Leaning Into Touch (Leaning Into Series Book 4)

by Lane Hayes

  There was always something happening on any day of the week ending with a y in the Castro. It was the epicenter of all things queer and cool in San Francisco. I usually gravitated toward the bars where scantily-clad, muscular bartenders served strong drinks with a smile while go-go boys wearing even less danced on tabletops. There was almost always a famous drag queen entertaining the crowd with lewd jokes and over-the-top innuendos. I loved the flirty, life-affirming vibe under disco balls and strobe lights. It made me proud to be part of this community. Life wasn’t always rainbow-glittered and fabulous, but it was a gift worthy of celebrating no matter who you loved. It felt empowering to be among people who felt the same.

  A few co-workers joined Marley and me for a happy hour that lasted well into the evening. We sat elbow to elbow at a sticky table engaged in art geek talk about the newest installations in prominent galleries around the city while Lady Gaga sang her heart out about a “Bad Romance.” I tipped back my fourth margarita and then reached for a tortilla chip, savoring the taste of salt on my tongue and the incessant drumbeat from the speakers reverberating through my body. I licked my fingers with a contented sigh as Marley chattered about the resurgence of pop art in culture with Ellen from the archive department.

  “Everything around you is pop art. This tortilla chip is pop art!” I exclaimed, crunching into the chip with a wacky grin.

  “You’re drunk,” Marley deadpanned. “Raul is on his way. Are you capable of coherent conversation, or should I tell him to back off?”

  “Define coherent.” I held up my hand and then shook my head. “No, don’t. Just tell me about your friend. Wait. Didn’t I tell you not to set me up with anyone ever again?”

  “You always say that,” she said, waving me off. “Raul is about your height with dark hair, dark eyes, and a Spanish accent. He’s from Barcelona, and he’s a waiter at a restaurant a couple of blocks away.”

  “Okay.”

  Marley rolled her eyes. “Maybe I should call Grant to come pick you up.”

  “Yeah, right. You just want to see my hot roommate. Grant’s gay, Mar. Even gayer than me,” I assured her with a hiccup.

  “He’s divine,” she sighed dreamily. “Why don’t you get together with him?”

  “Because he’s my friend. No. He’s more like my brother, and that’s just gross.” I plucked at my collar uncomfortably. “It’s hot in here, isn’t it? I’m hot. Are you hot?”

  “No. You’re drunk. You always get overheated when you drink too much. Have some water.” She pushed a glass toward me meaningfully.

  I ignored the water and stood, somewhat wobbly. “I’m gonna go outside for a cigarette. I’ll see you later.”

  “You don’t smoke.”

  “Oh. That’s right. I’ll pretend.” I patted her curls until she batted my hand away, then I made my way through the maze of high tables to the exit.

  I breathed a sigh of relief when I stepped onto the sidewalk. It was cold outside, but it felt refreshing after the press of bodies in the bar. I leaned against the brick façade next to a group of well-dressed thirtysomethings loudly debating the latest political debacle. Ugh. No thanks. Marley was right. I should go home. I was drunk, and I’d only get into trouble if I stayed out. I pulled my phone from my back pocket and typed a quick text to let her know, then I headed up the crowded street.

  A frigid wind whistled along the sidewalk. So much for being too warm. I wrapped my arms around myself and picked up my pace, grateful I didn’t have far to go. When my cell buzzed, I stopped under a giant rainbow flag near the entrance of another bar to read the message.

  U forgot ur jacket

  Oh. Oops! I dialed Marley’s number and huddled near the wall for warmth when a large group passed by.

  “Sorry. I’m halfway home. I’ll get it from you next time I see you.”

  “Hmph. I have a better idea. I’ll have Raul give it to you over a coffee date. What do you think?”

  I let out a heavy sigh and huffed. “I think you’re tenacious. Fine. I can handle coffee.”

  “Yes!” Marley whooped triumphantly. “You won’t be sorry. Walk safely and don’t talk to strangers unless they’re scrumptious! Bye!”

