Sam and Gray's Date Night 3

When we last left our guys…

“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?”

Sam

John-Henry’s offer hangs in the air.

I don’t want to look too excited. John-Henry isn’t my mentor anymore; we’re just friends now. But he is a very good person, and someone I admire, and he knows how to buy clothes and stuff like how to do his hair, and if I had to pick one word for him, it would be cool, and I know how hard Gray would laugh if he ever heard me thinking that. Plus, even though we are friends, we don’t hang out very often because John-Henry is married, and I’ve got Gray, and they’ve got Colt and Evie and all sorts of responsibilities, and it’s hard to find time, especially when I’m so busy during the school year. So, yeah, it’s nice that this is happening now. And it’s nice that they thought of inviting us. But I try to act normal, because one time, John-Henry asked me to help him change the oil on the Mustang, and I guess I wasn’t too cool about it because Mr. Hazard—Emery—asked me if I had a Golden Retriever somewhere in my family tree.

“Yeah,” I say. Gray’s face doesn’t change at all; he’s watching me, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. “We’d love to get dinner.”

We end up at the Drawbar. It’s a bar near Wroxall that’s not quite a college bar—a little nicer, a little more of a mixed crowd. Straight and gay. College kids and young professionals. Frat bros and hipsters. Friday night, it’s busy, but not too crowded, and Mr. Hazard—Emery—manages to snag a booth right when it opens up. There was another group that tried to get it, but Mr. Hazard—Emery—just looked at them, and one guy actually stopped walking and pretended to look at a menu.

“What’s good here?” John-Henry asks as we settle in.

“Why are you asking,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says, “when you’re just going to get a salad with no dressing?”

John-Henry grins and plays with Mr. Hazard’s—Emery’s—hair in back. But now that Mr. Hazard—Emery—has said it, I start to notice that John-Henry looks—well, not skinnier than he used to, but cut, like all his body fat is gone, and in the process, he added on muscle. If anything, he might even be a little bigger, and under his flannel, a white T-shirt is tight across his chest.

“Salads are good,” Gray says. “Sammy always gets a salad.”

“Not always,” I say. And because Mr. Hazard—Emery—sometimes has this way of looking at me that makes my mouth keep moving, I hear myself say, “And I do get the dressing.”

Mr. Hazard—Emery—snorts and looks down at his menu.

“You guys come here a lot?” John-Henry asks, looking around. “It’s got a great vibe.”

“We like it,” I say.

“This was where we had our first date,” Gray says with a grin.

John-Henry’s face lights up. “Okay, how have I not heard this story?”

“Because it’s bound to be annoying and mildly pornographic,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says.

“It wasn’t really a date,” I say.

“I flirted with you,” Gray says, “and I successfully picked you up. That makes it a date.”

“We were practicing,” I say.

“Now you’ve got to tell me,” John-Henry says with a laugh.

Gray thinks the story is funny, and maybe it is, and he loves telling it, so he launches into it, and pretty soon John-Henry is laughing along with him. Mr. Hazard—Emery—closes his menu with a snap. The server comes, and he does a double-take, and then he and Gray both blush when they make eye contact. After the server leaves, John-Henry and Mr. Hazard—Emery—trade looks. It makes John-Henry laugh even harder.

“Oh fuck off, both of you” Gray says, red-cheeked but grinning.

“Let me guess,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says to me. “You have to deal with that a lot.”

I shrug.

“My apologies,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says.

“I don’t mind,” I say. “Everyone’s got a past.”

“Here, here,” John-Henry says, lifting his Diet Pepsi like he’s making a toast. “You’re a good man, Sam Yarmark.”

“He’s the best,” Gray says, and he says it just like that, like it’s a fact, as he slings an arm around my neck. It makes my face hot, but I don’t have to say anything because then Gray says, “What about you two? First date?”

“Pizza,” Emery says.

“Technically,” John-Henry said. “But we’d been—well, I mean, you guys know. We’d known each other forever.”

“What do you mean, technically? That was our first date. We went out for pizza. As a couple.”

John-Henry shrugs. “First kiss?”

Gray actually blushes again and raises one hand guiltily. “Kind of caught him by surprise. To be fair, he returned the favor a few minutes later with that giant snake in his pants.”

“Charming,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—mutters.

“Where were you?” John-Henry asks.

“My gran’s house,” I say. “On the couch.”

“That’s so sweet. God, that’s perfect.”

Gray and I look at each other, and we’re both smiling, which means we must both be thinking that it sure hadn’t felt perfect at the time, even if we had figured things out pretty quickly.

