High Balls

by Tara Lain

  “I thought of that.” She sighed. “Sorry. I should just keep this whole thing to myself.”

  He sat back in his chair. “No. You did the right thing. But it’s possible he was just fishing to see your reaction, or, if we really give him benefit of the doubt, he might not have realized how creepy he sounded.” She gave him a look, and he shrugged. “Would you feel comfortable waiting to see what he does next? Then, if he persists, we can go to Dr. Ashworth together.”

  She frowned a little but nodded. “That would be fine, Mr. Walters. I’d sure feel better if you were with me. Colleges aren’t notoriously kind to women’s sexual harassment problems.” She stood. “Of course, I think Dr. Ashworth is kind of a homophobe, so maybe I have it better than you.”

  He looked up at her. Shit, news to me. “Why do you say that?”

  She shook her head. “If you haven’t felt it, maybe it’s not true. I hope not. It’s just my mom met him at a church function once and said he was a real piece of work. All Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve, and crap like that.”

  “Maybe he’s grown. I haven’t been aware of it.”

  She grinned. “Of course, somebody practically has to push you off a cliff before you know you’re high, Mr. W. You do give people a lot of leeway.” She grinned. “And that’s why I came to you. Thank you for listening.” She left his office.

  Well, damn. Suddenly that tenured position he dreamed about felt far, far away.

  Chapter Two

  IT TOOK another hour before he finished his second appointment and handled the problems of one drop-in who thought he should have gotten a higher grade on his pop quiz. After Theodore assured him that iambic pentameter wasn’t a medical term, the kid left with a frown, searching Wikipedia on his phone.

  Man, tired. He hauled all the papers he still had to grade out to his Toyota, loaded them in the back seat, and joined the flow of cars back toward the beach—Friday gridlock in earnest.

  He hit a wall of traffic in Laguna, and he found himself staring around, looking for the guy on the Harley. Ten minutes later, he’d barely moved a couple of inches past the light at Main Beach. Jesus, this could take all night. Maybe an accident at Legion Street.

  Following a car ahead of him, he cut into the left-turn lane and managed to make it around the corner at the crowded intersection on a yellow light. Still jammed. He glanced ahead and saw the sign for the Bay Bar. He used to love the gay-friendly place when Esther was still alive. They’d go in and she’d pick out fantasy guys for him. Even though he seldom acted on her choices, it was fun dreaming.

  A car pulled away from the curb like some intercession from the universe, and Theodore pulled in so fast his tires probably squealed. A parking spot on the street in Laguna on Friday night had to be honored. Okay, you didn’t look that gift horse in the mouth. Now what?

  A car hovered behind him like the driver expected him to pull out. No way, buddy. He climbed out of the car and beeped the lock. What the hell? It was Friday night, there was no seven-year-old waiting, and he could use a drink.

  Walking up to the Bay Bar brought a rush of bittersweet memories. Esther, hugely pregnant, waddling in beside him. He’d get scoped by a gay guy whose eyes would then fall to Esther’s belly, and his leer would crumble from his face like old wallpaper.

  Tonight, almost two years since Esther told him she had cancer and died three months later, he pushed open the door by himself. Most of the tables were already taken, but several stools at the long bar still sat invitingly empty. Theodore slid onto one of them. A burly, gray-haired bartender ambled over. “What can I get you?”

  “Beer would be fine.”

  “Preference?”

  “You have Bohemia?”

  “Yep.”

  “That’ll do.”

  As the bartender bent down to the refrigerators, Theodore looked in the mirror and checked the other patrons. Not really cruising, but hell, it’d been a long time. He wouldn’t bring strange guys home when Andy was there. Sure, Andy knew his dad was gay, but that didn’t mean Theodore would risk exposing his son to some drug addict or worse if he chose the wrong date. Conversely, he didn’t want Andy to get attached to someone who’d end up leaving. Bottom line—Theodore spent a lot of time with his good right hand.

  The bartender put a bottle of Bohemia and a glass on the bar in front of him. “Do you mind settling up? I’m off in five, and it’s easier on the next guy if he doesn’t have to keep track of my tabs.”

