by Brandon Witt
CHAPTER SIX
Vahin Arora
A shot of excitement rushed through Vahin as his phone vibrated in his pocket. Leaning back in the car seat, still keeping his eyes on the road, he pulled it out, then paused before allowing himself to look at the screen. He needed to get hold of himself. He wasn’t a kid. He wasn’t a romantic. He wasn’t desperate. He wasn’t, really.
Shame licked at him as he continued to keep his gaze from the phone. If he wasn’t desperate, he was playing the part like he was up for an Oscar. It had been forgivable after he got off work the night before to text Marlon and see if he wanted to come over. His disappointment at Marlon’s excuse was almost as understandable. What wasn’t forgivable was him texting Marlon again this morning, and that he’d constantly checked his cell since he’d sent the text. He’d barely been able to get through each set of reps at the gym without checking the damn thing.
And now, here he was, driving to work and short of breath because he was worried Marlon was saying no again. He deserved to swerve and slam into a stop sign. It probably wasn’t even Marlon.
Vahin started to place the phone on the empty passenger seat, forcing himself to wait like a sane person. He couldn’t do it. With a final glance to make sure he wasn’t accidentally driving into the back of an SUV, he held the phone in front of the steering wheel and swiped his thumb across the screen.
His heart leapt. Marlon.
Sorry. Can’t do tonight either. Sick. Even calling off work. Might be a couple days before I feel up to going out again. Sorry.
Yeah. Sorry.
Vahin was the one who should be sorry. He knew better. Knew better than to get his hopes up. Knew better than to initiate so much contact. Knew better than to allow himself to have feelings for a closeted guy, even one who would get shirtless with drag queens.
He knew better.
“Dude, romance troubles already?”
“Huh?” Vahin spared a glance toward Steven, then returned his attention to the Moscow Mule he was making.
“Exactly.” Steven leaned against the inside of the bar, angling his face toward Vahin and away from the customers. “That’s what I mean. You normally don’t miss a beat, and you’ve been distracted and a million miles away all evening.”
Vahin finished pouring the ginger beer into the concoction, feeling his temper rise. “Not doing a good enough job for you, Steven? Maybe I should take the night off and let Alex handle it all.”
Steven flinched and lifted his hands in surrender. “Whoa, man. That’s what I’m talking about. You’re on edge. And you know I wasn’t saying that, so cut the shit.”
Sticking in a stirring rod, Vahin let out a breath, forced a smile, and slid the drink to a hipster a few spots down. “Here you go, buddy. Enjoy!”
The man nodded, but Vahin had already turned back to Steven. “Sorry. Yeah. I’m on edge.”
“Got that.” Steven stayed in his place against the bar. Behind him, ManDonna and Ariel were raising catcalls from the diners. Steven snapped his fingers toward Vahin’s face. “Hello in there.”
“I hate it when you do that.”
Steven grinned. “I know. Now talk to me.”
Vahin considered walking away. It felt stupid, ridiculous. He felt stupid and ridiculous. He glared at Steven. “Fine, but if you call me a lovestruck twelve-year-old, I’m punching you in the face, quitting, and taking the Mary statue on my way out.”
“Lots of stealing threats lately.” Another grin. “Duly noted.”
“Okay, well, here’s the deal.” Vahin glanced around, as if everyone in the entire restaurant was listening. They weren’t, of course. The only person looking at him was a hot ginger guy at the end of the bar who probably just wanted a drink. Hopefully Alex would get to him soon. He refocused on Steven. “So Marlon and I had an amazing two nights, especially the second one, when he wasn’t trashed and on the edge of throwing up. Amazing, Steven. Like crazy-hot sex and a bunch of maybe he’s the one feelings and shit, you know?”
Steven’s brows popped up, but he didn’t verbalize his surprise.
“So then after I leave here last night, I texted, expecting that he’d want to get together.” He held up a hand. “I know. Needy. Shut up.” Vahin focused on Steven’s shirt collar, unable to meet his eyes any longer. “He texted back that he’d had a long day at work and needed sleep. Then today, after I text him again—like a fucking loser—he says he’s calling in sick to work, and that it might be a few days before he’ll be able to get together again.” Vahin finished in a rush and glanced back at Steven’s eyes.
