Kat Fight (10 page)

Ryan inches closer and gives me the most subtle, irresistible squinty grin. I lose myself in his green eyes and my heart starts peddling. He sits up off the back of the couch and puts one arm over me so that his entire body is in front of me and I’m joyfully trapped under his chest. We still have not looked away from one another. Just then I see his eyes start to slowly scan my face, and he takes one hand and runs it through my hair. Then, looking like I might be the dessert, he starts to scan my entire body. I am breathing so hard that my upper body is noticeably pulsating.

He wraps his arm around the small of my lower back and lays me down on his couch. Then he leans on one elbow, so as not to crush me, and places his lips on mine. I empty my lungs as he starts to kiss me. And as he has done twice before, Ryan Sullivan leaves me breathless.

It’s been a week since my heavenly homemade meal with Ryan, and thanks mostly to our place of employment, we’ve been inseparable ever since. Three of the five days we’ve eaten lunch together, and the other two he was out of the office on meetings all day. Adam, however, is not very happy to have lost me as a companion and keeps texting me pictures of empty chairs, so I’ve vowed to make more of an effort with him starting today.

“Want to grab lunch?” I ask as I approach Adam’s desk.

“Nooner canceled?” he responds smugly.

“Very funny. No, in fact, he’s out at a meeting with Dave.”

Adam crosses his arms in his lap. “And so she comes crawling back.”

“Shall I beg?” I ask.

“No need. You can show your love and appreciation during my birthday celebration tomorrow night.”

Adam is turning twenty-nine this weekend and is nowhere near ready to enter his thirties. Dave has to be out of town for work on the night of his birthday, leaving Adam to deal with that disappointment as well. I try to assure him that Dave’s absence will only up the ante on the gift he’ll get, and that seems to brighten his spirits. Adam has arranged to have me and three of his other friends over for cake, cocktails, and then some clubbing to celebrate his favorite day of the year. Luckily for him, his birthday falls on a Saturday night, and a large portion of Boystown will be out celebrating as well. Boystown is a city neighborhood close to the lake and near the more widely recognized Wrigleyville area. It’s also known as one of the largest gay communities in the country.

For some unknown reason, I rarely party with Adam and his friends. The majority of the time I spend with him is either verbally bashing people at the office or having him tag along with me and the gals. But, I’ve never been to a gay club before and I’m excited about this new endeavor with Adam and his friends.

Saturday night arrives and I’m late as usual. I show up at Adam’s house with the obligatory bottle of wine and a wrapped scented candle from Neiman Marcus, since he’s more concerned with what’s on the outside of the box than what’s on the inside. Adam and Dave live together in Dave’s house, which is a three-story brownstone on North Dearborn. It’s an enormous home for two people and was built sometime around the Great Chicago Fire. It even has a plaque out front giving it some sort of residential landmark status. Adam and I giggle every time we walk up the steps together. Dave bought the place for a bazillion dollars about ten years ago, gutted it, and watched it triple in value. The interior is much more contemporary than the outside and kept impeccably clean and organized. They even have a drawer in the kitchen with a compartmentalized tray, solely for mints and gum.

As soon as I arrive, I’m handed a shot of tequila before I can even get through the foyer. I didn’t think I was that late, but it’s clear everyone else has a head start on the cocktailing. Adam gives me a huge bear hug and introduces me around. John and Darryl I’ve met before, but Rick and I are just meeting for the first time.

Adam places his hands on my shoulders. “Don’t be mad, but we’re leaving,” he informs me, then turns around.

“No cake?!” I ask with disappointment as I follow him into the kitchen.

“Sorry, angel, we started around five o’clock and we’re more than ready to blow this joint,” he calls over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry, but didn’t you tell me to come at nine o’clock?”

“I did, but… blah, blah, blah, have a canapé,” he says and shoves a tray under my nose. “Darryl already called for the cab.”

I stuff a mini mushroom quiche in my mouth. “I can’t get mad because it’s your special day, but I’ll have you know that a lady expects cake when she attends a birthday party.”

