A Kind of Romance (14 page)

“Home.”

“Liar. Try again.”

“I’d be at a different bar doing the same thing.” I looked out the window and sighed heavily. “Maybe I just need to get laid.”

“Maybe. But you’re giving off a menacing vibe. It might be better if we go someplace where you don’t have to talk much to a potential partner. Someplace with bright lights and loud music. I’ll buy the next round. Then we’re going dancing!”

I groaned on cue. I hated dance clubs and Carter knew it. “Buy me three more and we’ll talk about it.”

He tipped his glass against mine and grinned. “You got it.”

TWO HOURS
and a few drinks later, we were ready to move on. The only problem was… I was sober. I couldn’t say why, but after my second beer, getting plastered no longer seemed like a good idea. I nursed a glass of water with the third drink and was more than a little surprised Carter didn’t question my sudden lack of interest in alcohol. If he was serious about going to a club, he knew I needed liquid courage to get on the dance floor. I was the world’s worst dancer. If I wasn’t stepping on someone’s expensive shoes, I was shuffling my feet cautiously with my arms glued to my side like a character from a 1980s video game. Not pretty.

As we made our way up Bleecker Street, swapping old college stories, I’d already decided to head home after escorting Carter to the next stop. I wasn’t in a hurry, though. The evening was pleasant, and Carter was in one of his funny, nostalgic moods. We were laughing like idiots about a prank involving water balloons that morphed into an ill-timed decision to go skinny-dipping in the English department chair’s private Jacuzzi. We’d been absolutely sloshed and failed to gauge the adverse effect of heat on the balloons we piled into the water.

“The look on Professor Thompson’s face when those balloons started popping was priceless!”

“I just can’t remember why we decided to get naked,” I mused, wiping a tear from the corner of my eye. “That had to be your idea.”

Someone passed me on the sidewalk and apologized for bumping my arm. I glanced up and nodded. Then I stopped in my tracks when I saw the flutter of rainbow flags at the bar across the street. I grabbed Carter’s arm and pointed. He gave me a blank stare and started to walk away again.

“That’s Gypsy,” I stated unnecessarily.

“We aren’t going there,” he stated firmly before heading in the opposite direction.

“Wait! Benny’s there.”

“First of all, who cares? Didn’t you say he was on a date? Sane people don’t follow guys on dates. And second, Gypsy is a cabaret bar. Not our kind of place. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I don’t know,” I answered in a deadpan voice. “Hey, we’ll have one cocktail and take a quick peek around. The clubs will be boring until midnight anyway.”

Carter smacked his forehead and heaved a sigh. “You’re going through a rough patch, aren’t you?”

We sidestepped a group of locals dressed for a night on the town as we crossed Christopher Street and headed toward the neon lights and rainbow flags flanking Gypsy, a renowned Greenwich gay bar famous for show tune sing-alongs. Broadway greats were known to come downtown after a show to lead the bar’s patrons in an impromptu song or two to the accompaniment of an old upright piano. It was one of those rare places that straddled the line between campy and cool with flair. However, as a gay man who avoided camp like the plague, I didn’t come here often. The last time had been with Taylor, I thought with a frown. He’d loved this place. Yet another reason for Carter to question my sanity.

I made a one-drink signal as we approached the crowded entrance and jockeyed for position behind a couple yammering excitedly about it being Sondheim night.

Carter growled loudly in my ear. “You owe me big-time, Gulden.”

“I know. Just hang by the bar while I look around. I won’t be long.”

I pushed past the mob at the front and then stopped to survey the packed space. It was hard to get a feel for the layout because every available table was taken. There were generous windows along one end of the large space with the bar directly opposite. A buff, middle-aged man built like a linebacker played a familiar tune on the piano at the front while the patrons seated closest sang along loudly. It looked like a scene out of a movie, down to the fishbowl glass filled with dollar bills atop the old upright. I knew there was a second floor where the cabaret shows got a little steamier later at night, but I had a feeling if Benny was here, he’d stay downstairs to sing along loudly with the other musical enthusiasts.

