“Will do, sweetie. It’s been a while since I’ve seen Jensen, bring him over for dinner soon, won’t you? He’s a good boy.”
“Hmm. Maybe.”
I turn toward the door, then pause just long enough to lean in and press a quick kiss to her forehead.
“… and he’s a 36-year-old man, Mom,” I tell her, shaking my head. “We’re not ‘boys’ anymore.”
She just chuckles, undeterred.
I step outside and pull the door shut with a soft thud behind myself and buddy as he follows me out.
The evening air is warm but edged with a cooling bite now that the sun is sinking behind the mountains. My boots crunch against the gravel as I make my way to my truck, already picturing the night ahead. A quiet drink, good conversation, and a chance to unwind with my closest friend.
"What time do you call this?" Jensen asks as I step up behind him at the bar, catching him mid order.
The Cowboy’s Hideout, or just ‘Hideout’ to locals, is the heart of this town, the place where everyone gathers, where everybody knows each other. It has a kind of charm that makes it feel more like an old friend than just a local hangout. Denny has owned this place for as long as I can remember, he was one of my dad’s good friends, and he’s one of the coolest guys around. He had a way of turning a blind eye when we were younger, letting us get away with things we shouldn’t, like sneaking drinks before we were legally allowed.
Now, his son James helps run the place, picking up more responsibility as Denny gets older. Back in school, James and I got on well enough, and we’ve had some solid nights out over the years. These days, though, he spends most of his time behind the bar, pouring drinks instead of downing them. I lean against the counter and nod at James.
"I’ll have a whiskey, he’s paying."
I jab my thumb in Jensen’s direction and perch myself on the stool next to him.
"Sorry, what?" Jensen scoffs.
I shrug.
"Well, you dragged me out here, the least you can do is buy me a drink."
He rolls his eyes but doesn’t argue. "You know, there’s such a thing as manners."
"Manners?" I repeat, raising a brow. "You expect too much from me."
I clap him on the back just as he lifts his beer to his lips.
He chokes, spluttering and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
"Dude!"
He glares at me, then flicks his eyes towards James.
Oh. Right. How could I forget. His little crush.
Jensen, despite looking like he walked straight out of a rugged cowboy magazine, is very much gay. And he has been hopelessly hung up on James since high school. I’d bet money that dragging me out tonight was nothing more than an excuse to sit here and ogle at the bartender.
James sets my whiskey in front of me, and I thank him, watching Jensen fumbling for his wallet, still a little red-faced from choking on his drink. He mutters his thanks, and I barely have time to take a sip of my drink before he’s grabbing me by the arm and hauling me across the room.
"The hell …" I start, but he’s already steering me toward our usual booth.
I flop into the seat across from him.
“Jensen, I don’t know why you don’t just climb into his lap and make it official.”
Jensen’s eyes widen, and he hisses a sharp "Shh," and glances nervously over his shoulder, checking to make sure James hasn’t heard. Then, as if physically trying to remove himself from the embarrassment, he yanks me further into the booth from across the table. I laugh.
"I’m not even sure he’s into men," he mutters, settling back against the seat.
I scoff.
