Dear Valentine: A Gay Romance Story (Opposites Attract Series Book 2) Read online

“Who? With who?” She jumps up and down excitedly.

  “With Gregor,” I finish. She squeals as she hops in a motion that resembles an assemble.

  “You and Gregor?” she breaths.

  “Yes, and I’m pretty sure I have you to thank for that.” I raise my eyebrows at her. “Gregor was very enlightening about how he came to be so interested in me in the first place. I think there’s a certain best friend I have to thank, or maybe yell at, I’m not sure which.”

  She punches me lightly on the arm. “Thank God!” she breathes out. “Do you have any idea how much work it has been to get you to open up your eyes and notice him?”

  I scowl at her then grin. “You’re a pest. Go away, Katarina.”

  “Not a chance. Now that I’ve got the two of you speaking to each other, and kissing, we need to go on to step two of the dating game for you.”

  “Katarina,” I warn. “this is new to me. And I already told Gregor, I do not want it interfering with my dancing, and he assured me he would be respectful of that.”

  She sighs and flips her braid over her shoulder. “You’re such hard work sometimes, Colin,” she gripes. I laugh and tug her braid behind her head, then look toward the drama table. I was hoping Gregor would be there, but I don’t see him yet.

  “Well, he isn’t there so maybe we should just…” I trail off. He has just entered the dining hall and he looks around, spots me and smiles. I smile back, but it is a grimace, as I see Seth is with him and chatting his ear off. “Let’s just go sit at our usual table. He looks busy.” I turn to head to our corner, but Katarina pushes on my side.

  “Oh no you don’t. Move your butt, Irish. You want Gregor, go stake a claim and put yourself between him and Seth. Besides, there are other people I want to introduce you to who are cool in the drama program.” She pushes me toward the table and I reluctantly walk over on my own, so she won’t embarrass me. When we get there, the whole table goes quiet as they stare at us holding our trays in nothing but tights, unitards, and sweatshirts against the chill. I suddenly feel very awkward and exposed and wonder what the hell I was thinking in believing this was a good idea. All at once my fatigue comes crashing down around me and I want to slouch out of the dining hall and sink down into my bed like a slug and hide until everyone forgets my name.

  “Hey, Katarina!” A blond girl with green eyes wearing a cat costume calls to us. “Who’s your friend?” she asks. No one bats an eye at her with her painted-on whiskers and for a fleeting moment, I feel like out of the ordinary might be the norm for this group. I suddenly feel a palm on my shoulder and recognize the searing heat from Gregor’s touch.

  “This is Colin. He’s with me,” he tells his friends. All at once they break out into normal chatter, moving their seats over and letting us squeeze into the table which is already overcrowded by at least ten people. I listen in to the flow of their conversation, it’s a blend of street talk mixed with theatrical references and pop culture. I begin to get the flow of things as they introduce themselves. I will never be able to remember all their names, but I am pretty good with faces as they make me feel welcome. I look over at Katarina, who is smiling at me, and then she looks pointedly down at my lap. Gregor had linked his fingers with my own and no one has said a thing about it one way or another. The only one who seemed to take issue with my presence was Seth, who spent the remainder of lunch sitting directly behind us, causing us to lean apart as he would lean in and chat with Gregor. He was intentionally splitting us apart, physically separating us so he could lean right in to whisper in Gregor’s ear. It seemed rude of me to keep my back turned to him the entire meal, despite the fact that he wasn’t including me in any of his conversations with Gregor.

  After lunch, Katarina glared at Seth’s retreating back and gave me a peck on the cheek. “Catch up with me in class?” I nodded as I dropped my tray off at the dishes collection area and walked out into the hall with Gregor. His group of friends was waiting for him down the hall some ways, and I noticed Seth glowering at us as Gregor turned me to him.

  “Same place after dinner?” he asked hopefully. I felt nervous as other people stared at us. This was exactly the kind of attention I didn’t want. As if sensing my apprehension, he added, “It will just be us. We can work on some moves for the choreographed piece if you want, or just hang out. You look pretty tired.” He brushed my cheek with his thumb. I felt so torn wanting to be alone with him again, but hating that I felt like a freak show as other people watched us have a private moment.

