EVEN IF the rest of the evening flopped, Graham would call the experience a success based entirely on Connor’s reaction to Boystown. The neighborhood sat outside Wrigleyville, and according to what Graham had found online while looking for an underage club in the area, one of the first dedicated LGBTQ communities in the country. There was no hiding the orientation of the district either. Rainbow flags decorated most of the buildings. Neon signs flashed, lighting up the night with their bright glow. Colorful art deco pylons stood tall and proud along the strip. But the flags and the art were nothing compared to the people.
Since it was a warm spring Saturday night, the streets and sidewalks swarmed with people. Couples, many of them same-sex, walked along sidewalks hand in hand. Drag queens shimmied to music blaring out of open doorways. Many seemed to be locals with a purpose or destination in mind, who didn’t seem to notice the color and exuberance around them.
It was easy to spot the tourists too. They were the ones who looked like travelers visiting a foreign country. Goggling eyes tracked the movements of some of the more flamboyantly dressed individuals, and wallets came out to buy multicolored souvenirs.
Connor didn’t gawk as much as the tourists. Yeah, his eyes caught the outrageous and glitzy, but he focused more on the less showy aspects. In particular, couples holding hands seemed to draw his attention. “It must be nice for them here,” he said, watching two middle-aged men drinking coffee, hands clasped in the center of a small table. “To be able to hold hands and whatever, without worrying that someone will come by and judge them or threaten them. You hear about that kind of stuff all the time, hate crimes, gay bashing, that kind of stuff. I’m surprised anyone has the guts to be openly gay.”
His pants didn’t have pockets, so Graham tucked his thumbs into the leather waistband. “No one should have to hide who they are or who they love. If no one has the courage to stand up and declare ‘I’m queer’ then the entire LGBT community will eventually get buried in the closet.” It might have sounded like an ad, but he’d learned the hard way that hiding didn’t help anything. It just made things more complicated.
“I don’t know how you do it, man.” Connor stepped around a tourist who stopped to peer into a shop window. “You don’t hide who you are. Even knowing that people like Roy and Clint will try and make your time in Green Valley miserable, and knowing that the town is full of narrow-minded, Bible-thumping rednecks, you don’t hide who—or what—you are.”
Graham shrugged and tried to sound casual. “I am who I am.”
“You can make light of it all you want,” Connor said, “but it takes a lot of strength to do that.”
“Here’s our stop.” Grateful to change the subject, Graham pointed at a glowing neon sign.
A long line snaked from the entrance: dozens of boys and girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty waiting restlessly, impatience pouring off them in waves. “There’s only an underage night once a month. It gets pretty packed.”
“You’ve been here before?” Connor eyed the crowd with interest as they made their way to the end of the line.
“Nope, Internet. I’ve been to a couple like it in St. Louis, but this is my first trip to Boystown.”
“Whoa.”
They’d reached the end of the line and Graham immediately understood Connor’s shocked mutter. The person in front of them was completely decked out. A cropped shirt of black mesh covered, sort of, his lean chest. Very short, very silver, very low-riding shorts banded his narrow hips. Connor’s eyes widened comically. He quickly looked at others in the crowd, checking out the outfits. Though there were a few in skimpy or excruciatingly trendy clothes, most dressed like Graham and Connor. Seeing this, Connor relaxed. He turned to Graham, his voice low, lips tilted in a smirk. “Did you forget your metallic shorts at home?”
Graham blinked and laughed at the picture in his head. “I just had this image of me running around like Rocky.”
“The boxer?”
“Haven’t you ever seen The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”
Eyebrows raised in question, Connor told him, “A long time ago.”
“Rocky was the buff blond guy in gold shorts.”
“Well, I’m the blond, and I guarantee I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing glittery gold shorts.”
“Oh, honey, I wish you would.”
Gaping, Connor whirled around. The boy in silver shorts eyed Connor up and down, spending way longer than necessary on his thick arms and broad shoulders. He barely reached Connor’s chin, but it didn’t stop him from stepping closer.
“What?” Connor blinked down at the guy.
“You. Gold shorts. Yummy combination. Hi, my name is Liam.” Liam tilted his head to the left, looking up at Connor from under his lashes.
“Uh….” Connor cleared his throat and threw a desperate glance at Graham. “I’m Connor?” It sounded like a question. Graham was about to introduce himself when the line started to creep forward.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Connor.” Liam linked his arm with Connor’s. “Shall we?”
“Uh….”
Taking sympathy on the panicked look Connor sent his way, Graham stepped forward. “Liam.” He halted the other boy’s progress with a hand on the mesh-covered shoulder. When big green eyes met his, Graham pulled Liam’s arm away from Connor’s. “He’s taken.”
Glossy lips pouted. “Well, darn. It’s always that way. Save me a dance, though, ’kay?”
Connor blinked wide-eyed at the boy after he’d turned around. As much as he wanted to grin at the red covering Connor’s face, Graham took pity on him. He distracted Connor with questions about baseball while the line crept forward. Finally they reached the entrance and had to pull out their IDs for the bouncer. Graham pulled out his wallet and handed over the cover charge. “I got it,” he said when Connor followed suit. “It was my idea to go out, I’ll foot the bill.”
“Really—” Connor began, but Graham cut him off.
“I got it. Don’t argue.”