Benji were both still friends with a large, mostly queer crew who’d stayed close from their years in the high school theater trenches. Even now that everyone was settling down—having kids and starting businesses—the core of the group still got together at least every couple of weeks for a meal or a night out.

Yeah, just checking, Benji said drily. Grab that pot off the stove, please.

I’m just saying, most straight dudes, and I’m speaking from previous repressed ‘straight boy’ experience here—Carlos could hear the air quotes in Josh’s wry voice—don’t hang with a crowd that’s almost exclusively made up of gay dudes and lesbians.

"One, your jock football superstar youth is not representative of the average boy’s experience, just so you know. Not everyone spends their formative years in hyper-bro world."

Ouch.

You managed to retain your humanity somehow, Benji said primly, and Carlos could picture the stern look he would have shot his boyfriend at any sign of protest.

Benji was a little dude, but he did not tolerate shit.

"And yes, Benji continued, without Josh uttering a word, your friends have caused me to mellow out some in my kneejerk despair in the ability of jocks to remain decent human beings with a functioning sense of manners toward those of us who are a tad more swish. But I credit that more to you being a good person who surrounds himself with good people than to any actual likelihood that most athletes can be trusted not to piss themselves at the sight of a little boy-on-boy affection."

Well, thanks, I think. Josh’s voice was full of laughter.

Benji shrieked. Get off me, you doofus! I’m gonna spill this OJ and then you’ll be the one hauling your ass to the store for more and sweating your balls off.

Worth it, Josh said with satisfaction. Kissing you is always worth it.

You’re such a dork.

Your dork.

Benji’s sigh was loud enough to carry. When he spoke, the love and affection shone through so hard Carlos turned his face, feeling as if he were eavesdropping on something intensely private. Always. My dork.

Silence stretched a minute into enough time for two men who’d maintained a relationship across a thousand miles for months to wallow in some I’m so glad I’m here with you now physical affection.

"Two, Benji said crisply, minutes later. You know nothing about theater people. We went to a high school for the arts, baby. Straight boys were thin on the ground and all of them were super comfortable flirting with boys and playing our wingmen by the time we graduated. It’s just a thing. Theater people are very comfortable getting nearly naked backstage together, and we’re pretty touchy-feely too. You just don’t find a lot of uptight straight people in that world."

Josh waited a moment before answering. Man, I’m trying to think how different my life would have been if I’d gotten cast in a school play or something, instead of being the big dude that got tapped for football the first time a coach spotted me on a playground.

Don’t even. I would never have accidentally catfished you if you hadn’t been all repressed bi boy online.

You just like saying that because it makes a good story. I knew the whole time.

I know. Another pause. Carlos prayed his brunch wasn’t getting scorched because his friends couldn’t stop making out while teasing each other. The sappiness of these guys could send a diabetic into a sugar coma. But it’s more fun to say I accidentally catfished a hot jock.

I’m just grateful you didn’t know about your ‘straight boy’ catfishing powers when you were in high school, or you could’ve hooked Carlos and I’d be screwed.

I’m not his type.

No?

Nah. If any kind of guy catches Carlos’s eye, it’s guys like you. Guys even bigger than he is. He never cast so much as a glimmer of a glance in my direction.

His loss, my gain.

Besides, him hanging out with a mostly queer crowd doesn’t mean he isn’t straight. Benji paused, the jangle of metal flatware being scooped up filling the silence. I actually do think he’s bi—he’s said stuff to me often enough that makes me believe he finds men attractive—but I think he’s always just found it easier to date girls. Especially with his family.

They wouldn’t be okay if he showed up to the family Sunday night dinner with a dude?

Oh, I don’t know. It’s hard to say. His mom runs in the high-end arts crowd here, but her family’s Puerto Rican Catholic, you know? Not traditionally a welcoming demographic. And his dad’s Irish Catholic, so it’s like a double whammy.

And that was the problem with staying tight with the same people for more than a decade—they knew you well. Too well, almost. Although that was also the reason you stayed tight with them. Because having that much shit just understood without ever having to say it out loud was a gift too.

When he heard footsteps coming down the hall, Carlos thumbed his music back on. Grabbing one of the free-floating shelves he’d yet to install, he rested it on the clips he’d shoved in at a random height since he’d spent his time eavesdropping instead of asking Benji how far apart he wanted his shelves. He frowned at the ugly zinc-plated supports. He had some nicer ones at home with an antique bronze finish. Maybe he’d bring them when he came over for the next anime watch party and swap them out. They’d look pretty against the rose hints in the wood grain.

Like anyone else is going to look underneath to see the color of the shelf brackets. Talk about overkill.

Hazards of the job. He might be too busy trying to launch his set design career lately to spend as many hours building custom wood furniture as he used to, before theater work had started kicking in enough to pay the bills, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t sharpen up a cheap bookcase for the boys.

Josh poked his head in a moment later. You almost ready to eat? Julia Child here is gonna have a hissy if shit gets cold that’s supposed to be hot.

