Read Vincent's Thanksgiving Date for Free Online Page B

they were pretty freaky. Ricky is going to lose it when he meets you.”
    “Face to face?” It was a relief to focus on that worry and not the idea of Cory reading and hating the sex scenes Vincent had written. “I don’t,” Vincent gestured at himself, “I don’t meet fans. Even having fans is… strange. I do go to those events, but only to support someone I know. I sit in the audience and sometimes the other authors will take me to get a drink after. I….” A few of his friends did seem to delight in pointing him out to their readers. Outgoing people were like that at times. “I. It’s to make money.”
    “And a distraction from your other job, you said.” Cory pushed his lips out and frowned. “Writing, that’s pretty serious, right?”
    “Oh please don’t start treating me differently.” It spilled out of Vincent in a nervous, shaky voice. “People they hear ‘writer’ and imagine, I don’t know, Hemingway or someone. I just write little mysteries, with some porn. It’s not that big a deal.”
    “It is a big deal, Vincent.” Cory sighed. “I’ve wanted to read your books for a while now, but it felt weird, knowing that you didn’t know I knew who you were, if you get me.”
    “No. I mean yes, I understand.” Vincent shook his head. “But I am the last person to ask if someone else is acting weird.” He was relieved to hear Cory’s laugh, as though Cory wasn’t thinking of Vincent as some kind of elevated, scholarly person anymore. “If anything, I’m glad you haven’t. If you do….” Cory looked upset at what Vincent was trying to say, so Vincent had to go on to explain what he meant. “If you do read them and you don’t like them, it’s okay. You don’t have to pretend for my sake.”
    “Vincent.” Cory pronounced his name slowly. “When you know me better, you will know I don’t do that. There’s no point when life is full of enough bullshit already. Unless you’re a customer,” he mused a moment later. “Then I have to pretend for the sake of paying my rent.”
    The sentiment was beautiful. Vincent smiled and let silence fall while he thought about it. He thought about a lot of things, because if he thought about any one thing in detail he was going to freak out. He considered the pies he’d told Cory he was going to make and his own hubris for attempting them, and what his therapist would say about it—she’d be pleased he was trying. He studied Cory in his jacket and Cory’s fingers, and remembered his sight of his skin and the scent of flowers and the brief moment their hands had touched. He imagined Cory reading his silly stories and enjoying them.
    Then he looked around his living room. His sister had paid to have one of his covers printed out and enlarged to nearly poster size, and then framed it. It was her way of being supportive without reading his erotic queer mysteries. But, somehow he’d never noticed the picture was the room’s only real decoration.
    “Sorry,” he said at last, suddenly unwilling to raise his voice. The quiet had felt calm to him, as comforting as purple, fuzzy socks. But it wasn’t to other people. “It’s fine, for me. To not talk. You can talk if you want. I know it seems rude when I don’t, but I’m listening.”
    “You don’t like small talk.” Cory nodded. “So what? My boss doesn’t either. He can talk about anything in the world, but ask him something light to pass the time and he gets fidgety. It’s nothing. That’s okay. I’m good at it, and that’s okay too. I kind of learned to be. Extra friendly is what people seem to need from me when they first deal with me. I’m a black, gay man. I can’t get away with as much as some others can.”
    “That’s horrible.” Vincent couldn’t imagine anyone viewing Cory as a threat, but he didn’t doubt what Cory had experienced.
    “I worry about what people think of me, same as you. I just have different reasons.” There was that look again, measuring and