“I have amazing things to say,” Jackson says, holding out his hand for me to shake. I reach awkwardly across the table and shake his hand with my clammy one, only cringing slightly.
He whistles, but his attention is on Gabe. “Phew, you weren’t kidding about his nickname. Well, minus the whole serial-killer part.”
Gabe is shooting daggers through his eyes at his friend when I turn to look at him in surprise. The rest of the table is laughing, but it doesn’t feel like I’m the butt of a joke. I don’t think. “Nickname?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gabe says. “Like Travis says, you can’t listen to anything Jackson says.”
Jackson laughs, and I want to push the issue, but Gabe distracts me. “The youngin is Luke.” I look at the man, who does look to be ten years younger than everyone else at the table, but I know from my own experience, looks can be deceiving.
“I’m not that young,” the guy grumbles. “Twenty-five,” he says, holding up a beer in Gabe’s direction before taking a big swig of it.
Gabe just laughs it off and then nods in the direction of the two beautiful women at the table. I now see that the darker-haired one seems to be pregnant—though no matter how socially inept I may be, there’s no way I’d say that out loud in case I’m wrong. “That’s his big sister, Sarah, and her wife, Missy. Everyone here is on Oakley’s Crew.”
“Yeah, but we’ll be losing Missy soon,” Travis grumbles through a drink of his beer, though, I notice the teasing hint of his tone and maybe a little excitement.
Missy just laughs at him, taking a drink of what I assume is water. “Please. I’ll be out of work for three months. I think you boneheads will be fine.”
“I’m going to miss you,” her wife says, leaning into her and smacking a kiss against her cheek.
I try not to shift uncomfortably in my chair, but I can’t help scoping out the rest of the bar as the two women sit so close and when Oakley pulls Travis into his lap. I don’t notice anyone hostile around here, no one with hatred in their eyes, but it’s hard for me to believe.
This is Hayes, Kansas. As far as I’m concerned, they’re stuck in the dark ages when it comes to gay relationships. But no one seems bothered. Gabe must notice my unease, though, because he leans in close to my ear, his voice low and sexy. “You’re safe here. I promise. Archie practically lived here before he met Cane—his boyfriend.” I meet his eyes. “And the guy was not subtle about looking for guys to hook up with.”
That makes my lip quiver in a slight smile. “So, Oakley’s Crew really is queer as fuck?”
That gets a boisterous laugh from the group around me—who for a minute, I admit I totally forgot about, but Oakley raises a beer to that. “Hell yeah! I need to have shirts made!”
“No,” his husband says quickly, but there’s a teasing smirk on his face as he looks adoringly at his husband, then to me. “We’re definitely inclusive.”
“Yeah, we even accept Gabe’s straight ass,” Missy says and blows Gabe a quick kiss.
He laughs, but I don’t miss the subtle uncomfortable shift in his seat as he blows her a kiss right back. I, however, don’t feel like laughing at the reminder of Gabe being straight.
His friends would know, right? Unless... well, he did say he doesn’t really know what he is when we were talking about sexuality.Maybe...
No.I shake my head at my own intrusive thoughts because I can’t let my brain go there.This is not a date.
“You want a drink?” Gabe asks, and I notice all the eyes on us, but I don’t look away from his.
“Um, yeah.” I stand up on very shaky legs. “I can get it.”
“I’ll go with you,” he says, that deep drawl making my body wish like hell this were a date. But it’s been so long since I’ve been with a man, I don’t think this body would even know what to do.
Especially not with a guy like Gabe . . .
“Okay,” I barely manage to squeak out, and I hear lots of laughing and teasing behind us and Gabe shushing them but just try to ignore it and make my way to the bar.
“Hey, hun. What can I get you?” The nice woman behind the bar asks me and then nods to Gabe. “You want a refill already, sweetie?”
“No thanks, Mae. Just whatever he wants. It’s on me.”
“Sure thing.” She looks to me, and I want to argue about him paying for my drink, but I think my tongue has swollen or something. My mouth feels dry, and I can’t form words.
“Um... beer. Please,” I barely choke out. “Whatever you have on tap.”
“No problem.” The woman seems overly nice, and I don’t think she’s sizing me up or wondering why Gabe is buying me a drink. But what I do know is I haven’t been in a place like this in a really long time.
I tried a couple of times after I finished college. It didn’t go well. I always left in a panic—thinking my high school bullies would pop out at any minute, even though I tried bars in other towns. But not this one.
