2

When we last left our guys…

Gray has a huge grin. “I was thinking they’re doing drag roller disco at the Pretty Pretty. But bowling sounds good.”

“No,” I say. “We can do that.”

“Sammy, I’m gay, but I don’t have to be that gay.”

“It could be fun.”

“Bowling could be fun. Especially because I get to watch your ass.”

I let that pass. “So, what are we going to do?”

Gray

I’d been hoping—hoping—Sammy would say yes to a date night, so I brought his civvies. He changes quickly—shooing me out of the locker room first—and when he steps into the hall, I start to drool.

“Knock it off,” he says with a laugh.

But it’s hard because Sammy just looks so good: one of his high-end sweatshirts, dark jeans, the whitest of white sneakers. One time it rained while he was wearing them—that’s it, rain, no mud, nothing else—and he scrubbed them top to bottom just in case.

He catches my hand as I go for his waistband, kisses me, and perp-walks me to the door.

It turns out, drag roller disco isn’t actually inside the Pretty Pretty—probably because Wil, the owner, would have a stroke if they tried it. Instead, they’ve blocked off the street in front of the club. Lighting trusses, massive speakers, and yes, disco balls, turn one block of Wahredua into an outdoor gay club.

Kind of.

“Are kids supposed to be here?” Sam says.

I point to the banner: ALL AGES – ALL WHEELS. It’s literal, even that last part, because it’s not just people on roller skates. There are rollerblades, skateboards, hoverboards, wheelchairs, even a kid with one of those knee scooters. There are middle-aged guys, young families, a man with an infant strapped to his chest, even a couple of women I think I’ve seen playing mahjong with Gran. More teenagers than I expect, but that’s probably because they’re not allowed in the Pretty Pretty, and this is as close as I can get.

Sam is doing that thing where he’s half RoboCop and half Officer McGruff. With his chin, he indicates somewhere across the crowd. “Is that Colt?”

“You’re off duty,” I say, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m going to grab us some beers. Find us a spot to watch.”

“Watch what?”

Over the music, a voice blats, “Kings, queens, and queers, get ready to make some noise! It’s almost time for our lip sync battle. Tonight’s lovely ladies will be singing their hearts out for your entertainment. Say hello to our first contestants: Miz Beefeater and Wangarang!”

Cheers go up through the crowd as I work my way toward the bar. Chase is back there, dressed in a tight little T-shirt and jeans that somebody—not me—could lick off his ass. He rolls his eyes at me, and he rolls his eyes again when I hold up two fingers, but he goes to get the drinks.

When he comes back with two beers, he nods over my shoulder. “Trouble in paradise?”

Guys are swimming circles around Sam, who—in typical Sammy fashion—is smiling and making brief eye contact and then trying to pay attention to the roller-dancing. Miz Beefeater and Wangarang are singing—well, lip-synching to—“The Boy is Mine,” and honestly, they’re doing pretty good until Miz Beefeater’s military trousers get caught in one of her wheels.

I’m almost back to Sam when one of the sharks closes in for the kill, stepping up to him, saying something that makes Sam cock his head and smile and lean closer, because Sam is nothing if not polite—Gran made sure of that.

“I’m looking for something fun to do tonight,” the guy says again, more loudly this time.

“I think the roller disco will be fun,” Sam says.

The look on the guy’s face is priceless, but he recovers quickly. “I meant after.”

“Oh,” Sam says. He’s quiet for a moment, like maybe the penny dropped. But then he says, “Do you like bowling?”

The poor guy mumbles something and sinks back into the crowd, and I’m about to join Sammy when another of the sharks swims up to him.

“Your arms are insane,” he camps, and he even runs a finger along Sam’s shoulder. I want to tell him that if he thinks Sam’s arms look good in that baggy sweatshirt, he should see those biceps popping when Sam’s holding himself up as he plows into you. Not that I have any intention of letting anyone else ever see that, but still. This second shark is leaning so close to Sam he’s almost tonguing his neck when he says, “Arms are, like, the hottest thing on a guy.”

“I just do curls and pull-ups,” Sam says. “I know there’s a lot of advice out there, but if you keep it simple and focus on adding weight over time, you’ll start seeing results.”

The second shark’s eyebrows just about shoot off his face.

“Seriously, Gray?” John-Henry asks. I didn’t see him approach, but he’s holding a can of Coke as he steps up next to me. He looks at Sam as a third guy approaches. “This is cruel.”

“Oh please,” I say. “Sam doesn’t even know it’s happening.”

“I didn’t mean for Sam.”

The third guy is gorgeous: blond, pink-cheeked, every inch of him sculpted, and all of it conveniently on display in booty shorts and a sleeveless hoodie. He apparently doesn’t believe in wasting time because he leans in, plants his hand on Sam’s chest, and shouts over the music, “I’m a virgin!”

Sam blinks. And then he smiles, pats the guy on the shoulder, and says, “You’ll meet the right person someday.”

The twink turns even pinker, and he slinks away.

“Okay,” John-Henry says. “Enough.”

“You’re no fun.” Then I frown. “Wait, you seriously are no fun. What are you doing here?”

“Thanks, Gray.”

Before John-Henry can explain why his boring ass is out here, though, Colt zips by on a pair of rollerblades, with Ashley in hot pursuit.

“They’re going to break their necks,” Emery says as he joins us. “And this music is too loud.”

“Yeah, normally they go for that ‘I wouldn’t fuck a mouse in a library’ energy at these kinds of things,” I say. “It’s so weird they’re actually being loud tonight.”

“Why would anyone fuck a mouse?” Emery says. “And why would it matter if it was in a library?”

“This is great,” I say, “but I’m going to actually have fun with my hot boyfriend. Let me know when it’s time to put Grandpa and Pop-pop in bed.”

But I’m too late. Sam is right there, slipping an arm around my waist, taking one of the beers, grinning as he says, “Hi, John-Henry.” And you can tell he wants to say, Hi, Mr. Hazard, but somehow he manages, “Hi, Emery. This is fun, right?”

“It’s great,” John-Henry says.

“We’re having a date night,” Emery says. “It was John’s turn to pick.”

John-Henry bursts out laughing.

“I thought you were babysitting dingus and dorkus,” I say as Colt and Ash zip past us again.

“Well, Colt was a little nervous to come on his own,” John-Henry says. “But we’re going to take off in a bit and give them some space.” His grin looks surprisingly—well, fuckboy-ish when he adds, “Plus Lana’s with Cora, so we’ve got a night to ourselves.”

“Hope your lube hasn’t dried up,” I say.

“It hasn’t,” Emery says. Then he frowns. “Which brand do you buy that dries up?”

Sam’s mouth quivers like he’s trying not to laugh.

“Hey, why don’t we grab dinner together?” John-Henry says. “Like, a double date. Have you guys already eaten?”

I glance over at Sam. “I don’t know, maybe. What do you want to do?”

Will Sam and Gray have dinner with Emery and John-Henry? Or will they go their own way? Patrons will decide tomorrow!