Crush

Drew preferred wearing jeans and t-shirts but Monte Carlo’s had a dress code he had to abide by. He dressed in a pair of black slacks and a charcoal gray, button-up shirt that played off the gray-blue of his eyes and turned them almost silver. The black leather shoes he choose had been worn so infrequently that they didn’t feel broken in yet, and at the last minute he remembered to dig out a slate gray, wool bomber jacket from its original purchase bag to help ward off the chill growing in the early November air. He polished off the cool, aloof look with a pair of shiny black Oakley sunglasses.



Drew chose to take the Audi R8 instead of the Malibu, knowing his father would ask after the car and would likely bitch if he found out the expensive beast was sitting in the garage more often than not.



Since Monte Carlo’s was a half-hour outside of Brighton in the more upscale town of Clinton, Drew hopped onto the highway and opened the Audi up. He rolled down the windows and let the wind ruffle his hair. A mile and a half outside of Clinton, a yellow, beetle convertible with the top laid down pulled up beside Drew full of babes.



The young women—who couldn’t be much older than he was—took one look at Drew and started whooping and yelling to get his attention. Drew tossed a smile their way and they went wild.



One of the girls yelled, “Woah, baby, nice car!”



“Nice everything!” the blonde in the passenger seat added with a giggle.



One of the ladies in the backseat shouted,“He’s gorgeous!”



“Give us your number!” The cute, blonde passenger extracted an iphone from her purse and started tapping away.



Drew turned his attention to the road ahead, a green sign warned him of the next upcoming exit. “My number’s thirty-seven,” Drew shouted and signaled a lane switch. Pressing down on the clutch, Drew shifted gears and slowed the Audi to half it's original speed, as he took exit thirty-seven to Clinton.



The disappointed shouts of the women he’d left behind blew away with the wind.



People stared at Drew as he navigated the streets of Clinton, probably wondering who he was. All dressed up, with half his handsome face hidden behind wraparound shades, Drew knew he looked to be in his early twenties. Because of his height and build people often assumed he was older. It worked to Drew’s advantage most of the time.



Drew flicked a glance at his empty passenger seat and his smile fell away as he remembered the slender, handsome older man who’d been sitting there only the night before. He wished Chay was with him now, that he wasn’t going to Monte Carlo’s to meet his father, but that he was taking Chay out to dinner.



If those girls back there on the highway thought he was handsome, they’d just about melt when they caught sight of the exotic Chayton Whitehorse. Just the thought of Chay made Drew’s blood pressure raise a fraction. Drew groaned as he pulled into the parking lot of Monte Carlo’s. He found a spot with relative ease and parked, but hesitated to get out.



He pulled out his cellphone and typed up a quick text. He sent it to Chay, put his phone on vibrate, and climbed out of the car.



A doorman was there to pull open the wooden and glass doors that led to the classy, spacious interior of Monte Carlo’s. Drew informed the cheerful hostess of the name of his party and she led him to a table at the back of the restaurant.



Dad was seated at a booth and he wasn’t alone. A slim brunette that couldn’t be older than her late twenties sat next to Drew's father near the wall.Drew watched her caress his father’s sleeve, giving him her rapt attention as he chatted away.



Barely managing not to role his eyes, Drew allowed the hostess to interrupt his father. “Mr. Robinson, your guest is here.”



Faded blue eyes turned in Drew’s direction. When he saw Drew, his father flashed porcelain veneers in a wide smile. Drew almost winced as his father's darkly tanned skin wrinkled into white lines on his forehead. Henry Robinson scooted out of the booth and stood to embrace his son.



Henry was a big man. He’d played football just like his son--right up until his sophomore year in college when a knee injury and one too many concussions put him out of commission. It was while suffering over a dozen injuries during years of playing contact sports that Henry developed his fascination with the human body—specifically it’s remarkable ability to heal itself. After Henry was forced off the field, he’d given his full attention to the medical field—which he loved even more.



Drew had often wondered if it were the nature of the Robinson men of his line to have only one great love of a lifetime. Drew’s grandfather had loved to build things to the exclusion of anything else.



Drew’s mom still kept the crib Pop had built with his hands up in the attic. Unfortunately Drew’s great-grandfather had loved the bottle; Drew supposed loving wood and open-heart-surgery was a step up from collecting empty whiskey bottles and assault charges.



