A/N: Methinks Ricky will be coming to some revelations about himself soon. Anyway, I haven't updated for a bit because I'm feeling kind of blue. Some nice reviews might help. -DL
Chapter 8
James led Ricky out the backdoor of his house and into a large backyard. He saw five picnic tables arranged on the perfectly clipped grass, and a large blow-up wading pool off to one side. On the back patio, a large, gleaming silver-and-black barbeque waited to be fired up. "My baby," James said, waving a hand at it. "While I get it ready to go, would you do some stuff for me?"
"Of course. Just tell me what to do," Ricky told him.
"There are tablecloths and plastic plates, silverware, cups, that sort of thing - in the kitchen. Would you get the tables ready?"
"Sure," Ricky started to go back into the house, but then he saw James leaning over to pick up a bag of charcoal. And he couldn't miss the wince that went across the cop's face. "Wait! Let me do that!" he cried, racing over to grab the bag away from James. When the cop looked like he might protest, Ricky glared at him. "You're not going to hurt yourself when I can do it for you," he chided sharply.
James' lips twitched. "All right," he said in amusement. "Pour it into the barbeque as evenly as you can."
Ricky nodded, lifting the bag and carefully pouring the charcoal into the bottom of the barbeque, under James' approving eye.
"Good job," James told him, making a flush of warmth run through him as he set the mostly-empty bag of charcoal onto the patio. "I'll get it fired up while you set up the tables. Sound good?"
"Yes," Ricky replied.
James nodded, and Ricky found himself smiling as he walked into the house and made his way back to the kitchen. He retrieved the pile of tablecloths, the boxes of plastic silverware, two sleeves of plastic cups, and two large packages of plastic plates. He carried all of these things outside and over to the picnic tables. He realized that the tables were made of all wood, not wood and metal. When he ran a hand over the smooth surface of one of them, James called out: "I made those tables myself, Ricky."
Surprised, he turned to look at the cop. "You did?" he said in amazement.
James nodded. "I do woodworking in my spare time," he explained. "Over in that shed," he pointed to a large wooden shed set off to one side of the backyard.
"That's amazing," Ricky told him. "These are great."
“Thanks," James smiled at him, which did weird things in his abdomen.
Was his breathing becoming erratic? Ricky whirled back to the tables, pressing a hand to his chest. He picked up one of the tablecloths, shaking it out with trembling fingers. No matter how difficult it might become, he was going to ignore his reaction to James. They were friends, nothing more. Just friends! And he intended to keep it that way.
He got the tablecloths spread out and smoothed over the tables, and set out plates, cups and silverware on every table. He was so busy that he managed to forget his odd feelings of earlier. When he was done, he straightened up and turned to look at James. The cop was still brooding over the charcoal that he'd lighted, waiting for it to reach just the right temperature. Ricky walked over to him. "I'm done," he said. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"Sure. You can bring me the covered platters in the fridge. The steaks and hamburgers. The rest of my guests should be arriving at any minute. You can answer the door and let them in if you want."
"Okay," Ricky went into the house again, and began to shunt the plastic-wrap covered platters of meat out to James at the barbeque. The cop thanked him every time. As he was bringing the fourth platter out, he heard the front doorbell ring. He hurried to take the platter out and hand it to James. "There's someone at the front door," he said quickly.
"All right. Would you go and let them in? Send them back here?"
He nodded and hurried off to answer the front door. When he pulled it open, he saw a stocky, dark-haired man standing on the front porch. The man's brows lifted a little when he saw Ricky. "Hey," he said.
"Hi," Ricky said. "Umm...James is in the backyard. he told me to tell you to go back there."
The stocky man nodded, stepping past him into the house. "Sure. I know the way," he replied. "You a...friend...of James'?" he asked, shooting Ricky a sideways glance.
"Yes, I'm a friend," Ricky replied.
The man nodded. He didn't say anything else, walking toward the back of the house. Ricky wondered briefly about the undertones in his voice when he'd asked that question, but his attention was diverted when the doorbell rang again. He opened the door, seeing a pretty, dark-haired woman carrying a toddler in her arms, and a friendly-faced man holding a small girl by the hand. "Oh, hi!" the woman said.
"Hi," Ricky replied.
"Is James here? Does he have you answering the door? What a lazybones," the woman said with a smile.
"Err..." Ricky had no idea how to reply to this.
"Sorry. I'm James' sister Beth, and this is my husband Dan. And you are?" the woman looked him over curiously.
"Oh. I'm Ricky Raynes, a friend of James'. Please come in," he said, stepping back.
"I didn't know that James had a new 'friend'," the woman said, still looking him over. "He never said anything about it to me."
