“I’d like that. Will you put it on me?”
Angel made a circling motion with her finger and Nina turned. She lifted up her hair while Angel reached around her neck. The heavy ring settled between her breasts, solid and intimate.
Nina turned back to find Angel looking her up and down. “Damn, you look good, pretty baby, wearing nothing but my necklace.”
Nina felt good. She felt beautiful. She felt… owned. She knew it wasn’t a collar, but it felt like a lot more than a piece of jewelry. It was a promise.
Time for You
Interlude
Charlie
“So, Charlie... When’s Carla stopping by?” Nina’s voice sounded innocent, but Charlie had been asked this question too often to fall for it.
“No idea,” she said gruffly. It was true. She had no idea when or if he was ever going to show up, though he’d started stopping by two or three days a week, usually before the bar opened. Since he worked at a high school, he was usually done by about 3:30 and he tended to wander in while she was setting up or just as they opened.
Not that she was paying attention or anything.
Nina met Charlie’s eyes. When they’d first met, Nina had been nervous and shy, hardly able to make eye contact. Now she didn’t put up with shit from anyone.
Charlie had a lot of respect for her. And she already knew she wasn’t going to like what she had to say.
“Charlie, you know that I love you and I want you to be happy…”
Yeah, she really wasn’t going to like this.
“But Carla’s head over heels for you and you don’t give him the time of day. You need to either make a move or stop stringing him along.”
Charlie’s mouth dropped open. “I don’t… I’m not…” She had no idea what she was even talking about. Carla was head over heels for her? It wasn’t possible. And she wasn’t stringing him along. She knew he couldn’t really be flirting with her; it was just his sunshine and rainbows personality. It was best to shut down any innuendo before Charlie started imagining things that could never happen.
Making a move? Absolutely out of the question.
“Charlie, he could be good for you.” Her voice was low and sympathetic. “I think you could be good for each other.”
Charlie made a noncommittal grunt. Carla was full of life and energy and passion. He had so much to give the right partner—and to hear the gossip around Whirlwind, he did so on a regular basis at the kink club around the corner.
He was apparently a Dom, and a popular one at that.
Reason #1,394 why things could never work between them.
Not that she understood everything that it entailed, but between her gossipy customers and even more gossipy employees, she’d figured out enough. There were some parts of it that sounded… really interesting. But it wasn’t for her.
“Did the others put you up to this?” she growled at Nina.
Nina shrugged. “They did… but really. I want you to be happy. You give everything to the community, and you deserve some happiness, too.”
Charlie grunted again. “I’m fine.”
“Charlie just… give him a little bit of your time. Get to know him.”
“I give him plenty of time. He’s here practically every day.”
Nina gave Charlie’s hand a gentle squeeze. It wasn’t something she probably would have done before Angel came into the picture, but with her new girlfriend she was a new kind of confident. Warmer and more open.
Charlie wanted something like that.
But not with Carla.
That was impossible.
Chapter 1
Charlie
Charlie wiped down the taps one more time, though they already shone. It wasn’t like she could really hide from Carla anyway. He’d parked himself at the bar where it looked like he intended to sit until they opened in an hour.
“Any plans this weekend?” Carla’s voice was warm and upbeat. You could hear the perpetual smile even when you couldn’t see it.
“I’m pretty busy. Lots of work to do around here.” It was only partially true. There was always work to do and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a vacation.
After seven o’clock tonight, though, she didn’t have any plans. Nothing worth reporting to Carla. Why was he even here, with his laughing hazel eyes and carefree charm?
Charlie felt her cheeks flush, so she kept her head down. She couldn’t even look at him without tingles racing through her body.
She reminded herself that all of his flirting didn’t matter. The way that Carla had looked right at her once and said that his favorite kink was rope… It had looked like an invitation, but it couldn’t mean anything. It probably wasn’t even something that she’d like, right?
Though she might have looked it up once or twice. It looked… interesting.
It also looked like it was for young, skinny people, with flexible bodies that fit their designated genders.
Charlie was just a tired old butch, imagining things that would never happen. She threw the towel into the bin, since she wasn’t cleaning anything anyway.
Finally, she left the safety of the bar and began unstacking chairs from the tables. Carla followed, uncharacteristically quiet. He was standing too close, working the same tables with her. Her elbow accidentally brushed his side and the warmth of the contact lingered long after.
Why did she never know what to say around him?
He was always so talkative and open, easily flirting and making friends with anyone who came in. He was the draw that brought everyone in for trivia night, and in between rounds he chatted with guests like they were family. He’d often come early and stay late to hang around with her at the bar, telling stories about the silly teenagers at the high school where he was a social worker or sharing bizarre snippets from the news. He was like a ray of sunshine, and she could have listened to him all day. Not that she would ever tell him.
She was actually pretty good at chatting with people too, though she did it from the safety of the bar. She’d picked up the trick of listening, getting people to confide, and she could joke around with people she knew well. It was completely different from Carla’s easy sharing that brought a smile to everyone’s face.
