“I can get us out of this, if you want,” I said, looking past my own reflection in the mirror to Ken. He was standing slightly behind me, fiddling nervously with a few errant curls on the top of his head. The man looked gorgeous, and I couldn’t find fault with his hair or his outfit, both of which seemed to be causing him stress.
How he could fret about his appearance was a baffling mystery to me. His tall, hard, frame meant clothes—off the rack—fit like they were made for him. It didn’t matter what they were, either. Scrubs—sexy. Preppy polo and slacks—sexy. Suit and tie—sexy. Jeans and T-shirts—sexy. Sweatpants and compression shirts—sexy as fuck.
Don’t even get me started on his birthday suit…
Standing next to him, examining both of our reflections side by side, I felt a twinge of insecurity. Usually, a disparity in physicality wouldn’t bother me. A few inches in height or even several pounds difference in either direction, was never anything I cared about. But with Ken, it wasn’t just a matter of a couple of inches and a couple of pounds. It was also brighter eyes, stronger jaw, straighter teeth, fuller lips, shorter nose. And—god damn it, something I did not want to think about—thicker hair.
For a couple of light-eyed, blond men in their thirties, we couldn’t have looked more different.
Discordant.
These were feelings I didn’t have on the regular. When I looked at him, I felt happy. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I felt content. I loved how Ken looked and I recognized my own unusual assemblage of features were attractive in their own way. Plenty of men—Ken included— let me know the sharp face and lithe body was a turn-on. No, I had a good grasp of my own appeal.
I just wondered if, to the outside, we seemed mismatched.
In the mirror we did.
From the inside, we didn’t. From the inside, we felt harmonious.
Ken stopped messing with his hair and connected his eyes to mine in the mirror.
“Babe, for the seventeenth time, I want to do this. I want to know your friends.”
I smiled at the use of the pet name. He, unlike me—who barely ever called him by his real name, preferring a multitude of cutesy and bizarre terms—didn’t feel very comfortable using them. MST3K was abandoned after the first attempt, and he said Honey reminded him of his grandmother, so he only busted out the Babe occasionally.
In the three weeks since our official first date, he’d only really used it as a softener to preface a slight scolding. Babe, I don’t care which one is McSteamy or McDreamy. Babe, we don’t have time for round two, I’m going to be late for work. Babe, I’d rather contract bacillary dysentery than watch this dancing show.
His use of the word now meant he was tired of me overthinking our night out tonight. We were meeting Ernesto and Paulie for drinks. I hadn’t been keen on the idea, but Ernesto had been insistent, and Ken had been enthusiastic. My reluctance was obvious, and I suspected it was starting to annoy Ken. I didn’t want him to think I wanted to keep him apart from my friends, but… I kind of did.
We were in a bubble of awesome right now. Exploring each other, learning how to navigate this new relationship, feeling giddy twenty-four hours a day—these were things I didn’t want to alter.
I didn’t want Ern planning group nights out yet, I didn’t want them to grill us or put pressure on us to admit or confess things, and I sure as hell didn’t want any judgment.
I sighed. Ken looked miffed, like I’d hurt his feelings. I didn’t want that. It was the opposite of what I wanted.
“Okay, McPretty, but you have to promise me something.” I turned to face him.
“What?”
“You have to promise me that when Ern gets all presumptuous and obnoxious and asks you what your intentions toward me are, or if you make enough money to keep me living the lifestyle to which I’m accustomed, you won’t get offended, angry, or scared off.”
His annoyance evaporated and he laughed. Shaking his head, he said, “I promise.”
“It’s only been three weeks,” I pointed out. “Getting the third degree from friends seems like something for later down the road. Much later.”
“I disagree. The sooner I meet them, get to know them, and let them get to know me, the better for all of us.” He kissed the tip of my nose and gave my ass a light slap. “Now quit worrying and let’s go.”
Reason #564 of why I was less-than-thrilled about Ernesto’s plans: We were meeting in the same club on Halstead where I’d first met King during the bar-crawl. For all I knew, I was walking into one of his regular haunts.
Something told me, though, that the venue didn’t matter. If he had decided to continue following me—because I knew he had to have followed us after the movie last month—he could show up regardless of where we went.
