Hardwood - K.M. Neuhold Page 0,7
and reach for the handle with a shaky hand. Before I can tug it, the door flies open, and two men stumble out in the middle of a lip lock. One of them laughs against the other’s mouth, and the other makes a deep, rumbling sound of pleasure as he pulls the first man closer.
Longing hits me so intensely in the chest that I almost can’t breathe. They don’t even notice me as they stumble past, barely breaking their kiss as they move across the parking lot.
“I can’t decide if I’m rooting for them to make it to their car or to just give in and start going at it on a random hood so we can enjoy the show,” a voice from behind me says with unrestrained amusement. I didn’t realize I wasn’t alone out here. How long has he been behind me? Did he see my hesitation to open the door?
Before I can decide if I should turn around and make a quippy comment about the couple as well or if I should just get my ass inside the bar already, the man slips past me, shooting me a reassuring smile over his shoulder as he enters the bar, leaving me alone in the night once again.
I blink in surprise, getting my courage up one more time and reaching for the door handle again. This time I manage to open the door without any other horny couples barging out, and I step into the bar.
It’s not all that different from Wooley’s, our usual haunt. It’s a little quiet, which isn’t surprising considering it’s Monday. It’s dimly lit, the decor clearly left over from the seventies. The only thing that gives it away as a gay bar is the rainbow flag in the window and its reputation around town. For the most part, all the men look like they’re in their thirties. It’s the same over at Wooley’s. I asked Ollie about it once, and he said there are harder partying bars in the city, and that’s where most of the younger crowd goes to hookup and have fun. It’s a relief, because if I thought I was stepping into a bar full of twenty-one-year-old kids, I would never have had the courage to drag my middle-aged ass here. Not that forty-four is ancient, but I know enough to know that youth is at a premium in the gay community…hell, any dating community.
I make my way up to the bar and grab a stool. When the bartender makes his way over, I order a Jack and Coke, and then I do what I came here to do: I quietly observe. I spot the guy who slipped in past me and possibly caught my moment of panic in the parking lot. I didn’t get a good look at him before, too caught up in my own head.
He’s standing next to a tall table with another man and a woman. It seems like they know each other well, comfortably laughing and chatting. He reminds me of the man I spotted in the parking lot last month, tall and broad with a soft, alluring body. I wonder if it is him. But what are the odds? The rest of him isn’t bad either—dark brown hair, a neatly trimmed beard. And that’s saying nothing about what he’s wearing, a pair of black slacks and a white button up shirt, complete with a mint green bowtie. Fucking adorable. He smiles at something the woman he’s with says and, yup, the smile is cute as hell too.
My heart beats a little faster as I watch him. He seems to be telling a story, gesturing wildly as his friends crack up. He makes a sweeping gesture with his hand, nearly knocking the man’s drink off the table. But it seems his friend is used to it, because he manages to sweep his glass out of the danger zone at the very last second.
“Here you go,” the bartender says, setting my drink in front of me, pulling my attention away from the guy. He winks at me, and my first instinct is to pretend I didn’t just get caught ogling the man, but fuck it, I don’t have to.
“He’s cute,” I say, tilting my head toward the guy.
The bartender grins. “He’s a flirt, everyone around here loves him.”
I look back over my shoulder, shamelessly checking out his ass.
Watson
“And that, my friends, is why I am in desperate need of a drink,” I conclude, finishing my story about