“Sounds like he wants to get together again, at least.” There was a question in Steven’s tone that belied the confidence in his words.
“No. It was a brush-off. Easy and clear.”
Steven reached out and touched Vahin’s arm. “It was all through text. Maybe you missed the context or something. I think you might be jumping to conclusions. You were excited about it, and now you’re freaking out because you’re worried you imagined it all.”
Yep. That was it. Vahin had been wondering that exact thing all day. How he must have projected the feelings he’d thought he was seeing in Marlon’s eyes, feeling in his kisses and touch. “No, I’m being insane. I’m a thirty-five-year-old who’s acting like he’s in middle school. It’s gross and pathetic and a good reminder of why I don’t do this shit.”
“What shit? Try to have a relationship instead of endless one-night stands like you normally do? I don’t think it’s pathetic.”
Vahin nearly pointed out that he hadn’t had a hookup in months, but that wasn’t really the point, was it? “Well, it is. So, yeah, I’m distracted. Pathetic and distracted. Happy?”
Steven started to reply, but Vahin cut him off, hating the whiny sound he’d had in his voice.
“Sorry.” He took Steven’s hand, and their fingers interlocked. “I’m being a whiny bitch, and I know it. Thanks for checking on me. I’ll get my head back in the bartender game and do a better job.”
Steven rolled his eyes. “That wasn’t my point.”
Vahin gave Steven’s hand a squeeze before letting go. “I know. And thank you for that too.” A thought hit him, and he couldn’t suppress a laugh. “You know, I’m acting like a teenage girl here, and don’t they normally talk to their moms about this stuff?”
“How the hell should I know?”
“Well, I’m pretty sure, in this case, you’re kinda like my mom.”
Steven smacked his shoulder. “You little bitch. I am not your mom. I’m not that much older than you. And I’m pretty sure I’ve got better tits than your mom.”
Vahin flinched. Thinking about his mother made him hurt in other ways. “Hey, you’ve never seen my mom. You have no idea how her ti….” His words trailed off as he realized what he’d been about to say.
Steven burst out laughing.
“I hate you.” Vahin glowered at him.
“Oh, I know. You’re supposed to hate your boss. I’m heading out in a bit. You going to be okay the rest of the night?”
Vahin narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not that big of a mess that I can’t handle my bar.”
“Just checking.” Steven leaned forward, kissed Vahin on the cheek, then put his mouth to Vahin’s ear. “By the way, in case you’ve forgotten, we slept together about a billion years ago. So basically, you’ve fucked your mother.”
Vahin’s mouth dropped open, and he shuddered involuntarily.
Steven smacked the cheek he’d kissed and gave a wink. “You’re welcome.”
Vahin watched him walk away, a mix of emotions rushing through him. A mix of gratefulness for his Mary’s family and revulsion at the mental image Steven had forced on him. But for the first time that day, worry over Marlon wasn’t in the picture.
Though he fell back into the bartending rhythm quickly enough, Vahin never really hit his stride. He checked his phone a couple more times before turning it off and putting it back in the office so he wasn’t tempte
d to turn it back on and check some more. That helped, but despite himself, his brain kept returning to his short time with Marlon.
He couldn’t have been making it up. At least not entirely.
He’d felt like he was discovering sex and kissing for the first time. Like he was tasting love for the first time. Utter rubbish, he knew, but still, that was exactly how it had felt. With Marlon’s lips trailing up Vahin’s stomach and chest to claim his mouth. The pounding of his heart when their palms met and fingers clinched. The sense of rightness as he’d slid inside Marlon.
Such things wouldn’t have been felt if they’d all been one-sided. Surely.
Maybe it had been too much. Too much, too fast, and Marlon simply freaked out and decided he couldn’t do it. Or, maybe, possibly, Marlon needed to take a step back and breathe before he really dived in.
