Shutout

Chapter 4 - Kane

Three days later, it's still hot as a fucking desert outside, but it's starting to cool down by the time I light the grill. The townhouses have 'backyards' that are literally the parameters of our tiny single-car garages. Mine is mostly dead because I don't really need a backyard other than grilling. However now that Logan is coming over, it's kind of embarrassing how chaotic my yard is.

Too late to fix it.

The pasta salad was made and placed in the fridge an hour ago; the burgers were just placed on the grill when the doorbell went off. I run past a regularly pissed-off Harold sitting on the island with disdain at the idea of another person. I try not to throw open the door too aggressively.

This time, I've sworn to myself to be careful about how bold I come off. Usually, I don't like to censor myself. I spent too many years not able to express myself or be independent, and I simply don't like the idea of trying to be something that I'm not anymore. However, I know that I've already given Logan a bad impression, and I really want to fix that. I've never been close to any of our neighbors, so having another young male gay is life-changing in this place. I want us to get along and have another friend, especially considering that he likely only has friends in his team in town. He deserves to have outside friends, right? Me too.

Last time, Logan was wearing jeans and a t-shirt with wet hair. This time, his hair is dry and fluffy, poofed around his youthful face. He's got shorts on, too, showing off impressively muscular legs that make mine look like literal meat that has gone through a grinder. He smiles softly, holding a six-pack of beer.

"Hi"

He chuckles at my stupid welcome, "Hi. Oh, um, I brought beer for dinner." Then he lifts it in the air as if proving it.

"Cool, come in," I hold the door open as Logan comes inside my house again, "I just put burgers on the grill in the back. How do you like yours?"

"Oh, um, well done, if you can?"

"Sure. If you want, you can put your beer in the fridge so it stays cold."

"Thanks. Do you want one now?" He has already pulled one off the bundle and is holding it out for me.

This is going to be awkward, "Um, actually, I don't drink. Can't mix it with my medication. Thank you, though."

He blinks wide-eyed for a moment before quickly recoiling his arm and turning away. He bends his head with a sheepish expression on his face, "Shit, yeah. Sorry, I guess I should have checked with you first before I—I shouldn't have assumed you—shit, sorry."

His blubbering makes him seem so much younger than me, given that he is so much younger than me, like a kid who got caught underage drinking or something. I can't help but laugh, "It's all good. Feel free to have yours tonight; don't let me stop you. I'm going to go check the burgers."

After a few moments, Logan shows up in the doorway of the back door, a beer in his hand as he watches me check the burgers.

"I'm really sorry. I assumed you drank. I guess I'm so used to my teammates drinking with me that I forgot that not everyone drinks..." He still looks sheepish in the way his head is bowed, and he circles a finger around the top of his can.

"Really, it's fine. Most people drink, so I can see why you would assume that," His posture doesn't change, so I try another tactic to relieve him, ''Would it make you feel better if I told you that you weren't the first to do that? Bring alcohol thinking I drink, I mean."

His eyes cast over to mine with hesitant curiosity, "I wasn't?"

I laugh, flipping the burgers. God, is this grill making me sweat—I hope I don't have a seizure while Logan is here, "No. I haven't been able to drink for ten years now. That's a lot of time for things like this to happen." Nothing exactly like this has happened, but something similar has happened, so he doesn't have to know.