Better Than Friends (15 page)

Except it wasn’t the end. He called, I answered, and another date was set up. Once again, he was traveling the following week but wondered if I were free the following Saturday evening. I was, so what could I say? I wasn’t used to being pursued and I admit I kind of liked the idea of having a date on my calendar. Chances were I’d be sitting at home watching baseball, hopefully not alone but there was no guarantee. Jack and I were new friends, and he was busy with his bar on weekend nights. True, he had a staff he trusted, but I didn’t want to start thinking there was more between us than there really was.

“M
Y
TEAM
is playing yours this weekend.”

I was at the office and hadn’t checked the caller ID when I’d picked up my cell. My attention was fixated on my computer screen until I heard Jack’s low, sexy voice. I smiled and sat back in my chair, letting myself take a break as I swiveled around to stare out at my view of the street below my office window.

“Hmm. Are you ready to get whipped?” I asked as though it were a foregone conclusion.

“Ha-ha. A fucking riot, aren’t ya? My place or yours? Wait. Mine. What the hell was I thinking? Unless a hoarder intervention was staged in the past couple of weeks, we’ll never find the damn TV, let alone be able to watch it.”

I chuckled in spite of myself. “Asshole. It’s clean. I promise. I actually broke down and hired someone to come in and do the honors for me once a week. So yeah, come on over.”

“See you Saturday, Curtis. I’ll bring the beer.”

We hung up, and I took a moment to savor how much I liked just talking to Jack. The idea of spending Saturday… oh shit! I sat up quickly and hurried to my computer to look up the time of the Braves-Giants game. I breathed a sigh of relief when I saw that it was an early afternoon game. But this still had the potential for being awkward. I basically was seeing two guys in the same day. One was technically a friend I’d fooled around with while the other was a traditional “dinner/movie” date. This was a new one for me. I bit my lip, wondering what, if anything, I should do about it.

“W
ELL
,
WHAT
do you know? This is actually a cool little pad under all the takeout boxes and old magazines.” Jack leaned against the doorframe, wearing his aviator sunglasses and a slick leather bomber jacket. I licked my lips to check the drool before moving aside to let him in.

Jack made himself at home, carrying the bag of snacks and a six-pack of beer he’d brought directly to the kitchen. He opened two bottles, handing me one before shrugging his jacket off his shoulders. I wondered at my reaction to him. He was blessed with an incredible body, which he surely worked hard to maintain, but it wasn’t just his toned musculature. There was something in how he moved. He was very graceful for someone so big. He carried himself like a dancer. I smiled at my analogy.

“What’s so funny?”

I gave him an exaggerated cocky grin and moved over to the sofa. “My team is about to trounce yours. I’m happy. That’s all.”

“You haven’t won anything yet.”

Jack sat down in the armchair next to me. We bantered back and forth good-naturedly about sports and let the conversation morph into a “how was your week?” and “what exactly do you do for a living?” informational chat, while keeping an eye on the action on the big-screen TV.

“So are you an office-type lawyer? Tell me about the immense importance of eminent domain.” Jack’s tone was teasing but he also managed to seem interested, so I embarked on a short description of my day-to-day life at the firm.

“What do you wear?”

“Clothes. What do you mean?” The Giants were at bat at the bottom of the second inning. Usually that alone would have my attention, but Jack was all kinds of distracting.

“You know… do you wear a suit or is it more of a casual-environment kind of place?”

I’m sure my blank stare spoke volumes. Jack chuckled and took a sip of his beer. “It’s not that strange a question.”

“Uh, well… yeah. Whoa! Did you see that?
Woo-hoo!
Home run for the good guys!” I barely curbed my urge to jump up and celebrate, thinking that might be a little obnoxious.

“Yeah, yeah. Early in the game, man. Don’t get too excited.” Jack looked amused at my outburst, not irritated in the slightest.

“Sure, sure. Giants 1, Braves 0. Now what the fuck were you asking me about clothes at work?”

“You do wear them, right?”

“Ha-ha. Thank God my coworkers do, that’s all I have to say.” I gave a mock shiver and we both laughed. “The answer to your weird question is yes, I wear clothes.” Jack rolled his eyes and smirked as I continued. “I usually wear a suit, but more of a casual suit so I can comfortably take off my jacket, undo my tie, roll up my sleeves, and get to it, ya know?”

