1. Land of the Banging
1
LAND OF THE BANGING
Nate
Yep.
That’s confirmed.
Everything works the same way.
Good to know after the last three years in the sex desert.
Standing at my kitchen counter with only a few minutes before I need to take off, I hit end on the video before anyone finishes. I close the window on that educational website, but there’s no need to clear my browser history since I live alone. After I shut my laptop, I crack my knuckles.
Today marks my return to the land of the living.
Or is it the land of the dating?
Land of the banging?
No clue what it’s called.
It’s aggravating that the thought of getting back out there makes my stomach drop like an amusement park ride. I play a dangerous game for a living in front of packed stadiums and millions more on TV, and I’m nervous about a dunk tank appearance in an hour?
Yes. Yes, I am.
Because there will be scores of hot, available guys at the carnival today. Obviously, I don’t expect any action—it’s a fundraiser for an LGBTQ charity, not a live-action Grindr simulation. Still, Jason sure knew how to rope me into this event. The dunk tank is the place to be for a single dude , he said. Just enjoy the view.
So that’s all today will be. Just some harmless looking.
I grab my keys and go. On the way out of my place in the Marina District, I drop on my shades, and then I head to nearby Crissy Field, determined to leave the past behind.
Time to step into the next phase of my life—totally single and only DTF. The thought of anything more sends spiders crawling up my back.
I shudder, shaking away horrifying memories of commitment gone wrong.
When I reach the fairgrounds, I spot Jason waiting outside the entrance. His arm is draped around Beck, and Beck’s showing him something on his phone.
The two lovebirds don’t even notice me as I walk closer. I clear my throat. “Don’t mind me, Jason. I’m just your teammate and buddy. You know, the one who encouraged you to go after Beck? Good to see you, Nate. Or should I call you Cupid? You’re so awesome, and thanks for making sure I got my man.”
Jason looks up with a wry smile. Beck throws a matching one my way. “I was showing him the cat cam,” Beck explains, waggling the phone.
I lift a curious brow. “Cat cam? I’ve really been out of the game for a while. Is this a new thing I need to know how to do?”
Jason scoffs, laughing too. Beck chuckles.
“Dude, we set up a camera in the living room. Taco chases his tail every morning. And he gets pissed if he can’t catch it. It’s hilarious,” Jason explains.
“One, that’s too cute. Two, fuck you for being too cute,” I say, though I’m happy for them. Even though love didn’t work out for me, I believe it’ll work out for my buddy—these two are couple goals.
Beck smiles, then tips his forehead toward the fairgrounds. “Enjoy the dunk tank.”
“You’re not joining us?” The question is automatic. The dunk tank wouldn’t be Beck’s thing. Beck and Jason are together, but they don’t do everything together. Jason’s outgoing. Beck’s more shy. Makes sense that he wouldn’t volunteer for an in-the-spotlight activity like that.
“No. But I can meet you guys later for a drink,” Beck says. “I’m going to the bookstore. There’s a new Rhys Locke I want to check out.”
“Oh, let me know if it’s worth picking up. That ending in his last book killed me. I’m still dead from it,” I say.
Beck salutes me. “I’ll give you a book report.”
Jason kisses his guy on the cheek, then Beck takes off.
“You two,” I mutter affectionately.
“I know.” Jason tries to hide an infatuated smile and fails miserably.
Over at the carnival grounds, the Ferris wheel rotates ominously against the clear blue sky. As I survey the scene, that unsettled feeling hits my gut again. People are everywhere. Or, more specifically, half-naked men are everywhere. “This place is teeming with dudes,” I say, both hopeful and apprehensive.
“As advertised,” my buddy says, then claps my shoulder. “Man, this is like a debutante ball, isn’t it? I feel like I should announce you.” Jason makes a megaphone with his hands but thank fuck he doesn’t actually shout. “And now, presenting the Hawks receiver. Nate Chandler is twenty-nine, enjoys superhero flicks, coffee stronger than a locomotive, and losing at golf, but he will school anyone in karaoke and catching touchdowns.”
I scowl, then smile. The last one matters the most. I fucking love my job. I glance around, like I’m looking for all the takers. “It’s a miracle they’re not lining up right now.”
“They will be, my friend. They will be,” Jason says, then he studies my face, concern in his eyes. He stops. “You good?”
I stop, too, sighing. “It’s just been…a while. I feel more than rusty.”
He smiles sympathetically. “Hey, no pressure from me. You know that, right?’’
I do. Jason asked me to volunteer since he’s involved with the charity. Sure, he mentioned the scenery, but he never suggested I should get back on the hookup merry-go-round right this minute. He hasn’t pushed at all. But I’m ready to get in the game after a long timeout post-divorce, and with all the queer dudes around, my dick wants to take a whirl.
“I do know that, and I appreciate it,” I say.
“It’s all good if nothing happens. If you meet someone, it’s cool. This is a good place to meet a guy. And if you don’t, no big deal either,” he adds as we resume walking through the fairgrounds.
That takes some of the pressure off, but only a bit. I’d like to have sex again, any kind. I seriously miss it. “I’ve got to get back out there at some point. I’m not going to monk it up forever,” I say.
“Good. Then I’ve got a question for you. Do you like pie?” he asks as we walk by the ring toss.
I know where he’s going, and I don’t like it. Not. One. Bit.
“The ring toss is fun,” I say helpfully, then I point to the nearby strongman game. “I’m totally happy to run one of those too.”
“And if the strongman dude called in sick, I’d ask you first. But the pie-toss guy did. Any chance you can do double duty? We need a dunk-tank target and a pie-toss one.”
I groan in misery. “For my first official day on the market you’re gonna let half the queer dudes in San Francisco throw my least favorite dessert at me?”
“How is pie worse than getting hit in the dunk tank?”
“I like water. I don’t like pie.”
“I don’t get that. But taste aside, we really need someone who can handle getting hit. And, well, that’s you, my man.”
My marriage was a bit like getting smacked in the face with surprise after surprise. “Because of my ex?”
He rolls his eyes. “No. Because you’re a badass baller. And maybe some super-hot dude will pummel you with pies.”
“Great. That’s how I want to meet my rebound hottie. While getting whacked in the face with a cream pie.”
He smiles. Evilly. “I mean…”
I flip him the bird.
But fuck nerves.
It’s now or never.
Since I’m already in board shorts and slides, I stride over to the dunk tank, yank off my San Francisco Hawks T-shirt, and toss it on a nearby bench.
Watch out, men of San Francisco, I’m back on the market, and I don’t have a damn clue how the world works anymore.
I climb up, park my ass on the bench above the water, and wait for someone to hit the target.