Taller than his father by three inches, Drew looked over the older man’s shoulder at his smiling companion and hoped she was with Dad for his money and not his heart. The latter he’d never managed to give to anyone.



“Andrew, you look good, son.” Henry gave his son’s bomber a sharp snap.



“Thanks, Dad. You do too.” Drew took off his shades, followed by his jacket and slid in the booth. He had to sit at an angle because there wasn’t enough room in the booth for two tall men to sit across from each other. What had Dad been thinking?



Henry, oblivious as always, squeezed the hand of the pretty brunette sitting beside him. “I want you to meet someone, Drew. This is Rosemary Duchene.Rosemary, my son, Drew”



Drew gave the brunette his full attention, noticing she flushed pink right down to the swell of her bosom when he did so. “Pleased to meet you,Rosemary.”



“Hello,” she answered shyly.



Drew’s ol’ man laughed. “Isn’t she beautiful, Drew? Your Dad knows how to pick ‘em!”



With a nod, Drew dipped his eyes down past the woman’s surprisingly small cleavage—Dad was going to change that—and looked at the hand Drew’s father still held onto. A fat diamond winked from her ring finger. Drew lifted a brow in question.



Henry smiled. “Third one’s a charm.”



Fourth one Dad. Did you forget Mom? Drew bit back a sound of disgust and picked up the menu that had been laid out for him. He forced false enthusiasm in his voice when he said, “Congratulations. When’s the wedding?”



“We haven’t decided yet,” Rosemary surprised Drew by answering, speaking in a softly accented voice. French maybe?. “I caution your father to take it slow.”



Good luck with that, Drew thought. He’d give it about four months before they were hitched. He could probably still fit the suit he’d worn for the last wedding if he had the sleeves let out a little.



When Henry kissed Rosemary’s bejeweled finger, Drew thought he was going to be sick to his stomach. The waiter saved him from having to watch his dad play at being a lothario.



The waiter introduced himself as Samuel. Drew thought the slim brunet was cute and as perky as the hostess who’d shown them to their seats. He was also a flirt; giving Drew enough signals to set off his gaydar as he jotted down their orders, and traded small talk with Drew before he walked away.



Rosemary giggled, clearly recognizing that their waiter was more interested in Drew than any tip.



One look at Henry’s reddening face and Drew felt sweat break out along his collar. “You can’t go ten feet without running into a fairy these days,” Drew’s father hissed under his breath.



Drew went cold and then hot all over. “Dad, don’t embarrass me. Okay?”



With an incredulous look, Henry replied, “Embarrass you—.”



Rosemary surprised Drew yet again by running interference. “Mon cher, the boy is harmless, no? Let us enjoy the fine cuisine you promise me they have here.”



The older Robinson seemed to deflate a little, though the cold glint remained in his eye and his teeth stayed clenched. Henry picked up his menu. Rosemary leaned over his arm to go through the choices with him.



Drew didn’t care what he ate. He just wanted to ask his favor and get the hell out of dodge. By the time the waiter returned with their drinks, Drew was on pins and needles. Rosemary was extra bubbly like she was trying to make up for her fiance's clipped words and black stare.



Samuel must have caught a whiff of the wolf at the table. His light mood dried up like a raisin in the run. Finished taking orders, their waiter all but ran back to the kitchen.



“Embarrass you?” Henry started in again. “I think you have that backwards, Drew. That boy was ready to bend-over backwards for you and you didn’t say anything! You should have put that—that faggot in his place.”



“Dad!”



“Mon cher—.”



Drew was aware his outburst had drawn unwanted attention to their table. It took some effort to lower his voice. “I’m big enough to defend myself if I have to.” Drew scoffed, “I’m not exactly afraid of being molested by someone who weighs half as much as I do.”



Henry shook his head. “It’s the principle of the thing. To allow that looks… It looks like you don’t mind.”



I don’t. Drew sipped his water to give his mouth something else to do other than curse his father. By the time he put the glass down he felt a little more reasonable. “Dad, try to see things in a different light. This isn’t the seventies where homosexuality was whispered about behind cupped hands and blamed upon the ‘free-love’ generation. This is the twenty-first century. It’s not that big a deal anymore. So, a guy flirts with me? If I show him I’m not interested, he’ll move on. No need to get all bent out of shape over it.”