  “Sure. No problem.” He tossed ten dollars on the bar like he had a lot more of them. The bartender made change, and Theodore handed it back to him. “Thanks.” Theodore turned on the barstool and surveyed the room. A number of couples occupied the tables—both male/female and male/male. One lesbian pair canoodled in a back corner. At the largest table in the place, five guys, all dressed like they’d come from work, tipped glasses to their lips, but one of them stared levelly at Theodore while he did it. The guy was attractive if you liked the real white-collar type with gym-toned arms and a middle that wasn’t quite winning against sit-ups. Do I like him? Should I smile?

  Theodore looked in his glass. Maybe not. Don’t quite know what my type is, but that guy doesn’t seem to be it. He sipped his Bohemia and stared at the peanuts. The place was filling up fast. Probably just finish the beer and go home and study. Give somebody else the barstool.

  “Would you like another one?”

  Theodore glanced around. What a great voice—soft, kind of musical, deep, but not intimidating. He shivered.

  “Uh, can I get you another beer?”

  He turned and—holy crap.

  The bartender—the new bartender—stood with head cocked, gazing at him with a little smile. That would be a smile that turned up the fullest, lushest, most kissable lips in recorded human history. Girly lips. But there all girliness stopped—despite the shiny dark hair that flicked at his neck and chin.

  He stood over six feet tall, forearms muscled, shoulders wide, cheekbones so high they left hollows beneath. His eyes were cat green, visible even in the dim light, and that green matched some of the colors in the tattoos that decorated his arms, emblazoned the swath of chest visible in the open neck of his black T-shirt, and crawled up his neck to nearly meet his pierced ears. The bejeweled ears, in turn, matched his nose and upper lip. Jeeee-sus, it only made Theodore think of all the other places that must be pierced. Where do I sign up for a tour?

  “So? Not drinking?”

  “Oh, uh, sorry. Sure. I’ll take another.” Can’t give up the view.

  The bartender nodded and bent down with his back to Theodore, allowing a sighting of slim hips in tight denim and several tattooed inches of skin bared by the gap between jeans and shirt.

  Could this be him? Harley man?

  Theodore’s whole body vibrated, which qualified as pure nuts. In Wikipedia, where it said stereotype macho, alpha male, how-can-you-be-so-obvious romance hero trope, this guy’s picture dominated the page. Still, he couldn’t stop looking.

  Mr. Bartender set the bottle on the bar, twisted the cap with big, scarred hands, and placed a fresh glass and a napkin beside it. Then, with a slow lifting of eyes that clearly must come from a Lifetime movie, he gave Theodore a grin and went off to handle more dedicated drinkers.

  Theodore swallowed hard.

  Customers crowded around him now, leaning into the bar to get drinks from the two bartenders hustling them. Still, he felt alone. Yep, just him and his cock, which currently occupied so much space it should have been knocking over other patrons. He sipped his beer and tried to look casual as his gaze followed the bartender on his rush from one drink to another. Graceful for somebody so big, he poured and stirred like a symphony of sex. Every woman and half the men at the bar wiped saliva from their chins. Theodore’s drool could have ended the California drought.

  Damn, got to go. This is stupid. I don’t have money for beer I don’t need. He glanced at the packed bar. The table of business guys had been replaced by a bunc
h of academic types. Might be people from the university. Don’t want them to think I’m a drunk.

  He was fishing in his pocket for payment plus a tip big enough to apologize for staring like an idiot when a man shoved between him and the next barstool.

  “Hey, buddy, let me buy you a drink.”

  Theodore looked up at the guy who’d been staring at him earlier, now a few libations worse off. Apparently he’d stayed when his buddies left. “Oh, thanks, but I’m just going.”

  “Nah, let me buy you another beer. Least I can do for somebody so pretty.” He laughed and exhaled alcohol-tinged breath all over Theodore’s face. “You better say yes, or I’ll tell the bartender you’re not old enough to drink.” He grabbed Theodore’s chin, hard. “Look at that gorgeous baby face.”

  Theodore wrenched his chin from the dude’s sweaty grasp. “You’re sweet, but I don’t need any more tonight.” Theodore continued his search for money.

