by Tal Bauer
Cheeks burning, Tom trotted down the grass, heading for Mike.
“They decide to be merciful and let you play on my team?”
I’m so on your team. We are the exact same team. I’m captain of your cheerleading squad— “I’m supposed to block you.”
Mike grinned. “Good luck.”
He never knew Mike was such a squirmy bastard. He was practically a dancer, wiggling and hopping on his tiptoes, flinging the frisbee over Tom’s head, around his waist, spinning away from his blocks. Tom kept his distance, politely keeping to the rules of no contact, but Mike stepped into blocks, throwing him off balance. He could smell Mike’s skin, his sweat, the sun on his hair. Could practically taste his laughter, the joy rolling off Mike every time he hurled the disc into their end zone.
Since Mike was a team of one, all he had to do was throw the frisbee into their end zone to get a point. He had a worryingly high number of points.
Kris was the de facto captain of their team. He called a huddle, and they all leaned in in a circle, hands on their knees, asses sticking out. “All right, Tom, you go long. You are a catcher, right?” They were on the offense again after another of Mike’s scores.
He flushed at Kris’s pointed words, breathing hard. He nodded.
“Mike will get all up in your business to try and intercept. Just shove your ass in his crotch. Works every time.” Kris winked as Tom’s jaw dropped.
They spread out, and then play began. Tom took off, jogging down the field into Mike’s end zone. Mike darted his way, watching him, watching Kris with the frisbee, watching him again.
Kris flung the disc, yellow plastic soaring into the air. Billy and Jon ran down the grass behind him, backups in case he fumbled. But the frisbee was coming right for Tom, and so was Mike.
Mike leaped, reaching for the frisbee over Tom’s head. Tom jumped too, twisting, pushing his body into Mike’s, and he ended up right in the circle of Mike’s arms, wrapped up in his hold, his hip and leg brushing against Mike’s, their crotches almost-but-not-quite coming into contact.
Flailing, Mike forgot the frisbee as shock broke over his face. His arms pinwheeled and he tried to twist away. Their legs tangled, and then their arms, and the ground came up fast.
At the last moment, Mike wrapped Tom up and twisted, taking the impact. They kept rolling, Mike’s spin propelling them along the grass until Mike ended up on top of Tom, practically straddling him. He pushed back, palms flat on the lawn, sunglasses missing somewhere in the crash, and stared down, worried panic making his eyes go wide. “You okay?”
Tom laughed and laughed. He wanted to reach for Mike, wrap his hands around Mike’s jaw, stroke his thumbs over his stubbled cheeks, and pull him down for a kiss. “I’m great.”
Mike smiled.
And then Etta Mae bowled Mike over, tackling him and pouncing on Tom, licking him ferociously as she checked him everywhere for bruises and bumps. Aaron came running after, shouting and trying to catch her trailing leash. Etta Mae turned to Mike and licked him too, slobbering all over his face. Kris howled from the end of the lawn, falling over as tears poured from his eyes, and Billy and Jon both just shook their heads.
The game wound down after that, and they ended up on Aaron and Carlos’s blanket together, now in the shade in the late afternoon. Bags of chips, a container of guacamole, and bottles of lite beer went around. Etta Mae begged for chips with her big brown eyes, and wheedled Aaron and Kris out of a half dozen. The guys started talking about their friends, people they knew from their expanded circle, and Tom caught names and references to clubs, an art museum, and the volleyball league Mike had mentioned.
Mike lounged by Tom, leaning back on his elbows, ankles crossed. Tom sat cross-legged, Etta Mae flounced across his lap, fast asleep as he massaged her ears.
“I’m glad you stayed.” Mike grinned up at Tom. His sunglasses rested on top of his head, perched on his ball cap. “Even though I thought I killed you.”
“I’m tough.” Tom winked. “But you’re fast. Jeez, you were hard to block.”
“Well, I might have been showing off a bit.”
“Hey!” Kris snapped his fingers. “Are we going out for dinner and drinks, or what?”
“Yeah.” Mike rolled up and checked his watch. “Yeah, happy hour starts soon.”
“I need to go freshen up.” Kris hopped to his feet and stretched, rolling his neck. “I smell like dirty balls and stank ass.”