Those last three weeks of July had several, closely-spaced contacts from King—from the dick pic and text, to the photos, to the phone call. But after I’d threatened to involve the police and I’d changed my number all had been silent. Crickets for three weeks and it had been fantastic.
Between the silence from King and the dizzying heights of being with Ken, I’d almost forgotten that I was ever concerned about the man. And it wasn’t until Ernesto texted me a couple of hours before that I’d thought about risk.
ERNESTO: Paulie wants to dance. He wants to go to The Magnificent Male.
I almost mentioned it to Ken but decided to let it go because I figured King was a thing of the past. Besides that, I didn’t want to argue with Ern and Paulie over where to meet, and I could tell Ken was already taking my reluctance for this night personally.
So, I sucked it up and hoped for the best.
As the cab pulled up to the club, I scanned the sidewalk, checking for King lurking around. Ken exited the car and stared up at the sign of the club which was a giant replica of the street sign for The Magnificent Mile on Michigan Avenue, but with the I on Mile switched out for an A.
“This is awful,” Ken said pointing to the sign. “I’m embarrassed for them.”
I laughed, “Don’t be. See how busy they are? They’re doing fine. It’s we who have to look ourselves in the mirror and ask the hard questions like, ‘where was my self-respect?’”
He smiled and patted my shoulder. “It’s not that bad once you get past the cringey sign.”
“Wait, what?” Was he implying he’d been here? This place was a total meat market.
“It’s nice inside,” he said, shrugging.
“I’m not very interested in ‘casual,’” I mimicked with sarcasm, playfully throwing his words back at him. “Have you been putting me on with this whole Innocent, Corn-Fed Choir-Boy persona?”
“I never said I was a choir boy.” He smiled impishly, then became serious. “I don’t want casual, but sometimes, that’s all that’s on the table.” I nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “Besides, it was only a couple of times. I don’t love the air of desperation that bars have. And when I go, I’m in this space where I’m flattered and given a lot of attention that’s a complete lie. No one is truly interested in me. After the third guy who couldn’t be bothered to learn my name, I stopped going to bars.”
It was tough out there for those of us wanting relationships, and I sympathized. I was just about to say that those men didn’t know what they were missing, when he stepped into me and gave me a hug.
His hug was long and sweet, and slightly awkward there on the sidewalk, where people were having to swerve around us. But I didn’t break it or speak, instead letting him have his moment. When he finally pulled away, I asked, “What was that for?”
“Because I know how lucky I am to have you. I almost didn’t go to Botstein’s party. I almost skipped it.” He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I almost missed you.”
I wasn’t often at a loss for words, but Ken left me speechless. He was always so…sincere. He was standing outside of a busy, raucous, ridiculously named club where no one was taking anything but fun seriously, and he was effortlessly exposing his heart. It was a weird spot to have this kind of moment—or for him to have this epiphany or whatever, but maybe it was completely appropriate. Maybe standing still on this dingy sidewalk, the calm center of a storm made up of manic revelry and shallow connection was the most impactful situation to say, to realize, something special was between us. Something that almost wasn’t.
I opened my mouth to say something—because I always had something to say—but nothing was appropriate, nothing was good enough. If I made a sarcastic joke like, almost only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades—which was on the tip of my tongue—it would spoil the significance, and I didn’t want to do that. I didn’t want to ruin it, but I also couldn’t think of anything that could come close to being as sweet or honest. I didn’t know how to preserve the moment, so I kissed him.
I used my mouth to convey all the feelings I couldn’t put into words, I used my arms to squeeze him tight to show him I was relieved—relieved he’d gone to Botstein’s, relieved we’d met. I hoped he understood, I hoped he’d feel me saying I know, I know this is rare and special and could just as easily have never been.
I kept the kiss going for long moments until I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a loud throat clearing. Ken and I separated to find Paulie standing next to us expectantly.
“Oh, hi, Paulie,” I said, giving him a smile.
“Ernie wants me to tell you that if you don’t want to have to sit on the sticky floor, you’d better get in there. He’s having a hard time saving your seats.”
Imagining Ernesto in there fighting tooth and nail for four in-demand chairs, spurred me into action. “Yes, right! We’ll come in now.”
