Nash pushed open the heavy door of the Purple Café. Despite the lighting, he could see that only one man at the bar wore a cobalt-blue sweater over a white dress shirt. That was the description Nash had been given, so he straightened his shoulders, mumbled, “Fuck it,” and strode over to get the man’s attention and introduce himself.
“Hi, you must be Edward. I’m Nash.”
Edward was tall, had dark blond hair, and an oval face with a hint of scruff along the jawline. He also had deep blue eyes exuding more than a hint of disappointment when he turned and noticed Nash. To the man’s credit, he quickly masked the expression. He stood and held out a hand.
“Good to meet you, Nash. I’m glad Harley suggested this. I really wanted to see this show, but didn’t want to drag along one of my friends who’s already seen it.”
At least the guy was going to play nice, although Nash supposed only a total asshole wouldn’t, considering they still had to get through dinner and a show together. So Nash shook the proffered hand and gamely fixed a smile on his face.
“Thanks. I wanted to see it, too. Between my work schedule and the fact that all my friends are coupled up and incorporated the show into their date nights…well, you get the picture.”
“I hear that. One thing or another kept me away whenever it’s been in town.”
“When the show was here last, the guy I was with wasn’t into theater.” Nash huffed out a breath and shook his head. “Saw a lot of Mariners games for him, though.”
Not the sort of info drop he’d bring into a typical first-date conversation, but Edward had already made it pretty clear this relationship wasn’t going anywhere—or at least that he wasn’t attracted to Nash—so what the hell. Nash might as well relax and let the chips fall where they may.
The bartender approached, and Nash placed his order. “A glass of your daily white, please.”
Edward motioned for Nash to sit in the seat next to his own, and they parked their butts on the pair of bar stools.
“Have you been to the 5th Avenue Theater before?” Edward asked.
Nash nodded. “Yeah, plenty of times. Saw Cats there a while back. That’s one of my favorites. It’s only the last couple years I’ve missed out.”
“Mariner guy?”
“Yeah. That’s the one.”
“So, his idea of compromise was for you to do what he wanted?”
Was it? Nash had made a suggestion or two early in the relationship, but to be fair, he had to admit he hadn’t expressed the strength of his desire to see the shows. Nor had he ever indicated to Sam that he was less than stoked about attending the baseball games. Nash didn’t truly object to attending sporting events, and even enjoyed them as an occasional outing, just not so damned many, or at the exclusion of his own preferences.
From what Nash had seen, Sam had been used to a more forceful personality in Henry. That didn’t fully excuse him for not paying closer attention when Nash made suggestions, but it helped explain it.
“No. You know what? I think I probably have to take a share of the blame for that. I need to grow a backbone and quit trying to mold myself into whatever I think my boyfriend wants me to be.”
Edward pushed a plate of gorgonzola-stuffed dates over between them, and Nash helped himself. “Thanks.”
Edward picked one up, too, and aimed a finger in Nash’s general direction. “Don’t make that same mistake next time.”
The implication of Edward’s “next time” wasn’t lost on Nash. The man was making it unmistakably clear that Nash shouldn’t consider him for the role of boyfriend.
No problem. He hadn’t exactly worked up any positive expectations for the evening. If anything, the evening was going to be better than the miserable time he’d envisioned. His date was at least personable and friendly, and perhaps the man even deserved props for not leading him on. There was nothing much worse than walking away from a date feeling all hopeful, only to be disappointed when it didn’t pan out. He preferred knowing not to let himself become invested in the promise of a new relationship in the first place.
“I won’t.” And I get it, already. “Funny, though, after all these years I never consciously noticed I was doing that.”
“I used to be like that, too. Had my epiphany about a year ago. Figured out it’s best to simply be myself. I make sure my wants are known, but I’m willing to compromise, too. It’s gotta be a two-way street.”
Nash’s wine arrived, and he took a sip. “What brought on your epiphany?”
Edward shrugged. “There wasn’t anything especially different about the particular incident. It was one of those ‘final straw’ things, you know what I mean?”
Nash nodded. “I know exactly what you mean.”
“So Julian—that’s my ex—he was a workaholic.” Edward snorted. “He probably still is. Not that there’s anything inherently wrong with a good work ethic, but his career took priority over everything. He traveled a lot, and it was often spur-of-the-moment trips. Plans we’d made far in advance would get cancelled with no notice. I pretended it didn’t matter time and again, assuring him I was perfectly okay with it. Needless to say, I was lying.”