“That’s ‘cause you have dirty balls and a—” Jon laughed and rolled away as Kris tried to kick him. They squabbled, Kris snapping at Jon and Billy as Aaron and Carlos gathered their things.
Mike stood and held out his hand for Tom. Etta Mae woke and shook, and Tom reached for Mike. His hand was warm, and fit right in his grasp, his skin soft and rough in all the right places. A shiver ran down his spine, imaginary fingers that ghosted over his skin. He tried not to show how weak his knees went. “So, where are you guys going?”
“The Tap Room. It’s a chill place to kick back. It’s off K Street, by Dupont Circle.” Mike slung a backpack over his shoulder.
“Sounds great.”
The rest of the guys bled away, Kris leading them toward Constitution Ave, but Mike stayed behind. He fidgeted, his hands playing with the strap of his backpack. “I’d invite you to come along. I mean, you’re not not invited,” he said quickly, rolling his hands as he spoke. “It’s just— It’s a gay bar.” He sighed, his expression tightening. “And, I didn’t know if you’d be comfortable with that. I mean, you’re a judge, and…” He rolled his hands again, gesturing like he was signaling to invisible pieces of evidence, exhibits A through Z of Tom’s Potential Bad Decisions.
He was a judge. That was the reason he was in the closet, right? He couldn’t be both gay and live his life. His old professor, and society, had made that abundantly clear. He couldn’t appear…
Couldn’t appear what? Like he was alive? Like he was a man? Like he was a living, breathing human being with wants and desires and dreams of his own?
There were ten other openly gay judges.
Why couldn’t there be eleven?
Fear crawled up his bones like roots sprouting from the earth, spewing rationalities and excuses that flayed his trembling courage. This was too fast, too much. An afternoon in the sun, hanging out with Mike. That was more than he deserved. Anything beyond that was pushing the boundaries of good sense.
But… he could test the waters, perhaps. Go and step into a gay bar again. Be among his people. Get a lay of the land. And, if he was spotted, if he was asked, if his name appeared in the papers or was spoken about in hushed voices, he could say he was there with friends. Just there with friends.
He was a shitty person, thinking the thought. Using Mike and his friends and this offer as a way to test his extremely pathetic courage. Just call him the cowardly lion. He was a man with training wheels still attached. Did he have floaties on his arms, in case he went into the deep end of life?
Mike stared at him, biting his bottom lip. A question hung in his perfect blue eyes, the color of the sky above their heads. The corners of his eyes were pinching, and he started to look away.
“I’d like to go with you guys.” Tom swallowed. “I had a great time. I haven’t had this much fun in…” He blew out, losing count of the years, the decades. “I like your friends. I’d love to stick around, if that’s okay?”
Nodding, Mike smiled, exhaling like he’d held his breath. “Yeah, ‘course. They like you, too. I think Kris has a little crush on you.” He pushed his shoulder into Tom, a gentle, playful nudge, and started walking.
Tom laughed, his cheeks burning. Etta Mae trotted ahead, tired after her day at the Mall. She didn’t pull as hard on her leash. “I need to drop Etta Mae off at my house first. She needs dinner and I know she wants a nap.” Etta Mae turned her head, as if agreeing.
“I’ll walk you.”
He couldn’t say anything that would convey the warmth in his chest, the feeli
ng of the sun rising rose gold in the sky just for him, so he said nothing at all.
He invited Mike in when they got to his place. Mike whistled as he walked up, eyeing the old DC style, the Victorian trim and historic neighborhood. “I wanted a place like this. Alas. Government salary.”
“I understand completely. I saved for years.” Tom let Etta Mae off her leash and she trotted inside, heading straight for her water bowl. “Bathroom is there, if you need it.”
While Mike ducked into the hall bathroom, he poured ice into Etta Mae’s bowl—she was waiting expectantly; she only drank chilled water—and then started prepping her dinner. By the time Mike reappeared, his face washed, hair wetted and combed, and sporting a zip-up hoodie that was obviously two sizes too small, Etta Mae was halfway through her dinner.
Tom looked at Mike and then down at himself. “Should I change?”