Ricky blinked. Why would James tell his sister about his friends? "We just became friends in the last few weeks," he told her.
"Ah, that explains it. Where is James?"
"In the backyard," Ricky said.
"Okay. Come on, Dan. I need to go and lecture my brother about getting himself hurt again," the woman said, heading toward the back. Her husband followed her, leading his daughter by the hand.
Ricky didn't have time to close the door, because a small party of men were making their way down the sidewalk. He tensed when he saw it was the group who'd come to the hospital to see James. The gay guys. At their head was the man who wore make-up and heels. Today he was wearing a light linen suit, and his hair was carefully coiffed into a blonde shag cut. They were chattering together, but they all stopped talking when they saw Ricky standing in the doorway. "Well, well," the blonde man remarked, his glossy red lips widened into a 'cat who ate the canary' smile. "What have we here? Ricky, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he replied tensely.
"What are you doing here, Ricky? I thought you were just at the hospital to see how James was doing." he walked up onto the porch, his heels clattering lightly on the wood.
"Umm...we became friends. He invited me to his barbeque," Ricky told him tightly.
His eyes swept over Ricky assessingly. "Did he now?" he purred. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Freddy," another the man said when Ricky tensed. "Stop that. I'm sure that James and Ricky are just friends. He has lots of straight friends, you know that."
The blonde lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "Yes, I'm aware of that, Colin," he replied coolly. "I'm sure that James and Ricky here...are the best of friends," he added slyly.
Ricky felt his cheeks turn red, and he sincerely thought about running away. One of the other gay guys snorted. "Freddy, you're awful," he said in exasperation. "Hey, Ricky. It's nice to see you again. Don't let Freddy get to you, okay? he's always like this," he held out his hand to be shaken, and his smile was friendly.
Ricky took his hand, his own lips lifting in a slight smile. "Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome. So where do we go? the backyard?" He nodded. The men streamed into the house past Ricky, and most of them smiled at him. Freddy merely swept him with another searching glance, which made him feel uncomfortable again. But then even he walked away toward the back of the house, leaving Ricky to continue to answer the door as guests continued to arrive.
Guests arrived in a steady stream after that. Men who were clearly cops arrived, often accompanied by their wives or girlfriends - and sometimes their kids. A few more men who were clearly gay also showed up, and fortunately for him all of them were friendly instead of being insinuating like Freddy had been. Ricky caught glimpses of women carrying food out back, either the food he'd bought or food that they'd brought themselves for the barbeque. Kids ran in and out of the house, yelling. It was turning into controlled chaos, and he was happy when the stream dried up to a trickle and finally stopped altogether. It looked like everybody who James had invited had arrived. Ricky closed the door with a sigh of relief, and went out back.
The backyard was half-full of people, talking and laughing and supervising the little hoard of kids playing in the blow-up wading pool. James was master of the barbeque, where steaks and hamburgers and hot dogs for the kids were being cooked. It all smelled delicious. His sister was standing next to him, holding her small son in her arms and talking to her brother. As Ricky approached them, he heard his own name spoken. He halted in his tracked, stretching his ears to hear what was being said.
"I'm telling you, Beth, Ricky isn't my new boyfriend," James was saying, sounding faintly exasperated.
"Are you sure? I know that you say that you're friends because you saved his life, but I think there's more to it."
"There can't be any more to it. Ricky's not gay," James pointed out, turning a steak deftly on the barbeque.
His sister snorted. "Yeah, right," she replied.
Ricky stiffened as James said: "Beth, what makes you think he's not straight? Are you saying you have better gaydar than me? You only met him for like five seconds."
"It's just a hunch. You say he’s been raised by parents who hate gay people, so why would he ever admit that he was gay? Or even think about it if he could avoid it? He's not going to do something consciously that would cost him his family. But underneath it all, I'd bet he has stirrings that he doesn’t even like to think about. And I'd also bet that he's never had a successful relationship with any woman."
James sighed. "Sis, you have to stop psychoanalyzing people outside of work. I don't think that they appreciate it."
She laughed, but conceded. "All right. I'll let it go. Ricky’s just your friend. But I wish you'd find somebody else, then, James. I want you to be as happy as Dan and I are."
"I want that too, Beth, but I can't just conjure the right guy out of thin air. It'll happen when it happens," James said calmly.
"Here’s hoping that it happens soon," Beth said stoutly.
Standing behind them, half-hidden by a flowering bush that hugged the house, Ricky was frozen in place. Beth's words were making his stomach churn. 'Never had a successful relationship with a woman'?! Check. Maybe avoiding feelings that he might be having so as not to lose his family?! Well, he didn't know about that one. But...the way he'd been feeling about James lately...no, it couldn't be. It couldn't be! He wasn't gay! Was he...?
