by Alexa Land
I considered that for a beat, then said, “Well, whiskey is whiskey,” before getting in the car.
Chapter Two
Rounders was located off Market Street, in a neighborhood that a realtor might ambitiously describe as Castro-adjacent. But while it really wasn’t far from San Francisco’s gay neighborhood, it was a world removed. While the Castro was vibrant and interesting, this little wedge of shops and restaurants was just sort of generic. The club itself somehow came across as the equivalent of a chain restaurant, clearly owned by some anonymous out-of-town interest and lacking the soul of a small, local business.
The big club was in a boxy white building that had been outlined and accented with hot pink, blue and yellow neon. It looked like the 1980s had thrown up all over it. I was always up for new experiences though, and going to a tourist bar with a prostitute certainly qualified.
Chance held on to my arm as we pushed through the crowd. The place was packed. It was a shame, really. Tourists came from all over to see and experience San Francisco, and then they ended up in a place like this, bypassing all that made the city unique and interesting.
We lucked out, because a couple happened to get up from the bar just as we arrived and my companion and I took their seats. We were in a prime location, in a corner overlooking the entire bar area and dance floor. Chance scanned the room as I ordered us a round. “You certainly cover a lot of territory,” I said, “from the Tenderloin to tourist traps.”
“And everything in between.” He pulled a business card from the pocket of his jeans and slid it over to me. It was sheer white vellum and was inscribed simply, Chance, along with a phone number. “I usually work by appointment and believe it or not, a lot of businessmen like that hotel in the Tenderloin. That’s because they don’t ask for a credit card or ID, so there’s no paper trail afterwards.” He toasted me with his drink and after he tossed back the shot he gestured at the card with his empty glass. “Keep that if you want. You never know when you might need a fake husband again.” I grinned at that and slipped the card inside my wallet.
His eyes were scanning the room, so I asked him, “Anyone look promising?”
“They all look promising,” he said loudly over the pulsating techno music. “A sea of horny men. What’s not to like?” I downed my shot and gestured to the bartender for two more as Chance turned to me and said, “So, the Artist Sometimes Known as Zane, tell me. What’s your story?”
“Don’t have one.” I finished my new drink quickly and he did the same.
“Sure you do. I mean, look at you. You’re running around the mean streets of San Francisco under the cover of darkness, your weapon against all that’s wrong with the world a can of spray paint. Anyone who’s paying attention would notice the messages of hope in your work. I sure as hell did. You’re like the Robin Hood of the Tenderloin, only instead of spreading wealth, you’re leaving little gifts of beauty. I’d love to know what’s behind it.”
“That’s really overstated.”
“What can I say, I’m a fan. That’s why I agreed to come and have a drink with you, because I find you interesting.”
“I’m just an over-privileged art student with too much time on my hands.”
“Well,” he said, “you may be that too, but it doesn’t change the fact that your work’s profound.”
I grinned at him. “Thanks. It really isn’t, but it’s nice that you noticed my murals at least. Aside from a couple of my friends, it feels like no one ever actually sees them.”
“You’d be surprised.” He gestured to the bartender and bought the next round. We both watched the crowd for a while, until he leaned in and said, “There’s a seriously hot guy staring at you. Did you notice?”
“No. Where?”
“Diagonally across the dance floor. Royal blue polo shirt, shoulders and arms like Atlas.”
I spotted the guy in question. Talk about gorgeous. He was totally built, with short, dark brown hair and eyes so blue I could see their color even at a distance. He was talking to three other guys. They all seemed to be about the same age, mid-twenties, but his three companions were all shorter and skinnier than him, and not to be unkind, but they were clearly dorks. The two white guys were a perfectly matched set (except that one was blond and the other brunet) who’d worn long-sleeved dress shirts along with their jeans, totally buttoned up and stiff. Their African American companion wore a bright t-shirt with the word Bazinga splashed across the front of it, along with a fedora. I had to wonder what Captain America was doing with the nerd herd.
