The Game (Print)

The Game (Duet)
Willa Okati
All rights reserved.
Copyright (c) 2018 Willa Okati
Excerpt from The Name of the Game

Beep. Beep. Click, click, click. Beep!

“Found you one,” Anthony announced proudly, surrendering the keyboard to Clay. “Check this out and see if it doesn’t hit all your hot buttons.”

Resigned, Clay dragged his attention to the dating site Anthony had picked out. At first glance, he had to admit it wasn’t bad. No flashing banner ads, no promises of “pearly pink pussy” or “rock hard cock” with interesting pictures to match the neon words. Nice and calm, discreetly and professionally done, and definitely a man’s site with its dark shades of green, blue, and brown. “Okay, points for finding a needle in a haystack,” he had to concede.

Then, he read the logo at the top. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? It’s perfect for you.”

“Welcome to Fairyland,” Clay read out loud. “A place where gentlemen can be pretty, witty, and gay. Copyright pending.” He gave his friend a dark look. “Anthony…”

“Just give it a chance,” Anthony insisted. “Go ahead, pull up a few profiles. See what’s out there.”

“You really want to see? Fine.” Clay clicked. “Okay, here’s Gerald, age thirty-nine. Gerald, as you will notice, loves to work out, go on five-mile runs, and cook nouvelle cuisine.”

“And? What’s the problem?”

“Gerald, as you will also notice, is pictured as sitting behind a desk so we can’t see the results of all that exercise or, quite possibly, the potbelly from eating at diners. The man has arms like a limp spaghetti noodle in a baggy shirt. Please interest yourself in the fact that Gerald is also bald except for a creative attempt at a comb-over, and if he’s thirty-nine, I’ll eat the hard drive on this thing.”

“You don’t think?”

“Anthony, come on. The way he’s grinning, his dentures are about to fall out.”

“Okay!” Anthony raised his hands in temporary surrender. “So Gerald’s a bust. Try someone else.”

“Somebody say bust?” The front door opened into Clay’s small kitchen. His housemate, Seth, stepped through, popping a motorcycle helmet off his head, then wriggling out of a leather jacket. Clay glanced from Gerald to Seth, from Seth to Gerald, then back at Seth, and felt the familiar wobbliness in his gut that heralded: honey, he’s home.

Seth. All six feet two of him, well-packed into it with hard, lean muscles and an ass that wouldn’t quit. Arms powerful enough to wrench off the most stubborn of pickle jar lids. A scent of smoke and the outdoors clung to his skin. As he headed for the fridge to pluck out a bottle of water, Clay watched and felt his own mouth go dry.

Seth, he thought wistfully. The man he lusted after, and the one he’d have tried to grab up a long time ago except for one little problem: the man happened to be straight. Not just straight, but arrow-like. Ruler-like. Whereas Clay was straight as a Slinky. Seth wasn’t homophobic, but Clay wasn’t stupid. There could never be anything between them.

If wishes were horses, though, he thought, returning to his computer screen with a glum sigh.

“There had better not be anything in this house worth running a bust over.” Seth pressed the cold bottle of water to his forehead. “I just spent the night doing an undercover prostitute sting. Let me tell you, I have seen more T & A than I would have watching the scrambled porn, and every last bit of it illegal.” He grinned -- that heart-stopping smile that made Clay’s heart stutter -- and dropped loosely into the spare seat. “So, what are we doing?”

“Nothing,” Clay said at the same time that Anthony helpfully chipped in, “Hunting online personals.”

Clay covered his face with one hand as Seth, predictably, cracked up. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Anthony gave Seth a cheery smile. “You know how long it’s been since Clay was on a date. I’m giving him a helping hand. Never give up and all that. Seems to me that if he can’t find someone on the street -- okay, not on the street, Mister Cop, but in real life -- why not try the virtual world?”

He patted Clay’s laptop. “I found a great site, too. Except someone won’t give it a chance.” A sharp nudge to Clay’s hip reminded him again as to who wasn’t playing fair.

“No kidding. Huh.” Seth played the bottle across cheeks that had to be warm from the rising beachfront heat he’d ridden through when the sun came up, then opened the bottle and took a long sip. Watching the man’s throat work, Clay thought, hosanna and hallelujah. “What’s up with those sites, anyway? I thought they were all Spam wizards or something.”

“They are.” Clay aimed at a random listing and clicked. “Now, here we have Frank.”
Seth angled his neck to look. “Frank isn’t too bad -- from a straight standpoint.”

“I grant you that he seems to be a fine, upstanding sort of character,” Clay allowed. “However, read his profile.”

Anthony leaned his cheek on Clay’s shoulder. “Thirty-five, athletic, enjoys fine dining and long walks along the beach at sunset. Click here to send him an expression of interest.” When Clay and Seth burst into laughter, he looked up, honestly confused. “What?”

“For one thing,” Seth pointed out, “Have you ever actually walked on a beach after it’s dark? Hello, jellyfish heaven.”

“And don’t forget shells.”

“Plus the fact that it’s about the biggest dating ad cliché on the market.” Seth rose out of his chair and clapped Anthony on the back. “I think you might have to figure out some other way to give Clay a hand."