Regifted

  Regifted

  Declan Rhodes

  Copyright © 2018 by Declan Rhodes.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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  Contents

  1. Vincent

  2. Desmond

  3. Vincent

  4. Desmond

  5. Vincent

  6. Desmond

  7. Vincent

  8. Desmond

  9. Vincent

  10. Desmond

  11. Vincent

  12. Desmond

  13. Vincent

  14. Desmond

  15. Vincent

  16. Desmond

  17. Vincent

  18. Desmond

  19. Vincent

  20. Desmond

  Epilogue - Vincent

  The Weighting Game

  Also by Declan Rhodes

  About the Author

  1

  Vincent

  I quietly knelt on the mat before bellowing in Maeve’s ear. “Twenty more seconds! You can do it! You’re a beast! Give it to me! C’mon, now, 5-4-3-2-1! Let’s go! Ah, yeah, feels…so…good! You did it!”

  Maeve flopped flat on her belly like a goldfish after its last gasp for life in the open air. She closed out the fitness session by completing my plank challenge like a champ. Turning her head to the side with a groan and casting her gaze up toward my face, Maeve exclaimed, “Damn! You must have earned an A+ in Sadism 101. My last trainer was a cream puff compared to you, Vincent.”

  I relaxed and sat back on my feet. “Then I’m doing something right.” I pointed at my head. “If I’m not taking up residence in here like a backseat driver with his foot stuck on the accelerator pedal, then I’m not getting through to you. You have to know you have no choice but to push harder, faster, and stronger. You’re a machine, and I’m the grease to the gears. That awesome body’s on the way. I’m like your lube for the slicked up…Fuck! I was on a roll there, and then I thought about it…fuck! fuck!”

  Maeve giggled as she rolled over to her side. “Heh, is that the speech you give just before you make a conquest in the bedroom?”

  “Aw, shit, who told you it was okay to throw daggers at the man on the spinning wheel? You know I’m struggling. I haven’t taken a man to my bedroom for months. It’s like I’m living in the deep freeze.” I rose to a squatting position and held my hands to my bulging pecs while pantomiming the staggering impact of a deadly blow.

  I said, “I heard that about you. They said, ‘Maeve’s a fighter. She knows how to move in for the kill.’”

  Maeve pushed herself up with her hands and rose to a sitting position on the mat. Sweat rolled down her cheeks and pasted long, stray black locks of hair to the sides of her face. If she had a tail fin, and the sweaty hair was seaweed, she’d compare favorably to an enchanted mermaid rising from the sea.

  Second-in-command in the county attorney’s office and tough as nails, Maeve ate murderers and petty white-collar criminals for breakfast. She was the highest-ranking LGBTQ community member in our local county government, and she worked twice as hard as her straight counterparts to prove that she belonged.

  Maeve answered my accusation about her deadly aim. “I only call on my ability to play rough when the defendant is overdue for a much-needed correction—or when I run into a guy that’s all hands at the bar.”

  “Ouch! I don’t think I want to know.”

  As she pulled her knees up toward her chest, Maeve asked, “So why is it you’re striking out in the dating department? Are you whiffing at the high heat or did you fail to hit Cupid’s curveball? Your reputation, if we want to call it that, was part of the popcorn trail that led me to your door. What gives? Did someone bad leave a bruise and your ego’s turned all black and blue?”

  I stood and beckoned to Maeve. “Let’s sit here on the bench a minute or two, and hell if I know what I’m doing wrong. I think my ego’s like a turtle these days, and he’s pulled his head back inside and slammed the shell shut.”

  I sat and leaned forward with my head in my hands. Maeve’s voice softened, and she placed her delicate slim fingers on my shoulder. “Everyone gets a tire stuck in a rut once in a while. Pretty soon the axel bends, the brakes go out, and the car might even burst into flames, but he’s still out there. You only have to find him. I say keep at it. You’ll be sailing on down the road to happily-ever-after land in no time.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Are you done with the transportation metaphors? What about you? Are you still on cloud nine with Ms. Eclair?”

  “Her name’s Edwards. Where did you get something like…” Maeve stopped herself and thought for a moment. “Oh, geez. I get it now. She runs the bakery—eclair—I’m a little slow.” Maeve groaned and rubbed her face with her hands. “Yeah, Dot’s a sweetheart, but she’s one of the main reasons I have to see you. Do you know what it’s like to date a baker?”

  “I haven’t had that pleasure.”

  “She’s always bringing home the extras, and that might be okay if she only baked ordinary things like glazed donuts and raisin scones. I can resist those. Instead, we have these delicate petits fours, macarons, and dense cheesecakes with 10,000 calories of sugar, fat, cheese, and buttered Graham cracker crumbs. And that’s just what Dot brings home to eat for breakfast.”

  “It might be a nice change from protein smoothies.”