  “Yeah, I’ll head up there after class,” I told him. I leaned in and gave him an awkward hug by patting him on the back like a child. I heard snickers behind me as I turned away and dashed down the hall after Katarina who was rolling her eyes at me. I didn’t dare turn around to see the look on his face, afraid I’d run and hide in my room from mortification for petting him like he was some kind of animal. Instead I hang my head as we trudge to class, and hold up a hand as she starts to say something. “Just, please don’t,” I whisper as we enter the room and sit on the benches to pull on our shoes.

  I powder my shoes and head to the barre to start stretching. The feeling of elation is completely deflated, as Madame spends the entire class, critiquing my overly rigid posture. I try to relax a little and internally curse myself for getting so caught up in the whirlwind of last night. I make a vow to myself to tell Gregor when I get on the roof this afternoon that we need to cool it. What really irks me is the sneers on Eric and Angela’s face as I go to lift Katarina that afternoon, and physically and mentally exhausted, I drop her so that we both land in a heap on the floor.

  I quickly get up and pick her up, checking to make sure she isn’t injured, and I then turn to the coldly disapproving stare of Madame.

  “I don’t know what you ate at lunch today, O’Shea, but the lack of discipline you are showing in this afternoon’s class has me wondering if you are truly taking your dancing career seriously or not. This school is built to house and train the best dancers, not the ones who show up with part time attention and focus. If you ever think to land a primo role, you need to demonstrate more self-discipline and dedication to the craft than what I have just witnessed. Your friend Katarina may be toying with the idea of switching programs, but you do not have such a luxury as you are here on a dance scholarship only.” She turns and walks away down the line of ballerinas who are completely silent as they stare at us.

  I feel my cheeks burn with humiliation as I mouth an apology to Katarina once more. Her eyes are blank and cold as they stare after Madame. I have a good idea where she got the information about Katarina’s decision to switch programs, but there is no way to prove it. Katarina turns that hauntingly chilling gaze from Madame onto Eric and Angela, whose faces are cracked with laughter. They falter when they see the look in her eyes. Her anger even scares me a little. I turn my attention back to the barre where I stretch out and then gesture for Katarina to try the lift again. Madame doesn’t say another word to us for the entire class. I am almost grateful if it weren’t for the fact that her criticisms had been a sign that she cares.

  When class is over, I run out of the room and race up the stairs to the top landing. The door is already unlocked, and I land on the gravel with a light bounce as I stare at Gregor’s back.

  “We can’t see each other. I knew it was a mistake. I was distracted and I dropped Katarina in class. Madame called her out for wanting to switch programs and it’s all too distracting,” I blurt out in one breath.

  Gregor turns around looking gorgeous in a white tank top and jeans. The late afternoon sun is warm and there is a sheen of sweat on his muscled chest. “So that’s it then? One bad experience and you’re ready to throw in the towel and call it quits?” he asks.

  “Yes. Yes, I am. This won’t work,” I insist.

  “Ok then. I’ll give up on one condition,” he tells me. I look at him, completely perplexed.

  “What is it?”

  He hits play on the music app on his phone,
and the song “Warriors” from Michael Flatley’s “Lord of the Dance” begins. I know this song. I’m so familiar with it from my performance. It is a battle of wills. Light and dark. Anger and happiness.

  “Dance with me,” Gregor tells me.

  “Huh?” I feel the tempo kick into something dark and beautiful. It’s as if the eroticism from the music takes form in the shape of Gregor as he stalks toward me.