“How would you know who that guy was looking at? This place is wall-to-wall people,” I yelled to Chance.
“You’re directly in his line of sight. Just watch him for a minute and you’ll see I’m right.”
The guy appeared to be having some sort of debate with his buddies. His friend in the fedora pointed across the bar, directly at me, and yelled something to his hot friend, who shook his head emphatically. Then one of the buttoned-down white boys took him by the shoulders, spun him toward me, and tried to give him a push. The hottie dug in his heels.
He did look up though and saw me watching him. Maybe. I still wasn’t convinced that I was the focal point of his attention, though he did suddenly turn a shade of red so vivid that it was noticeable even among the club’s bright, flashing lights. Chance leaned in and said, “Why don’t you go talk to that guy? Ask him to dance or something.”
I glanced at my companion. “First of all, I don’t dance. Secondly, why would he be looking at me, out of all the people in this place? Maybe he’s looking at you, you’re right beside me and pretty damn hot.”
“He’s not looking at me. Watch.” Chance got up and made his way to the center of the dance floor, then held his arms over his head and moved his slender body provocatively to the music. This got the attention of a half a dozen men around him, but not the guy in the polo shirt. Captain America was still glancing my way every few seconds while his friends appeared to give him some kind of pep talk. It involved a lot of hand gestures, yelling over the music and emphatic pointing.
I was still skeptical that any of that had a thing to do with me, but I had just decided to go say hello to him anyway when the pep talk finally worked. Captain America took a drink from the tall glass in his hand, then spun around and took a few steps in my direction, cutting across the dance floor. In the next instant, his arms were flailing over his head and he fell like a tree that had been chopped down, tripping over God knows what and landing flat on his belly. Oh man, the poor guy was dance floor road kill.
He knocked over at least ten people on his way down in a domino effect. The slippery ice that had flown out of his glass took out another dozen, most of them knocking down even more people as they fell. Chance was fairly nimble and managed to remain standing, but he was in the minority.
I leapt up to go help the guy in the polo shirt, but he was back on his feet in a flash. He darted toward the exit with his buddies in hot pursuit. Chance appeared beside me, somehow having navigated the wreckage on the dance floor, and said, “Aren’t you going to go after him?”
“I still don’t know if he was even coming to talk to me.”
“He was, trust me.”
“And what am I supposed to say to him?”
Chance grinned at me. “Try ‘hi’. Works wonders.” When I turned to look at him, he added, “That guy’s having the worst night ever. I bet he could really use some happy right about now.”
“You’re right. It was good to meet you, Chance.”
“Keep in touch, Christian,” he said with a smile before directing his attention to a couple guys at the bar.
I looked for the boy in blue as I cut through the club, but he was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t in the crowd milling out front, either. I stood out on the sidewalk and looked in both directions, and finally spotted him and his little group halfway down the block. I went after them, and saw as I got closer that they were still debating. They had their backs to me and didn’t no
tice me as I approached. “Let’s just go back,” the guy in the fedora was saying. “It’s your birthday, we’re supposed to be celebrating!”
“Yeah somehow, after humiliating myself in front of him of all people, I don’t feel all that festive, Leo,” the guy in blue said.
I was just a few feet away by now, so I stopped walking and said, “So, you probably don’t mean me, which is going to make me feel like such a dumbshit for coming after you.”
The foursome turned to face me, the nerd herd beaming ear-to-ear as the boy in blue went full-on deer in headlights. I noticed he still clutched the empty bar glass. “Oh, he definitely means you,” Fedora Guy said. He glanced at his friend, then took a second look and poked his arm. “Isn’t that right, Shea?”
I hadn’t quite caught that so I asked, “Sorry, what was your name?”
Cricket, cricket.
His friends stared at him in anticipation, and finally the buttoned-down blond boy answered for him. “His name’s Shea. Rhymes with gay.”
His dark-haired counterpart added, “Today’s his birthday, he just turned twenty-five.”