She stole another glance as she moved to the next table. There was also something about the way he dressed that was just so… well, she didn’t know. He always wore collared shirts with bow ties and suspenders. Which should have looked masculine, except that the patterns were all paisley and flowers and pink stripes. Feminine materials from a bygone era, in a masculine style that made him look like a dandy from the roaring 20’s.
He always wore hats, too. Trendy, old-fashioned ones like French berets, or newspaper boy hats. He’d even worn a top hat one evening, paired with a black jacket with tails over a soft peach button-down. The whole ensemble made her think of words like dapper. Though she suspected that the word hipster would have applied, too. Not that she was keeping track of his clothes or anything.
She looked up before moving to the next table. OK, so she was noticing his clothes.
Today he wore a black collared shirt with little red squares and short sleeves. He’d paired it with red suspenders that curved just slightly as they traced the sides of his small breasts. Even with the binder or sports bra that she assumed he wore, they were still softly there, drawing her eyes. His tight, red corduroy pants and thick black belt did nothing to hide his gently curving waist or generous butt.
Sometimes when she watched that belt, she almost forgot to breathe. The way it was so dominantly masculine around such an alluring swell of hips. It was both confusing and sexy, or maybe confusing because it was so sexy.
Carla wasn’t who she was supposed to be attracted to, for a million reasons. So why was she always so breathless when he was around?
She noticed that his bow tie was coordinated in color today, though the diagonal red and black stripes should have clashed with the square pattern of his shirt. Yet they
didn’t because they’d been paired so intentionally. She’d noticed that his neck was slender under the collars and bow ties, delicate against the manly style.
Naturally, he’d accessorized with a black cap from under which his silky, black bangs flowed even though his head was shaved around the sides. She wondered for a moment what that contrast would feel like. Would the clipped sides be spikey or downy? How would the longer tresses feel slipping through her fingers?
No, she wasn’t thinking about that. No matter how his eyes flashed out at her from under those too-long wisps of hair.
Now he’d caught her looking, too. He wore a little smile on his thin lips, like he knew a secret that he’d be only too happy to share if she’d just ask.
But she couldn’t ask. She could barely even open her mouth.
It was fine when they were discussing business. Carla had shown up four years ago with a business proposal: he’d host a trivia night once a week and keep half of any proceeds beyond the normal Tuesday night take. It had seemed like it was worth a try and even if it didn’t work, it wouldn’t cost Charlie anything. But it had been a roaring success, gaining them not only a dedicated set of trivia nighters and guests, but also committed regulars who came on other evenings.
In between, somewhere, they’d become… friends? Though none of her other friends made her pulse race like this. No one else flirted with her so outrageously or made her laugh so much. No one else showed up randomly just to talk to her.
Or stood so close.
She moved to the next table, trying to ignore the thrill of Carla’s presence.
Carla took down one of the chairs. “Eric’s seat,” he commented lightly.
It was true. The chairs at this table practically had nametags on them for the growing trivia team that seemed to always be there in couples and trios and double dates. When Eric came in with his boyfriend, Micah, this was always the seat he chose. Dakota, Ben, and Parker had stopped by last night to play pool, though it always looked like foreplay, the way that Dakota rubbed up against the other two. Angel practically lived at the bar, flirting and waiting for Nina to get off work.
Of course, Carla was good friends with them too, sometimes joining them for a meal before the game started.
So, the two of them had common friends. Kind of. Did that mean anything?
Finally, Charlie made it to the back corner where the highchairs were stacked, still trying to concentrate on her work, though her thoughts came in whisps. Who knew that her bar would one day serve families with children? Queer families with children. But they came anyway, with their toddlers and noise, ordering chicken fingers and fries and leaving by seven. She liked seeing all of their familiar faces, and often stopped to chat when things got slow.
It was one of the perks and drawbacks of being a bartender. She seemed to know everyone’s stories, but they didn’t know hers. Not that anyone would be interested anyway. She was just a dried up old butch and the bar was her life.
Which is why she was still wondering, Why is Carla here?
Actually, why wasn’t Carla talking? Usually he chattered a mile a minute. Today, without any words to fill the air between them, she could only think of the shape of his body and the way that it moved in the intimate space between the closely-packed tables.
She lifted another chair, not looking in Carla’s direction, even though he was standing directly across from her. He was humming one of the songs that was always playing on the Spotify station that he’d recommended for the bar. Even at a hum, his voice was mellow and warm, filled with life.
He’d been right about the music, too. When she’d switched from old CDs to the new channel, she’d started to see more people singing along, and even getting up to dance sometimes late at night. That meant they bought more beer.
Of course, she wasn’t going to mention that she liked the music as well. It felt fresh and young, even when she felt so old. Not old like Tom and Frank who came by almost every evening to reminisce about the pre-Stonewall days. But too old to fit in with the young folks who came by the bar with their preferred pronouns and loudly advertised kinks.
