- BLAIR -
September, 2016
“Someone’s getting checked out,” my friend Cole said, giving me a chin lift.
I didn’t follow his gaze to the bar because I already knew the type of person he’d be talking about. Most likely a brunette or redhead, long legs, short dress. The usual.
“Ooh, she’s cute,” Cole’s girlfriend, Paige, said.
“I should’ve sat at the other table,” I grumbled and pointed my thumb behind us where all my single friends were. I was sitting with two couples. Of course, they wanted to play wingman.
I still didn’t look at the girl Cole was talking about. I had my eye on someone different. Like the hot blond standing at one of the cocktail tables in the middle of the room. With shaggy surfer hair, a few days’ growth, narrow shoulders, and toned muscles, he was exactly what I wanted.
“Ah,” Sara said, following my gaze. “You’re swinging that way tonight.”
Everyone laughed.
“You really don’t care what you put your dick in, do you?” Hunter asked. Sara elbowed him as I slapped him over the back of his head.
“The girl at the bar is probably looking at you anyway,” I said to him. It was a logical conclusion; Hunter was a recently retired underwear model. He could’ve easily still been one had he not bought his modelling agency and turned into management.
“But I’m taken,” he said, wrapping his arm around Sara and kissing her cheek.
“That still weirds me out,” I said. Mr. Manwhore was off the market.
“I know, right? It’s awesome,” Hunter said.
“Seriously, Blair, the ginger won’t stop staring at you,” Cole said.
Ah, a redhead then.
I spared a glance to the bar. Hmm, tempting.
“You could literally take your pick,” Paige said. “The blond guy is checking you out too.” She cocked her head. “How does he even know you’re not straight?”
I smiled and almost made a joke about our eyes glowing rainbow when we came across another one of our kind but thought better of it. I also wasn’t going to tell her I’d crossed paths with the surfer guy before in a gay bar. I had to keep them guessing somehow. I didn’t want to burst their bubbles that no, not every queer person was born with gaydar.
“Guys, leave him alone,” Hunter said. “Maybe he doesn’t want to hook up tonight.”
My gaze raked over the blond guy again, and I realised how wrong Hunter’s statement was.
They guy made eye contact with me, and his lips quirked up on one side. That one smile made the decision easy.
Hitting on a guy in the vicinity of my friends was still a novelty to me. I technically came out as bisexual when I was twenty-two and had been hiding my relationship with a guy for six months. I was in love with him. He, it turned out, didn’t feel the same. I came out for him, only to have him leave me less than a week later.
Heartbroken, I swore off men for a while. Which, of course, meant my family and friends chalked up my relationship with Marc to be a phase.
Even though my friends were the best friends I could ask for, I didn’t realise there were certain things they weren’t completely comfortable with. We’d known each other since we were kids, and we were the type of friends who would rip into each other over every little thing. Like when Hunter introduced us to Sara a few months ago, we spent a good twenty minutes ribbing him about hanging up his manwhore status and joking about the impending apocalypse. We painted vivid pictures of the devil wearing ice skates and pigs wearing angel wings.
Yet, when I came out and told them I had a boyfriend, I was met with vacant stares and silence. I thought it was from shock, that I needed to give them time. It wasn’t every day one of your best friends said “So, I’ve met someone. His name is Marc, and yes, that’s the correct pronoun.”
Maybe I should’ve broken it to them differently.
When the jokes didn’t come, and then Marc left me, it was over, and so was talking about Blair’s one “gay” relationship.
After the fact, I expected—hoped—they’d start making light of it. There were perfect opportunities. Like when Pip asked Reece to go shopping, I expected to hear “Don’t forget to take Blair. He was gay once.” Offensive? Yes. But I never realised how offensive silence could be until I came out.
I was practically shoved back into the closet. Because if I dated mainly women, I was straight, right? Wrong. So very wrong.
Standing from the booth, I went to head towards the surfer guy, but Hunter grabbed my arm to stop me.
“Maybe you should go to the bar and buy me a drink first,” he said.
“Get your own drink. Or better yet, get your girlfriend to get it. Isn’t that her job?”
“Paige, did Blair just say what I think he said?” Sara asked.
“Yup.”
“Could you please remind him that he rents my boyfriend’s brother’s apartment and that sexist remarks may result in eviction?”
“Bullshit,” I said with a smile. “I’m an awesome tenant. Garrett would never kick me out.” For more reasons than one.
“Pseudo-sister trumps awesome tenant,” Sara said.
But does it trump ex-fuck-buddy? How I wished I could’ve said that aloud. I may’ve been out of the closet now, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t hiding some skeletons.
“Dude, seriously,” Hunter said. “Can you please go and buy me a beer?”
I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you trying to cock-block me?”
“I’m not,” he lied. His voice was too innocent and high pitched. “I just really want a beer.”
“Okay, I know he’s lying,” Sara said. “That’s his lying voice.”
I laughed. “Man, you are so screwed. Your girlfriend knows when you’re lying.”
“I’m not lying,” Hunter said.
“What I want to know is why—” My words died on my tongue when someone walked into the bar.
My life, which was constantly on a tilted axis, finally righted itself for the first time in three months—the last time he was home.
I was frozen to the spot, still standing next to our booth.
He was the complete opposite of the surfer. His black hair was in his trademark Erikson quiff style, his wide shoulders and muscular arms looked even larger than I remembered, and the knowing smirk I knew so well was plastered on his handsome face. And those soulful dark eyes … Damn.
He approached the table but didn’t acknowledge the others. Not even his brother.
“Blair Rhodes, as I live and breathe.” His voice was as smooth as it always was. Confident with a side of cocky.
I cleared my throat. “Home twice in a few months. Don’t you live in Sydney?”
Even though we had a fucked-up history—which was putting it mildly—he always had the ability to make me smile just by entering the room. Even back then when everything was so screwed up.
Five freaking years of back and forth.
Garrett-fucking-Erikson.
He was the only guy I knew who was so far in the closet he practically lived in Narnia.
“Not anymore. I’m back. For good.”
Here we go again.