So, I sucked it up and hoped for the best.
As the cab pulled up to the club, I scanned the sidewalk, checking for King lurking around. Ken exited the car and stared up at the sign of the club which was a giant replica of the street sign for The Magnificent Mile on Michigan Avenue, but with the I on Mile switched out for an A.
“This is awful,” Ken said pointing to the sign. “I’m embarrassed for them.”
I laughed, “Don’t be. See how busy they are? They’re doing fine. It’s we who have to look ourselves in the mirror and ask the hard questions like, ‘where was my self-respect?’”
He smiled and patted my shoulder. “It’s not that bad once you get past the cringey sign.”
“Wait, what?” Was he implying he’d been here? This place was a total meat market.
“It’s nice inside,” he said, shrugging.
“I’m not very interested in ‘casual,’” I mimicked with sarcasm, playfully throwing his words back at him. “Have you been putting me on with this whole Innocent, Corn-Fed Choir-Boy persona?”
“I never said I was a choir boy.” He smiled impishly, then became serious. “I don’t want casual, but sometimes, that’s all that’s on the table.” I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “Besides, it was only a couple of times. I don’t love the air of desperation that bars have. And when I go, I’m in this space where I’m flattered and given a lot of attention that’s a complete lie. No one is truly interested in me. After the third guy who couldn’t be bothered to learn my name, I stopped going to bars.”
It was tough out there for those of us wanting relationships, and I sympathized. I was just about to say that those men didn’t know what they were missing, when he stepped into me and gave me a hug.
His hug was long and sweet, and slightly awkward there on the sidewalk, where people were having to swerve around us. But I didn’t break it or speak, instead letting him have his moment. When he finally pulled away, I asked, “What was that for?”
“Because I know how lucky I am to have you. I almost didn’t go to Botstein’s party. I almost skipped it.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I almost missed you.”
I wasn’t often at a loss for words, but Ken left me speechless. He was always so…sincere. He was standing outside of a busy, raucous, ridiculously named club where no one was taking anything but fun seriously, and he was effortlessly exposing his heart. It was a weird spot to have this kind of moment—or for him to have this epiphany or whatever, but maybe it was completely appropriate. Maybe standing still on this dingy sidewalk, the calm center of a storm made up of manic revelry and shallow connection was the most impactful situation to say, to realize, something special was between us. Something that almost wasn’t.
I opened my mouth to say something—because I always had something to say—but nothing was appropriate, nothing was good enough. If I made a sarcastic joke like, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades—which was on the tip of my tongue—it would spoil the significance, and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to ruin it, but I also couldn’t think of anything that could come close to being as sweet or honest. I didn’t know how to preserve the moment, so I kissed him.
I used my mouth to convey all the feelings I couldn’t put into words, I used my arms to squeeze him tight to show him I was relieved—relieved he’d gone to Botstein’s, relieved we’d met. I hoped he understood, I hoped he’d feel me saying I know, I know this is rare and special and could just as easily have never been.
I kept the kiss going for long moments until I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a loud throat clearing. Ken and I separated to find Paulie standing next to us expectantly.
“Oh, hi, Paulie,” I said, giving him a smile.
“Ernie wants me to tell you that if you don’t want to have to sit on the sticky floor, you’d better get in there. He’s having a hard time saving your seats.”
Imagining Ernesto in there fighting tooth and nail for four in-demand chairs, spurred me into action. “Yes, right! We’ll come in now.”
We made our way to the ticket window, paid the cover, and had our hands stamped in rapid time. As soon as we walked through the door, Ken linked his hand in mine. I gave it a squeeze.
When we found Ern, he was draped across three chairs, yelling at a guy who looked to be tugging on one of the backrests. I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but Ern was pointing his finger, first at the man, then at the seat, then at Paulie, who had taken his own seat next to the one Ern’s feet were occupying.
Paulie stood up, the man turned around and disappeared. Yikes.
As soon as Ern spotted us, he sat up and exclaimed, “Thank fuck! I almost had to use Paulie as a weapon! He’s a pacifist!”