  “I said, dance with me. Dance out your anger and then try talking to me again. If you still feel like we won’t work out after we dance, then I will back off. No questions asked. I’ll give you space and boundaries that I won’t push. But dance your stress out like you did last night,” he says. I am about to protest at the absurdity of his request, but then I remember this is my life. Dancing. And I let him sweep me into the music and a twirl with the tempo. Gregor isn’t a world-renowned tap dancer, but he is able to spin and circle with me to the beat of the music. His footwork isn’t fancy, and occasionally he backs off, watching as I allow the memory of the steps to fill my mind and I spin off into a segment of the dance I recall from my performance. But by the end of the music, he has captured me again and we are twirling in circles on the rooftop. Gravel sprays up under our sneakers and sweat is dripping down off us as we move. But when the music stops, I have a singular moment of confusion as to all the arguments that surfaced in my head that I was going to point out that were the reasons seeing each other is a bad idea; then I realize I can’t remember a single one.

  I hop onto him then. He steps back, catching me. He’s twice my size and taller than me, so I feel his arms bunch as he hoists me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He leans back against an air duct concrete block and then we are kissing each other. I forget about the afternoon session. I forget about Katarina’s stunned, hurt, and angry face. And I forget about Madame’s harsh words and Eric’s smug look. I curse myself internally as I come to realize there are some things worth dancing for, and Gregor McCallum happens to fall under my list of worth dancing for, and that isn’t going to change any time soon.

  Chapter Eight

  The following few days are spent in grueling sessions and much the same way as the first day with Gregor had. We’d met on the rooftop and choreographed a piece together. Part of the rules of the audition were, we could dance with one another and do a joint piece, but we would be judged based on singular performance, as well as a pair. So that could potentially hurt or hinder my chances. Gregor isn’t a bad dancer. He is definitely more of a free stylist, but we use that to our advantage when we create the piece. He helps me through some of the readings, as he tells me occasionally my acting voice is flat and emotionless.

  “I have a hard time feeling these characters,” I confess. “I portray characters through my body,” I explain.

  “Well it’s the same in drama, just a different form,” he counters. “In drama, you become that person. You can’t tell me there is nothing that is similar in these characters on paper as in your own life?” he asks.

  I look at the lines and read the characters again. “Well, no. I know the piece is designed to be eclectic and different, but I’m not a professor or HIV positive. I know there is a stigmatism with being gay and people automatically assume I am. But other than being gay…”

  “Think Colin. White guy in love with a black guy. Both have AIDS. Several of these characters are struggling artists, facing adversity. You may not be a drag queen but there is definitely some discrimination in your life for being a crossdresser.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” I demand. He’s chuckling so I know he didn’t say it to be offensive, he’s just pulling my leg.

  “You wear a leotard,” he states simply.

  I look down at my tights and unitard. “It’s the class dress code!” I tell him indignantly. He holds up his hands, laughing outright as I whack him with my script.

  We’re on the roof again, this having become our spot to practice. It’s almost dusk and the heat of the day is beginning to cool, and so with it, our bodies from the perspiration of dancing.

  “Whatever you say man,” he chuckles, and I grin.

  “I don’t get on your case about being from the hood or wearing baggy jeans and stuff,” I insist. He laughs again.

  He had explained his dad was some rich board member who had met his mom in Philadelphia, where she was studying to become a lawyer. She got pregnant with him and his dad convinced her to move in with him, where they had three more children. When he hit his mid-life crisis, he decided the pressure he received for being in a bi-racial relationship was too much, and he traded Gregor’s mom for a young, skinny blonde woman who had just entered the university and was giving her a leg up in the firm so to speak. They had moved to Boston after his mom walked in on his dad and the paralegal discussing their next “case” after hours.

  She had settled in Boston, working her way through the ranks of a local firm, working pro bono and long hours to feed her kids. She never looked back.

  He had a point, though. Even in the age of enlightenment, the discrimination that is faced is evident everywhere. The musical is going to be a breaking piece for the school as it embraces the diversity of its students.

  I look at the characters with a new light, and put as much of my own emotion as I can in the reading. When we are done, Gregor snaps the script shut and pulls me into a hug.

  “That was perfect!” he exclaims. “I think we’re finally ready for tomorrow!”

