Blink Read Free

Doctor Dolittle , the pushmi-pullyu. The animal was sort of a cross between a gazelle and a unicorn and had heads positioned on either end of its body, so they were constantly trying to go in opposite directions. Yeah, the pushmi-pullyu definitely summed up how I felt about seeing or not seeing Carlos. Part of me desperately wanted to, because to gaze on masculine beauty like that was, truly, rare and wondrous. And the other part was relieved, because if I didn’t see him, it didn’t stir up all sorts of feelings that disrupted my own personal world order.
    But even those emotions faded after a couple three months had passed of not seeing him. If I thought of him at all, it was to think that maybe his schedule had changed. Or that coincidence simply had not thrown us together again. Sure, he could have boarded the same train but was in another car. How many cars did an ‘L’ train have, anyway? Ten? A dozen? More at rush hour? When I thought of it that way, it was amazing that we happened to be across from each other even more than once.
    When I wasn’t reading or thinking about my workday or listening to Joan Jett, I would have to admit I liked to look around and study people. It was one of the things I did that reflected the real writer I longed to be someday. I hadn’t really ever dreamed of being an advertising copywriter, after all. But it paid the bills on my studio in Evanston better than a wannabe horror novelist.
    And that’s what I was doing that day when I spotted him again. This time he wasn’t leaning against the closed doors of the car. He was up ahead, crowded into the space where the conductor might have sat had this been the first car. It was one of those blessed crazy-warm first days of spring, and even my lightweight windbreaker felt too hot.
    The warmth and pulse of the day, the birds singing, all contributed to an electricity in the air that made the day feel special, especially after the brutal Chicago winter we had just survived.
    In memory, it was almost like he had an aura that made him stand out from other passengers in the crowded car. I guess I would assign it something warm, a soft buttery yellow.
    You know how you might read in poetry or hear in a song that someone took one’s breath away? The concept sounds silly, and we may accept it as metaphor. But the fact is, it’s real. When I saw him standing there, leaning over a woman in a bright red suit so he could surreptitiously read the magazine open on her lap, I caught my breath. I could hear the blood begin to thud, a dull roar, in my ears.
    And I had the old pushmi-pullyu reaction—the wanting to look away, the desire to eat him up with my eyes. He was looking no less hot this morning in a plaid shirt, open enough to reveal the silkiness of his smooth brown chest, perhaps just a little of the cleft between his pecs. He wore a faded denim jacket that made him seem a bit of the bad boy. Pressed khakis and loafers contradicted this impression.
    With my gaze still on him and probably communicating the million different thoughts racing through my head, he looked up.
    I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t look away. I told you about those eyes, how they were like magnets. They caught and held me, helpless. I wanted to turn my gaze toward the window or anywhere but at him, but he compelled me not to with those damn dark eyes, so probing—and yes, so sexy.
    He smiled, and this time I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his expression was not one of ridicule but one of recognition. It said “I’m happy to see you again.” My heart fluttered with relief, with a building current of desire. I hadn’t spoken even one word to him, but I felt like I had just reunited with a long-lost love.
    I smiled back.
    What am I doing ? the reasonable, wannabe straight boy inside asked me. I’d fought so hard against my feelings, even feeling ashamed when I awakened one morning with the insides of my briefs damp from scattered images of hairy chests, erect