We made our way to the ticket window, paid the cover, and had our hands stamped in rapid time. As soon as we walked through the door, Ken linked his hand in mine. I gave it a squeeze.
When we found Ern, he was draped across three chairs, yelling at a guy who looked to be tugging on one of the backrests. I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but Ern was pointing his finger, first at the man, then at the seat, then at Paulie, who had taken his own seat next to the one Ern’s feet were occupying.
Paulie stood up, the man turned around and disappeared. Yikes.
As soon as Ern spotted us, he sat up and exclaimed, “Thank fuck! I almost had to use Paulie as a weapon! He’s a pacifist!”
Paulie sat down and shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He was a quiet guy, reserved. To anyone who didn’t know him, they’d probably label him as shy. But he really wasn’t shy, he just didn’t talk a lot, preferring to let Ernesto fill the silence. It was no surprise that Paulie was a model and Ern, a photographer. They’d met and Paulie posed quietly while Ern kept up a monologue of instruction, praise, and natter. In that way, they were perfect for each other. Really, they were perfect for each other in a lot of ways.
I introduced Ken to Paulie and he shook hands with both of the men. He was wearing a big, happy grin, and for a split second, I felt guilty for trying to weasel out of this.
“I’m going to get us all some drinks,” Ernesto announced. “Now, you guys get to guard my chair.” He rose, took two steps, and a man hovering nearby, turned to us. Ern saw the movement and yelled, “Paulie!” Paulie lifted his booted feet and plunked them down on Ernesto’s vacant seat, deterring the man from approaching.
“Geez,” I shouted over the music. “It’s like the last round of musical chairs at a kid’s birthday party in here.”
“I know,” Paulie said. “I came to dance, but I don’t think I’ll be able to get Ernie to leave the table. He’s like a bulldog tonight.”
“We’ll get you out there, don’t worry,” I promised.
And, we did, eventually. It took a couple of rounds of drinks and some seriously hardcore puppy dog eye communication from Paulie to Ernesto for the latter to relinquish his hold on the conversation and the possession of the chairs.
While they were gone, Ken and I managed to lose one of the chairs. In fairness to me, it happened when my attention was turned to the third man who’d come to ask Ken to dance. How was I supposed to protect Paulie’s chair when I needed to guard my man, too? I could only do so much.
When the would-be man-stealer walked away, Ken turned to me with a half-apologetic, half-smug smile. “It’s going to happen,” he shrugged.
“Conceit isn’t a good look, McSmuggy, I—” I lost the thought when I noticed the missing chair. “We’re dead meat!” I shouted. “Look! Paulie’s chair is gone!”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. We were in for it.
As soon as I saw Ernesto’s face register the missing chair, I threw Ken under the bus. “It’s his fault!” I pointed at him. “His face made the chair disappear!”
Ken gaped at my betrayal.
Ernesto, who seemed to comprehend my meaning, didn’t let me off the hook. “You need to learn how to multitask! Do you see who I’m married to?” He pointed to Paulie, whose tight, sweaty T-shirt was clinging to his ripped abs.
“Calm down,” Paulie said, dragging the remaining chair closer to him. “I’ve got something you can sit on.”
Ern gasped, pretending to be scandalized. Paulie sat down with his own smug grin and pulled Ernesto to his lap.
“Whoa,” I held my hands up. “That is my cue to go fetch another round. Feel free to use this time to chastise Dr. McPretty for his substandard chair-guardianship.”
I stood, and Ken grasped my hand. I thought I might find irritation from my jokes etched on his face, but he was grinning widely, clearly enjoying the banter.
“I just want water, please. I’m running tomorrow,” he reminded me, rubbing his thumb along my knuckles. Ken had a half-marathon in September he was conditioning for and wanted to spend tomorrow morning running a 15K.
Impulsively, I bent down and brushed my lips against his. When I straightened, Ernesto had a gleam in his eye, “I’ll come with you.”
When we made our way to the bar, I tried to get the attention of a bartender, but neither of them acknowledged me. Ern, unconcerned with the lack of service, dove into conversation.
“He’s really into you, I can tell.”
“I’m really into him, too,” I replied absently, still trying to flag down a server.
“Damn. Everyone is, it seems. We can’t leave those two alone for a second.”