“Sam was gone for more than a month one summer. It was planned well in advance, though. I’m the one that was guilty of causing last-minute cancellations.”
Edward held up a finger while he swallowed a piece of stuffed date. “Yeah, but Harley said you’re a nurse, right? That’s different. A pain in the ass, sure, but reasonable and fully understood going in.”
“I guess. I’ve never worked in the business world. Can’t quite fathom what kind of emergencies there would be to require urgent travel like that.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Edward nodded. “Sure, if there’s a contract or a lot of money on the line, maybe occasionally, but a lot of it was trumped-up bullshit. The higher-ups didn’t care about middle management’s family life, and getting ahead in his career took precedence over everything for Julian.”
“So you decided you wanted someone who’d put you first?”
Edward cocked his head to the side, apparently contemplating the question. He shook his head. “I think it’s more that I wanted someone who would seek a balance that didn’t ignore our needs as a couple.”
“I get that. But if you were always telling him you were okay with the situation, was it fair to him?”
“After the epiphany, I did come clean. Nothing changed.”
Nash nodded. “I think my situation was a bit different. If I’d made it clear how important my interests were, I’m pretty sure he’d have compromised.”
Nash took a bite from another gorgonzola-stuffed date, and his mind wandered to the topic of the conversation he’d had with Angela earlier in the week. Had Edward loved Julian? If a couple loved each other, could one really walk away from the relationship over something like that? Was love so fickle that falling out of it was a constant danger if one partner decided he didn’t like something about the other after all? Fuck love. He was better off without it.
As Nash reached for the glass of wine, Edward raised his mug of draft beer toward Nash in a toast. “Here’s to the new Nash.”
Nash lightly tapped their glasses and took a long swallow. Yes, the new Nash. New everything. New priorities, new job, new home, new life, new self-image. The sooner it all started, the better.
* * * *
Nash turned the key in the door and carefully edged it open. He heard the TV going, but that didn’t necessarily rule out the possibility he’d be interrupting something he didn’t want to see.
“It’s safe,” Harley called.
Nash pushed open the door the rest of the way and entered the apartment.
Harley and Oliver looked innocent enough lounging on the couch with their feet on the coffee table, but eau de “Mediterranean Lavender” still lingered. He could hear the washing machine churning away down the hallway, which added a hint of bleach to the atmosphere.
“Towel load?” he asked, since they didn’t actually own a tarp.
Oliver’s face turned a becoming rosy shade, and Harley snickered. “Shut up. Sit down and tell us about the date.”
“There won’t be a second one. ’Nuff said.”
Harley dropped his feet to the ground and leaned forward. “What went wrong?” He seemed like a great guy. I really thought you’d hit it off.”
Apparently it wasn’t “enough said” for Harley. Nash sighed and plopped into the armchair. “Nothing went wrong, per se. We just don’t ring each other’s bell.”
“He’s good-looking. Better looking than that rat bastard who dropped you two weeks before your wedding.”
Nash leveled a warning look at Harley. “Leave Sam out of it. He didn’t ask for all that shit to go down either.”
“Whatever. So why doesn’t Edward do it for you?”
“It’s like this. At the top of my list of desirable traits for a potential boyfriend, you’ll find the words ‘someone who is attracted to me.’ Edward isn’t. Otherwise, yeah, he seemed like a nice guy.”
Oliver perked up to say, “Fucker. You’re good-looking.”
Harley quirked an eyebrow at his boyfriend, then turned to Nash. “Yeah, man. You are. What’s his problem?”
“Well, that’s subjective, and anyway, people can’t help what type they’re attracted to.”
“Dude,” Oliver said. “No, you’re objectively good-looking.”
Harley leveled a double-raised-eyebrow stare at his boyfriend.
“Well, so are you, babe,” Oliver said. “You know how attracted I am to you. I’m not otherwise attracted to him, for fuck’s sake. There’s no chemistry, and he’s the wrong personality type for me.”
Nash flopped back in the chair and stared at the ceiling. “Fuuuuuuck! Seriously, considering how many things we subconsciously factor into our relationship choices, it’s a miracle anybody ever finds a good match.”
“Well, the rat bastard thought you were plenty good-looking, and so do lots of people, so don’t stress out about this one guy.”
