Page 36 of Not the Punk

After a few minutes, he slowed and stopped and I sat in the seat beside him.

“That was fun. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So…what about you?”

“What about me, what?”

“Family, history, all that. I want to know.” He rolled his hand in the air, encouraging me to talk.

“Hmm…well, I have a brother. He was actually friends with Saxon first. I mean, we knew each other, had since we were kids, but when I got interested in joining the fire department, it was Saxon who followed me, and we became like brothers. I’m closer with him than my brother by blood now.”

“You almost look like you could be brothers too.”

“Hair and eyes, I get it.”

“And the body. Very handsome.” He winked at me.

“Handsome, right.”

He broke out into a giggling fit, and it took a few minutes to calm down. “Ahh…so what else?”

“Let’s walk some more.” I nodded back to the trail, and I grabbed his hand as we headed that way. “Not much else to tell. No tragedy or anything. My parents live in Lancaster, still married. They’re very liberal, typical Californian people. Didn’t blink an eye when I came out, neither did my brother. He’s since dated both men and women.”

“What’s his name?”

“Brenden. With two e’s.”

“Colten and Brenden?”

“Yep.”

He shook his head. “Interesting. Why those names?”

“No clue. They never answered that question.” I squeezed his hand. “We’re only like eighteen months apart in age, so I think it was like having matching names if we were twins or something.”

“Do you look alike?”

“Here, I’ll show you.” I flipped through my phone until I found a picture of Brenden. He did look like me as far as the blond hair and blue eyes, but he had a very slim build, having never bulked up like I did. “I played football, so I’d been lifting weights before the fire department. He wasn’t very athletic.”

“Still, he looks a lot like you. Nothing wrong with that.”

“You’re sweet.”

“I’m simply stating the obvious.”

I was crushing hard on this sweet man and wished I could have Joe around more. It would be hard with him living in Miami half the year and a tour bus the rest of it. I had never lived outside of LA and found it difficult to imagine.

We stopped at the grocery store on the way home. Shopping with Joe felt very domestic and gave me a better idea of his likes and dislikes. At home, we unloaded groceries, and I set Joe up at the bar with a coloring book while I made dinner—spaghetti. I wanted a picture from him before he left, or maybe a few to cover my refrigerator. I’d think of him every time I saw them.

“Thanks for the book. I love coloring.” He worked on a picture of a cute one-eyed, hairy monster that reminded me of Monsters, Inc.

“No problem. I confess, I had ulterior motives.”

“If you’re like Saxon, you like getting pictures from your Boys and hanging them on the fridge.” He pointed to the appliance in the corner.

“You are right. But I only have one Boy I want pictures from.”