Ruff Trouble

Chapter 2-1

Chapter 2

As Sam Sanders entered the restaurant, his reflection startled him in the mirrors lining the wall behind the bar. Sourpuss. What his mother used to call him whenever he got this expression on his face, albeit with much affection. Same countenance many of his friends called his sometimes-gloomy mien with less tenderness. Even those who loved him found his mood swings tiresome. While he should outgrow his sullen state of mind, they snuck up on him more often. Most when Bobby was in the room.

Now Bobby was with Chantelle, things should be better. He must accept what he’d known all along: Bobby was a heterosexual. Useless to deny the man had met one hell of a woman in Chantelle. Despite his natural attraction to men, Sam also responded to dominance. He’d endured an attraction to women before; in time he accepted why. All the women he longed for were strong-willed. If Chantelle had ever come on to him, thrown him on his back, and straddled him, he wasn’t at all sure he wouldn’t have gone along with her for the experience.

He’d known the moment he met her Bobby would fall, longed to hate her for it, unable to. He wanted to begrudge her Bobby, and vice versa; carried a yen for them to share his misery, unable to wish that either. He loved Bobby and suffered a strong attraction and liking for Chantelle. Impossible for him to have Bobby, so he needed to find contentment. Be gratified the man he loved had found the perfect mate.

Give it up. Let him go.

Tell an aching heart.

“Cheer up, mate,” a man advised on his way out, reacting to Sam’s expression. “Might never happen.”

“That’s the problem; it won’t.” He must have scowled because the smile on the man’s face became uncertain. The speed with which the stranger departed was none too sluggish. Did Sam appear murderous? He took another look in the mirrors. Crap. He did.

Having spotted the table where Bobby sat with Chantelle—her musical laughter attracting every man and many a woman’s attention—he headed over, trying not to hobble. A walking stick didn’t help much, and nothing lessened the pain. God knew how he would smile, so he strove for appearing less grouchy.

Chantelle caught sight of him first. Her grin froze, almost a rictus, and she blinked. Her gaze flicked down, up again, and, Sam jolted, and shrivelled inside.

I must look like s**t.

He didn’t need Chantelle’s appraisal or, a second later, to witness its twin in Bobby’s eyes to fathom he didn’t appear his best. No matter how much cold water he’d splashed on his face, grey circles defined his eyes. In a self-conscious gesture, he lifted a hand, and ran it over his chin, wishing he hadn’t when the stubble scraped his skin. So what if he hadn’t shaved this morning? He’d washed and donned clean clothes. What more did they want of him?

“I’m tired.” Best to pre-empt questions so he addressed his demeanour the moment he reached the table without greeting them. “I didn’t sleep well last night.” The couple sat in a booth facing each other. Which seat was he supposed to take? He dithered, before he chose the nearest, which was next to Bobby.

“You seem a little worn,” Chantelle declared. “Sorry we noticed.”

He shrugged. At least her comment gave him an excuse to hide his predicament. How did one choose between sitting beside the man one loved or the man’s girlfriend?

She’s more than his girlfriend and you know it. These two will be together forever.

“Are you all right?” Chantelle sounded worried.

Fuck. How am I going to do this? How am I going to cope being around them?

He wouldn’t. Had known it awhile, decided some time ago to consider a different job, a change of life. Hell, any alteration to get away from the happy bubble surrounding these two.

“I’m fine. I need food.” He reached for the menu, flipped it open, and focused on it, ignoring the exchange between Chantelle and Bobby. These two had been doing the silent communication ‘couples’ thing from the first day they met. Sickening.

Swallowing his nausea with a slug of the water Bobby poured for him, he tried to disregard the unspoken conversation going on beside him. Words danced before his eyes while he tried to read the menu. He needed to choose what he might keep down rather than what he fancied eating.

“You look a little queasy.” Chantelle’s hand slid across the table toward him, but she pulled it back as though uncertain her touch would be welcome. Bobby remained silent. How like a man to let the woman undertake the concerned part of the conversation.

Sam grimaced. “Like I said, I need food. Order me…” He scanned the page, chose a meal at random with potatoes in it. He needed to line his stomach. “I also need the bathroom.”