  I pocketed my phone just as a man on crutches propped open the door of the bar behind me and nearly lost his balance. I hurried to hold the door for him.

  “Thanks. I appreciate it,” he said with a smile.

  “No problem.”

  I glanced inside the bar distractedly while I waited for the man to clear the doorway. I couldn’t remember if I’d ever been inside and that alone was weird. I’d thought I’d hit every bar in the Castro at least once. This one was fancy. Everyone was properly dressed and the music was so low you could hear bits of conversation, and none of it sounded particularly exciting. It looked like a place for grown-ups. Definitely not me, I mused.

  I started to turn away, letting the door slide shut when something caught my eye. It may have been the flash from the flat-screens behind the mirrored bar or a bright article of clothing, but I was suddenly compelled to go inside.

  The bar was tiny but chic. Mirrors lined the walls and retro light bulbs dotted the space, giving it an understated but contemporary feel. The small rainbow flag next to a shelf of premium liquor and the Cher classic piping through the speakers indicated this was a gay bar. Oh yeah, and the sophisticated-looking all-male clientele. The last thing I needed was another drink, but I was intrigued by the subtle sensuality in the air. It was a stark contrast to the bump-and-grind atmosphere I’d just left.

  I found an empty stool near the back wall next to a couple wearing expensive suits discussing trade deficits. No wonder I’d never been here. Everyone looked so polished. And older…or at least more mature. Most appeared to be in small groups and engaged in intense conversations I would have bet big bucks were about things like hedge funds and not about the size of their last conquest’s package. Maybe the note of sensuality I’d initially sensed had more to do with the tequila buzzing through my body ’cause nothing exciting was happening here.

  I stood to leave and accidentally nudged the man next to me. He nodded when I apologized and then scooted his stool sideways to give me room to exit. The small disruption was enough to turn a few heads.

  And that’s when I saw him. Again.

  He was a few seats away from me, facing the opposite direction, but I would have recognized the back of his head anywhere. I marched to his side without thinking and tapped his shoulder.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Um, hello.” Finn gave me a startled look. When he recovered, he raised his glass and flashed a wicked grin. “I’m having a drink. You?”

  I glanced from him to the older gentleman next to him who eyed me with vague curiosity before reaching for his cocktail.

  “Does this guy know you’re engaged? To a woman?” the tequila asked irritably.

  “I am?”

  “Yes, you are. I saw that ring on your girlfriend’s hand today. Actually, I didn’t. But my friend assured me it was ginormous. Does your fiancée know you’re here? Is she okay with you hanging out in gay bars flirting with strangers? Some people are fine with extracurricular liaisons. I wouldn’t be, but we’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you. What’s your deal?”

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I was grossly out of line and on the brink of causing a scene, but I didn’t seem to have control over my mouth. My steady diet of tortilla chips and margaritas wasn’t conducive to clear thought or smart decision-making. I was a loose cannon in desperate need of a muzzle. I was aware of the bartender’s scrutiny and could tell he was prepared to toss me out for harassing a paying customer.

  But Finn didn’t seem angry at all. In fact, he smiled. It was a slow-growing gorgeous grin that widened until it took over his face. It lit his hazel eyes first and then spread until he emanated contagious amusement. At least the guy next to him thought so. His friend barked a laugh then stood abruptly and tossed a few
bills onto the counter.

  He squeezed Finn’s shoulder and gestured for me to take his vacant seat. “It sounds like you two have a few things to discuss. I’ll see you tomorrow, Finn.”

  Finn and I stared at each other for a heated moment. Damn, he was even more handsome up close than I’d remembered. The top two buttons on his white oxford shirt were undone, and his sleeves were rolled back. I fought the urge to run my fingers through the hair on his forearm and set my hand over his larger one the way I did when I thought I had a chance with him. He used to flip his palm over immediately and lace our fingers with an ease that made me think he didn’t realize he was doing it. Maybe he didn’t. Some people were more outwardly affectionate than others.