  The guy grabbed his wrist hard. “If you don’t wanna drink, I can think of lots of other things to do with that pretty mouth. Let’s go put it to work, shall we?” Asshole yanked and Theodore yanked back, but the guy outweighed him by fifty pounds—the pure shit of being an eternal twink.

  People stood all around, but how much of a scene did he want to make? This wasn’t a gay bar, just gay-friendly. Nobody hooked up in the men’s room or gave blowjobs in the alley. Well, most people didn’t. Plus the academics at the table were staring. Shit, hell.

  The asshole leaned into Theodore’s ear as he dragged him off the stool. “Come on, baby, let’s go to my car. I got somethin’ for you.” He cupped his crotch. Yew!

  Suddenly the guy flew back like he’d been grabbed by a meat hook. Theodore flew with him but managed to pull away before he ended up in a pile of barflies.

  The bartender stood behind the asshole holding his arm—tight. He smiled, but it came nowhere near the grass-green eyes. “Hey, man, don’t mean to spoil your fun, but you’re messing with my boyfriend, so I think you might want to go find some other friends.”

  The asshole’s eyes widened at the packaged alpha experience in front of him, jerked his arm away, and forced a smile. “Sorry, buddy. Didn’t know. He was alone.”

  “Yes, well, as you can see, I’m working, so he’s waiting. But in future, I’d suggest you not assume that all men alone are interested in your company. Ask first. At least when you’re in the Bay Bar.”

  A woman in a business suit yelled, “That goes for women too, asshole.”

  A couple of people applauded.

  The bartender slipped his arm around Theodore’s shoulders, surrounding him in the scent of alcohol, sweat, and some smell like tangerine that Theodore would gladly inhale as smelling salts. “Come on, honey. Let me walk you to your car.”

  Jesus, what a scene. Still, he couldn’t help wishing he’d parked farther away.

  Outside the door to the bar, cool air did little to clear Theodore’s head. The bartender walked a few feet down the street, still sheltering Theodore in his embrace, then stopped and looked down at him. “You okay?” That sexy voice sounded like vocal moonlight.

  Theodore nodded. “Yes, thanks to you.”

  “I’ve seen that guy in the bar a few times, and he’s generally bad news. Sorry he bothered you.”

  Theodore glanced at his shoes, then grinned up at the big man. “Interesting way you chose to get him off me.”

  He shrugged. “I’ve found that method is less likely to escalate into a full-on brawl.”

  Theodore nodded. Kind of disappointing.

  “Not that I didn’t get a belt out of suggesting you’re my boyfriend.” He laughed.

  “Why? So people can look shocked?”

  His face sobered a bit. “No. Because you’re gorgeous and I’m gay.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Hell yeah.”

  “My, you certainly enhance the genre.” He returned the dimples. Big Guy crossed his arms, which brought the tattoos into focus—which in turn helped Theodore focus on the serious dumbness of standing on a street in Laguna with a guy who looked like he might rob his grandmother. This wouldn’t help his academic image. “So I guess I better get home.” He glanced up. “Do you by any chance ride a Harley?”

  “Am I that much of a cliché?” He grinned, and Theodore’s heart threated suicide.

  “No.” That was kind of a lie. “I saw you earlier on the north Coast Highway.”

  The bartender cocked his head. “Old Toyota? Almost caused a crash by stopping in the middle of a turn?”

  “That would be me. Uh, my car had a hiccup.” No, my cock had an attack.

  “You should get that looked at. You must be some kind of English professor.”

  Theodore’s eyebrows rose. “Am I that much of a cliché?”

  “Just a guess. The way you talk, I guess. Genre? And those professor types in there who glanced at you like they might know you.”

  Damn. “Yes, I’m guessing they’re from the college. I didn’t recognize them, but I’m just a lowly PhD candidate and English instructor—for now.” He stuck out his hand. “Thank you again for rescuing me. I’m Theodore, by the way.”

  “Theodore? Not Theo or Ted or Teddy?” He shook slowly.

  Theodore laughed, but it probably sounded a little hollow. “When you look like a twelve-year-old twink, you do everything possible to be taken seriously.”

