She’s right. I do. She means the same thing Francesca meant. Where’s my glitter? Where are my rhinestones? My eyeliner?
I make my affinity for makeup, and other things people might label asfeminine,no secret. I wear my confidence like a coat of armor, but not every day is a glitz ’n glam kind of day.
“Can’t a guy just get a cocktail without getting all dolled up, for crying out loud?” I laugh, but it sounds strained, even to my own ears. They’re trying, so I need to as well.
“I guess so, but later! Come on! We’re up next!” Livvy says, practically dragging me toward the stage. Tonight, I came to forget. I came to have fun and try to find myself again. I’ve been doing the wholefake it ‘til you make itthing for a while, but I still haven’t made it anywhere other than farther down the rabbit hole of despair following that epic breakup.
Livvy and I sing the two songs she signed us up for, and our performance is well-received, per usual. I love to sing, and I adore how Livvy will make a fool of herself with me. This bar is our favorite place on karaoke nights, and despite the memories it holds, I’m working to reclaim it.
On our way back to the table after our performance, Liv taps my shoulder. “Here, Bird. These are for you,” she says, using myfamilial nickname, holding out what looks like a receipt, a folded napkin, and…
“Is that what I think it is?”
She laughs. “Yeah, but it hasn’t been opened. It must’ve been all she had.”
“I’m not touching a maxi pad, used or not,” I declare. “It’s one of the many perks of being a gay man.”
Livvy howls with laughter and throws it at me. “It’s not even open, you jerk! Give the girl some credit. At least she had the balls to give you her number. I would like to point out that none of these numbers belong to men.”
“AndIwould like to point out this isn’t a gay bar,” I argue with my hand on my chest.
Livvy laughs. “You have a point, but you’re the one who picked this place.”
Okay, so maybe a small, sick part of me was hoping Patrick would show up tonight. It’s the same hope I have every time I come here. The part of me that refuses to heal keeps thinking he’ll come listen to me sing, be reminded of what we had, and we’ll get our happily ever after, our families be damned.
It feels like a giant slap in the face that I lost both himandDamon, and I didn’t even do anything wrong.
Shaking the thought away, I see Ashton on his barstool with a wicked smile on his lips.
“Oh, God. What?” I ask, approaching the table. I regret wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt. The stage lights are brutal, and I’m drenched in sweat, my skin begging to breathe.
“You’ve had some requests from the audience,” he says. “The bartender wanted us to ask if you’d sing more. Said your drinks are free as long as your ass is on that stage.”
I only debate it for a second. I’ll probably pay for it in the morning, but fuck it, I’m here to drown my sorrows and get lit. If I can do it for free, even better.
“Sure. But no Taylor Swift,” I say. “And Liv has to come with me.”
Francesca smiles. “He already negotiated that into your contract.”
Don’t get me wrong, I have mad respect for the queen of the music industry, but her songs are a hard no for me on karaoke nights.
I down half my Cosmo before walking back toward the stage, my arm linked with my sister’s. I feel like a celebrity when the patrons clap as we climb the two stairs of the platform. Shelly, tonight’s bartender, has entered the songs that were requested into the app on the iPad onstage, and Liv and I start rolling through them.
By the third or fourth song, I’m sweating so profusely I can’t stand it anymore. I take my shirt off, and no shit, a ten-dollar bill lands on the stage.
Using it as encouragement to up the ante, I start moving my hips to the beat as I shove the money under the waistband of my underwear, which is now visible above the waistband of my jeans. The band itself is an inch-wide strip of purple elastic…but what the good people of this bar can’t see is the lace attached to it that’s currently hugging my cock and balls. I may not have all my usual accoutrements in place tonight, but Francy was right, I’m stillme.
People cheer wildly, and it fills my tank. My plan to get drunk and fake it is finally working. I’m starting to feel like myself again for the first time in a long time, basking in the praise and spotlight, using the energy of the room to fuel my own joy.
Until the next song rolls over and the first notes of Benson Boone’sBeautiful Thingsblare through the speakers.
I’m still far too raw for this song.
It hurts too much.
I briefly think about making a mad dash off the stage, but in an instant, Livvy is by my side, her mouth at my ear.
“I understand if you can’t, but maybe you could throw yourself into this song and leave it all on this stage so you can finally start healing.”
