Chapter 43
FORTY-THREE
Ethan
A draft of cool air slapped the back of Ethan’s neck as the door to The Jackal King swung open again, for the third time since he’d sat down. The place was packed for a Thursday night, and the only table he and Zane had been able to snag was the one tucked between the door and the end of the bar.
The regulars knew to avoid this spot at all costs, and had dubbed it “The Bermuda Table,” because of its similarity to the legendary Bermuda Triangle – nobody lasted there for long.
Between the draft and the constant foot traffic, the unlucky souls at The Bermuda Table could kiss comfort and privacy goodbye.
A group of loud, drunken frat-boy types stumbled into the bar, playfully shoving each other.
One of the guys tripped over his own feet and crashed into the back of Ethan’s chair.
Leaning on Ethan’s shoulder for support, the guy pushed himself back to a standing position, then patted Ethan on the back.
“Sorry, man,” he slurred.
“Don’t mention it,” Ethan said with a fake smile.
The guy’s buddies had the door propped open, and the cool air raised goose bumps on the back of Ethan’s neck. He shivered and zipped his hoodie, gathering the hood around his neck.
He regretted turning down Blake’s offer. Watching a movie in a warm apartment while snuggled under a blanket was sounding really good right now.
Zane breezed through the crowd around the bar and placed a bottle of beer in front of Ethan. “Here you go. A nice, sensible low-alcohol beer for Mr. I-have-to-get-up-early-even-though-my-club-doesn’t-open-until-five.”
Ethan clinked the neck of the bottle against Zane’s cocktail glass once he’d settled into the seat across from him.
“The club might not open until five, but there’s always last-minute stuff that comes up. The dress rehearsal went well, but… there’s just a lot riding on the show. All kinds of things could go wrong––”
“Don’t invite trouble. We need to get you out of your head. Take your mind off the club for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Thirty if he’s good at what he’s doing.” Zane leaned forward, beckoning with his hand. “Gimme your phone.”
Ethan tried to hide his smile by taking a sip of beer. “No.”
“Come on, fire up Grindr. I can tell you there’s at least one guy within walking distance.
” With a subtle nod of his head, Zane motioned toward a guy hunched over the bar, twirling his beer bottle on a coaster.
Sporting a grey beanie and button-up denim shirt, he looked like every other hipster in the city.
Ethan didn’t get “gay vibes” from the guy, but Zane’s gaydar was rarely wrong. He had to admit, the guy was attractive, with a well-groomed beard and thick fingers…
“Nope,” Ethan said, shaking himself out of the fantasy taking shape in his mind. “I don’t want to hook up tonight.”
“Babe, when was the last time you got some action?”
The door swung open, and another blast of chilly evening air grazed Ethan’s neck.
“This table sucks,” he grumbled.
“It’s not that bad, and you’re dodging the question. When was the last time you got laid?”
Ethan scrubbed his hand over his mouth. He glanced around the club to make sure he wouldn’t be overheard, then muttered, “I had sex with Blake the night The Firehouse closed.”
“That was months ago!” Zane exclaimed, drawing the attention of everyone around them. “Why am I just hearing about it now?”
“You’re lucky you’re hearing about it at all.” Ethan pulled his hoodie up and buried his face in the soft fabric, trying to hide his burning cheeks. “Fuck. I was embarrassed, okay? It’s unprofessional to sleep with your co-worker.”
“Babe, I live for those rare moments when you cut loose and are unprofessional. Why would you deprive me of my greatest joy?”
“I don’t love that you get so much satisfaction from my sexual exploits.”
“It’s not that much satisfaction lately.”
“Oh my god,” Ethan muttered, placing both hands over his face.
“How was the sex?”
“Amazing.”
“And you haven’t hooked up with anyone since then?”
“No.”
Zane fell silent. That was never a good sign. Peeking between his fingers, Ethan found Zane watching him over the top of his glass as he sipped his Manhattan. The edges of his eyes crinkled, giving away his smile.
“I know where you’re going with this,” Ethan said. “Stop.”
“You like Blake.”
“Of course I like Blake.”
“You like Blake.” Zane emphasized the word like with a lift of his eyebrows.
“Maybe. Yeah.” Ethan thought back to their second date, listening to music together under the stars.
It was the night he first felt that tug in his heart that let him know that whatever happened between them, Blake would always be more than just a hookup.
“I never stopped liking him. But it doesn’t matter. We can’t date each other.”
