Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 67981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67981 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
How this man thought he knew Emilio’s type was anybody’s guess, but he was dead wrong.
Raul must have heard the last part of the conversation, because he started chuckling. “Boy, are you barking up the wrong tree,” he said to Bruce.
“What do you mean?” Bruce asked as he furrowed his brow.
Emilio had come out at age eighteen. Living within a few miles of where he grew up and where his siblings still lived meant secrets never lasted long. He was done with high school and had enough skills to get a job working for any construction company in town if the shit hit the fan worse than he expected with his family. Plus, he had an older cousin who had been out for as long as Emilio could remember.
He had seen his cousin Asher a handful of times at family gatherings, and nobody had ever given the big man a hard time. Of course, harassing a person with Asher’s temperament was asking for a permanent limp, but Emilio never even heard people bad-talk him when he went home to California. So he figured his family would probably be fine and coming right out with the information would be better than trying to hide.
The resulting drama was short-lived; once the initial shock wore off, everyone went back to living their lives. After that, Emilio figured he was out. Done and done. But in the four years since, he had realized that he’d never really be done, that coming out was an ongoing process.
There was always someone new at work or someone dating one of his relatives or someone showing up at his weekend pickup soccer games, and small talk often included seemingly innocuous questions about his personal life, like whether he was married. Emilio wasn’t ashamed of being gay, but sometimes it was exhausting to have to come out yet again, and he’d find himself analyzing whether ignoring certain questions or diverting conversations away from certain topics was easier than making the “I’m gay” speech.
Now was one of those times. It had been a long week and he was in no mood for conversation. But with a setup looming and his brother teasing, Emilio had to say something.
“He means,” Emilio said as he glared at his brother, “that I’m sure your wife’s sister is nice and pretty and all, but she’s not my type.”
“Oh.” Bruce seemed to deflate, and then he squinted and got tense once again, seemingly offended by Emilio’s explanation. “Why isn’t she your type? She looks a lot like my wife. Are you saying Sue ain’t pretty?”
Well, diversion tactics weren’t going to help. He might as well come out with the truth, field any annoying questions, and then go home, where he could drink a six-pack in relative peace. Relative because he had three roommates, which meant quiet was a rare indulgence to be savored. On a weekend night, though, he figured his chances were better than average because his roommates would probably be out getting laid or getting drunk or both.
“No, I’m not saying that at all. I’m gay, so no matter how pretty your sister-in-law is, she isn’t my type,” Emilio said matter-of-factly, hoping that would be the end of the conversation. He wanted to go home and relax after a long, frustrating week.
Bruce’s initial reaction was to chuckle at what he presumably thought was a joke, but when Emilio kept looking at him seriously and Raul nodded, he seemed to realize Emilio was serious. “Oh,” Bruce said in surprise. “Uh, cool.”
Emilio tilted his chin toward Bruce in acknowledgement of his comment and then started walking toward the parking lot again.
Bruce trailed along next to him. “So you’re sure about that, huh?” he asked.
“Am I sure I’m not romantically attracted to women?” Emilio asked sarcastically and then shook his head. “Yeah, man, I’m sure. Tell your wife she needs to focus on someone else to set up with her sister.”
“Yeah, okay,” Bruce said with a nod. Then, seeming incredibly nervous, he added, “Does that mean you’re attracted to me?”
“No way,” Emilio answered immediately.
“Oh, okay. Good.” Bruce sighed, seemingly relieved to hear this information. But after a matter of seconds, he suddenly glared at Emilio, looking offended. “Why the fuck not?” he asked.
There was no way for Emilio to hold back his laugh. “Calm down, man. It’s nothing personal.”
Bruce looked down at his body and flexed. His build was similar to Emilio’s—thick muscles, broad shoulders, over six feet in height. “Are you saying I’m ugly?” he demanded.
Great. First he got accused of insulting Bruce’s wife’s appearance, and now it was Bruce directly. Emilio didn’t have the energy for this shit. They were getting to the parking lot and his truck was in sight, so he figured the conversation would, mercifully, end soon.
“No, man. I’m just saying you’re not my type,” he explained.