I heard that! Benji’s voice shot down the hall.

You were supposed to, baby, Josh called back. He turned to Carlos. Looks awesome, my man.

You’d think any home improvement that didn’t end in blood on the floor after you two went at each other was awesome, Carlos said, then regretted it when Josh winced. He was working on being less sarcastic, but his intentions didn’t yet match his outcomes. Thank God his friends were a sturdy bunch. Sorry.

No, man. It’s all good, Josh said, shaking his head. Some couples should not work on projects involving tools together.

Carlos nodded solemnly. It’s good to figure out the real challenging things early on.

He held a blank face long enough to see Josh break into laughter before he smiled and joined him. Carlos sorted his tools back into their proper places in his toolbox. Sloppiness just slowed him down later.

Seriously, dude. Thank you. If I get laid tonight, it’s going to be entirely to your credit.

Please feel free not to think of me at all, Carlos said, snickering as they left the bedroom.

Josh clapped him on the shoulder as they walked down the hall. "Let’s go get some grub. You should see what Benji’s got cooking for you."

When they reached the kitchen, however, Benji snapped at them. I told you this oven is off, Josh. We need to check the temperature.

Don’t stress, Josh said, crossing the kitchen to smother Benji in a hug until his boyfriend stopped holding the spatula like he wanted to stab someone with it. We’ll fix it. And no one’s in a rush here, so it’s no big.

Good. Because I need fifteen before the frittata is gonna be set. You two can get out of my way, Benji said, mellower now as he wrinkled up his forehead and calculated how to re-coordinate his cooking times. And that means I have to keep the cranberry bread warm but not dry it out. . .

They retreated to the living room with Benji still muttering to himself behind them.

Do you want a drink? OJ? Mimosa? Josh offered.

Carlos shook his head, grabbing one end of the big couch that faced the wall-mounted flat-screen he knew was dedicated to football from the end of August to the beginning of February. Even Benji had become a passionate football fan, sporting head-to-toe Dolphins gear on game days. I’ll wait till we sit down.

Cool, Josh said and grabbed the remote to turn on the TV. The Marlins played last night. Did you catch the final score?

They gossiped about sports while Josh pulled up ESPN, and then Carlos flipped through some movie channels after Josh got called back into the kitchen to lend a hand with something that, per Benji, absolutely did not require the guest who had already put in manual labor to get up off his ass. By the time Josh returned, Carlos was back on ESPN, listening to some rumored trades, including a handful of players who were expected to come off injured reserve before the season started.

Hey, block yo calendar, my friend.

Josh collapsed on the couch next to him, his enormous body creating a divot in the cushions that meant Carlos had to lean away to avoid rolling into the ex-football player, like a planet trying to escape a black hole.

What for?

My buddy Deion’s coming for a visit. We’re gonna do it up right, dude.

Something about party planning for his football friends always sent Josh into a kind of tailspin of dudebro-y-ness that never failed to make Benji roll his eyes and pat Josh on the shoulder fondly. Carlos normally thought it was pretty amusing too, but right now he was stuck on ten seconds ago when Josh had oh-so-casually announced that Deion McCaskill was coming for a visit.

He gets in on Wednesday night. I’m thinking chill at home with margaritas that night, then he’s got a whole list of restaurants he wants to chow down at, starting with Joe’s. Josh ticked his event planning agenda off on his fingers. Let’s see, barbecue at the park on Friday, then hit up some clubs on Saturday night.

Your kind of clubs or his? Carlos asked, trying to sound like he didn’t care about the answer, as Benji called out from the kitchen.

Food’s on the table!

Josh shrugged and stood. Whichever. Deion’s cool. Plus, I think he’s got a girl, so he won’t be looking to hit it while he’s here.

Deion’s cool. What does that mean, cool? Is he as straight as he acts, or as surprisingly bro-tastic and bi as you are, Josh?

"You think?" Benji asked, overhearing them as they entered the dining room, waving them to their seats as if the table covered in yum was going to vanish if they didn’t anchor it by putting food on their plates as fast as possible.

Carlos’s mouth watered at the sight. He was in his chair and beckoning Benji to pass the first platter before Josh finished answering Benji’s question.

He was seeing some nurse from rehab last I heard, but you know Deion.

Rehab? Carlos asked, hissing at the hot plate carrying a thick frittata with toasted brown edges but not letting it wobble for a second. When it came to Josh’s friends, the term usually referred to an injury instead of drugs, but you never knew.

Shoulder. Probably a career ender.

Carlos didn’t mention that he’d been glued to the TV the night Deion had taken the hit that separated his shoulder and torn his labrum. And that he’d pored over football blogs online for weeks afterward, looking for gossip about Josh’s college friend. It was kind of weird how obsessed he’d gotten about the guy, so nodding and passing Josh the serving dish seemed like the better move. Sounds bad, man.

Yeah. Josh’s expression sobered for a moment, before he perked up again. He spent enough time at the rehab facility to hook up with one of the nurses, though.

"Yeah, but that