Paulie sat down and shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He was a quiet guy, reserved. To anyone who didn’t know him, they’d probably label him as shy. But he really wasn’t shy, he just didn’t talk a lot, preferring to let Ernesto fill the silence. It was no surprise that Paulie was a model and Ern, a photographer. They’d met and Paulie posed quietly while Ern kept up a monologue of instruction, praise, and natter. In that way, they were perfect for each other. Really, they were perfect for each other in a lot of ways.
I introduced Ken to Paulie and he shook hands with both of the men. He was wearing a big, happy grin, and for a split second, I felt guilty for trying to weasel out of this.
“I’m going to get us all some drinks,” Ernesto announced. “Now, you guys get to guard my chair.” He rose, took two steps, and a man hovering nearby, turned to us. Ern saw the movement and yelled, “Paulie!” Paulie lifted his booted feet and plunked them down on Ernesto’s vacant seat, deterring the man from approaching.
“Geez,” I shouted over the music. “It’s like the last round of musical chairs at a kid’s birthday party in here.”
“I know,” Paulie said. “I came to dance, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get Ernie to leave the table. He’s like a bulldog tonight.”
“We’ll get you out there, don’t worry,” I promised.
And, we did, eventually. It took a couple of rounds of drinks and some seriously hardcore puppy dog eye communication from Paulie to Ernesto for the latter to relinquish his hold on the conversation and the possession of the chairs.
While they were gone, Ken and I managed to lose one of the chairs. In fairness to me, it happened when my attention was turned to the third man who’d come to ask Ken to dance. How was I supposed to protect Paulie’s chair when I needed to guard my man, too? I could only do so much.
When the would-be man-stealer walked away, Ken turned to me with a half-apologetic, half-smug smile. “It’s going to happen,” he shrugged.
“Conceit isn’t a good look, McSmuggy, I—” I lost the thought when I noticed the missing chair. “We’re dead meat!” I shouted. “Look! Paulie’s chair is gone!”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. We were in for it.
As soon as I saw Ernesto’s face register the missing chair, I threw Ken under the bus. “It’s his fault!” I pointed at him. “His face made the chair disappear!”
Ken gaped at my betrayal.
Ernesto, who seemed to comprehend my meaning, didn’t let me off the hook. “You need to learn how to multitask! Do you see who I’m married to?” He pointed to Paulie, whose tight, sweaty T-shirt was clinging to his ripped abs.
“Calm down,” Paulie said, dragging the remaining chair closer to him. “I’ve got something you can sit on.”
Ern gasped, pretending to be scandalized. Paulie sat down with his own smug grin and pulled Ernesto to his lap.
“Whoa,” I held my hands up. “That is my cue to go fetch another round. Feel free to use this time to chastise Dr. McPretty for his substandard chair-guardianship.”
I stood, and Ken grasped my hand. I thought I might find irritation from my jokes etched on his face, but he was grinning widely, clearly enjoying the banter.
> “I just want water, please. I’m running tomorrow,” he reminded me, rubbing his thumb along my knuckles. Ken had a half-marathon in September he was conditioning for and wanted to spend tomorrow morning running a 15K.
Impulsively, I bent down and brushed my lips against his. When I straightened, Ernesto had a gleam in his eye, “I’ll come with you.”
When we made our way to the bar, I tried to get the attention of a bartender, but neither of them acknowledged me. Ern, unconcerned with the lack of service, dove into conversation.
“He’s really into you, I can tell.”
“I’m really into him, too,” I replied absently, still trying to flag down a server.
“Damn. Everyone is, it seems. We can’t leave those two alone for a second.”
I tore my eyes away from the bartender closest to me to glance back at our table. Sure enough, two men were chatting up Paulie and Ken. I couldn’t see Ken’s face, but I could tell he was shaking his head. Smiling, I refocused my effort on getting us some drinks. “Excuse me, barkeep!” I was ignored. Again.
