by Lane Hayes
“I don’t know about a sippy cup, but you’re gonna need a tissue to dry your tears when we’re done mopping the court with you two,” Curt taunted.
We groaned in unison as we dropped our bags next to Jack and Curt’s. I stretched my hands over my head and watched Peter greet Jack with a fist bump while Curt dribbled the ball toward the basket. I waved at Jack, then slowly moved toward Curt with deceptive calm before diving for the rebound when the ball bounced off the rim.
Curt snickered at my over-the-top maneuver and motioned for me to throw him a pass.
“I’m not giving the ball to the enemy. You know the rule.…Boyfriends can’t be partners on the court.”
“Why not? That’s a terrible rule,” he griped as he swiped at the ball.
“Maybe. But it was written for you and Jack because you’re both too damn competitive.”
“That’s Jack. Not me.”
“What am I?” Jack asked. He stole the ball from me and banked a twenty-foot shot before flashing a victorious grin. “Awesome? Oh, that’s right!”
“Case closed. I’m with Jack,” I said in most lawyerly tone before glancing at my friend, whose gaze was locked on his man’s ass. “That’s the other reason you can’t be on the same team. Get your head in the game, buddy. Oh, and one more thing.” I smirked and lunged sideways when he went after me.
“What?”
“We’re gonna kick your ass.”
We played for a solid hour and a half before giving up the court to a gaggle of high school kids who’d been patiently waiting for the old guys to finish. I sucked down my water greedily, wondering when we’d become the next generation. It wasn’t that long ago that Curt and I and a few of our law school friends made a tradition of a weekend pick-up game. We’d knock back a twelve-pack of beer, sprawled out on the lumpy old furniture in our bachelor pad, watching whatever sport was in season. All damn day.
Now we were heading to our married friends’ house for brunch, where we’d hang out as couples, sipping mimosas and Bloody Marys. The conversation would undoubtedly turn toward Jay and Peter’s efforts in starting a family. And somewhere along the line, I would wonder what the hell I was waiting for.
Curt bumped my shoulder when he joined me at the bench. He grabbed a towel from his bag and heaved a sigh before cracking open his water bottle.
“Good game,” he conceded with a wry half grin. “We have to change that rule. Jack may be the oldest one on the court, but somehow he’s the best.”
Jack must have overheard the compliment. He gave Curt a somewhat lecherous pirate’s smile before resuming his conversation with Peter a few feet away from us. I studied the two former lovers, thinking it was hard to imagine them with anyone other than their partners now.
“Is it ever weird to see Peter and Jack together, knowing they were a couple once?” I asked in a low voice before I could stop myself.
Curt looked at me like I’d lost my mind. “The only thing weird is your question, dumbass.”
“You’re right. That was lame. Sorry.”
“Would it be strange for you to see your ex with her husband or boyfriend now?”
“Not at all. But we’re not friends. I don’t even know if she lives in DC anymore.”
“What was her name? I can’t remember.”
“Kristin.”
“Oh, right. Kristin who wanted to be Mrs. Sullivan. And speaking of Mrs. Sullivan—”
“Geez, I thought you’d at least wait till we got to Jay and Peter’s before you started this. For your own safety, I should tell you Aaron will kick your ass if you call him Mrs. Sullivan.”
“I’m not a complete moron, moron. How did dinner go the other night? I was hoping you’d asked him already and that you guys would be making a big announcement at brunch today.”
“So you’d win your fifty bucks,” I finished with an amused huff.
“That would have been nice,” he admitted with a grin.
“I’m not asking Aaron to marry me in a restaurant. Not my style. Or his. It has to be special.”
“Why does the place matter so much? Isn’t it about just popping the damn question already?”
“It matters. Trust me. I’ve been wracking my brain trying to think of something romantic and meaningful, but I suck at romance stuff.”
“You’re forgetting something kind of important, Romeo. Aaron knows that. You’ve been together for four years already. I don’t think the place matters. I think it’s the mood. You create it with something that reminds you of the first time you met or kissed or a special dinner or—you get the idea,” Curt said as he stood.
