Trent
I lied to Drew.
I told him I had frat business and couldn’t hang with him and Joey tonight.
Then I called a cab and met it across campus, away from the Alpha U house. After I gave the driver the address of the place I wanted to go, I shut my phone off and slid it into my pocket.
I was nervous and kinda scared, but not enough of either to change my mind.
Instead, I sat in the back of the cab and thought about Drew. I knew I shouldn’t. But it was something I’d never allowed very much before.
Before, I’d been too busy denying how I felt.
I didn’t have to deny it anymore. At least inside my own head.
So I thought about him. About the way I sometimes ached to run my fingers through his hair when it was messy. How his laugh made my stomach tighten and how when I stared at his fingers gripping a steering wheel, I’d sometimes wish it were my hand.
I also allowed myself to think about the way it felt to have him in my arms. He was strong and capable. His body was hard, and his arms gripped me tight. I loved that. I’d always been the one to do the holding, with women. It was me who wrapped around them. They were always so small and fragile.
Not Drew.
He had arms capable of holding me, shoulders broad enough to rest my head on. I wouldn’t have to be conscious of my size as much with him. I wouldn’t have to worry I might hurt him.
If anything, he had the power to hurt me.
I’d never felt vulnerable before. I wasn’t sure I liked it.
Thirty minutes later, the cab pulled into the lot of a well-lit building. Cars filled the lot, and music filtered out from inside. I paid the astronomical fare and stood in the lot until the driver was out of sight.
The door to the place swung open, and two guys came out. They were laughing and had their arms loosely slung around each other. Even though I stared at them, they didn’t see me. To them, they were alone.
When one drunkenly stumbled, the other picked up his slack and righted him. “C’mon.” He chuckled. “Let’s pour you into bed.”
“Only if you come with me,” the drunker of the pair said.
“Just like every night.”
They moved off in the opposite direction toward a line of cars. I asked myself how seeing and hearing them made me feel.
I searched for the most honest answer I had.
They made me homesick.
For Drew.
The place was called The Eight Ball. It was in the next county over, away from Alpha University and everyone I might know. Along with being a full-service bar, there were also pool tables and a setup for a live band on the weekends.
And one other detail: this place was predominately a gay bar.
It was the kind of place I knew I could come to and see what I… um, felt.
Figuring I spent enough time standing around in the parking lot, I headed inside. At first, I felt kind of awkward walking in, kinda like it meant I had a neon sign around my neck that was flashing “I’m gay” in bold letters.
But when the door closed behind me, no one turned to stare. The music didn’t screech to a halt. It was a bar just like all the others I’d been to.
It was a big place, with the big square bar anchoring the center. On every side, there were stools, and the bartenders worked out of the middle. I couldn’t help but wonder if they felt like they were in a fishbowl.
Spread around the bar were tables of varying sizes, and high-backed booths lined the walls. It was darker over on that side of the bar, and I didn’t pay too close attention, figuring that’s where the guys who wanted some privacy went.
I wasn’t ready for that.
On the other side of the room were the pool tables, and all of them were full with guys playing games. Then on the other side of the tables was a stage where I figured the bands set up and played.
It was clean, the music was loud and current, and everyone seemed to be having a good time.
Unsure what to do, I walked around to the side of the bar where there was a couple open stools and sat down.
A bartender appeared in front of me. “Hey, man. What can I get ya?”
“Draft beer. Whatever’s good here,” I replied.
He moved off the get it, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was gay.
What a stupid thing to wonder, I told myself. I didn’t care if he was. I didn’t care if he wasn’t. The way I saw it (and always had), it didn’t matter. All that mattered was he wasn’t an asshole.
But I guess questioning myself made me want to question others.
“Five bucks,” he said when he came back and set the amber liquid in front of me in a frosty glass.
I slid the money across the glossy bar top, along with a tip. He winked at me. “Thanks, hot stuff.”
I felt myself blush.
Guess that answered that question.
He moved off down the bar and started slinging drinks like he could do it in his sleep. Hanging nearby on the wall was a large flat-screen turned on to the sports channel. I watched that and sipped my beer.
A few minutes later, the bartender appeared again. He leaned his elbows on the top in front of me. “First time in a place like this?” he asked.
I pulled the beer away from my lips and grimaced. “That obvious?”
He laughed. “No, but I usually recognize all the faces. Yours I don’t.”
“I’m not from around here,” I answered.
“Fresh meat,” he mused.
“What?”
“Did you come alone?”
I nodded.
He straightened off the bar and smiled. “Well, you won’t be alone long.”
I didn’t really get the chance to think about that because someone sat down beside me. He was wearing a red flannel shirt and jeans. His hair was light brown, long, and pulled back. He was nothing like Drew.
I smiled at him. “Hey.”
“Hey. What’re you drinking?”
“Whatever the bartender handed me.”
He laughed, genuine.
The bartender stopped in front of him and winked at me as if to say, Told ya.
“Bud Light,” the guy said.
Seconds later, the dark longneck appeared on the bar.
“What’s your name?” he asked, turning back to me.
“Trent.”
He nodded. “Max.”
Max had some scruff on his jaw, a little lighter than the hair on his head. It reminded me of Drew. I’d often wondered what it would be like to kiss someone with facial hair. I wondered if it would feel rough or silky.
Stop thinking about Drew.
“You like sports?” Max asked.
I smiled a little. “Yeah.”
“You look like a guy who plays sports.”
“How about you?” I asked, relaxing a little. It was just like having a conversation with anyone else, but maybe slightly different. In the sense it was okay to really look at him when I looked at him. I didn’t have to pretend I wasn’t taking in his features.
“I watch them on TV?” He laughed.
“Close enough.”
He was telling the truth, because we started talking about some teams and he knew enough to hold a conversation.
When he started flirting, I flirted back. I liked it.
But I didn’t love it.
Apparently, that emotion was reserved for someone else.