Jack didn’t respond, and I could have sworn it was because he couldn’t. I glanced over to see him take a deep breath and yet another drink of beer.

“Dude, we have seven more innings to go. You may want to slow down there.” I pointed at the bottle in his hand.

“Dude? Your California is showing.”

“Mmm. So what do you wear? And why are we talking about this, anyway? Did you really want to know or is this another lawyer razz session?”

“I have nothing but the utmost respect for you lawyer types. And I asked ’cause you can tell a lot about someone from the uniform they wear every day in a work setting versus how they dress in their free time. I would guess you’re always casual in your spare time.”

“Of course. Why would I dress up if I didn’t have to?” This seemed like a silly conversation, and I wondered if it was one of those times when you realize you don’t have anything in common with someone you just met and hoped to find the opposite was true.

“I own a bar, Curt. Think about it.”

“Uh, coming up blank. Sorry. I’m not… you mean, people in their free time who go to bars like yours and wear leather are relaxing in a different way than me when I go to a similar establishment dressed in jeans… or khakis,” I added with a grin.

“Yes, but you know my place isn’t actually a ‘true leather bar,’ right? Like I’ve said before, anyone is welcome wearing whatever type of ‘uniform’ they like.” Jack used air-quotes in a friendly manner, mocking my tendency to overuse them when I was trying to make a point. Knowing he’d picked up on my silly idiosyncrasy and went along with it made me like him just a little bit more.

“Strikes me as obvious but I think you’re telling me something. What is it?”

“I guess it is obvious in a way. I’m a business owner with two businesses, and though no one wears suits, usually, they tend to wear their own version of a uniform. It might be leather chaps with a harness and bondage collar for the guys who are heading to a real ‘leather’ club later in the evening or tight jeans with a leather vest with no shirt or maybe a highway patrolman’s shirt. Some guys like hats… maybe a Stetson or even a simple baseball cap.”

My mouth went dry. Bone-dry. I tried to speak but nothing came out. Yeah, I understood what he was saying. Sort of. But either way, I was intrigued.

“Are you talking about fetishes?” My voice came out as a whisper. I had to look up to see if Jack had heard me because I really didn’t want to repeat myself. I was warm all over and pretty sure my cheeks were bright red.

“Could be.”

I thought he’d laugh. Maybe give me a good-natured poke for letting my mind drift in the gutter, but no, Jack’s tone was laced with something I couldn’t define. I almost sensed that damn twenty-five-foot wave coming to swallow me whole. Out of my depth. Out of my league, my zip code. Everything. I didn’t necessarily come from a simple place, but I was a simple guy. I loved my friends, sports, and my work. Probably in that order. I didn’t know the first thing about fetishes. I took a sip of my beer and hoped for another Giants’ homer.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

I automatically rushed to assure him I was fine with the topic at hand (totally lie to him, I mean), but his eyes were twinkling again. He was fucking with me. Again.

“Fuck you. You do this on purpose, don’t you?”

“What?”

“Ugh! You are always trying to throw me off. I was about to ask if Jack’s was some kind of fetish club. Geez.” I set my bottle on the battered coffee table. I was talking too much. I expected him to laugh outright and tell me I was naive, gullible. He was unnervingly quiet again. My Giants were back at bat in the bottom of the third. I needed them to come through for me and give my nerves a break.

“In a way, yes. In a way, no.” Jack’s stare spoke volumes. I didn’t understand this language, though, and after a moment or so he relented, shifting his gaze to the game.

“What way? Are you referring to it being a prehangout before hitting the BSDM club?” I was torn between being curious and pissed with myself for asking.

I wanted to know about Jack. Even though I felt we did share a few things in common, there was a vast chasm between us. Maybe it was years on this planet; after all, he was fourteen years my senior. Or maybe it was that his interests lay in darker pursuits. Fetishes. I would have to google it, I mused. I knew nothing about that type of lifestyle. I wasn’t really certain that was what he was telling me, anyway. Kinky sex?

“I think you mean BDSM. And yes, for some that is exactly what Jack’s is, a place to gather before you play.”

The announcer’s excited voice proved the perfect diversion from the heat flash and cotton mouth I was experiencing.