“That’s probably going to happen a lot,” Ern warned. “I have to deal with it all the time.”
I looked at him, and not for the first time wondered how he managed to cope with the attention Paulie received. It wasn’t only that Paulie was startlingly handsome and fit, it was also that Ernesto wasn’t what most people would consider good looking. He was on the shorter side and slightly paunchy. I personally thought he was a cutie, but I conceded that I mostly felt that way because I was drawn to his magnetic warmth and engaging personality. Ernesto didn’t get second looks—not like Paulie did. I never asked because it wasn’t my business, but now he seemed to be wanting to impart some of his wisdom to me, so I took the bait. “Is it a problem?”
“At first? Yeah, I broke up with him like five times over it.”
“What?” I was shocked. I didn’t know any of that had happened.
“Okay, so the break-ups lasted like twenty minutes,” he admitted. “But the point is, I made so much drama over shit Paulie couldn’t control. He finally said, ‘You either want to be with me, or you don’t. What do you want?’ I decided I couldn’t let my fear keep me from being with him. So here we are.”
“Married,” I said pointedly.
He laughed. “Yes, Paulie is persuasive. But I’m just trying to tell you not to worry about the men.”
“And the women,” I added.
He waved his hand. “So, he’s passing? Big deal. Paulie is too. Who cares about the ladies?”
“Ken does. He’s bi.” I watched as Ern’s face fell.
“Oh, well,” he said after a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with having fun then.” The words had a forced breeziness, and I kicked myself for opening my mouth.
The bartender chose that moment to take our order and when he walked away, Ern faced me, his mouth turned down at the corners. All breeziness gone. “Look, I don’t need to tell you why this is a bad idea. I can tell you really like him, just make sure he’s not using you to experiment with, okay? You deserve better than being toyed with by some confused frat boy.”
I opened my mouth to defend Ken against the accusation. He was a grown, professional, honest person, not some immature coward and didn’t deserve to be reduced to that when Ern didn’t know him at all.
Ernesto didn’t let me say my piece, instead, he cut me off. “I know, he’s not a frat boy, but my point is that even if you do have a relationship with him, eventually…” he shrugged, letting the sentence hang.
We stood in a silent eye-war until the moment was broken by the arrival of the drinks.
“Here,” I said through clenched teeth, thrusting two of the drinks at him. “Take Paulie his shot.” The bartender had forgotten the water, so I had an excuse to separate myself from Ern for a few moments. He took the drinks, his frown deeper than before, and walked off without a word.
Eventually… I knew what he meant. He meant that someday a woman would come along with her boobs and womb and Ken would accept that invitation happily, ready for a picture perfect, heteronormative life.
I shook my head at this. What was I supposed to do? Live like Ern had before Paulie gave him his come-to-Jesus talk? Scared and suspicious? No thanks.
I looked at the bartender, made eye contact, but he turned away. God damn it! “What’s a guy gotta do to get a fucking water around here?”
“I’ll get your water, baby,” a voice rasped in my ear, lips touching the shell.
I flinched away from the contact, but the man pushed in closer.
King.
King whatever-his-name-was, stood against me, his groin to my hip, his legs nearly straddling me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, but underneath the alcohol, I could smell his scent, which flooded me with flashes of memory from the night in my apartment.
Reflexively, I shoved him. “Get the fuck off me!” He budged, not by much, his groin was still pressed against me, but his chest was no longer touching me. The people nearby looked curiously at us but didn’t seem concerned.
“I know you came here to see me,” he said, happily, smiling like a lunatic. “As soon as I saw you walk in, I knew you wanted me to see you.”
“You’re crazy, I—” I attempted to step away, but he crowded me into the bar, the edge pushing into my ribs.
His smile dropped. “Trying to make me jealous with that guy wasn’t smart,” he cut me off, voice low and menacing. “Don’t try to hurt me unless you want me to hurt you back.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
*DKM*
When Ernesto came back to the table, he plunked down two shots next to Paulie. “Here.” His voice was tight, threaded with irritation.