“What? No, you’re fine.”
Tom arched both eyebrows at Mike, slowly. “You look like you’re about to break the seams on that hoodie and I…” He waved his hand over his rumpled polo.
Mike’s cheeks flared crimson, and he looked away, looked down, coughed and shoved his hands in his hoodie’s front pockets. “You look fine, Judge B.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll be right back.” He headed for his stairs. “Let her out when she’s done, please.”
He sprinted for his bedroom and his closet. Jesus Christ, what should he wear? He ransacked his shirts, pulling out t-shirts and polos and discarding them as quickly as he tore them from their hangers. A pile appeared behind him, more shirts on the ground than on the rack. Cursing, he grabbed a long-sleeve gray pullover, a cotton shirt from an amateur swim competition he’d participated in years ago. It had shrunk a bit in the wash. He squeezed into it, and stared at himself in the mirror.
Well, it showed off his shoulders, and if he pulled up the sleeves, his forearms looked decent. It hugged his hips, too. At least he’d never developed a belly.
The door downstairs opened and shut, and he heard Etta Mae’s nails on his hardwood. Time to go. On the way, Tom grabbed a ball cap and plunked it on his head, and then thundered down the stairs. “All right, I’m ready.”
Mike smiled, gave him two thumbs-up, and gestured to the door.
“Etta Mae, get some rest.” She was already climbing the couch, ignoring him completely. “I’ll be back later.” She flopped onto the throw pillows with a sigh, her eyes drooping closed. “Don’t go crazy while I’m gone.” A huff, and then she went boneless, already asleep.
Tom rolled his eyes and followed Mike out the front door.
His stomach knotted as they walked, and he eyed Mike with a sidelong stare. Oh. He should have realized— “Is your boyfriend coming tonight?” He’d already figured out that Mike’s boyfriend wasn’t one of the guys from earlier.
Frowning, Mike spun. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”
“The guy from last night? Who you were meeting?” As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Tom wanted to shove them right back in, grab them out of the air and swallow them whole. He probably wasn’t Mike’s boyfriend, but that didn’t mean Mike wasn’t late for their scheduled rendezvous. “Right now”, as GrindMe called it.
“Oh!” Mike laughed.
Shit Shit Shit
“No, that was just Kris.”
“You and Kris are…”
“Friends,” Mike said firmly, fixing him with a look. “Best friends. But friends only. I told him I’d go with him to an art exhibition last night. He was really looking forward to it, and I forgot all about it.” He cringed. “I was a little late. But he had a good time.”
“That’s good.” He didn’t know which part he was talking about: Kris, the art, or Mike not having a boyfriend. God, he was ridiculous.
“I’m sorry I had to leave like that. I felt terrible. I didn’t mean to ditch you. We can try again tonight.” He grinned, that one-sided dimple coming back, carving into his tanned cheek.
And then they were at the Tap Room, and Mike guided him in through throngs of men. A rainbow flag billowed by the door, and globe lights bathed the patio in a warm glow. A gas fireplace shivered in the middle of the patio, flames rising from a copper bowl filled with black sand. Wood and wicker chairs were scattered, men lounging in groups and sipping beers and cocktails.
Inside, high tops and tables crowded the wooden floor, and a line of men hung out at the bar. The din was loud, voices rising and falling, laughter carrying over everything. Dartboards hung on the side wall, and two pool tables clustered together in the back. Tom spotted a younger man flirting wildly as he played against a businessman in a suit with his tie pulled loose. Both were grinning and practically undressing each other with their eyes.
“Over here.” Mike leaned close and steered Tom with one hand on his hip to a table against the wall. Kris, looking stunning, like he’d just stepped off a runway in Milan, batted his eyelashes and pursed his lips, blowing them a kiss. Aaron, Carlos, Jon, and Billy clustered around Kris, all drinking beer. Kris had a pink Martini in his hand. He passed it to Mike as they came close. Mike took a sip and passed it back.
There was only one barstool and Mike gave it to Tom. He perched on the edge as Mike leaned close. “What would you like?” Mike’s breath tickled Tom’s hair.
“What’s good?” He turned into Mike, their cheeks nearly brushing.