“Who said anything about dating?”
“Fine, we can’t have wild, sweaty sex every weekend.”
“Why not?”
“Have you been listening? We own a club together.”
Zane scoffed. “Being co-workers has literally never stopped anyone from fooling around, in the whole history of the world.”
Ethan averted his gaze and picked at the label on his beer. “You know there’s more to it than that.”
“This has to do with Howie, doesn’t it?”
“Ugh. Don’t call my dad that. It’s weird. Makes him sound like a teenager, and I don’t want to picture my dad doing it in the backseat of his car.”
“Like Howard has ever done it anywhere except in his bed, under the covers, with the lights off.”
After staring at each other for a beat, the two broke into a fit of laughter.
“Stop it,” Ethan said, trying to catch his breath. “Now that’s all I can see!”
As their laughter subsided, Ethan heaved a weary sigh. “Look, he’s still coming to terms with the fact that I’m running a burlesque club. I’d completely lose his respect if I dated a porn star.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Zane plunked down his glass, hard enough for some of his cocktail to slosh onto the table.
“I’ve tried to be a good friend. To keep my mouth shut and just listen.
But, dude, you’ve got to get over this hang-up about porn.
Gay men like sex. Plenty of gay men sleep around.
Hell, I’m well on my way to matching Blake’s body count, and you don’t hold it against me. ”
“You don’t film your dalliances and post them online for the world to see.”
“Dalliances? Wow. You sound like an Edwardian dowager. Look, Blake got paid to fuck hot guys, and let someone film him doing it. So the fuck what? He’s not doing it anymore.
He likes you. You like him. Give him a chance.
Who cares if your dad doesn’t like that he did porn?
You’re not a kid anymore. You get to make your own choices now. ”
“It’s not that easy, Zane. I missed out on so much time with my dad when I was growing up, but we finally have a relationship. Things are good now. Maybe not great, but it took us a long time to get to this point.”
Zane reached across the table and held Ethan’s hand. “I know you want his approval, babe. But if you have to make yourself smaller to get it, is that real respect?”
“I’m not… making myself smaller,” Ethan mumbled.
“Blake seems like a great guy. Do you really want to miss your shot with him because of your dad?”
“I—” Ethan’s phone rang, and he furrowed his brow when he read the name on the screen. “It’s Gabriel. One of the dancers. I should take this.”
He answered the call, holding the speaker close to his ear. “Gabe?”
“Hi E, sorry to call so late.” Gabe’s voice sounded terrible, hoarse and weak. “I tried Blake but his phone was busy.”
“Don’t worry about it. Are you alright?”
“No. I’ve been living in the bathroom all night.
It’s coming out both ends. Maybe food poisoning?
I won’t be able to perform tom––” a stifled gag stole Gabe’s words, and moments later Ethan heard vomit splashing into a toilet.
After a few gut-wrenching dry heaves, Gabe muttered, “How can I still be puking?”
Ethan’s head swam as he ran through all the numbers Gabriel danced in. Three numbers. Almost half the show. Struggling to keep his voice steady, he said, “Don’t worry about the show, Gabe. We’ll figure something out. Get some rest. Call me tomorrow to let me know how you’re doing, okay?”
“Okay, E. Oh no, not again. Gotta go.”
The call abruptly ended.
“Shit. I have to call Blake.”
Blake picked up on the first ring. His voice frantic, he blurted, “Miles and Enzo are sick.”
Ethan’s hands trembled. “So’s Gabe.”
“What are we going to do? Oh fuck. I’m getting a call from Dom now. I’ll call you back.”
The line went silent, and Ethan stared at his phone in disbelief. “Our emcee and all the dancers are sick with food poisoning.”
When he looked up, Zane had one of the maraschino cherries from his drink between his teeth. He bit down and slid it off the toothpick. Chewing slowly, he asked, “Why are you still here?”
Ethan sprang to his feet. “Sorry. Jeez.” He rooted around in his pocket for his wallet. “Here, let me––”
Zane shooed him away from the table. “I’ll cover the drinks. Go!”
Ethan pocketed his phone and patted himself down to make sure he wasn’t forgetting anything. “Thanks, I, uh…”
“Babe,” Zane said, his tone gentle. When Ethan met his eyes, he smiled. “Go help your guy.”
Ethan offered a smile in return, then rushed out of the club, texting Blake that he was on his way while weaving through the pedestrians on the sidewalk.