Of course, it might be there was nothing wrong at all, and Vahin was acting insane and clingy when it was totally normal to not spend a third or fourth night in a row together after having just met.
God, hookups were so much easier.
Alex had taken over the long side of the bar that faced the stage and dining room and served most of the customers. Vahin was impressed with the kid. Showed leadership without even needing Vahin to tell him to take control.
And that showed how caught up in his own shit he really was. This was his bar. His Mary’s. His, his, his. He didn’t let someone else take the lead behind his bar. But maybe it was okay for one night.
As he walked to the kitchen to grab a steak salad order, he noticed the ginger at the end of Alex’s section again. The guy was hot, totally. Vahin passed him without too much other thought, then looked back. There was something familiar about him.
He’d delivered the salad to the woman at the bar and gotten another couple of drinks before it hit him.
Vahin glanced back, but the guy was gone.
The guy from two nights ago. Marlon’s partner.
No way. No fucking way.
But it had to be. There weren’t that many gingers like that guy.
Still, it couldn’t be him. What were the chances? And Vahin hadn’t really gotten such a good look at him. The coincidence of seeing a guy who looked like Marlon’s partner when Vahin hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Marlon seemed a bit too far-fetched.
That had to be it. He’d been thinking about Marlon so much he was seeing things. Making connections where there weren’t any. Not coincidence, just certifiable insanity.
As he worked, he kept glancing back over, thinking the guy must have gone to use the restroom or something. He never showed back up.
A tap on the bar got Vahin’s attention. He glanced up to find a pretty white boy in front of him. So clean-cut, he might as well have recently graduated from Yale and was here with his fraternity buddies.
Fuck, Vahin, get your head in the game. “Hey, sorry about that. I was distracted. What can I get you?”
“Um, I’ll have a… vodka and 7.”
“Vodka and 7, coming up.” Strange, he’d expected the preppy to get a martini or craft beer. Within a moment, Vahin mixed the drink and slid it toward the man. He started to walk away and then paused, turning back to him. “Sorry, distracted, like I said. May I see an ID?”
“Sure.” He’d had the drink halfway to his lips. He paused, took a drink, then set it down and fished in his back pocket. He pulled out a glossy black wallet, flipped it open, and took out his card.
Vahin glanced at it. Twenty-two and from out of state. That explained a lot. He handed it back. “Boston, huh? Grew up close to there, but never visited. I’d like to.”
Before the guy could answer, another man walked up and stood behind his shoulder.
Vahin glanced at him. The hot ginger.
The man held out his hand over the preppy’s shoulder. It took a second for Vahin to register what he held.
A badge.
Vahin’s heart leaped and began to pound in his throat, though he wasn’t exactly sure why.
The preppy slid off the barstool and walked away, and the ginger stepped closer. “You just served alcohol to someone underage. Come outside with me.”
A million thoughts tumbled through Vahin’s mind, but none of them landed long enough to make any impact. Vahin nodded and forced himself to move.
Alex gave him a terrified look as he passed.
“Stay here.” Vahin wasn’t sure if Alex responded or if he’d even been able to hear Vahin’s whisper through the commotion of the drag show.
The ginger waited until Vahin had exited from behind the bar and walked toward him. He motioned toward the front door.
Vahin did as instructed, casting wide eyes at Pat, where she stood behind the host stand.
She started to walk around the glossy black box. “Vahin, are you okay?”
The ginger cut him off before he could reply. “Ma’am, I need you to stay here.”
Pat looked like she was going to argue, but then she nodded and moved back to where she’d been.
Cool air rushed over him as he stepped out onto the front patio. He shivered, though that may not have been due to the temperature. Everything was a blur, the streetlamps and zooming headlights hazy around him. Music from the show drifted through Mary’s open windows.
He’d served a minor?
Police?
“Over here.” The ginger took his elbow, tightly, and led him out of the patio entrance and onto the sidewalk.
It didn’t even enter Vahin’s mind to resist or ask the man not to touch him. It was then he noticed another person waiting by a car parked several yards away. A police car. And this man was in full police uniform.