This kind of place was a mixed bag. It could be full of gay tourists from the Midwest one night, theater queens the next, or a smattering of everything in between, including the regular locals. Tonight looked like a theater crowd. They tended to dress a little nicer and sing along to every song with a passion I found… disconcerting. Don’t get me wrong, I liked musicals just fine, but fanatics were another story. It didn’t matter if the discussion was about politics, religion, or twentieth-century Broadway trivia. The know-it-all who lived to outsmart mere mortals with his or her superior knowledge of current events, the Bible, or God help me, Rogers and Hammerstein, was not the person I wanted to get stuck sitting next to at the bar.

I scanned the area nearest the windows and spotted Benny sitting alone at a table for two. The chair next to him was vacant, which I took as an invitation from the gods. I scooted sideways in between the cramped tables and flopped dramatically into the seat next to him. Benny turned toward me with a cautious smile that quickly dimmed as recognition dawned.

“What are you doing here?”

Good question. I didn’t have a plausible answer, so I ignored it and concentrated on him. He was wearing a snug-fitting, bright orange shirt with an interesting squiggly design and dark jeans. His hair was artfully messy, but there was no added color. I wondered what, if anything that meant.

“I was in the neighborhood.”

“Are you drunk?” he asked warily.

I wasn’t, but… acting inebriated seemed like a better option than trying to explain why I was here. A sober me didn’t do shit like this. But a drunk me definitely might.

“Maybe I’m just intoxicated by you,” I quipped in an over-the-top lascivious tone.

“That’s corny. And a little creepy.” He glanced up when a waiter appeared a moment later. “I’ll have a cosmo with sweetened lime juice instead of cranberry and a smidge of grenadine, please.”

It sounded disgusting, but I heard myself say, “I’ll have the same.”

When the waiter left, Benny turned to me with a scathing look. I bumped his elbow playfully and tried to think of something to make him smile.

“You come here often?”

He huffed a short laugh, but I thought I detected a glimmer of humor. “You may want to update that book of pickup lines you swallowed.”

“I’ve got a couple more. Let’s see…. Damn, if being sexy was a crime, you’d be guilty as charged. Or how about…. Do you work at Starbucks? Because I like you a latte.”

He chuckled and shook his head in disbelief. I loved the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. I starred shamelessly for a moment and barely caught myself from reaching out to touch him.

“Are you here with someone?” he asked.

“Is that a line?”

“No. It’s a question.”

“Oh. Yeah. He’s over there somewhere.” I pointed toward the bar without turning around.

“You mean the tall hunk waving at you?”

I turned on cue. Carter was indeed waving manically. I figured he was impatient to move on. I held up a hand to stall him before I swiveled back to face Benny.

“That’s Carter.”

“Day-um,” he whistled.

I chuckled lightly. “Should I be jealous?”

“That’s a weird question, Zeke. Contrary to the story you made up for your ex’s lover at the bowling alley, we’re not really boyfriends, remember?”

“I remember. I’m not even sure we’re friends, but—” I brushed his bangs away from his eyes when the desire to touch him overruled reason. “I think I have a crush on you.”

He held my stare and narrowed his eyes. “You
must
be drunk.”

“I’m telling the truth. I like you.”

“I like you too but—” He smiled at the waiter when he set the pink concoctions in front of us. “We aren’t—”

“We might,” I challenged, raising my glass in a toast. To what? I had no clue. I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I was fueled by an intense desire I didn’t understand. “The thing is… I can’t get you outta my head, and I don’t get it. I should have walked right by this place and not thought twice about it. I shouldn’t have spent one minute wondering about your date and hoping you hated the fucker. And it’s not because of my dad either.”

“What does your dad have to do with anything?” His nose twitched as his brow creased in curiosity. Fuck, he was cute.

“He doesn’t have anythi—never mind. Where is your date?”

“He’s on his way.”

“Hmph. Let’s go somewhere we can talk. It’s too loud and gay here. Come with—”

“No.
I’m
gay and I like it. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m not ditching my date or engaging you in a ridiculous conversation.”

“You’re a tough cookie, Benjamin.”

“I am. Now beat it. I’ll see you for coffee.”

“Did I agree to coffee? Let’s talk about that,” I said as I reached absently for my glass. It turned out to be a generous pour. Pinkish liquid sloshed over the brim and onto the table. It was an accident, but the clumsy maneuver gave credence to his assumption that I was under the influence.