  It’s the night before auditions, and Madame had done a rare thing, and given us the day off of classes. I had immediately made my way here with Gregor. We had worked ourselves to exhaustion, until we went down for dinner, then came back up to do the readings. I had wanted to do the readings someplace comfier, like in one of our dorms, but Gregor had insisted the readings were as integral as the dancing, and we needed to be on our toes and on edge.

  When he pulls away, I feel every last bit of energy drain from my body, physically and mentally. I have nothing more to give until the next day when the audition would happen. Gregor looks as equally exhausted as he has been working just as hard on the dancing to get the moves just right.

  “What now?” I ask him wearily as I lean against the concrete base of the air duct. My muscles are so sore I don’t know if I am going to be able to move to climb down all those flights of stairs in order to collapse into bed.

  “It just so happens, I anticipated this moment,” he says. He rubs his eyes as he tries to wake himself up a little and hoists himself up. He goes around one of the big ventilation fans and brings back a duffel bag, which is packed full of something.

  “What on earth is all that?” I ask, moving away from the concrete block as he sets the bag down in the middle of the roof.

  “Our reward and respite,” he explains. He pulls a blanket out and spreads it over the gravel. It is soft and cushions the gritty feeling under us as we sit down on it. Before too long, I am too tired to keep my body upright, and allow myself to drift down and gaze up at the stars as they begin to make their way up shining through the city lights. They are very dim, but from way up here they are noticeable; if we were on the ground level, we wouldn’t be able to see them through the smog.

  Gregor lays down next to me and I tuck my head on the crook of his arm as he pulls his arms above his head. He smells like gravel and sweat, but my senses are too fatigued to notice if I really care.

  Before too long, he is kissing me again and I feel something break inside me. Some resistance to him that I have been keeping in check. I realize there is something to be said for a man who is willing to throw caution to the wind and take a chance on a man and see him through an audition that could make or break both of their careers. I realize, without understanding what I want from him, that I still want something else.

  I deepen the kiss this time, becoming more ferocious and nipping at his full bottom lip in earnest. I lean up over him and let my kisses explore his jaw and neck. I have never done this to a ma
n and I occasionally pause to watch his face to see if what I am doing is okay, but the look of lust he has in his eyes tells me if I stop now, he won’t let me escape fast enough to pull away from him.

  I let my kisses trail down his dark chest, and when I get to the tank top, his muscles bunch as he sits up and whips it over his head. I have no idea where our renewed sense of vigor and energy is coming from. Maybe it’s urgency for tomorrow, but I continue my exploration down his chest, stopping as I reach his dark nipples. I suck one into my mouth and he lets out a low groan as his body contorts under me and his hands find the back of my head. He applies light pressure as he pushes me down and I let my tongue taste the saltiness of his skin as I trace a path down his hard abdomen. I nip him just under his navel where the small crease of skin bunches, and his breath quickens as I pause over his zipper.

  “I’ve never done this,” I whisper up at him.

  “Have you ever had it done to you?” I shake my head.

  “Ah, a girl tried in high school, but I wasn’t…I didn’t…” I trail off. No need to go down that memory lane. I had known for a while, but like some naïve guys who are in denial, I thought I could try things with a girl and somehow be cured. It had ended badly for both of us, and I cringe internally at the way things ended that night. I feel bad for her now and hope she found someone to make her happy. She wasn’t cruel but there was some definite awkwardness.

  Gregor shudders underneath me. “Nothing? Ever? I’m the first?” he asks.

  “Um, yeah. I’ve kissed a few guys but…” I let my confession hang in the air, wondering if he is going to make me stop. His hand reaches down, and he snaps the button on his jeans.

  “I’ll guide you through it,” he whispers down at me in the darkness. He has leaned up, so his free arm is perched on the blanket and he is able to look down at me, kneeling between his thighs now. His muscles twitch, even that much I can see in the light of the city buildings around us. I wonder vaguely if we can be seen from any building, but as I can’t make out any figures in windows, I gauge we are a safe enough distance away from people that we won’t be caught for indecent exposure.