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Chapter 8
James led Ricky out the backdoor of his house and into a large backyard. He saw five picnic tables arranged on the perfectly clipped grass, and a large blow-up wading pool off to one side. On the back patio, a large, gleaming silver-and-black barbeque waited to be fired up. "My baby," James said, waving a hand at it. "While I get it ready to go, would you do some stuff for me?"
"Of course. Just tell me what to do," Ricky told him.
"There are tablecloths and plastic plates, silverware, cups, that sort of thing - in the kitchen. Would you get the tables ready?"
"Sure," Ricky started to go back into the house, but then he saw James leaning over to pick up a bag of charcoal. And he couldn't miss the wince that went across the cop's face. "Wait! Let me do that!" he cried, racing over to grab the bag away from James. When the cop looked like he might protest, Ricky glared at him. "You're not going to hurt yourself when I can do it for you," he chided sharply.
James' lips twitched. "All right," he said in amusement. "Pour it into the barbeque as evenly as you can."
Ricky nodded, lifting the bag and carefully pouring the charcoal into the bottom of the barbeque, under James' approving eye.
"Good job," James told him, making a flush of warmth run through him as he set the mostly-empty bag of charcoal onto the patio. "I'll get it fired up while you set up the tables. Sound good?"
"Yes," Ricky replied.
James nodded, and Ricky found himself smiling as he walked into the house and made his way back to the kitchen. He retrieved the pile of tablecloths, the boxes of plastic silverware, two sleeves of plastic cups, and two large packages of plastic plates. He carried all of these things outside and over to the picnic tables. He realized that the tables were made of all wood, not wood and metal. When he ran a hand over the smooth surface of one of them, James called out: "I made those tables myself, Ricky."
Surprised, he turned to look at the cop. "You did?" he said in amazement.
James nodded. "I do woodworking in my spare time," he explained. "Over in that shed," he pointed to a large wooden shed set off to one side of the backyard.
"That's amazing," Ricky told him. "These are great."
“Thanks," James smiled at him, which did weird things in his abdomen.
Was his breathing becoming erratic? Ricky whirled back to the tables, pressing a hand to his chest. He picked up one of the tablecloths, shaking it out with trembling fingers. No matter how difficult it might become, he was going to ignore his reaction to James. They were friends, nothing more. Just friends! And he intended to keep it that way.
He got the tablecloths spread out and smoothed over the tables, and set out plates, cups and silverware on every table. He was so busy that he managed to forget his odd feelings of earlier. When he was done, he straightened up and turned to look at James. The cop was still brooding over the charcoal that he'd lighted, waiting for it to reach just the right temperature. Ricky walked over to him. "I'm done," he said. "Is there anything else I can do?"
"Sure. You can bring me the covered platters in the fridge. The steaks and hamburgers. The rest of my guests should be arriving at any minute. You can answer the door and let them in if you want."
"Okay," Ricky went into the house again, and began to shunt the plastic-wrap covered platters of meat out to James at the barbeque. The cop thanked him every time. As he was bringing the fourth platter out, he heard the front doorbell ring. He hurried to take the platter out and hand it to James. "There's someone at the front door," he said quickly.
"All right. Would you go and let them in? Send them back here?"
He nodded and hurried off to answer the front door. When he pulled it open, he saw a stocky, dark-haired man standing on the front porch. The man's brows lifted a little when he saw Ricky. "Hey," he said.
"Hi," Ricky said. "Umm...James is in the backyard. he told me to tell you to go back there."
The stocky man nodded, stepping past him into the house. "Sure. I know the way," he replied. "You a...friend...of James'?" he asked, shooting Ricky a sideways glance.
"Yes, I'm a friend," Ricky replied.
The man nodded. He didn't say anything else, walking toward the back of the house. Ricky wondered briefly about the undertones in his voice when he'd asked that question, but his attention was diverted when the doorbell rang again. He opened the door, seeing a pretty, dark-haired woman carrying a toddler in her arms, and a friendly-faced man holding a small girl by the hand. "Oh, hi!" the woman said.
"Hi," Ricky replied.
"Is James here? Does he have you answering the door? What a lazybones," the woman said with a smile.
"Err..." Ricky had no idea how to reply to this.
"Sorry. I'm James' sister Beth, and this is my husband Dan. And you are?" the woman looked him over curiously.
"Oh. I'm Ricky Raynes, a friend of James'. Please come in," he said, stepping back.
"I didn't know that James had a new 'friend'," the woman said, still looking him over. "He never said anything about it to me."
Ricky blinked. Why would James tell his sister about his friends? "We just became friends in the last few weeks," he told her.
"Ah, that explains it. Where is James?"
