Xander’s already made eye contact with the dude next to me and is off on his whirlwind tour of Brayden’s birthday table.
I feel like I just accepted cash for sexual favours.
Once Xander’s done – topping his state visit with another selfie with Brayden – everyone gushes about how nice he is. I gush too, two-faced coward that I am. But I wonder if I’ve been too mean and bitter, purely hating on Xander for being more successful than me. Maybe he’s not the enemy.
I’m about to make a move when a new guy joins the table. Unlike Xander, he doesn’t announce his arrival, but shuffles up beside Brayden awkwardly, like he’s uncomfortable to even be here. He instantly gets my attention. He’s a hot bear cub with a scruffy, coppery beard. He’s tall and looks like he used to be muscular but has gained weight: he has a bit of a belly under his red-and-black checked flanno shirt. His bulky arse is in tight faded blue jeans. He’s wearing wheat-coloured Mongrel work boots and a green-and-white John Deere trucker cap. He looks like he should have tattoos, but I can’t see any.
I want him to fuck me immediately.
‘Ay, the Ginger Ninja!’ the bear cub says to Brayden.
Brayden looks excited to see him. ‘Firetruck! You came! I love that for you. See, gay bars aren’t scary, are they?’
The bear cub, Firetruck, looks bashful and gives an embarrassed half-smile. Brayden’s comment must mean he’s straight, which blows. The way half the guys at the table are sucking their drinks from their straws suddenly, he could have any one of us. Abs are hot but there’s nothing like a blokey dad bod to rev up a boy’s engine.
‘Got this for ya,’ Firetruck mutters. He hands Brayden the worst-wrapped present I’ve ever seen. The shiny paper is cheap and ripped and there’s more sticky tape than paper. It’s like a five-year-old wrapped it.
Firetruck is also the only guy who bought an actual present for Brayden, which makes me crush on him even more. It’sunderstood if someone does their birthday at a bar, the last thing they want is to lug around gifts all night. Firetruck missed the memo, which means he’s not a party boy and definitely not on the scene.
Please be at least bicurious.
I have fallen arse-over-tits for so many straight boys. Ahmed now jokes if I ever meet a straight boy again, I have to tell him so he can slap some sense into me before I waste my time.
But I can’t help it. I have a type. I’ve always had a type.
I knock back the rest of my Heineken and charge up to Brayden.
‘Another drink for the birthday boy?’ I ask, standing between him and Firetruck. ‘Oh, hey, dude, I’m Charlie.’
Firetruck nods, looking me up and down just long enough for me to develop some suspicions.
‘Hey, mate, I’m Mason. Nice to meet ya,’ he says, shaking my hand. His grip is firm and blokey.
I fuckingwould.
Brayden’s narrowed his eyes at me: he knows exactly what I’m doing. ‘Get me a birthday cocktail,’ he says. ‘Something fruity.’
‘That’s a given with you, Bray, isn’t it?’ I joke. I tap Mason on the shoulder; it’s like granite. ‘Can I get you a drink, dude? Beer?’
‘Aw, don’t go to any trouble,’ Mason says.
‘No, I’m happy to!’ I insist. ‘What’s your poison?’
‘Wouldn’t go past a Bush Chook,’ he says.
He drinks bloody Emu Export. He might as well box a kangaroo in front of me.Marry me, Bloke Man.
‘They don’t stock the Chooks here,’ I tell him. ‘We have Great Northern, though.’
Mason shrugs. ‘Yeah, that’ll do. All piss, isn’t it?’ He whips out a chunky Quiksilver wallet, rips the Velcro open and hands me a ten-dollar note. I don’t know what’s more endearing: that he hasthe kind of wallet a sixteen-year-old has, or that he still uses cash, or that he thinks ten dollars will cover a drink at a gay bar.
I refuse his money. ‘Dude, this is my shout,’ I offer. ‘Be right back.’
I head to the bar and join a tightly locked throng wasting away in the drinks line. Madonna’s ‘Vogue’ comes on the speakers, which makes half the guys ahead of me abandon their quest for alcohol and head to the dance floor. Cheers, Madge. I step closer to the bar.
‘I’m onto you, Charlie Roth,’ a voice says.
I turn. Brayden is beside me, skinny arms crossed over his chest.