I tore my eyes away from the bartender closest to me to glance back at our table. Sure enough, two men were chatting up Paulie and Ken. I couldn’t see Ken’s face, but I could tell he was shaking his head. Smiling, I refocused my effort on getting us some drinks. “Excuse me, barkeep!” I was ignored. Again.
“That’s probably going to happen a lot,” Ern warned. “I have to deal with it all the time.”
I looked at him, and not for the first time wondered how he managed to cope with the attention Paulie received. It wasn’t only that Paulie was startlingly handsome and fit, it was also that Ernesto wasn’t what most people would consider good looking. He was on the shorter side and slightly paunchy. I personally thought he was a cutie, but I conceded that I mostly felt that way because I was drawn to his magnetic warmth and engaging personality. Ernesto didn’t get second looks—not like Paulie did. I never asked because it wasn’t my business, but now he seemed to be wanting to impart some of his wisdom to me, so I took the bait. “Is it a problem?”
“At first? Yeah, I broke up with him like five times over it.”
“What?” I was shocked. I didn’t know any of that had happened.
“Okay, so the break-ups lasted like twenty minutes,” he admitted. “But the point is, I made so much drama over shit Paulie couldn’t control. He finally said, ‘You either want to be with me, or you don’t. What do you want?’ I decided I couldn’t let my fear keep me from being with him. So here we are.”
“Married,” I said pointedly.
He laughed. “Yes, Paulie is persuasive. But I’m just trying to tell you not to worry about the men.”
“And the women,” I added.
He waved his hand. “So, he’s passing? Big deal. Paulie is too. Who cares about the ladies?”
“Ken does. He’s bi.” I watched as Ern’s face fell.
“Oh, well,” he said after a moment. “There’s nothing wrong with having fun then.” The words had a forced breeziness, and I kicked myself for opening my mouth.
The bartender chose that moment to take our order and when he walked away, Ern faced me, his mouth turned down at the corners. All breeziness gone. “Look, I don’t need to tell you why this is a bad idea. I can tell you really like him, just make sure he’s not using you to experiment with, okay? You deserve better than being toyed with by some confused frat boy.”
I opened my mouth to defend Ken against the accusation. He was a grown, professional, honest person, not some immature coward and didn’t deserve to be reduced to that when Ern didn’t know him at all.
Ernesto didn’t let me say my piece, instead, he cut me off. “I know, he’s not a frat boy, but my point is that even if you do have a relationship with him, eventually…” he shrugged, letting the sentence hang.
We stood in a silent eye-war until the moment was broken by the arrival of the drinks.
“Here,” I said through clenched teeth, thrusting two of the drinks at him. “Take Paulie his shot.” The bartender had forgotten the water, so I had an excuse to separate myself from Ern for a few moments. He took the drinks, his frown deeper than before, and walked off without a word.
Eventually… I knew what he meant. He meant that someday a woman would come along with her boobs and womb and Ken would accept that invitation happily, ready for a picture perfect, heteronormative life.
I shook my head at this. What was I supposed to do? Live like Ern had before Paulie gave him his come-to-Jesus talk? Scared and suspicious? No thanks.
I looked at the bartender, made eye contact, but he turned away. God damn it! “What’s a guy gotta do to get a fucking water around here?”
“I’ll get your water, baby,” a voice rasped in my ear, lips touching the shell.
I flinched away from the contact, but the man pushed in closer.
King.
King whatever-his-name-was, stood against me, his groin to my hip, his legs nearly straddling me. I could smell the alcohol on his breath, but underneath the alcohol, I could smell his scent, which flooded me with flashes of memory from the night in my apartment.
Reflexively, I shoved him. “Get the fuck off me!” He budged, not by much, his groin was still pressed against me, but his chest was no longer touching me. The people nearby looked curiously at us but didn’t seem concerned.
“I know you came here to see me,” he said, happily, smiling like a lunatic. “As soon as I saw you walk in, I knew you wanted me to see you.”
“You’re crazy, I—” I attempted to step away, but he crowded me into the bar, the edge pushing into my ribs.
His smile dropped. “Trying to make me jealous with that guy wasn’t smart,” he cut me off, voice low and menacing. “Don’t try to hurt me unless you want me to hurt you back.”