Rich straightened up and, taking another glance at the desk, realized what he’d taken for a mess was a pile of manila envelopes. He moved around to the opposite side from the body and leaned closer. Every envelope had a name on it in thick black ink. Some were vaguely familiar, but he cared about only one. With a gloved finger, he cautiously nudged them till he saw Baker. He picked up the envelope and peeked inside—a DVD in a plastic case. He stuffed the whole thing inside his jacket and left.
Chapter Eight
Olly was fuming hard yet again, so much so that he had to pull over before he broke out in road rage. This had started to become a pattern, but he was more than just furious this time. Pain seared through his sternum as if some acid-blooded alien was trying to burst out of his chest. Because when Rich had rushed him¸ he’d been sure they’d had something, a connection beyond lust. He’d felt it. And he’d opened up, let himself be vulnerable. He hadn’t told his true name to many people, even lovers. So the rejection hurt all the more.
He couldn’t keep this all inside, had to talk to someone. Olly called Jem and unloaded his troubles on his friend.
“Come over right now,” Jem gave the order. “Nick is incinerating some wieners—” There was an oof! on Jem’s end of the line, and sounds of scuffling and laughter, and Jem came back on the line out of breath. “I meant to say, Nick is barbecuing, and we’d love to have you.”
“You’re barbecuing on a Monday?”
“Why not? It’s rare enough Nick and I have the same day off. We have to make the most of it.”
Olly was tempted, but he didn’t want to be a third wheel. “Shouldn’t you be in bed, fucking each other senseless?”
“Oh no worries, it’s been taken care of. And at any rate, Nick thinks I have no sense to begin with. Come, I command you. Nick will put another wiener on the incinerator.” The rest of Jem’s words were lost in the sounds of a scuffle.
Ending the call, Olly decided to take the invitation. He could use spending time with a happy gay couple—or any happy couple, for that matter—to reaffirm his faith in humanity.
On the way, Olly stopped at a corner liquor store because he didn’t want to arrive empty-handed. But what did one bring to a BBQ? Wine seemed too pretentious for the occasion. He chose beer instead—a six-pack of Bass Pale Ale.
Jem took the offering at the door and led Olly through the house to the backyard. Jem had moved in with Nick a year ago, right after Nick bought the place. It was a typical house for the neighborhood—plain but cozy, on a big enough lot to have friends over for a garden party, but not to require lots of yard work. Perfect place to relax on a warm summer afternoon like this. A folding table and chairs were set up on the grass under a sunshade, while Nick busied himself at the grill off in the corner.
“Just in time,” Nick greeted Olly. “The sausages are ready.” He put the plate piled high with them onto the table, next to buns and condiments. “Beer?”
Olly shook his head. “Just water. The bubbly kind, if you have it,” he said, shifting one of the sausages onto his plate. After the previous night’s excesses, he wanted to take it easy. He bit into the sausage, and the flavor melted in his mouth. “Mmm…good, and not burnt at all.”
“I parboil them in beer and water,” Nick explained. “And for the record, I only burned them once, and it was his fault,” he added as he placed a bottle of Pellegrino in front of Olly. He and Jem exchanged a knowing look.
Olly could tell—whatever the story was, it was something intimate. He took a deep swig of his water to douse the flare of jealousy. Jem and Nick were ridiculously happy together, and he should’ve been happy for them, he knew. But it was hard when he felt so miserable himself.
Later, after eating, Olly poured his heart out to his hosts. He told them the whole thing from start to finish, but in broad strokes, skipping the part about the blackmail and the little investigation he and Rich did. He simply said he and Rich were driving around. He didn’t go into minute details about the sex either, but relayed the gist of it. “Seriously, the guy thinks partial blowjobs and frotting don’t count as sex,” he finished with a huff, his indignation getting a second wind in the retelling.
“Classic closet case,” Nick declared. “You should steer as far away from him as possible.”
“Hm.” Jem didn’t appear to share Nick’s sentiment. “I dunno. It seems to me the guy wants to come out but is having a hard time of it.”
Nick snorted. “Oh, c’mon. He can either be a man or a weasel. It’s a simple choice.”