“Yeah, I do.”
Just like that, I knew exactly what to do. And I was done waiting.
Aaron set his hand on my shoulder as he leaned in to pour more coffee into my cup.
“Are you feeling okay? You barely touched your breakfast,” he observed with a frown.
“Huh? No, um…I’m fine.”
I swallowed hard and tried to crack a smile, but I could tell it wasn’t convincing. My face felt tight, and my heart was beating a little too quickly. I had to mellow out, or I’d have a hard time making it through a day at the office. My mind was already on my after-work plan.
“You don’t look fine. You look…preoccupied. Are you sure you have time to take me to the office? It’s okay if you changed your mind. I promise I won’t be late tonight,” Aaron said as he skirted the island and took the barstool next to me.
“Uh…what?”
He narrowed his gaze. “Something is up. Did your mom call again? If your parents are arriving any sooner than Saturday at noon, I need to know now so I can mentally prepare myself. No surprises, Matty.”
I chuckled and rolled my eyes. “They’re still coming Saturday. Nothing’s changed and nothing’s wrong. I promise. I’ll pick you up at five.”
“And then what?” he asked, cocking his head and giving me a suspicious once-over.
I shrugged and silently congratulated myself on finally pulling off convincing nonchalance. “Dinner?”
“Okay. What do you feel like having? I can take out some chicken to defrost, or we can swing by the market and pick up ingredients for turkey meatballs.”
“Sounds good.”
“Which one?”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Uh…” Fuck, what were we talking about? One second I was in control and the next, I was close to breaking out in a cold sweat. If I made it through nine hours at the office without coming unglued, it would be a minor miracle.
“Dinner?” he prompted, squeezing my hand sweetly.
“Meatballs.”
“Fabulous choice!” Aaron kissed my cheek, then stood and danced around the island.
I let out a relieved rush of air when his happy chatter about side dishes morphed into humming. He swayed his hips seductively and sang in Spanish to a song I recognized but couldn’t name for sure, which was relatively normal. I knew more Spanish now than I did when we first met. Just like I also knew intense emotion was usually the catalyst for Aaron’s abrupt language shifts. Anger, joy, and sadness were accompanied respectively by slamming doors, contagious laughter, or sorrowful tears. My favorite was when he sang in Spanish and danced around the house for no particular reason other than being happy and content.
As funny as that seemed, Spanish was my ticket to the inside. Extreme displays of emotion were simply part of who he was, but to be given access to the unguarded pieces of him was the true gift. Aaron didn’t speak Spanglish with anyone but his family. And me. Everyone else was treated to his version of a Rihanna, Adele, or Madonna classic when he was happy, but I got the favorite Puerto Rican songstress his sister told me he adored since he was a kid. I got salsa, merengue, and everything in between. I got the real Aaron. Inside and out.
I rested my lower lip on the rim of my coffee cup and stared at his ass in his perfectly-fitted chinos. He spun around with a cocky grin as though he’d sensed my gaze and knew wher
e my dirty mind was going. Damn, he took my breath away. I may have been nervous as hell and most likely would be all day, but it wasn’t because I was afraid I was about to make a hideous mistake. It was because I wanted to get this right. I wanted to create a memory worthy of him. One that made him smile when no one was around and move his hips to a song only he could hear. I wanted him to know without doubt that he owned my heart. And he always would.
Part 5-
Details were my forte. At least they were in my work. If you needed a contract outlining transfer of ownership or termination or continuation of services at a high governmental level or for a complex business deal, I was your man. I was known for my ability to crank out thorough, concise documentation in half the time it took other experts in my field without forgetting a single thing. In my personal life, not so much.
I glanced at my watch for the third time in one minute. There was no way I could go home to grab my guitar and drive back downtown to get Aaron after work without being really late. He’d be fine if I called to tell him I’d be another half hour, but he’d also probably suggest getting a ride and meeting me at home. Then he’d wonder why I insisted on picking him up. He’d get suspicious, and I’d get more anxious than I already was. Fuck. I might even lose my nerve. I wanted this to be perfect, but I was already a basket case.
