Lose Yourself

Pool

scene 4

Em had alerted his security team in advance. Big Dave was stationed in the carriage house so they were essentially alone. He was relieved but the whole situation made him feeling like idiotic, calling ahead to tell his bodyguards that Sam was coming over to play pool. He knew they were probably watching them enter the house right now. He felt like a teenager on a date.

Not that this was anything like a date.

Did Sam think they were hanging out or did he have some sort of advanced gayder?

No. This wasn't like that.

Or was it?

It couldn't be like that. Sam wouldn't be interested in high school dropout with an arrest record. Sam Coulson taught Shakespeare and wore perfectly ironed shirts. He was perfect; tall and thin, with soft wrinkles around his eyes that deepened when he smiled. There wasn't a trace of an accent in his voice. He was totally perfect. They were just two normal dudes hanging out on a Friday night.

But he had been flirty at the bar, hadn't he?

Em reminded himself that he couldn't zone out and stare at Sam. He needed to act normal. Be normal. Everything was completely normal.

Sam looked over at him and he realized that he was already staring? FUCK. Was his mouth actually hanging open? He was failing miserably at trying to act like this was a normal Friday night.

As their footsteps echoed in the silence of the foyer, Em tried to imagine his house through Sams eyes: marble floors, awards on shelves, framed records. All of a sudden, he felt like an egomaniac. Why didn't he have any normal art hanging on the wall like a regular person? He made a mental note to ask Bailey to help him redecorate; buy some watercolors or whatever shit normal people had in their houses. What the fuck?

Should he take Sam's coat or would that seem like something a murderer would do? Here, let me take your coat and keys. Please don't worry about the tarps on the floor, or my collection of chainsaws next to the bottles of bleach. I'm just gonna stare at you like a starving man walking into a Dunkin Donuts.

Sam smiled at a series of signed pictures, pointing to a small polaroid of Em beside David Letterman. "I remember when you did Letterman's Top Ten. You were scary as hell."

"Let me do the face." Em bit his lower lip for a second, focusing before the smile disappeared from his eyes and his expression became cold and menacing. "Number 10: Keep it Real. Number 9: No one's ever regretted a tattoo."

Sam's lip curled reflexively up in a grimace, and he couldn't help cracking up.

Em broke character and grinned."I was laughing so fucking hard when we practiced, It didn't think I could do it live. So I had a thumbtack in my pocket and stabbed myself in the leg to keep a straight face."

Sam's expression froze. "And you think I'm bleak? Jesus Christ, dude."

-

At least the kitchen and living room showed signs of a normal life: pictures of his kids, his beloved Vitamix blender, vitamins and newest comic books. His bookshelves were full of his daughter's books and his own collection of graphic novels. Would Sam think he was an idiot for not having more real books?

They moved onto the pool room where the walls adorned were with black and white family photos. Sam gestured at an older picture of the girls dressed up for Halloween. "Bailey wrote me a really nice note about you."

"She did? When?"

"When I came out as bi at school. She wanted me to know, like it seemed like it was really important for her to tell me that you weren't like-"