Kris watched them, his gaze burning holes in the side of Tom’s face.
“They have good mojitos and their Mexican Martinis knock guys on their asses all the time.”
“I’ll try one of those.”
Grinning, Mike headed for the bar. Tom watched, and spotted one of the bartenders making a beeline for Mike, ignoring five other guys who were there first.
“Disgusting, isn’t it?” Kris rolled his eyes and sipped his cocktail. “I always make him get our drinks. He’s got that masc thing going. The boys go crazy.” Kris folded his arms and leaned forward, bracing on the table. His shirt, silk, puffed open, unbuttoned like he was Prince from the early days. “So, Tom. Tell me about you. You’re a lawyer?”
Everyone was looking at them, now. All of Mike’s friends, turning and listening and watching him. He shifted, straightened. “Uh, yes.” Mike had kept that he was a judge from them. Was that to protect him? Protect his image? Panic bubbled in his belly. Did he need to protect his image? Should he get out of there, right now? “Yes, I’m a prosecutor.” He’d rewind time just a little bit. Just over a year ago. “Assistant United States Attorney. I work in the criminal division.”
“So you prosecute the murderers and the gangbangers and the drug dealers.”
“Yes.” Tom blinked. “Are you a lawyer?”
“No. I work at the State Department.” He sipped his Martini again. “But I keep up-to-date on current politics.” His eyes bored into Tom’s. “How long have you known Mike?”
Shit. “About a year. He was assigned to one of the high-risk cases I was a part of.” Where was Mike? Kris was going to shred him. He was under cross-examination, and his alibi was as flimsy as tissue paper.
“He’s a great guy, isn’t he?”
Something he didn’t have to lie about. Tom smiled, his shoulders unclenching. “He really is.”
Kris lifted his Martini and raised it to him, a tiny toast, and then took a sip. He never took his eyes off Tom’s, and as he drank, he winked.
“Here you go!” Mike reached over and dropped a Martini glass in front of Tom. It was filled to the tip-top, and some sloshed over the edges. “Sorry!” Mike sucked Mexican Martini off his thumb as he leaned against the table, facing Tom. Kris rolled his eyes.
“Thanks.” God, he needed this. He needed about ten.
Kris and Mike started talking, bantering about a volleyball game coming up. Tom listened and then tuned them out as he took in the bar, the people around him.
He’d done it. He’d come to a gay bar. He was back among his people. Of course, no one knew he was truly one of them. No one knew that he w
as home, that he felt more comfortable here than he did walking around in the mask he wore every day. Men flirted at the bar, and he watched the signs, the play of a man making a move on another man. A gentle touch to his chest, a caress. A show of wrist. A bat of the eyelashes. Sweet, coy looks. God, he remembered that, remembered having another man look at him like he was something to be desired, something that another man craved.
He jumped when a hand landed on his shoulder. “Whoa!” Mike smiled. “Just me. You okay?” Mike watched him carefully, as if trying to gauge whether Tom was about to bolt.
“I’m great.” He turned back to their table. Kris had disappeared, and Jon and Billy had their heads together. Aaron and Carlos were heading for the darts and checking out every guy they passed. They were clearly on the hunt.
Mike slouched against the table, his back to the wall, facing Tom. Tom turned toward him, and his thigh brushed Mike’s. The bar was cramped, and they were so close, closer than they’d ever been before. Well, except for when Mike had straddled him on the grass.
“Not too crazy for you?” Mike nodded to the bar, to the men, and the music.
If only you knew. A part of him clenched, knowing that he was keeping something big, something huge from Mike. Something fundamental. It wasn’t right, but… He wasn’t ready. Not yet. “It’s great. This is a wonderful place.”
It was. It was so happy, so vibrant, so full of life. So unlike the dark bars he’d known, the anonymous places where you could find anything from a dancing partner to a dark room in the back, and a silent, anonymous body to hold. Or the neon clubs, filled with enough drugs to reanimate the dead. There’d never been a place like this, where people were so plainly happy with their lives, with their place in the world. With an open patio and starlight shining down on them, and the content feeling that they had a place in the world.
He could see men eyeing Mike up. Mike was the most gorgeous man in the bar, and other men knew it.