“Damn it, Harley, quit referring to Sam as a ‘rat bastard’!”
“Well, if the shoe fits…”
Nash sat up and looked Harley in the eye. “He’s a nice guy. It’s not like he deliberately asked me to marry him knowing his husband was still alive. Christ, the guy’d been missing for five years—declared dead for more than four!”
“He still threw you over in favor of someone he hadn’t even seen or spoken to in that long.”
“Not ‘someone,’ his husband. It took him years to get over that shit, so cut him some slack. I don’t hate him for it. It fucking sucked to be me in that situation—still sucks seeing as I’m here sleeping on your couch—but there really isn’t a bad guy to point a finger at. For the last time, back off on him. If I can get over it, so can you.”
“Whatever, man. You bitch about him.”
“I’m allowed to have screwed-up emotions. I’m the one who got dumped two weeks before his wedding. Doesn’t mean anybody else gets to shit on my ex’s character.”
Harley held up a hand. “Fine. Subject dropped.”
Fuck, he really needed to consider a studio apartment if his roommate feelers didn’t pan out. He didn’t want to ruin his relationship with his best friend, and nothing wrecked a friendship faster than spending too much time with each other.
“So, out of curiosity,” Oliver asked, breaking the stony silence, “what’s on this list of desirable traits you mentioned for your hypothetical Mr. Right?”
Nash rubbed a hand over his face and turned to Oliver. He shrugged. “I don’t know, it’s intuitive stuff, I guess. Nothing I’ve really thought about.”
Harley said, “Well, let’s consider it on a conscious level. Oliver mentioned personalities. Those need to be a match then, right?” He spoke in a more relaxed voice, obviously trying to put the argument behind them.
Nash shook his head. “No, I don’t think they need to match. In fact, sometimes that can be a bad thing.”
Oliver took Harley’s hand in his own and gave it a squeeze. “Our personalities don’t match. We mesh. We balance each other.”
Harley slowly nodded and pursed his lips as he tended to do when deep in thought. “Okay, I get that. Character is what I’m thinking of, I guess. That’s what needs to be more of a match.”
That made sense. Nash said, “Yeah, and ‘basic outlook on life’ shit. What’s important to you.”
“Intelligence levels should be in the same general range,” Harley added. “Otherwise you’ll lose respect, or at least one of you will. Gotta be able to respect each other’s opinions and all.”
Oliver said, “I don’t know if that should be a hard and fast rule. Some personalities might prefer that dynamic.”
“Okay,” Nash said. “With exceptions, that’s a reasonable point. I don’t think it’s necessary for intellectual interests to match, but sure, there needs to be mutual respect, and a wide disparity in intelligence might affect that.”
“Physical attraction,” Harley offered.
Oliver waggled his eyebrows at his boyfriend and grinned.
Nash rolled his eyes. That one went without saying. “Common interests. Edward and I were talking about this. Have some common interests and be able to compromise with each other and be willing to make an effort for each other’s interests.”
Harley looked like he was biting his tongue, which was a smart move. Nash was so not in the mood to have him start Sam-bashing again.
Oliver quickly added, “Yes, but I think having some separate pursuits is healthy, too. A couple shouldn’t need to do everything together. Sometimes separate ‘boys’ night out’ occasions are good for a relationship. I had to end things with a guy once ’cause he was unreasonably jealous anytime I wanted to go out with my buddies, even though it was only to watch horror flicks, which he hated.”
“Okay, sure.” Nash yawned and looked at the time on his phone. “Sorry. I’m gonna curl up here and rest my eyes. Can’t sleep in too late tomorrow morning. Gotta meet a doctor to talk about a patient at eleven.”
“On your day off?” Harley asked. “Isn’t everything in the charts and all?”
“No, it’s…I don’t know…more of a personal thing. Not anything that’s on the clock.”
Harley squinted at him. “Personal?”
“The doctor’s related to the patient. The patient wants me to talk to him. Sorry, I can’t really give details.”
“Fucking HIPAA.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you were the patient.”
Harley stood and gave a helping hand to Oliver. “Probably not. Listen, don’t fall asleep on the chair. We stayed up only to see how your date went. Take the couch.”
“’Night.” Nash stumbled to the couch, and Oliver tossed the pillow and blanket to him. Nash was exhausted, though whether it was more physically or emotionally he wasn’t sure. Regardless, he fell asleep within moments of curling up under the blanket.
* * * *