He looks me over. “Let me know when one shows up.” He winks and goes to grab his wallet and phone.

“So, did I tell you that Ryan asked me for plans tomorrow, and says he has a big surprise for me?”

Adam stops abruptly and throws up his arms. “Why are you telling me about other people’s big surprises on
my
birthday?”

“Don’t be a brat. I’m dying to know what it is!” I say excitedly. “Did Dave mention anything?”

“Don’t get too excited is all I’ll say,” he says, forcing a yawn.

“Okay fine, I won’t say another word about myself today.” I shake my head.

“That’s ma’ girl. Now let me gather the other ladies and we’ll get out of here.”

John and Darryl have been friends of Adam’s for a few years after they all met at the health club. John has a wild personality and lives for a good party. He’s only about five feet six inches tall, but his personality makes him seem much larger, and he has a loud, scratchy voice that can be heard for miles. Adam is always asking him to use his indoor voice. Darryl is a little more on the professional side. He works in visual merchandising and is always impeccably dressed and groomed. He typically makes me wish I’d chosen a different outfit, regardless of what I’m wearing.

We all squeeze into one cab and a frenzy of cell phone activity begins. Texting, calling, Facebook posting. So much so that I casually check my phone so as not to be left out. Nothing.

The guys begin debating where to go and finally Adam decides on the Manhole, located right in the heart of Boystown. The cab lets us out in front and I immediately start whining about the two-block long line.

“Don’t furrow your brow, little one,” John says, putting his arm around my shoulders. “I bartend here part-time. We’re going to waltz right in.”

“Thank God, because if I’m not getting any action later I should at least get a little V.I.P. treatment tonight,” I proclaim.

“Oh, you’ll get it darling.”

As promised, the five of us walk straight past the line of people waiting to get in, and as soon as we enter the bar area it’s as if I’ve walked in on someone’s family reunion. Adam and his friends know everybody here. I’m getting drinks bought for me, compliments handed to me, and my cheeks are pink from all of the kissing. I feel like a princess. I’d originally thought I would get the least amount of attention in the group. We make our way around the circular bar, chatting, greeting, laughing, drinking. Conversation is a little tough given the volume of the music but we’re managing. After a while Darryl looks bored and suggests we hit the Back Room.

“You up for some real fun?” he asks me.

“Like watching
Pride and Prejudice
with a bottle of Pinot?” I joke and smile at Adam. It’s our favorite film. “The Keira Knightly version!” Adam and I yell in unison, then high-five each other.

Darryl pretends to gag himself then grabs my right arm and starts dragging me forward, so I grab onto Adam with my left hand. We plow our way through the bodies, or torsos as it appears from my vantage point, and arrive at the impending Back Room. Standing at the entry is a muscular bouncer, with a long dark tunnel behind him and flashing white lights in the distance. Over his head is a large sign that reads
No Shirts Allowed
. One by one everyone in my group takes their shirts off and walks ahead leaving me overdressed and alone. I pause, point to the sign and give the bouncer a pathetic shrug with my shoulders. Like, does anyone really care if my shirt is off or on? I’m actually willing to take it off, and kind of want him to make me, but he waves me past with a minor look of disgust. Liquid nerves squashed, I trudge ahead, outfit intact, trying not to be offended.

When we reach the end of the walkway, I’m in shock. The room is enormous, and was so unassuming from the other end of the tunnel. I can hardly believe it. We’re now standing in the middle of at least two hundred shirtless men. All gorgeous, all sweaty, and all in spectacular physical shape. The cliché is at least partly right: not sure the best guys are all married, but they are definitely gay. Out of curiosity, I spin around to see if there are any other women, let alone any other people wearing shirts. There are not. John jumps behind the bar to get us some more shots, and if the conversation was difficult in the main room, it is nearly impossible in the Back Room. Instead of chatting in vain, I choose to take in my surroundings because I can’t imagine the next time I’ll get up the nerve to come back here.