Folks like Carla.
She still didn’t quite understand why Carla used a feminine name and masculine pronouns. Why not just go by Carl, or use she—something that matched? It had seemed odd at first, but now it was automatic. They both seemed to fit him.
Maybe if she were younger, she would have done something like that. Changed her name or hormones or body.
It seemed exhausting, though. The staff had pins with their pronouns, and the black apron that she would toss over her head in a few minutes had a she/her button on it.
Sometimes she looked at it and it was like some foreign language. Seeing it there made it look like she’d planned it or something. Chosen it.
She wasn’t sure that she had. Did she have to wear the button at all?
Those were the types of thoughts that Carla made her think about. He ran support groups for trans and non-binary kids. She knew that if she asked Carla about his own pronouns, he’d be happy to answer at length.
She could probably also ask him about his ancestry—Asian, European, and something else, as far as she could tell, with his golden skin, glistening gray eyes under thick eyelids, and silky hair. Middle Eastern? Native American? But they’d never talked too much about personal stuff when they were getting to know each other.
Now she always felt so tongue-tied around him, like a stumbling teenager.
They made it to the last few tables. Things certainly went faster with two pairs of hands. Carla disappeared from Charlie’s side, and she told herself not to watch where he went.
She hadn’t invited him here or asked for any help. She certainly didn’t need to be watching his mesmerizing ass in those tight red pants.
He was her employee for crying out loud. Kind of. Business partner? Contractor? She mostly paid him out of the tip jar off the books, and the rest wasn’t enough to report taxes on. They didn’t even have a contract, and she was pretty sure she’d never gotten his I9’s. So he wasn’t really her employee.
Which still didn’t explain why he’d showed up just before opening when it wasn’t trivia night. Why was he in the back room, anyway?
He popped out with a broom and began pushing it under a corner table that hadn’t been properly swept the night before. She’d been too distracted to notice until he started pushing crumpled napkins and shriveled fries into a pile. He whistled another popular tune.
“I’m not paying you for that,” she snapped out. She hadn’t meant to say that at all. She was never so rude to anyone else.
On trivia nights he always stayed behind to help clean up, even though they’d agreed that she wouldn’t pay him. Though she secretly padded his half of the evening’s income to at least cover what she would have paid an employee for the time.
He laughed out loud, his slightly crooked teeth on display and his eyes sparkling. “No, Charlie, I wasn’t expecting you to.”
Then he tipped his hat, like he was in some black and white movie. With that broom he could almost be Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins. If she mentioned it, he’d probably break out in a dance routine.
“Then why are you here?” She was feeling defensive. Off balance. She knew that he wasn’t rolling in dough as a school social worker, but he was OK for money and had a nice apartment somewhere. Trivia night was a side gig that he’d started in grad school and just never stopped. “Do you need a favor or something? Because you don’t have to butter me up. Just ask.”
“Hmmm…. I suppose you could think of it as a favor.” He was smiling like it was a joke, though. Not laughing at her, but inviting her to join in his joviality.
That only made her more nervous. “What is it?”
“Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner?”
“What?” She hadn’t been expecting that at all. He couldn’t be serious. “Like a date? I can’t. I…”
He drew nearer, holding the broo
m in front of his chest like a bouquet of flowers. “Yes, like a date. And why can’t you?” His voice carried mischief, like he was indulging her.
She gestured vaguely between them. “Look at us. It just… it wouldn’t work.”
She thought he would move away, but he instead he got closer, nodding for her to continue.
Her tongue felt tangled in her mouth. She never said these things out loud. It didn’t help that he was standing so close that she could almost feel the heat of his body. “Because I’m… I’m old.”
“How old are you?”
“Over fifty.”
He raised one eyebrow and waited her out.
“Fifty-one. That’s over fifty.”
He chuckled. “In that case, I’m almost forty.”
Well, what did that mean? How old was he?
He took pity on her. “I’m thirty-six. So there’s fifteen years between us, hardly anything.”
“That’s practically a whole generation.”
Carla rolled his eyes. “We’re both adults. And in case it wasn’t clear, I find you very attractive.”
“You do?” Charlie could hear the shock in her own voice. She hadn’t meant to stay that out loud.
“I do.” He stepped closer. His eyes devoured her, making her feel tingly and desired.
“I… I should stock the bar. Nina’s running late today.”
“But will you go out with me?”
“I… no!” She hadn’t meant to snap, but everything just felt off tonight. Carla couldn’t possibly mean it, and she needed to cut this off before she got her hopes up. She couldn’t even figure out how it would work.
“I don’t want to push you if you’re not interested. But if your only concern is our ages, then I’m not concerned at all.”
“But we’re also… look at us! We’re both…” She waved a hand between them.
“Genderqueer? Masculine-of-center?”
“Butch,” she grumbled.
Whirlwind Page 31