  Maeve smiled and leaned on my shoulder. “I’ve lost about four pounds since I started working out here with you three weeks ago. You’re like an evil big brother with the sure-footed wickedness of a master sadist, but you’re helping me make progress, and I’m thankful for that.”

  “Did you do anything with the diet?”

  “I eat carrots for snacks now instead of a quarter of a chocolate bar. Is that good?”

  “Progress!” I raised a hand palm up, and we high-fived.

  “So we’re planning for the same time and the same place two days from now?”

  I said, “Yep, that’s the next appointment. I’m going to bump the number of reps up slightly in the weights routine. I thought I’d warn you in advance.”

  Maeve’s forehead furrowed. “Seriously? Now I’ve got an hour of pure pain to look forward to while you growl and hiss in my ear.”

  “It’s not truly sadistic if I don’t make you dread your torturous future. That’s all part of the nefarious grand plan.”

  I remained on the bench and watched as Maeve headed for the locker room with a towel over her shoulder. She was slowly shaking her head. Suddenly, she glanced over her shoulder and then took two steps back.

  “Did you forget something?”

  “No, not at all—the opposite. I remembered something. Maybe it’s a good thing. Are you heading down to the Center for the big holiday hoopla tomorrow night?”

  “Do you mean the event where the gays come out to shine? It’s the one where we all part with tons of money for good causes and then feel even better about it in January when we can deduct it from our income tax filings.”

  “Damn, you do have it bad, but yeah, that’s what I’m talking about. I think I’ve almost convinced Dot to j
oin me. She’s allergic to crowds and starts to sneeze any time she’s around men in suits, but I told her she can leave at any moment if it’s all too much. I just want the chance to kiss her under the mistletoe.”

  I nodded. “Yep, I’ll be there. I share Dot’s opinion of the suits, but I’ll be there looking sweet and sharp. I donated some 3-month workout contracts for the silent auction.”

  “There’ll be a feeding frenzy over those. I hope the winner is serious about fitness and isn’t only excited over ogling you. I understand the point of that, but you’ll make their life a screaming hell they never expected.”

  “That ego’s peeking out at the world again.”

  Maeve retraced her steps and joined me on the bench again. The wicked smile on her face caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. “Since you’re going to be there tomorrow night already, I know something that might be able to help bring that bad luck streak to a screeching halt.”

  I eyed her suspiciously. For a moment, I was confused and didn’t know what she was thinking, but a light bulb suddenly switched on in my head, and I understood. I started to shake my head, “Oh, no you don’t. I’m not going to stand up there and pose like a side of beef for sale. I’ve got my pride.”

  Maeve rubbed my thigh. “It’s for a good cause, Vincent. What’s the worst that could happen? Are you worried about roaming fingers pawing at that muscle you worked years to build? I worked on the bachelor/bachelorette auction committee two years ago, and we set clear rules that the date is no touchy-feely unless there is explicit agreement from both parties. Violations are subject to a hefty fine not to mention legal liabilities.”

  “It’s humiliating. If you stand up there on stage, you’re advertising that you have no prospects. It’s an announcement that your dating life is as dry as a parched desert. It’s like saying, ‘Hi, I’m Vincent. I’m the worst date you can imagine. Why don’t you have some pity and buy an evening with me?’”

  “I know at least three long-term couples that started their relationship with a date purchased at the auction. Cross my heart. It’s a select crowd. I think you should consider it.”

  I turned my head. I was all for the work the Center did for the LGBTQ community. They ran phenomenal programs changing lives for the better. I contributed a sizable check out of my own private accounts each year, and my business supported multiple events. I paid for a wide range of advertising opportunities. I had to draw some kind of line in the sand, and that was at the gates to my personal life.

  Still, there was curiosity. And nine lives remained before this cat could be killed. “You said three couples? Was that men? Or women?”

  “All men. It’s hellishly tough getting any lesbians to go up on stage. Fortunately, I think they have a record number of women this year. I heard it was a third of the total. Admittedly, the headcount of potential bidders at the event is much smaller for us. I remember another specific success story. Patrick Bettler first dated his partner Max after he auctioned himself off.”

  I opened my eyes wider. “The art museum CEO? You’re not pulling my leg, are you? If you’re right, I missed out that year. I would bet on Patrick. Woof!”

  “It was three years back.”

  I nodded. “Oh, shit, yeah, that’s the year I spent Christmas in a cast after I ripped the hell out of my Achilles.” I rubbed my chin and looked at Maeve again. “They are an adorable couple. I caught Max at a play downtown a few weeks ago. He said they’d just gotten back from zip lining in Costa Rica.”

  “Sounds fun, doesn’t it?”

  Maeve’s gaze had a mischievous twinkle in it. She was like a master fisherman reeling in a big catch. I said, “Okay, let me think it over. It’s probably too late to be included anyway.”

  “I can pull a few strings.”

  I sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that. Will Sal Whetstone attend? Do you know?”

