TYLER
“Stop being a diva, Ty. Go and say hi.”
My friends have been pushing me into the arms of any willing man for the past sixteen years, and for the past sixteen years I’ve avoided their ministrations triumphantly. Well, with the exception of that one time five years ago. That was a lapse in judgement. I’ve since learned not to listen to their wisdom on men.
“I’m tired tonight.”
“Ty, he’s pretty. Go on,” Troy states absently, as he’s gazing into the eyes of his sweet husband Jax.
Jax and Troy want me blissful and excited to see the sun rise every day, just like the giddy schoolboys they are. Decidedly, I suck at relationships. I’ve learned I’m a horrible judge of character when it comes to men and my heart. Sexy, bag of rocks for brains—most times—and a willing cock is what I find. My meter tops out once I see their beauty, my brain shuts down, and it doesn’t see the lacking morals they offer. Now, after so many horrible stabs at love, I don’t give a shit if I’m alone forever.
I’m working towards becoming the first gay nun of New York.
After a multitude of young beauties, my heart has been trampled, crushed, torn to shreds and tossed into a blender. What’s left are the scraps of the Tyler who could’ve been happy. It’s been a few years…well, in all honestly, more than a few years of this shitty, mopey, grumbly, browbeaten, craptastic New Yorker. I'm alone and wishing for love, but when I find a relationship worth trying, I get ahead of myself. They turn out to be manwhores, and I find out one moment later than I should have.
I end up a mess and broken all over again.
There’s not enough ice cream in the world to drown my sorrows.
So I stopped trying.
Sipping my drink—some fruity concoction—I explore the room. As usual, the bar is full of beautiful men. Brainless oafs just searching for the next fuck to remove the taint from their last. There’s no need to get up off my chair. There’s no use in talking to any one of them because they’re all the same.
Man, I’m foul. More and more I’m becoming a hardened bitch, all because I can’t find love. I’ve tried. All the men in New York are the same. At least it feels that way.
Seeing my unease, Tig moves on to tales of his newborn daughter. He and his wife, Tessa, were back to joining us on these nightly romps after their oldest was able to be alone. But with the new baby, she’s home once more doing the feeding, changing, and sleeping when the little bundle allows. I miss her. She directs our conversations to things other than me and my single status.
Nudging my shoulder, Julia, the true queen in the group, smiles and speaks over the loud speakers that pump the thumping beat. “The conference is in two weeks. Are you ready for it?”
Shaking my head and rolling my eyes gains me a heavier nudge.
“Come on. You know you’ll enjoy it,” she chirps.
“Like they care if I show or not. Most of the governors that are coming are only joining for the freedom to get out of the office.”
With a quirked brow and a ‘you’ve gotta be kidding me’ grin, Julia shakes her head while running her tongue across her teeth. She’s within inches of falling down drunk. Her man, Rush, better be here to take her home; otherwise, I see trouble in our future.
The night we invaded the Whiskey speakeasy she had us ejected. Her strip tease slash table dancing caused an all-out frenzy as the other women in the bar joined in. I’ve never seen that many womanly bits flashing around. If I wasn’t secure in my gayness, I might’ve been enticed.
As I’m pulling her drink slowly away, she pouts. “Julia, the last thing we need is Rush’s imposing frame shutting us down once more. He may own the bar, and he may yield to your whims, but this is pushing it.”
She waves her hands around. “Pish, posh. Leave my rink arone, Tyler.”
Smiling, I laugh. “That was almost English, Jules.” It only encourages her further, but oh well. “I think you’ve had enough. Besides, don’t you have to work on a deposition in the morning?”
Taking the drink back, sloppily gulping the Manhattan, I watch as it dribbles down her chin until she reaches the cherry. Opening her mouth wider, grasping the stem and pulling it with a ‘pop’ noise, the cherry is no more.
“Tada!” She laughs, wiping the drip from her chin with a table napkin.
To look at her right now, you’d never believe this drunk mess is one of the most powerful lawyers in New York.
I love her husband. He’s gruff, harsh, and imposing, but he’s sweet, loyal, and would defend any of us as his family. And if that fun governor shows...
“Julia!”
Never mind. The fun governor has arrived.
Tossing her arms in the air, she screams, “Linc! Come have a rink!” She hiccups, then smiles as she rises from her seat.
“They’re called drinks, Kitten.”
“Lincoln. Come on, just one.” With a monster pout, Julia flops back onto the chaise. Honestly, I love seeing her like this. The prim, proper, contained Julia acts like the good old Keenan we first met. Meeting Keenan while she had no memory of her past, she was a bit...amusing. Julia is regimented.
He shakes his head. “No, love. I just finished a work out, and now I want to work out with you.”
“Oh.” Julia beams. “Can we go to upstairs?”
“No. Time to go home, Kitten.”
She sticks her bottom lip out so far, it almost hits her chest. “Please?” she whines.
Sticking his hand out to her, he grins. It's easy to see she's won.
“Yeah!” She jumps up excitedly, yet wobbly. “Oh. Too much vodka.”
“That’s it, Kitten.” He hoists her over his shoulder. “Let’s go. Home time.” Hearing her whine and grumble doesn’t deter Rush in the least. “Night. boys.” He smirks and turns toward the door.
Watching him leave, and her still trying to change his mind, I know that now is my time to exit gracefully. “I’m going home. I have an early day at work,” I say, rising and moving around the table.
“I should be going too. Tessa will need help in a few hours,” Tig states, guzzling the last of his drink.
After our goodbyes, the two of us hit the sidewalk outside to hail a ride. “Next time, right?”
It’s the running joke. Next time I’ll meet a guy worthy of my time. “Yep. Next time,” I say to Tig as he hops in his Uber.
Standing on the curb alone, I wait for my ride to pull up. “Next time it is,” I mumble to myself.