"In the backyard," Ricky said.
"Okay. Come on, Dan. I need to go and lecture my brother about getting himself hurt again," the woman said, heading toward the back. Her husband followed her, leading his daughter by the hand.
Ricky didn't have time to close the door, because a small party of men were making their way down the sidewalk. He tensed when he saw it was the group who'd come to the hospital to see James. The gay guys. At their head was the man who wore make-up and heels. Today he was wearing a light linen suit, and his hair was carefully coiffed into a blonde shag cut. They were chattering together, but they all stopped talking when they saw Ricky standing in the doorway. "Well, well," the blonde man remarked, his glossy red lips widened into a 'cat who ate the canary' smile. "What have we here? Ricky, isn't it?"
"Yeah," he replied tensely.
"What are you doing here, Ricky? I thought you were just at the hospital to see how James was doing." he walked up onto the porch, his heels clattering lightly on the wood.
"Umm...we became friends. He invited me to his barbeque," Ricky told him tightly.
His eyes swept over Ricky assessingly. "Did he now?" he purred. "What a pleasant surprise."
"Freddy," another the man said when Ricky tensed. "Stop that. I'm sure that James and Ricky are just friends. He has lots of straight friends, you know that."
The blonde lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug. "Yes, I'm aware of that, Colin," he replied coolly. "I'm sure that James and Ricky here...are the best of friends," he added slyly.
Ricky felt his cheeks turn red, and he sincerely thought about running away. One of the other gay guys snorted. "Freddy, you're awful," he said in exasperation. "Hey, Ricky. It's nice to see you again. Don't let Freddy get to you, okay? he's always like this," he held out his hand to be shaken, and his smile was friendly.
Ricky took his hand, his own lips lifting in a slight smile. "Thanks," he said.
"You're welcome. So where do we go? the backyard?" He nodded. The men streamed into the house past Ricky, and most of them smiled at him. Freddy merely swept him with another searching glance, which made him feel uncomfortable again. But then even he walked away toward the back of the house, leaving Ricky to continue to answer the door as guests continued to arrive.
Guests arrived in a steady stream after that. Men who were clearly cops arrived, often accompanied by their wives or girlfriends - and sometimes their kids. A few more men who were clearly gay also showed up, and fortunately for him all of them were friendly instead of being insinuating like Freddy had been. Ricky caught glimpses of women carrying food out back, either the food he'd bought or food that they'd brought themselves for the barbeque. Kids ran in and out of the house, yelling. It was turning into controlled chaos, and he was happy when the stream dried up to a trickle and finally stopped altogether. It looked like everybody who James had invited had arrived. Ricky closed the door with a sigh of relief, and went out back.
The backyard was half-full of people, talking and laughing and supervising the little hoard of kids playing in the blow-up wading pool. James was master of the barbeque, where steaks and hamburgers and hot dogs for the kids were being cooked. It all smelled delicious. His sister was standing next to him, holding her small son in her arms and talking to her brother. As Ricky approached them, he heard his own name spoken. He halted in his tracked, stretching his ears to hear what was being said.
"I'm telling you, Beth, Ricky isn't my new boyfriend," James was saying, sounding faintly exasperated.
"Are you sure? I know that you say that you're friends because you saved his life, but I think there's more to it."
"There can't be any more to it. Ricky's not gay," James pointed out, turning a steak deftly on the barbeque.
His sister snorted. "Yeah, right," she replied.
Ricky stiffened as James said: "Beth, what makes you think he's not straight? Are you saying you have better gaydar than me? You only met him for like five seconds."
"It's just a hunch. You say he’s been raised by parents who hate gay people, so why would he ever admit that he was gay? Or even think about it if he could avoid it? He's not going to do something consciously that would cost him his family. But underneath it all, I'd bet he has stirrings that he doesn’t even like to think about. And I'd also bet that he's never had a successful relationship with any woman."
James sighed. "Sis, you have to stop psychoanalyzing people outside of work. I don't think that they appreciate it."
She laughed, but conceded. "All right. I'll let it go. Ricky’s just your friend. But I wish you'd find somebody else, then, James. I want you to be as happy as Dan and I are."
"I want that too, Beth, but I can't just conjure the right guy out of thin air. It'll happen when it happens," James said calmly.
"Here’s hoping that it happens soon," Beth said stoutly.
Standing behind them, half-hidden by a flowering bush that hugged the house, Ricky was frozen in place. Beth's words were making his stomach churn. 'Never had a successful relationship with a woman'?! Check. Maybe avoiding feelings that he might be having so as not to lose his family?! Well, he didn't know about that one. But...the way he'd been feeling about James lately...no, it couldn't be. It couldn't be! He wasn't gay! Was he...?
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