Chapter 42
FORTY-TWO
Three weeks later
Blake
It all came down to this.
They’d filled out an endless supply of licenses, insurance policies, permits, and contracts – enough paperwork to destroy a small forest. They’d balanced budgets and wrangled vendors.
They’d overseen thoughtful renovations that balanced the need to preserve the building’s historic integrity with the demands of outfitting a chic, modern nightclub.
Earlier in the week, they’d cleared the final hurdle – the fire inspection. Virgil had let things slide during his last year managing the club, so the two of them had worked hard to bring Siren up to code. That final walkthrough with the fire marshal was so tense, Blake nearly had a panic attack.
But against all odds, after two months of long days and late nights, they’d pulled it off.
Blake had focused on the creative aspects – choreographing routines, sewing costumes, and developing signature cocktails – while Ethan did his thing behind the scenes, building point of sale and accounting systems.
The dancers were fiercely loyal to Blake, and all-in on his vision for the club.
They’d bonded over Xander’s training sessions, shared meals, and a lot of drunken nights on the town.
Calling themselves “The Siren Guys,” they’d dedicated themselves to learning and polishing the new routines, always challenging one another to be stronger. Sharper. Sexier.
Now, with less than twenty-four hours before the grand opening, the only thing left to do was rehearse the hell out of the show.
Music boomed through the club’s speakers as the dress rehearsal of the final number neared its thrilling climax. Blake sailed through the air in a showstopping front handspring, sticking the landing at the same moment his four backup dancers crisply hit their final marks.
He threw his hands up and yelled, “Boom! Glitter and confetti rain down.”
Ethan and Enzo leapt off their barstools for a standing ovation. His chest heaving and sweat stinging his eyes, Blake beamed at Ethan’s expression of wide-eyed awe.
The rest of the guys high-fived and pulled each other into hugs.
“Great work, everyone,” Blake said, using the crook of his elbow to push his damp hair off his forehead. “Take fifteen. And drink some water!”
Wearing only boots and a pair of sheer black trunks, Blake stepped down from the stage using the side staircase they’d added so that performers could mingle with the audience. He was careful not to touch the ornate iron railing, which Enzo had spray-painted black a few hours ago.
Ethan hurried over with a towel and a bottle of water.
“You’re the best.” Blake draped the towel around his neck and twisted off the bottle’s cap. While he gulped the water, he blotted his brow with the end of the towel.
“Wow,” Ethan said. “I mean, I’ve seen bits and pieces of the show during rehearsal, but seeing it all come together was amazing!”
Blake glanced back at the guys on the stage and lowered his voice. “Maybe too amazing.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the theater world, a good dress rehearsal is bad luck.”
“Why on earth?” Ethan asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Blake found it adorable that Ethan was so baffled by theater lore.
“If the dress rehearsal goes bad, then it’s, like, getting the mistakes out of the way. But if it goes well – as well as it did here today – then you’ve used up all the energy needed for a good show.”
“Those are superstitions. The dress rehearsal is going well because the guys have been busting their asses learning the routines.”
Blake screwed the cap onto the now-empty water bottle. “You’re probably right.”
“Do you want to run through it again? I can order in some lunch for afterwards?”
On the stage, the dancers were getting rowdy, riding high on adrenaline. They horsed around, laughing and playfully snapping the waistbands of each other’s underwear.
“It’s probably best if we stop while we’re ahead,” Blake said. “They need to save up all that energy and enthusiasm for tomorrow night’s show.”
He turned to the stage and called out, “Great work, guys. Why don’t we call it a day? Go home, get some rest, and we’ll come back fresh tomorrow and kick some ass.”
There was a chorus of replies, including “Thanks, boss,” and “We got this, Blake,” before the guys left the stage to get changed.
“Come on,” Ethan said, hurrying toward the bar, with Blake following close behind. “Our interview posted this afternoon.”
Enzo had returned to scrolling on his phone, his reading glasses perched on the end of his nose. He glanced up as Blake approached. “The show looks great. Virgil would be proud.”
“He was hoping to be here for it, but it’s the same week as his trip. We’ll be filming it for him.”
“Outstanding. He hasn’t seen the new sequin blazer you made me, and I can’t wait to show it off.”
Ethan slid onto one of the barstools and turned his laptop so Blake could see the screen. “Check it out.”
Several weeks ago, a writer from the Bay Area Reporter visited the club to interview Blake and Ethan and get a behind-the-scenes peek at the renovations. It seemed like a good omen that the article posted the day before their grand opening.
“You would not believe the buzz in the community. People are excited about what we’re building here.
Listen.” Ethan pointed to a passage and read it aloud for Blake.
“‘In an age where hookup apps dominate, we’re seeing a new renaissance in nightlife. Siren is an exciting addition to the San Francisco gay scene. A community hot spot where you can grab a signature cocktail, take in a show, or dance the night away.’”