I looked at him and found his eyes fixed on me in a glare. What the hell? Was he mad about the guys at our table? We sent them along without issue. I felt bad for Paulie if Ernesto was this jealous.
Except, he wasn’t glaring at his husband. All his ire was aimed at me. Confused, I turned around to see if I could gauge Steven’s mood. What I saw was his face stamped with anger as he shoved a man away from him.
I stood up quickly and made my way to him. The man, who was practically on top of him, crowded him into the bar. A flash of distress crossed Steven’s face, galvanizing me to all but tear the man away from him.
I pulled his collar roughly as soon as I was within arm’s reach. “Back off!”
The man stumbled. A good look at his red hair and stocky build, and I knew this was King. If anything, this realization enraged me further.
He followed him here.
He touched him.
I took advantage of his stumble and inserted myself between Steven and King. “Stay away from him,” I shouted. I wanted to be heard over the music, but also to show I wasn’t messing around. I didn’t know if it would work. If my brief encounter with Nico’s stalker was any indication, forcefulness didn’t always work as a deterrent. I braced myself for an unhinged attack.
For one moment, the man’s face screwed up in rage, but the second his eyes connected to mine, his demeanor changed. The transformation from tense and confrontational to subdued and apologetic was lightning fast, and it confused me.
My own muscles stayed bunched, ready for a fight, even when he stepped backward and lifted his hands in a pacifying, defensive gesture.
“I don’t want trouble, I just thought he might want a drink,” he said, taking another step backward.
I felt Steven’s face next to mine as he leaned over my shoulder. “Fuck off,” he snarled.
King looked from me to Steven, and his surprised expression turned sad. “I just wanted to be friends with you.” His eyes came back to mine and he repeated, “I don’t want trouble.”
“Then get the hell out of here. Now.” I gestured to the door and took a threatening step toward him.
He hesitated, his eyes flicking from me to Steven. He seemed to be weighing his choices and measuring the two of us. After a moment, and without a w
ord, he walked away.
I watched his back, making sure I saw him leave. Once he had, I turned to Steven, who was watching his exit as well.
He sighed, bringing his eyes to mine. I couldn’t tell what he was thinking but we held contact for a long minute, until he reached over to the bar, downed a shot he’d ordered and said, “I’ll order us a ride.”
* * *
We didn’t say a word to each other until we got back to the apartment.
I wanted to talk in the cab, but too much eye-contact from the driver in the mirror, too-little eye-contact from Steven and the rigid set of his jaw, put me off any conversation. After accidentally looking in the rearview mirror and getting a wink, I turned my attention out the window and stewed in silence.
But as soon as we walked into the apartment, Steven laughed bitterly. “Well, that was a barrel of laughs, wasn’t it? I’m so glad we went.” He tossed his keys on the side table and walked through to the bedroom without so much as switching on a light. I was hot on his heels.
“I think you need to talk to your boss now,” I said as he turned on one of the bedside lamps.
“DKM, you were so magnificent. Such a knight! My strong protector!” His voice held such an exaggerated enthusiasm, it could have only been pure sarcasm.
I bristled. “Are you seriously pissed at me for coming over?”
His shoulders slumped. “No, no. I would have done the same if the situation were reversed. But, I’m not helpless, I’m not weak, and I sure as hell wasn’t afraid of him.”
I knew he wasn’t helpless or weak, but he’d looked afraid, I’d seen it in his face. I didn’t know if he was trying to convince me or himself.
“I know you’re not, Steven, but I’m not going to stand by and let you fight your battles alone.”
“He’s not even scary,” he continued, as if I hadn’t spoken. He wasn’t looking at me, but instead, busying himself by pulling the comforter down on the bed. “Did you see how he just cowed down as soon as you put yourself between us? He’s a pussy.” He tossed one sham to the floor and grabbed another. “He was a pussy when he was here, and he was a pussy tonight.”
Sticking to the Script: Cipher Office Book #2 Page 16