“And it’s going, it’s going, it’s out of the park! That’s a splash hit! Off the fly and directly hitting McCovey Cove! Unbelievable!”

I swallowed hard, blinked, and turned to the television. A
splash hit
indicated a home-team home run. Another score for the Giants. I could barely remember what inning it was suddenly. I should be whooping for joy and giving this Braves’ fan some shit for doubting my team’s genius. But all I could think about was the word
fetish
. I had to know what the fuck Jack was talking about when I could find my voice.

“We’re kickin’ your ass,” I said lamely. I needed a sip or two more of liquid courage before I could ask any pertinent questions. How does one phrase said questions, anyway?

“So it seems. Still just 0–2 and plenty of game time. I’m not too worried.” Jack stood and ruffled my hair as he passed the sofa. “I’m gonna grab a beer. You want another one?”

“Yeah, thanks.”

I used his absence to calm my breathing and refocus. I cast a quick stare in his direction as he left the living room. He was dressed in a slim-fitting pair of long, dark shorts and a snug white V-neck T-shirt. He didn’t look like he’d shaved that morning, and the extra hair on his face juxtaposed with his longish dark hair should have made him look scruffy. Instead he looked dangerously sexy. Like the kind of guy you could certainly be convinced was up to no good. I never tended to notice clothing on men, I realized. In fact, my eye was consistently drawn to Jack’s beautiful body ink. I loved the way his white shirt seemed to make the intricate tattoo on his upper arm pop. I wanted to study it, run my fingers over his warm skin, and….

He returned quickly, set the opened bottle in my hand, and stroked his fingers through my hair in an almost lover-like manner. I did a double take at him as he took his seat, but he didn’t pay any attention. His touchy-feely shows of affection threw me off balance. They probably weren’t affectionate at all. Some people were more tactilely inclined than others. I was making myself nuts with my overanalyzing.

“What fetishes exactly?” I was perversely pleased when Jack sputtered his beer, choking slightly as he wiped at his mouth. “I’m sorry. I’m curious and I know nothing about that… lifestyle. What exactly are you into? Wait. If that was too personal, don’t answer. It’s fine.”

Jack stared at me again, but this time I got the feeling he was trying to think of how much he was willing to divulge. God, I hoped this wasn’t about to get weird.

“Me?” Jack asked nonchalantly. You would have thought we were discussing favorite brands of ice cream, for fuck’s sake.

I nodded slowly.

“Uniforms.”

“Uniforms? Uh… like any in particular? You don’t mean like scrubs for doctors or um….” I looked at the TV screen. “Baseball players’ uniforms?”

“Yes, exactly. Total turn on. What about you?”

“Not so fast. Scrubs do nothing for me, but yeah, a baseball uniform on the right guy with a hot… yes, but I was asking about you. Not me.”

“Fair enough. But it really is that simple. I love masculine men in uniform. It could be a fireman, police officer, doctor, or—”

“Bet you were a fan of the Village People,” I said snarkily.

“Hmm. Or a lawyer,” he said, ignoring my sarcasm.

“Lawyers don’t have a uniform.”

“Sure you do. A suit. Nothing fucking sexier than a hot guy in a suit, if you ask me.”

I took a long drink from my bottle. I really didn’t know what to say. For all I knew, he was still messing with me.

“How does your fetish for… uniforms play into the whole club thing?”

“I just told you what I like. The guys—and gals too—who come to Jack’s are a mixed bag. Some guys are into the BDSM scene and may be dressed in leather, chains, and God only knows what we can’t see underneath their clothes. Some might be playing a game with their partner… maybe like a daddy thing. And others might just want a cool place to meet up with buddies after work that’s geared toward a more testosterone-laden crowd.”

“Like bears?” I knew enough to be dangerous. I remembered a friend telling me once his date was a bear. I was clueless and looked it, I’m sure, so my buddy explained he was just a hairy, masculine kind of guy. Huh. It was a funny thing that a gay twenty-eight-year-old man such as myself needed a road map—preferably with photos—when it came to all the subcategories of gay men. What the hell was I? Just a regular guy who liked… men.

Jack smiled widely, his eyes glinting like a pirate again. “Bears are cool. Like I told you before, anyone is welcome. You could be wearing a boa, glitter, and hot pants, and we’d happily serve you whatever you wanted, honey.”