He leaned in and whispered into my ear. “You glazed my donut with strawberry icing.”
Well-fucked Trent was visibly less anxious, reaching for my hand in a lazy way, not as a lifeline to ground himself.
Giggling like naughty teenagers, we turned to our seats. The sheer joy bubbling in me was fueled more by the man next to me than my favorite band’s concert. And that said a lot about how addicted I was getting to Trent. I had zero regrets and many plans to spend more time with him.
Chapter Fifteen
Trent
After the concert, we’d gone our separate ways, but we’d made plans to meet at Randy’s after work during the week. I’d drive home like a bat out of hell, shower and run to the diner where we had food and walked around the city. Not every corner of Boston was new to me as I’d visited it with my parents and on a school trip to the Museum of Science. But the places Charlie showed me were unique enough for me to never find it, even if I spent years in Boston. The underground music store had vinyls my mom listened to, and I’d found an ABBA vinyl record in great shape for her birthday a few months away.
Today, Charlie got another leather jacket in a vintage clothes store we raided, and I scored a Chicago Bulls jersey with a big fat 23 on it. Being a Celtics fan didn’t mean I couldn’t love Jordan, the GOAT.
“Is this where you buy concert clothes?” I asked when we walked out with bags full of unique finds. On the days I met Charlie straight after work, he’d wear a black button down and jeans, a more toned-down version of his casual punk rocker style. What I loved the most was that he found a way to stay true to himself whenever he went. Well, and the fact that, if he wore jeans, I could see the outline of his packer and it would remind me of the thorough railing he could give me with his cock. Maybe I’d even get to choose which one.
“Mostly. I buy new plain threads and everyday wear at regular stores, but even when retro fashion returns, the quality is not the same. Most of the vintage clothes are made from sturdier fabrics and stitched better. I learned that after my dad gave me his favorite old jeans he’d kept for two decades when he was a teenager. I still wear them and they’re in great shape.” He patted his denim-clad thigh. “The used leather can be treated and at times is better than new because it’s already broken and has a history. I’ll never know it but I can feel it when I put it on. I’ve never fit into boxes, so I’ll stick to my weird mix of old and new fashion.”
“I think it’s bad-ass. You’ve always had a sense of style, but now.” I whistled low, giving him my dimpled smile.
He bumped me with his hip. “Flattery or not, I’m not taking that cage off today. Unless you’re asking for a makeover.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I could pull off a rockstar no matter how hard I tried. Besides, I like my comfy clothes. And the cage keeps me sane.”
“Fair. You’d pull off anything you set your mind on, I’m certain of that.”
Charlie had such a big personality, interests and unique style, but he was not pushing any of it on me. He invited me to the concert, but never tried to convince me to listen to his favorite bands, look, or behave differently when we were together. I was myself around him and as much as we differed; he didn’t seem to mind. Whenever he wore a band t-shirt, I’d ask him what it was and to play me their music. I loved how passionately he spoke of the genre, as well as the message the songs had. Still, I liked his own songs he played me the most. Maybe I was biased, but who cared?
Charlie pushed the door to Randy’s open, and I followed him, inhaling the scent of coffee and food that soaked through clothes if you sat there for more than a minute.
The welcoming fifties vibe with white and light blue checkerboard floor and vinyl seating brought memories of finding my Charlie here after so many years apart.
Henry, a full-time server, sashayed to a table in our field of vision and noticed us. He pointed his long nail at our booth, then gave us a thumbs up, familiar with mine and Charlie’s favorite spot.
We sat next to each other, expecting Sabrina and Trixie to join us at any moment. Then a thought hit me.
“Charlie?”
“Yeah.” Charlie waved to Henry, who was on his way to us.
“Did I forget, or have you not told me what the name of your band was?”
Charlie turned to me and bit his lip.
“What can I get you, lovebirds?” Henry tapped his nails on the table, drawing our attention. “The usual?”
“Coffee for now and four waters.” Charlie set the menu with specials aside with a smirk I couldn’t decipher. “We’re waiting for the rest of our party. Thanks, Henry.”
“No problem, sweetie.” He clicked his high heels and walked like a runway model to the next table.
“You didn’t forget the name of the band. I haven’t told you.” Charlie half-turned to me and wrapped his arms around his middle.
I propped my chin on my hand and poked Charlie’s thigh with the other. “What is it then?”
Charlie pursed his lips. “77 Rotary Road.”
I frowned. “But it’s—”
“Yeah. Some people interpret the 77 as punk, which is exactly why I thought that would fly as a name.” He repositioned in his seat. “I didn’t tell you not to make it weird, but that’s the address where I realized I was trans and gay.”