As I slowly glance about the place, dumbfounded by the sea of unattainable would-be-male-models, I turn my attention to the wall and become immediately slack-jawed. There in front of me on what has to be a regulation-size movie screen, is gay porn. Now, in my lifetime, I have seen very little hetero-porn, let alone gay porn… let alone fifty feet of it. Over the thunderous music I can sense my posse laughing at my reaction, but I can’t seem to look away.

Look away, look away
! I try and tell myself, but instead I keep staring with my eyes narrowed and my chin dipped slightly toward my right shoulder. I’m thinking this is a little inappropriate for a nightclub, but clearly no one else seems to be bothered or even distracted by it.

Just then a man wearing leather chaps and resembling Arnold Schwarzenegger circa 1983 approaches us and asks me to dance. This sends Adam and his friends into round two of hysterics. Flattered, I graciously accept. Arnold takes my hand and we hit the dance floor, which is basically the entire room, so my friends are never far away.

After about three songs, all of which sound exactly the same, I thank my half-naked suitor with a big sweaty hug and rejoin the boys. I’m feeling pretty buzzed by this time and keep checking my phone for a text message from Ryan.

Adam notices my desperate, twitchy behavior. “I don’t think you can will it to ring,” he says to me.

“I’m dying to text him.”

“Of course you are, you’ve had eight shots,” he states the obvious.

“What do you think? Should I text him?” I shout.

“Do you want what I think, or what you want to hear?”

“What I want to hear!” I grin.

“You should text him. He already knows you’re easy, what’s the difference?” he says. I give Adam a slap and decide to go for it.

Whatcha doin?

All I could come up with.

Not waiting for you to call me.

He responds.

Thank God I texted then.

I add.

Where are you?

He asks.

The Manhole. Wanna meet us??

I giggle to myself.

I was just there last night, no thx.

He replies.

Lots of naked men, you sure?

I taunt back.

I’m good, thx.

He texts.

What are u doing?

I ask again.

You asked me that already.

Ryan responds.

Oh yeah
.

I say.

Come over.

He replies.

I immediately show the phone to Adam and he rolls his eyes. I love how Ryan just demanded it of me. Like, don’t even bother asking or playing some stupid back and forth game of “what do you wanna do.” I am now riding a major adrenaline buzz, and dying to leave these bodacious bodies and go find my own.

“Buh-bye!” Adam says with a wave and a smile.

“Are you mad?” I ask.

“Mad? I’m jealous. Dave won’t be back until Tuesday. Get your ass in a cab and call me in the morning—better yet, make that the afternoon,” he tells me and gives me a squeeze.

I wave goodbye to the boys and blow kisses as I make my way out of the Back Room and into a cab. I’m feeling pretty good at this point, yet I never bothered to check myself in the mirror before leaving the bar. I can tell that the dancing has left my hair all sweaty at the roots, and that any trace of lipstick probably disappeared hours ago. I wipe under the bottom of my eyelids just in case I have black liner smeared all over.

The cab drops me off in front of Ryan’s building, and I head inside to ring the buzzer. There’s a mirror on the wall in the foyer that I regretfully glance at before moving on. I’m a wreck, hair, makeup, and clothes. I try not to even think about what I must smell like either—a winning combination of sweat, B.O., cologne, perfume, and triple-sec. I adjust my posture and ring the buzzer.

“Hello,” Ryan says over the intercom.

“It’s me, but I’m debating whether I should show my face up there or not,” I yell back.

“Who is this?”

“You’re very funny, but honestly, you actually may not recognize me.”

“Come on up,” he says as the door buzzes open.

I walk down the hallway to his apartment and see that he hasn’t left his door propped open like before. Gonna make me wait for it this time. I knock on the door quietly because it’s about one o’clock in the morning, and I don’t want to alert his neighbors to my trampy behavior. The door opens and Ryan is standing there wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. I nearly fall over backward.

“You know, this look you’re sporting is all the rage at the Manhole,” I say, unable to take my focus off his sculpted abdomen.

“I hadn’t realized that,” he says, and waits about four seconds before speaking again. “Come on in.”

I follow Ryan into his living area and he takes my hand and leads me to the couch.

“So, you guys had fun?” he asks as we both sit.