  Maeve slapped my thigh and stood. “How would I know? I don’t see any reason why he wouldn’t show. I think he’s presented a huge donation for at least half a dozen years in a row. I’m not on the official staff of the event this time, so I haven’t seen any of those details. I’m only going to phone a few holdouts to try and boost the turnout. Then I’ll make an appearance, hopefully, bring Dot along, and maybe spend some money on the silent auctions. Oh, and I’ll tug on a few loose ends to try and help find my favorite bachelor a great date.”

  I caved. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night, and then you’re mine the next morning. Watch out if I see you down too many hors-d’oeuvres.”

  I remained seated while Maeve completed her delayed trip to the locker room. I knew the chances of Sal Whetstone bidding on me in an eligible bachelor auction were about a thousand to one, but a guy could still dream.

  Sal was the heir to a sausage-making fortune. He became a local celebrity after appearing in TV commercials caressing thick sausages in his beefy hands. His father was in his late 80s and rumors continuously floated around that he was ill. Once the older man passed away, Sal would become the wealthiest gay man in the city.

  All of that was background information. What put a skip in my step the few times I’d had the opportunity to speak with Sal privately, was his gorgeous appearance. I had a shallow bone connected directly to my brain’s vision centers. He activated my sweet tooth for quality eye candy.

  Sal was in his late 40s and well on his way to silver fox status. His hair was still salt and pepper in appearance, and he was a big man, nearly my height, and muscular not fat. He was the kind of man the world expected to see with me. We would look like two professional club bouncers side by side, and I knew that we could set a bed on fire. He was the kind of man that came to me in my dreams and made me wake up in a cold sweat. Sal was also single and topped almost any list of the top eligible gay bachelors in the city.

  I rubbed my hands up over my face. I couldn’t believe I was just over twenty-four hours away from announcing my failure to date successfully to the entire city’s LGBTQ population. I had slightly more than a day to build an iron cage as the last bastion of protection for my fragile self-esteem.

  2

  Desmond

  I nibbled at the cuticle on my left index finger before pointing at the calendar on my cell phone. “I forgive the front office for the scheduling conflict that prevents me from taking part in the ballet orchestra. My absence leaves open an opportunity for another musician. I decided to buy tickets to be in the audience instead. Supporting other arts in the community is crucial. Besides, the nutcracker character wears tights, and it’s better to see him from the audience seats than the orchestra pit. Can I count you in, Jerry?”

  I peered across the table in the campus coffee shop. Student managers decked it out for the holidays. Big ball ornaments hung from acoustic ceiling tiles, and giant candy canes stood like sentries at the entrance. Randomly placed sprigs of mistletoe lay in wait for the unsuspecting.

  I watched my best friend, Jerry, a fellow faculty member, scratched his head. I wasn’t convinced that he’d successfully processed my words. He said, “I still can’t believe I did that. The lecture was about tortoises in the Southwest, and the slides up on the screen were lizards in Indonesia. The students heckled me. Can you believe that? Heckled. Me.” Jerry self-consciously pushed his black-framed glasses, the pair that matched mine, back up his nose.

  I tried to pull Jerry out of the dreadful mental tape loop that had him reliving his morning class disaster like Groundhog Day. I dragged out the syllables punching each one into his consciousness. “Nut-crack-er. That’s what I was talking about—you and me. Dinner first, and then the show. We can eat at that cute little Chinese spot we discovered after Our Town.”

  “Our what? I’m sorry. I don’t think I heard the last five hundred words or so you said, Desmond. Can you back up a bit? I promise to listen to you this time.”

  “Do you remember when I told you that I’m not playing in the orchestra for the ballet’s Nutcracker performances
this year because of a schedule conflict with the symphony?”

  Jerry nodded slowly. “Yes, I do remember that. You mentioned it when you spoke to me last night on the telephone while we were sync-watching that awesome documentary on the Kalahari.” He shook his head. “Why are you talking about that? I thought you were going to tell me what you said a couple of minutes ago. That’s many hours in the past.”

  I said, “You mentioned five hundred words. I wasn’t sure how far back in time that might take us.”

  Jerry smirked. His expression surprised me. I thought he didn’t know how to convey sophisticated forms of disdain. “Okay, now, listen up, and by the way, you’re kind of cute when you look so befuddled.”

  I started to explain about the Nutcracker for a second time. Midway through my story, Jerry began fiddling with the arugula leaves in his lunch salad. He stopped, looked up at me, and blushed slightly.

  “You missed what I said, didn’t you?”

  “You know, the brain is not particularly adept at simultaneous parallel processing. You can’t hold me responsible for one of nature’s most severe design flaws.”

  I reached across the table and gripped the right side of the collar of Jerry’s checked cotton shirt. I glanced around to make sure no students or fellow faculty members were in easy sight distance and said, “Look at me, eye to eye.”

  For once, I captured Jerry’s full focus. He whispered, “You’re sexy when you’re rough, Desmond.” He squirmed looking slightly uncomfortable in my grip and asked, “Is this show of force entirely necessary.”