“This is really big,” Blake muttered to himself, scrolling through the article and reading the bold pull quotes.
The rest of the guys, now dressed in their street clothes, came around the curtain from the backstage area. Dom and Aston took the stairs down to the main floor, while Steel and Tenny lowered themselves to the stage’s edge and hopped down.
Tenny headed straight for the bar, patting both Blake and Ethan on the shoulder as he passed them. He squatted down to root through the small fridge behind the counter, then popped up with a can of sparkling water.
“I’m going to Charley’s Deli for lunch,” Steel announced. “Anyone interested in tagging along? They have great subs.”
“I’ll join you,” Aston said.
Dom nodded. “Me, too.”
Enzo took off his reading glasses and slipped them into a leather sheath. “I could go for a sub.”
“Awesome,” Steel said. “Blake? Ethan?”
Blake shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“Another time,” Ethan said. “I’m gonna grab something on my way to class.”
“How about you, Tenny? You coming?”
“No thanks. I know the type of establishment you frequent.”
“What’s that about?” Aston asked.
“Tennessee isn’t as adventurous as I am when it comes to food.” Steel added a good-natured “booooring,” before laughing and leading his fellow dancers out of the club.
“I should get going, too,” Ethan said, closing his laptop and slipping it into his backpack. “Although I don’t know how I’m going to pay attention in class. After that rehearsal, I’m buzzing.”
Suddenly self-conscious that he was wearing see-through underwear while Ethan was fully clothed, Blake leaned forward, resting his forearms on the bar.
“Um…” He hesitated. He didn’t want to sound like he was asking Ethan on a date, but after everything they’d been through, he was hoping they could spend some time together before the big day.
“Do you want to hang out tonight? We could get takeout, maybe watch a movie?”
Ethan’s face fell. “I promised Zane we’d grab drinks tonight. Was there something specific you needed to talk about? I could reschedule. The business comes first.”
“No, no. Don’t reschedule. Spend time with your friend.”
“Okay.” Ethan drew his brows together. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure.”
“Call me if you have any questions about tomorrow. Or if you think of anything we forgot.”
“I will.”
“Trust me, we’re ready. All we can do now is try and get some sleep before the big day. Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“We did it.” Ethan opened his arms for a hug.
Blake embraced him, but Ethan’s body was stiff, hovering close to Blake but not sinking into him.
“See you tomorrow,” Ethan mumbled, patting him twice on the shoulder before stepping back. Flashing a sheepish smile, he slung his backpack over his shoulder. He waved goodbye to Tenny, and cast a final, longing glance at Blake before leaving.
As the door closed behind Ethan, Tenny said, “He’ll come around.”
Blake sat on a stool, his shoulders drooping. “You still think we have a chance?”
“I see the way he looks at you.”
“I don’t know.” Blake batted a coaster between his hands like a ping-pong ball. “I’m starting to think my love will always be unrequired.”
“I think you mean ‘unrequited,’ big guy.”
“Yeah, that. I’m just torturing myself at this point. How much longer should I wait for him to change his mind?”
“That’s up to you, my friend. But we’ve all been under a lot of stress with the club opening. Maybe wait for the dust to settle before you make any big decisions?”
Blake met Tenny’s kind eyes. “You’re a good friend, Tenny. Why didn’t we work out as boyfriends?”
“Because we’re too much alike. And I never lit you up the way Ethan does. You shine when he’s around.” Tenny sprayed the top of the bar with cleanser and wiped it down. “I can lock up here if you want to head out and get some rest.”
“Yeah, I think I will. Don’t stay too long.”
As Blake walked back to the rehearsal room to change, his words to Tenny lingered in his mind. Don’t stay too long. He should take his own advice. It was clear that he and Ethan wanted different things. The sooner he could accept that, the sooner they could both move on.
After a light dinner of salad and grilled chicken, Blake took a hot shower to soothe his achy muscles.
The steam and the bracing scent of his shower gel were exactly what he needed to clear his head.
He felt like a new man afterward, relaxed and pleasantly drowsy.
His concerns about the club had faded to a whisper of background static in his thoughts.
While drying his hair, he padded into the living room, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Dustin reclined on the couch with a beer, watching TV. His arm appeared over the back of the couch, pointing toward the kitchen.
“Dude, your phone’s ringing.”
“Oh shit.” Blake hurried over to their small dining table and quickly glanced at his screen to see who was calling. It was Aston. Miles, he reminded himself. He was still getting used to calling his employees by their actual names.
“Hi, Miles, what’s up.”
“Blake,” Miles croaked. His voice was weak and scratchy.
Blake’s heartbeat went into overdrive. “What’s wrong?”