I dipped my hand into my pocket and ran my finger along the edge of the velvet ring box as I peered out the window at the tree-lined pathway leading to his office building’s main entrance. I adjusted the volume on the radio and beat my thumbs against the steering wheel to a Tom Petty classic before glancing at the time again. He was two minutes late. That couldn’t be a good sign. Maybe he knew what I was doing. Maybe he was nervous too and decided to get a ride after all. Maybe he—
“Lucky me! My very own chauffeur!” Aaron slid into the passenger seat and threw his arms around my neck before sealing his mouth over mine.
He tasted delicious…like peppermint and mocha. I licked his bottom lip and glided my tongue over his, caressing his stubbled chin before pulling back to smile at him. This was going to be fine. He was here. That was all that mattered.
“How was your day?” I asked, loving the dazed look in his eye.
“Uh…good,” he said.
He recovered quickly and flashed a brilliant smile before changing the music to an electronic dance song. Then he launched into his version of the daily shenanigans at his elite DC fashion magazine. I turned the volume down and smacked his hand when he tried to commandeer it again. He chuckled but didn’t miss a beat. The photo shoot was a success, the new designer was a doll…and on he went. I hummed or grunted every so often to let him know I was listening, but I didn’t interrupt. His nonstop chatter soothed my nerves. It anchored me to the moment and to him.
“…Marsha actually touched my arm when she congratulated me on a job well done. And she made eye contact. I may have won her over!”
“No flirting with the art director,” I huffed in mock censure as I navigated the BMW down a quiet alley a few blocks from our Dupont address.
“I’m a professional. I never flirt…unless it’s absolutely necessary,” he added, bursting into laughter.
“Hey!”
“Oh Matty, you know I’m kidd—where are we going?”
Aaron glanced out his window, then at me. There was enough daylight to see the confusion on his face, which meant he’d see through me in seconds flat. I had to pull off an Academy award winning performance…starting now.
“I have to pick up some legal documents from a new client,” I answered in a casual tone I thought sounded very reasonable.
“From a dark alley behind a bar after business hours?” he asked incredulously.
Okay, so I sucked at this. I parked the car closest to the rear entrance and swiveled in my seat. I grasped his head between my hands and crashed my mouth over his to stop the questions and to keep myself from saying anything stupid. Aaron moaned into the kiss, encouraging me to soften the pressure and make it right. I complied and let him take over until he nibbled my bottom lip and made a purring sound that went straight to my dick. I pulled back with a strained half laugh.
“Cool it.”
Aaron snickered, then settled into the passenger seat and made a shooing motion with his left hand. “Go on. I’ll think of what we need at the market and make a list.”
“I need you to come with me.”
“Why? You said you just had to pick up some paperwork. I’ll wait here.”
“No. Come on.” I unbuckled my seat belt and leaned over to do his, noting the stubborn set of his jaw. “Please. I don’t think it will take long, but I don’t want to leave you in the car.”
“Fine, but this is a perfectly safe neighborhood, you know,” he groused as he opened his door.
I put my right arm over his shoulder when he met me on my side of the vehicle, mindful of the small box in my left pocket. I willed the swarm of butterflies in my stomach to subside as we traversed the stairs leading to the back entrance of a nondescript brick building. There was no signage to give away our location, though the large trash bins along the alley indicated we were in a commercial zone.
“Do you know where we are?” I infused my voice with conversational curiosity to take any significance away from the inquiry.
“Sure. We’re at a bar somewhere close to home. Are you going to buy me a drink, or is it closed?”
“It’s closed for now, but yeah…I bet I can buy you a drink. Want a kamikaze?”
Aaron chuckled and playfully burrowed his nose under my chin. “I haven’t had a kamikaze in a while. That was my go-to club drink before I realized it was partially responsible for a few epic hangovers.”
I pressed the buzzer next to the industrial-looking door and swiped my clammy palm on my jacket before clearing my throat. “Well, there’s always tequila.”