“You guys?” Gray said.

“Uh, kind of messy,” John-Henry says, wincing. “I’d had a little too much to drink, and Ree walked me home.”

Mr. Hazard—Emery—snorts. “That wasn’t our first kiss. I kissed him in the locker room in high school.”

“That’s where Colt gets it from,” I say before I even realize it’s coming out of my mouth.

Instead of blowing up, though, Mr. Hazard—Emery—stares at me for the longest second of my life. Then he bursts out laughing. John-Henry is laughing too, and Gray is slumped against me, shaking and wiping his eyes.

“Oh my God,” Gray says when he finally sits up. “Okay, first bang.”

“You first,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says dryly.

“Full penetration, or are we talking the middle-school stuff?” Gray says.

“Good Lord, Gray.”

He’s trying too hard to look innocent. “What?”

“Our apartment,” John-Henry says. Then he makes air quotes with his fingers. “When we were ‘roommates.’”

“By that point, we weren’t just roommates,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says.

I can almost see Gray prick his ears. “Topping or bottoming?”

And since I remember hearing a story about how one time Mr. Hazard—Emery—stuck a knife through Gray’s collar, and there are knives on the table right now, I say, “My house. Well, my gran’s house.”

“Topping or bottoming?” Mr. Hazard—Emery—asks in that dry voice again, and when John-Henry elbows him, he narrows his eyes.

“First time you knew you were in love,” John-Henry says, leaning in. The light looks like it’s moving through the gold of his hair. “Each of you.”

“Coincidentally,” Gray says, “that’s the same story as first time bottoming.”

“Did you actually invite them to get dinner with us?” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says.

“Actually, it’s not a coincidence at all.”

“Okay,” I say.

“Because of his dick.”

“Gray.”

Gray stops. But he’s grinning.

“I think I knew—part of me knew—for a while,” I say. “But it was after we had that big fight, and I saw all those memes he sent me.”

One of Gray’s hands finds my back, and he rubs a slow circle.

“Now you, fuckboy,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says.

Gray’s one-shouldered shrug is probably supposed to look casual, and he’s still rubbing my back. But all he says is “I knew when it started to hurt.”

John-Henry watches him like he heard something he didn’t expect—or maybe that he didn’t understand.

“What about you?” I ask.

“He got hurt,” John-Henry says slowly. “We were in the hospital.” It seems like there’s so much more behind the pause, but then he only says, “That’s when I owned up to it, anyway.”

Emery is silent for a long moment. And then he cracks a smile. “Did you know John has an entire collection of books about people who are forced to share a bed?”

Gray starts laughing, and I’m smiling down into my beer, and John-Henry sounds like he’s trying to be outraged when he says, “It’s not a collection!”

And then the drinks come, and Gray’s hand is resting on my thigh, and when I look over at him, he’s looking back at me, like he’s been waiting for me. Like he’s always been waiting for me. And I remember he’d told me he wanted attention, but here we are, and I’m not giving him any.

The food, when we get it, is good. The conversation moves to normal stuff—the high school football team’s chances, and what Colt and Ash are thinking about for college, and how Gray and I have been talking about a trip to Nashville.

Before I know it, we’re settling up. John-Henry keeps looking at Mr. Hazard—Emery—and there’s a little red in his cheeks, and once, Mr. Hazard—Emery—makes eye contact, and the silliest grin splashes across John-Henry’s face like he’s forgotten there’s anybody else in the room.

He must realize it himself a moment later because the grin, if anything, gets bigger, and the flush in his cheek darkens, and he says like he’s trying to be casual, “So, what are you guys going to do now?”

“What are you going to do now?” Gray asks, and when I look at him, he breaks up laughing.

“He’s like a child,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says.

“You’re not going to invite us back to play board games?”

“Fuck no,” John-Henry says, that grin getting bigger.

“I’m sure you two can entertain yourselves,” Mr. Hazard—Emery—says. “And in case that’s not clear enough, fuck off.”

“Hmm, Sammy,” Grays says like he’s pretending to think. “What are we going to do? Go bowling?” And then he starts laughing all over again.

“I was thinking,” I say, and now John-Henry and Mr. Hazard—Emery—are both watching me, and John-Henry’s grin is a little knowing, and I hear myself say, “It’d be a nice night for a walk.”

It’s too early to head home! What’s next for date night—a romantic walk in the moonlight? Or Sammy’s original suggestion: bowling? Patrons will decide tomorrow!