  “Take a seat, Josh. I have a feeling you don’t need another drink, but it seems rude not to offer.” He smiled at the bartender hovering nearby and ordered another martini. “What would you like?”

  “Nothing. I—oh, what the hell? A margarita with extra salt, please.” I sat on the empty barstool and swiveled to face Finn.

  “And a large glass of water, please,” Finn added before shaking the ice in his glass and turning to me. “I thought you stayed away from tequila. You used to say it made you warm…among other things.”

  “Horny,” I supplied. “But don’t worry, I’m immune to engaged and married men. You’re safe.”

  “Good to know, but I’m neither engaged nor married.” Finn held up his ring-free fingers as proof he was telling the truth.

  “Oh. Who was your friend? She was very friendly. No, wait.” I let out a sigh and shook my head in embarrassment. “Never mind. I don’t want to know. I can’t believe I…I have to go.”

  “Don’t go. You have a drink coming.”

  “I shouldn’t. I—”

  “Sit,” he commanded in a voice that brooked no argument.

  I obeyed just as the bartender set our cocktails and water in front of us. Finn lifted his glass and clinked it against mine. “Sláinte.”

  I studied his stubbled jaw and sharp profile and took the first sip of my fifth margarita. My eyes immediately watered. I coughed and cleared my throat before giving him a sheepish sideways glance.

  “Damn, this is strong.”

  “Just the way I like it,” he quipped.

  “Uh, right. I’ve never been here. I wasn’t going to stop but then I saw you and—”

  “So you were following me.”

  “What? No! Of course not. I haven’t seen you since…well, this morning. Or last year.”

  “A year is a long time. How’ve you been?”

  “Okay, but I’d rather talk about you. What were you doing at the museum today?” I took another sip and motioned for him to start explaining.

  “Looking at art. I love museums. You know that.”

  Yeah, I did. That was one of about a thousand things I’d liked about Finn. He loved art almost as much as I did. I recalled that he was particularly fond of French Impressionists like Renoir and Pissarro.

  “Yes, but it’s Tuesday and unless you opted for early retirement, I thought you had one of those high-stress jobs where your daily mission is to sell, sell, sell.” I raised my fist in tune with the mantra and was pleased when he chuckled. His eyes creased enticingly at the corners, making him look boyishly handsome.

  “Nothing’s changed there as I’m sure Eric and Nick may have mentioned. We’re working on another contract together.”

  “Oh. I didn’t know that. I’m kinda surprised, though. I didn’t think you guys got along.”

  Eric and Nick were two of my best friends from college. They were former lovers who owned a network security firm in the Silicon Valley, that they started after we’d graduated. They’d ended their romance years ago. Eric was married to Zane now, another close college friend of ours, and Nick lived with his boyfriend, Wes, who owned a winery in Napa Valley. EN Tech had grown to become a powerhouse entity in cyber land. I knew next to nothing about what they did. I only knew it made them an insane amount of money. If Finn was reselling Eric and Nick’s technology, it was a safe bet he was doing well too.

  “We went through a bit of a rough patch last year but we’ve come to an understanding of sorts, and I’d say we get on well now.”

  “Hmph. I don’t discuss business with my friends. I’m proud of their success, but I can’t hang with geek talk for long before my eyes glaze over and I fall into a catatonic state.”

  I gave a self-deprecating shrug when Finn snickered.

  “I can’t argue with that,” he said with a grin. “We’re on opposite sides. I can only ask work questions. Nick nearly chopped off my balls when I asked after Wes, so I knew better than to ask how you’ve been. But I’ve thought of you often. It’s strange that our paths haven’t crossed sooner. I’ve been to the museum countless times over the past year. It figures it would be today when it was impossible for me to say more than a quick hello. Perhaps fate sent you here tonight. Either way, I’m glad. You’ve saved me from having to work up the nerve to call. Would you have answered this time?”