Vahin halted at the sight. He looked at the ginger, trying to remember what you were supposed to say when the police were speaking to you. Nothing was coming back. Part of him wanted to run. As fast as he could. “Who are you?”
Who are you? That’s what he came up with?
“Not really your business, but I’ll play along.” The ginger pointed to himself and the older white cop who was now making his way toward them. “I’m Officer Andrew Morris, and this is my partner for the evening, Officer Greg Holland.” He gave a sneer that wiped away his good looks. “And who are you?”
“Ah,” Vahin glanced at the older officer, then back to the ginger… Officer…. He’d already forgotten their names. What was he supposed to do? Was he required to give his name? Was he supposed to request a lawyer? He tried again. “I’m, ah… wait, why did you pull me out here again?”
A strange expression crossed the cop’s face, part anger, part… something else… enjoyment? “You served a minor alcohol this evening.” He tightened his grip on Vahin’s elbow. “And you are?”
He started to pull his arm away, then stopped. “My name’s Vahin.”
“I need to see some form of ID, Vahin, if you have any.”
Vahin nearly refused, then figured that would only make the situation worse. With his free arm, he pulled out his wallet, then looked at the officer. “Could you release my arm, so I can get it out easier?”
The officer hesitated, then let go of Vahin’s elbow and dropped his hand to the holster of the gun at his waist. “No funny business.”
Vahin thought he might puke. He pulled his driver’s license out and handed it over.
The cop held it up so it fell into the stream of light from the streetlamp. “Vahin… Arora, huh? If this is even a real ID. There’s some pretty convincing forgeries out there.”
The other officer chuckled.
The ginger cop looked from the driver’s license to Vahin. “Vahin Arora. Unusual name. Sounds… foreign. Sounds kinda like a Muslim, doesn’t it, Holland?”
“Yep.”
Vahin didn’t respond. He glanced around. No one on the patio; it had been too cool to open it up. There was no one anywhere.
“That name Muslim, Vahin?”
Vahin refocused on the cop… Morris. That was it. He straightened his shoulders. “Indian
, Officer Morris. Vahin is a Hindu name, actually.” Why the hell had he said that?
“Don’t look like an Indian to me.” Officer Morris addressed his partner. “Does he to you, Holland?”
“Nope. And I don’t think this place is a reservation, so probably not an Indian.”
At that moment, Vahin realized no matter what he said, he was in trouble. The knowledge gave him a bit of his courage back. He stared the ginger right in the eyes. “Officer Morris? I thought you were partners with Officer Barton?”
“Ah, you know me.” Vahin’s words didn’t have the desired effect; it seemed the cop had no issue with being recognized. Instead, his smile grew. “Well, you’re right. I am partners with Marlon, for now. Unfortunately, he got a little cough and couldn’t come in today, so Officer Holland here did me a good turn and picked up a bit of overtime. But surely you already heard Barton was feeling… weak today.”
So the officer knew who he was as well. Whatever was happening wasn’t a coincidence. Anger rushed through him, erasing the fear that had been holding him back. “I’m not sure what you’re trying to pull, Officers, but I didn’t serve a minor this evening. Or ever. I’m good at my job, and I never bend the rules. Not for anyone.”
Morris’s smile only grew. “Well, my boy, I’m afraid that isn’t true. You fell for a sting and weren’t smart enough to see a clearly fake ID.” Again he addressed the other cop. “Where’s the kid, Greg? Let’s introduce Mr. Arora here to someone smarter than himself.”
The other cop’s voice sounded hesitant for the first time. “He, ah, didn’t hang around.”
“What?” Morris glanced over his shoulder, then back at Vahin quickly. “Never mind.” He reached out and gripped Vahin’s elbow once more. It took all Vahin’s willpower not to jerk away. “I’m gonna need you to step into the car. We’re going to take a little trip down to the station.”
Vahin jerked his arm away. “No.”
“Excuse me?” Officer Morris took a step toward him, satisfaction and excitement leaking from his expression. “I’m not sure you have a choice in that, boy.”