After his little speech, Drew felt like he needed more water; his mouth felt as dry as the Adobe.



Drew watched the old man fume over the rim of his glass as he drank. It was clear that Henry didn’t like what he'd heard, but he was outnumbered two to one. Rosemary’s soothing touch went a long way toward taming the beast.



When their appetizers and meals came they were delivered by two waitresses. Despite their best efforts to appear hospitable the girls couldn’t quite manage to hide their dislike of his father behind plastic smiles. When their old waiter didn't return, Drew realized that Samuel must have cried off serving their table. Drew made a mental note to slip the boy a big tip before he left.



Drew had ordered a Porterhouse and baked potato with the works, but he barely tasted it. He was too pissed off and high-strung to enjoy the meal. He just wanted to get away from his father. He tried not to let Henry’s words bother him but they cut almost as deeply as his knife sliced into the steak.



He’d had an idea that his father was homophobic, but he didn’t think he’d stoop low enough to refer to a gay man as a faggot. Drew could easily see himself in Samuel’s place. All it would take was for Henry to have one inkling of suspicion about his son's sexual orientation, and he'd come down on Drew like a ton of bricks. Older Henry might be, gray might now liberally sprinkle his light-brown hair, but he was still nothing to trifle with.Drew cringed at the thought of a confrontation, not hearing his father’s voice until Henry tapped the tines of his fork against his glass.



Looking up from his plate, Drew saw the older man staring at him. “I asked how football was coming along? Couch still trying to convince you to talk to the scouts beating down his door?”



This was an old argument waiting to happen. Henry wanted Drew to become the football star he’d failed to be.If asked what happened all those years ago, Drew’s father would say he was robbed of his glory.And while Drew doubted his father regretted his choice in careers, he knew his dad had a greater interest in public recognition than Drew ever had. To hear Henry talk about it, he'd been the most popular jock in school and loved every minute of it. Of course, Henry never had to pretend that the cheerleader on his arm could make him hard when the lights went out.



He'd let the old man chase further glory in his daydreams.



Drew wanted to be an architect. In that, he shared a common desire with his grandfather. He’d always loved to create things, whether they were real only on paper or had been built by his two hands. The creation—the molding—of things that did not yet exist had always given him an exhilarating feeling.



“I’ve got a full scholarship to Southern California Institute of Architecture.” Drew informed his father.



Henry waved his statement away. “You could easily get a full ride to one of those big universities down in Texas. UH, maybe. You’re good. Damn good.”



Drew poked at his baked potato until butter ran onto his plate like a tiny yellow river. For a man with a passion for the medical field, Henry had poor perception when it came to anybody else’s passions. Drew let it go. He’d disappoint the old man in due time.



Besides, he had more pressing matters to discuss. “Hey, Dad, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”



Henry dipped a jumbo shrimp in cocktail sauce and popped it into his mouth. “Yes, I’m listening?”



“Can I go up to the lake house this winter?”



Henry contemplated him over a sip of wine. “What for?”



Drew had thought about this. He had a lie at the ready. “Me and some of my friends wanted to go up there for Christmas and hang out. You know, get away from Brighton for a while?”



“What about your mother? She won’t mind you being away for the holidays?”



“No,” he lied, but he would work on that. “She’ll be spending Christmas with her little sister up in North Dakota.”As soon as Drew could talk her into it. “April’s twins should be nearly two this year.”



With a nod, Henry turned to look at his fiancée. “What do you think, Rosemary? Should I let him go?”



Instead of replying straight away, Rosemary turned to regard Drew. He looked her in the eye, asking her to stand with him without actually saying the words. Rosemary couldn’t hold his gaze for long. She patted his father’s arm. “Let, him go, mon cher. Let him have fun while he is still a boy.”



“All right,” Henry finally said. “But I don’t have the keys to the lakehouse on my person. I’ll have them sent to you.”



Drew felt it safe to let out the breath he was holding.“Thanks Dad.”



Henry tucked into his food once more, but Drew wasn’t off the hook that easy. “ So son, does that Audi R8 I bought you still purr like a kitten?"