Benny smacked my hand like I was a naughty child and gave me a stern look as he wiped the mess I’d made with his napkin.

“Go home and sleep it off. If you were of sound mind, you’d admit you don’t really want me… you just want a repeat of Wednesday night.”

“Yeah, that was hot. But no, I want more next time.” I tilted his chin toward me and gazed meaningfully into his eyes before adding, “I want to blow you too.”

Benny threw his head back and laughed. “You’re a smooth operator, Gulden.”

I chuckled. Pretending to be plastered was oddly freeing. And in a setting like this, I could say things I wouldn’t over a cup of coffee.

“Look. This isn’t normal for me. I don’t have a problem finding willing partners, but I don’t want just anyone. I want you. I think we oughtta explore this… physical attraction. I’ll go one step further and say it’s probably best for our health and well-being.”

Benny snorted and held up his hand. “Stop. I’m not having a conversation only
I
will remember in the morning. I’ll say something totally embarrassing and then obsess over whether or not you heard any of it. And when you avoid me, I’ll assume you freaked out in the light of day and were wondering how to let me down easily.”

“So you’re afraid you’ll fall for me,” I commented in a serious tone.

He rolled his eyes and pointed toward the bar. “Go find your friend.”

I ignored him and reached across the table to take a sip of his cosmo. I wanted to needle him, and I wasn’t above resorting to collegiate idiocy tonight. The instant flash of annoyance made me laugh and encouraged me to turn up my act a notch. “Nope. We have to settle this first. I’m gonna prove my sincereness.”

“That isn’t a word,” he said haughtily.

“My dad thinks I should buy you flowers or somethin’ but—”

“Your dad?” Benny’s eyes bugged out.

“Yeah. I guess I could buy you some in the morning, but what about now? How can I prove I’m sincere?”

Benny’s face was a picture of incredulous shock, and yeah, I was perversely pleased that I’d managed to surprise him. Until he recovered and pointed at the piano man.

“Sing for me.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me. Choose your favorite Sondheim song and sing.”

“By myself?” I squeaked.

“I’ll sing with you. We’ll do a duet of your choice. Tony can play anything. It’s best to keep it upbeat, even though you’ll hear at least ten sappy versions of ‘Send in the Clowns’ tonight. I love that song, but if I wasn’t a die-hard fan, I’d lose the will to ever hear it again after a night listening to people butcher their way through it.”

“You’re messin’ with me, aren’t you?”

“Not at all,” he replied smugly. He moved his drink out of my reach and cocked his head as if to say the ball was officially in my court.

“I don’t know any Sondheim songs. And I don’t sing,” I said before adding in a low voice, “or dance.”

Benny narrowed his gaze. “Everyone knows a Sondheim song. You probably just need a refresher. And everyone can sing… and dance.”

“It isn’t fun to listen to someone who sucks. And trust me, I suck. Anyone who knows me will agree I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

“Do you know
any
show tunes?”

“A couple. My mom’s a big Gershwin fan.”

“Me too,” Benny said with an exaggerated sigh. “Some of those songs are so romantic. I think I’ll know when I meet the man of my dreams. He’ll sing old standards to me in the moonlight and—”

“Oh brother. Which one?”

Benny stared at me for a moment, then let out a soft chuckle. “I was teasing, Zeke. You don’t have to sing.”

“Not so fast. We had an agreement.”

“We did? What was it? Gershwin for a blowjob? Come on, that’s—”

I stood abruptly and pulled at his hand. “Genius! Let’s do this.”

He pulled back and furrowed his brow in confusion. “It doesn’t work like that. You don’t just waltz up there and demand the microphone. You put your name on a list and wait for your turn.”

I picked up his cosmo and took my first big swig of the night before setting it back on the table. “Yeah, yeah. If you spend your life waiting for permission, you’re liable to miss some fun. Let’s go, Ben.”

I didn’t wait for his response. I grasped his hand again and dragged him with me toward the piano before my sudden burst of courage fled.

“Hiya, Tony. We’re ready. How does this work?”

The piano man glanced up at me with the studied bored countenance of someone who’d dealt with his fair share of idiots and was prepared to put an immediate halt to my nonsense. He paused when he spotted Benny at my side.