  “Hey, well, I’m not a guy to take anything too seriously, so—” He touched Theodore’s cheek with one finger. Even though his hands were rough, they smelled clean from all the washing. “I think I’ll call you Teddy.”

  “As in Bear?”

  “Maybe it will balance the twink image.” He released Theodore’s chin and laughed. “By the way, I’m Snake.”

  Theodore’s mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Of course you are.”

  Snake laughed all the way back into the Bay Bar.

  Chapter Three

  “DON’T YOU just love swordfish?” Jimothy clapped his hands together, and Theodore tried to smile. Yep. Jimothy.

  “More than life.”

  Mary gave him a glance, and her hubby, Burt, clearly tried hard not to spit his beer across the restaurant.

  Theodore held up a finger. “Just quoting Pretty Woman.”

  Jimothy clapped some more. “Oh yes, Julia. I simply love Julia.” He plunged back into his meal with extended-pinky gusto.

  Okay, Theodore might be gay and look like a twelve-year-old porn star, but Jimothy redefined queen. Theodore chewed his salmon and tried not to cast vicious glances at Mary. Come on, man. People think you’re as much of a queen as Jimothy. Be nice. “So how did you get your unusual name? I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before.”

  Jimothy smiled. “My two dads took me in when I was ten. My name had been Tom, but I was so grateful, I wanted to show them in some way. One is Jim and one is Tim or Timothy, so I made up Jimothy.” He smiled sweetly and kept eating.

  Theodore swallowed. Take that, you self-righteous, superior prig. “What a nice thing to do. I’ll bet they loved it.”

  Jimothy smiled and nodded. Mary flashed Theodore a glance dripping with I told you so.

  Theodore sighed very quietly. “I’d love to hear more about your hair-dressing business.”

  Jimothy beamed so big his lean face should have cracked, and he started to talk.

  So an hour later, he’d heard the ins and outs of every fashionable cut and color with some skin care thrown in. Yes, the guy’s sweetness did get through to Theodore, even if he kind of wanted to tear his hair out if he heard one more styling tip.

  Suddenly Jimothy looked up, bright-eyed. “Why don’t we go to the Bay Bar?”

  Theodore almost gasped. I didn’t send him a psychic message, did I? He wasn’t just of two minds. More like three or four, but Mary almost leaped at the chance. “Oh yes. I love that place. Remember how we used to go there, Theodore?”

  Theodore glanced at her. Just a teeny bit bored with BB c
ream, are we, dear heart? He nodded. “Yes. With Esther.”

  Her face sobered. “Yes.”

  Burt started gathering his stuff and tossed a tip on the table. He clearly wanted out too. Mary said, “Why don’t you take Jimothy, dear, and we’ll go in our car?”

  No. Way. Out.

  At least Jimothy changed his topic to how much he loved Laguna as they drove the few blocks to the bar. Theodore’s heart beat so hard he could barely hear him. Maybe he won’t be there. That made him sad too. Dumbass.

  “Oh you’re so lucky to get to live here.” Jimothy made his hand-clapping motion again.

  “Yeah, I know. But honestly, we give up a lot to stay in town. My son and I live in a tiny apartment over a garage. If we went inland, we could have more space.”

  “Why don’t you?”

  “I want Andy to grow up in an eclectic place with lots of influences. Most of Orange County is so damned conservative. Plus I want him to have the fresh air and access to the beach.”

  “How do you happen to have a son? Did you come out late?”

  “No, not exactly. I think I knew I was gay a few days after I was born.” He pointed to the lot down the street from the bar. “Here. I’ll see if there’s a spot.”

  The parking lot guy gave him the last space for an exorbitant price, which Jimothy offered to share—and Theodore let him. They walked away from the lot toward the Bay. “Thanks. I appreciate you helping with the cost.”

  “That was such a rip-off. I figure you must need your money for your son. My dads always made sure I had the best they could afford.”

  “Do they live nearby?”

  “Oh yes, I live with them. We live in Costa Mesa. Jim’s had some health problems so he’s retired, but Timothy still works in advertising. I do fairly well, so I can help with all the expenses.”

  “That’s really great of you.”