I stepped a little closer and looked into those wide blue eyes, noting that he and I were the same height, six-one. “Happy birthday, Shea. I’m Christian.” I tried giving him a friendly smile, but that just seemed to freak him out more.
“Dude,” the buttoned down brunet told his friend in a loud stage whisper, as if I couldn’t hear that, “say something.”
“I...um...hi,” Shea finally managed.
I smiled cheerfully. “Hi.”
His posse took that as their cue. Fedora Guy chimed in, “Our work here is done! We’re going over to Bas’s apartment, Shea, so you’ll have the whole house to yourself if you know what I mean. Nudge nudge, wink wink!” Everybody knew what he meant, and Shea once again turned a vivid shade of pink. Or maybe it was Ferocious Fuchsia.
I stepped a little closer and carefully extracted the glass from his hand. It was surprising that it hadn’t broken in the fall. As I handed it to one of his friends, my eyes never leaving Shea’s, I murmured, “You are absolutely beautiful.”
“Awwww yeah,” buttoned-down blond boy said with a huge smile, throwing his hands in the air and swiveling his skinny hips. “It’s on! Have fun, Shea! But don’t forget dude, no glove, no love!”
The guy in the fedora grabbed the blond’s arm and started dragging him down the sidewalk as he called, “Bye, Shea. Bye, hot guy. We’ll be out late. Real late! Y’all will have plenty of time to get it on!”
“Oh God,” Shea whispered, still staring at me. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. What’s life without perfectly certifiable friends?” My gaze drifted to his full, luscious lips. I slid my hand around the back of his neck, pulled him to me and kissed him gently. Every part of me came alive, my pulse quickening and my cock swelling. I wanted this guy, no doubt about it. He was absolutely terrified though, and I was a little concerned that he’d throw up on me out of sheer panic.
A chorus of cat-calls came from his friends, who by now were down the block but apparently still watching. I ran my hand down his arm and asked, “Do you want to go back to your place?”
He nodded but remained rooted to the sidewalk. Maybe he’d only recently come out and wasn’t used to being with guys yet. That might explain the terror. I draped my arms around his shoulders and kissed him again, lightly. Then I rested my forehead against his and told him softly, “I’d love to go home with you and fuck you all night, Shea. But that won’t happen unless we actually start walking.” That was, of course, the only reason anyone ever went to a meat market like that club, to hook up.
He swallowed hard and whispered, his voice shaking a little, “Yeah. Okay. It, um...it’s that way.” He pointed behind me, in the opposite direction his friends had gone.
I picked up his hand, pretending not to notice how sweaty it was. He noticed though and let go of me, dragging his palm across his denim-covered thigh before taking my hand again. We started walking and as we passed the club, Chance came out, his arm linked with a baby-faced guy in his mid-twenties. My new friend smiled and winked as we crossed paths.
After another block it became clear that it was going to be up to me to make small talk, even though I wasn’t usually the chattiest guy in the world. “Those guys are your roommates, huh? They’re an interesting bunch.”
“We...uh...we’ve been best friends since seventh grade. After college we bought a house together since none of us could afford one on our own.” His voice was still shaking a bit, poor guy.
“Makes sense. This city’s really expensive.”
He nodded at that but didn’t say anything. After a while, I swung him into the alcove of a closed spice shop, pushed him against the wall, and kissed him deeply. His hands came up hesitantly and rested on my back. I kissed my way to his ear and whispered, “Don’t you know how incredibly beautiful you are, Shea? I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. You don’t have a reason in the world to be nervous.”
“How I look doesn’t matter much, though. As soon as guys start talking to me, I freeze up and blow it.”
“You’re doing just fine.”
“I’m not. You’re just kind.”
“No I’m not.” I nuzzled his neck as I said that. He reached up and touched my hair, lightly, experimentally. “You sure you want to do this, Shea? No pressure.”
“Oh God, please don’t change your mind!” He pulled back and stared at me, his eyes pleading.
“I’m not,” I said gently as I cupped his face in my hands. “I just want to make sure this is what you really want.”