“Ha! I don’t think that’s a good ide—”
A grizzly-sized man with a shock of red hair and a scruffy beard opened the door with a flourish just then. “Hi there, Matt! Good to see you again. You must be Aaron. I’m Ted. Come on in!”
Ted shook our hands and ushered us inside as though our presence was relatively normal. This wasn’t supposed to be normal. Shit. Did I get the day wrong? I hoped not. I’d be back to square one. There was no way to attempt a repeat if I screwed this up. Aaron wouldn’t buy it twice.
I was so engrossed with my thoughts that it took me a second to register the friendly conversation going on a few feet away.
“Have you owned it long? This place looks familiar.”
Ted stopped at the end of the dark hallway. The cavernous space beyond was draped in shadows, making it difficult to see clearly. The only light was from a votive candle on the bar located at the opposite end. And it was ghostly quiet.
“I’ve been here going on three years now. I haven’t done much to the interior, but I’m hoping to make some minor changes later this year. The bar could use a few improvements. I’ll show you what I mean.” Ted motioned for us to follow him toward the flickering light in the distance.
Aaron shot me an amused grin and started after him. I grabbed his elbow before he got anywhere and then slipped my hand in his. His smile was incandescent. It made light superfluous. And the warmth in his fingers seemed to spread through me like a slow-growing flame.
We walked hand in hand across the room. Our footsteps echoed and formed a backbeat of sorts to Ted’s voice as he described his grand plans for his business. When we reached the bar, he gestured for us to sit before moving to the other side. He set two glasses in front of us and poured a generous amount of vodka in each, then added triple sec and a lime wedge. He was still talking when he pushed the drinks toward us.
“…acoustic tiles need to be replaced too and—oh sorry, here’s a napkin.” Ted picked up our cocktails and set them on tiny white squares.
Aaron thanked him and used the diversion to interrupt our loquacious host. “What’s your club
called?”
“Lumberjack,” he replied, plucking at his plaid shirt proudly. “That’s why I need to add more rustic elements. It’s too slick now. It worked for the previous owner but—”
“What was it before? I know I’ve been here. It’s been a while, though,” Aaron said.
I studied my man closely, wondering when he’d start putting the pieces together. He squeezed the lime into his drink and reached for a second napkin as though this was any night at any random bar. I licked my lips and looked over at Ted, hoping to signal I was ready. I didn’t really know the guy. I’d met him once before and talked about my plan ad nauseam. He seemed like a sweet man who assured me he was genuinely happy to help me out when the time came.
It was time now.
“Club Indigo. Isn’t that right, Matt?” Ted asked, wiping his hands on a bar towel.
“Right. Uh, do you have that paperwork?” I was mortified but not surprised when my voice rose an octave.
“Sure thing. My office is upstairs. Enjoy your drink.” Ted smiled and stepped into the shadows.
When we were alone, I turned to face Aaron and tapped my glass against his. “Cheers.”
Aaron sipped his cocktail, pushed it aside, and stood with his arms raised like he was checking for rain. Then he grooved his hips from side to side to a soundtrack only he could hear.
“Club Indigo. I remember this place. I liked it. It was always packed on the weekends. No wonder it took me a second. I don’t think I’ve been here since—” He stopped mid-spin and went perfectly still. I could almost see him put the clues together. “This is where we met. Kamikazes. He made us kamikazes. That’s what I ordered for us that night, right?”
I swallowed hard and took another sip of vodka before moving toward him. I laced my fingers in his and pulled him toward a short set of stairs.
“Yes.”
“It’s not a coincidence,” he commented in a low tone.
“No, it’s not. I-I know this sounds silly but…this place is like holy ground to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“This was where I was standing the first time I saw you. I was waiting for my friends to get our drinks.” I pointed to the bar as though a phantom group of people might suddenly appear. “The line was long, and I was restless and…I wandered here to see what the dance floor was like. All those men dancing with men. I’d been to other gay clubs with Curt, but something felt different that night.”