  Finn’s voice had a natural singsong cadence that made his small speech sound like a poem. Or a love song. I tore my gaze from his then reached for my cocktail and took a fortifying swig. This was dangerous. I was already tipsy. If I wasn’t careful, I’d forget why I’d avoided his calls. I’d forget that fucking a guy wasn’t the same as having a meaningful relationship. I’d forget I’d never really known Finn in the first place. Maybe that’s why I was here, nursing a drink I sure as hell didn’t need. He was an enigma and I was a sucker for a mystery. Especially one with an Irish accent.

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  Finn pushed the glass of water toward me as he turned to face me. He didn’t back away when our knees bumped. Instead, he pressed his thigh against mine and fixed me with an intense expression. He looked like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure he should. When his eyes wandered to my mouth, I quelled the automatic urge to lick my lips. That was exactly how we’d started.

  We’d met at a party at a gorgeous house in Russian Hill. It was a quasi-setup. Nick introduced us and walked away. He didn’t tell me to get in bed with Finn, but he had to know anyone with a pulse would have a hard time walking away from a guy who looked at you like he wanted to lick you from head to toe. We’d covered a wide array of topics in the crowded kitchen—from travel to music and movies. But when he’d offhandedly mentioned he loved art, I was a goner. Looking back now, I’d bet I was the one who inched into his personal space, laughed a little too long at his jokes and stared into his eyes, marveling at the lovely hazel color.

  In retrospect, I was a freaking slut that night. I hadn’t had much to drink, so I could hardly blame my lapse in propriety on alcohol. I was just a sucker for the handsome Irishman passionately debating Post-Impressionistic versus Modern artists. I’d held my glass in front of my crotch to hide my erection for a full fifteen minutes before moving in on him. One seemingly innocent act, like biting my lip, spurred a response that was taken as an overture. And before I knew what hit me, I was half-naked in a stranger’s bathroom grinding my rigid cock against a man I’d just met. Two hours later, my legs were over his shoulders, and my arms were braced above me in a weak attempt to keep my head from slamming into my headboard as Finn slammed into me. And that was the essence of our six-month affair. Art and sex. We’d meet for a drink, talk about poetry, theater, and art and well before the bill arrived, we were practically vibrating with desire.

  “Tell me what you’re thinking right now,” he whispered in a low, sexy voice as he leaned forward.

  My mouth felt like I’d swallowed a bag of cotton balls. I shook my head and lifted my glass to take another sip before I answered. “No way.”

  He sighed with what might have been disappointment then looked away for a moment. “It’s just as well. Your timing is right terrible.”

  I frowned. “Which one? Right or terrible?”

  “Terrible. Or at least, inconvenient. My
life is a bit complicated at the moment.”

  “Join the club,” I groused.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, looking genuinely concerned.

  I cocked my head and considered Finn thoughtfully. We were over a year ago, but truthfully, we’d never really begun. We were never going to be more than acquaintances. I didn’t see a problem having a heart-to-heart over a drink in a bar where no one knew me with a guy I’d probably never see again. In fact, it could be a sort of fateful catharsis. An alcohol-infused “letting go and moving on” moment.

  “You go first. I bet your ‘complication’ has something to do with the blonde and the guy who just left.”

  Finn gave a half laugh and raised his brow. “Yes and no. The guy who just left works for me.”

  “And the blonde?”

  “Scarlet is my friend. And that’s all we are…friends.”

  “I don’t think so,” I said haughtily. “Something must have happened between this morning and now to end your engagement and that’s why you’re in a gay bar. What was it? Did you find out some creepy nefarious secret and change your mind about tying the knot?”

  He scoffed and shook his head. “Nefarious? Where are you coming up with this nonsense? You must be drunk.”

  “I am drunk. And I know it’s none of my business, but tequila is coursing through my veins and I’m literally a walking time bomb. If there was decent music pumping loudly in here, you could bet I’d be seconds from hopping on this bar to shake my ass. My mouth is taking over where my feet can’t go. I’m a runaway bus picking up momentum on a one-way road. I can’t be stopped!”