“It is.”
“And you understand it’s just sex, right? No expectations beyond tonight.” Normally, I didn’t feel the need to point that out. Gay men in this city knew the score. But it was pretty obvious that the bar scene wasn’t Shea’s thing, so I wanted to make sure there was no confusion.
“I know,” he murmured.
As long as I was listing disclaimers, I added, “I should also mention that I only top. Is that going to be a problem?”
“That’s what I want you to do.” He couldn’t look at me as he said it.
When I hugged him I could feel him tremble. I wondered how many times he’d done this and how his previous sexual encounters had gone, given how nervous he was. I found myself suddenly determined to give him the best birthday sex of his life.
We held hands as we walked the remaining four blocks to his house. It turned out to be a quaint little craftsman with some nice details and a great period color scheme of dark blue, brown and forest green, exactly what I would have chosen for this place. I wondered which of the roommates had an eye for color.
That palette was carried through in the living room, where tasteful, deep green walls complemented the dark wood trim. But then I decided the house must have come like that, based on the fact that it was decorated in Comic Con meets Pee Wee’s Playhouse. Six overstuffed chairs were clustered around a big, square coffee table, which was covered in some kind of board game. It looked like they’d walked away mid-game, judging by all the cards and tokens still in place.
The walls were lined with classic monster movie posters, but they were obscured by a whole host of characters, all life-size, photorealistic cardboard cutouts. I spotted at least three doctors from Doctor Who, a Dalek, Luke Skywalker (who’d been positioned in a passionate embrace with Han Solo), Thor, Iron Man, and a bunch of other characters that I wasn’t dorky enough to recognize.
“Do you, um, want a drink?” I dragged my attention away from the cardboard crowd and focused on the gorgeous guy fidgeting nervously beside me.
“Sure. Thanks.” He darted from the room while I wandered over to the fireplace. The attractive dark wood mantel was completely cluttered with all sorts of miscellaneous wonders, including a couple Rubik’s Cubes, a little plastic Godzilla battling Bender from Futurama, and dozens of action figures. It made me smile.
&nbs
p; Funnily enough, in a place of honor among all the toys were three framed photographs of Hunter Storm, a gay porn star that was actually a friend of a friend. The photos were all the same publicity shot of Hunter from the waist up, grinning back at the camera over his bare shoulder, and each photo was autographed but made out to a different name. I assumed Cas, Ridley and Leo were Shea’s roommates.
When Shea reappeared beside me, precariously balancing two full shot glasses and a bottle of tequila, I gestured at the photos and asked, “Are your roommates gay, too?”
“Yeah. That’s how we got to be friends. Leo and Cas had a crush on each other in junior high. They did their best to hide it, but it still made them targets for a lot of bullies. I was always big, so I tried to protect them. Leo and Ridley were best friends already, and we all just kind of formed this bond.” That was a long speech for him, and afterwards Shea cleared his throat and shifted nervously, not meeting my gaze.
I took one of the shot glasses from his hand and studied him as he tried to fit the liquor bottle on the crowded mantel. There was an obvious sweetness to Shea. It was easy to imagine him coming to the aid of a couple smaller gay kids.
“Cheers,” I said as I tapped my glass to his, then tossed back its contents. Shea squinched up his face as he did his shot. He obviously didn’t care for it, but he refilled our glasses twice more and drank them down quickly. Apparently he’d decided a little liquid courage was the way to go here.
After the third shot, I took the glass from him and slid it onto the mantel along with mine, then drew him into my arms. I looked into those amazing blue eyes for a long moment before kissing him gently, and then I asked, “Was your birthday yesterday or today, since it’s after midnight?”
“It’s today. We went out at midnight to start celebrating.”
“Well, I’m glad to be a part of it.”
“I’m glad you are, too.”
“Want to continue this in your room?” He nodded and took my hand. Shea was unsteady on the stairs though, and when we reached his bedroom door I paused and asked him if he was drunk.
