Chapter Eight
Angie’s bar might have been any other country pub in the world, if any other country pub in the world was also a gay bar. Between the secluded red pleather booths, sticky floors, and pictures of Angie—obviously a drag queen—about the place, Rusty was thrilled that a place like this existed.
He was less than thrilled about the company he was keeping, Blake excluded.
“Why are we at the stag do if you’re related to the bride?”
“Stag… do?”
Rusty paused for a moment to decide how to translate that so Blake would understand. “Do you call them bachelor parties?”
“Oh, right.” Blake nodded, looking around and then looking at the glass of water he’d poured himself when he got there. “Megan wanted a girls-only party, so… we have to be out of the house, anyway. Chris invited us. It seemed rude to say no.”
Rusty rolled his eyes. “Bloody Americans and their weird ideas.”
“Hey, you’re married to an American,” Blake pointed out. “You must seesomethingin us.”
“I see lots of things in you,” Rusty said, smiling wryly. “Just not your grasp of Australian English. Imagine being married to an Aussie and not learning any of the lingo.”
“I’m going to assume lingo means language and point out that you weren’t exactly here to teach me,” Blake said.
It was probably supposed to sound like a joke, but it really didn’t. Blake’s whole posture had slumped, the corners of his mouth turned down.
Rusty’s heart hurt for him. Blake just wanted to be loved, too.
Rusty couldn’t promise him that, but comfort, he could manage.
“Hey,” he reached out, touching Blake’s cheek to turn his head toward him. “I’m here now,” he murmured, leaning in close.
Blake smelled of sweet wood, warm and subtly masculine. Rusty parted his lips a fraction as he made contact, keeping the kiss as soft as he could, the lightest touch he could manage.
He’d forgotten what kissing Blake was like. How it wasdifferent, different from anyone else he’d ever kissed. Before or since.
Up until now, he’d thought that was the warm glow of nostalgia, good memories making everything seem like it’d been better than it was, but that wasn’t it. There was just something about Blake. Something that tugged on Rusty’s insides, pulled him in.
Whatever it was, it was dangerous. He and Blake were ships passing in the night at best. They could never be anything else.
“Oh, uh, you two are, umm…”
Rusty looked up to see Chris standing beside their table, his face visibly red even in the low light of the bar.
Beside him, he felt Blake tense up.
MaybeBlakecouldn’t afford to be anything other than a doormat for this guy, but he could.
“We’re married,” Rusty said slowly. It didn’t really matter that they were, but he was starting to like saying it.
“I know, I was just… surprised?” Chris tried. “That you were kissing in public.”
Rusty raised an eyebrow. “Mate, this is a gay bar.”
“I know!” Chris said, no less flustered than he had been a moment ago.
Rusty suspected that he was harmless, but not used to being around gay people.
Based on what he’d seen of Hope Springs, it was just as well he and Megan intended to leave. Chris was from out of town, and he obviously hadn’t been warned that this place was a gay pilgrimage site.
Rusty hadn’t realized either until he’d seen all the rainbow flags and finally looked it up. As it turned out, the place was quietly famous.
