Chapter 26
OWEN
It turns out, I have nothing to worry about.
After plying Zoe with food and wine, I spend the rest of the meal and the cab ride to the bar listening to her animated retelling of her day, from writing of her latest listicle to her adventures as Luca Santora’s unofficial wedding PA.
I do feel a little guilty about my lie by omission, but I’m pretty happy to have avoided explaining that I abandoned her carefully thought-out suggestions. Again.
We arrive at the bar. It’s a cozy place with low lights and exposed brick, humming with activity, but not so busy that we can’t find a table. We slide into a small booth toward the back, order drinks, and settle in.
“Didn’t you say some of your out-of-town friends were coming in early for the wedding?” I ask.
“Mmm,” Zoe says, sipping the Cosmopolitan she’s just snatched from the waiter before he could even set it down. “A bunch of them are already here. Making a whole holiday vacation of it.”
“So how come you didn’t invite them to join us?”
“Oh.” She blinks, looking a little at a loss for words, just for a second. “Oh, well, a lot of them aren’t my friends, just Luca and Cory’s. And the ones I do know are all coupled up, so… you know…”
Not really. But whatever. She obviously doesn’t want to talk about it, which is fine.
I take a sip of my beer. It’s from some small craft label I’ve never heard of.
Not bad. I wipe the foam from my lip and, as I do, I notice a guy standing at the bar looking my way.
He raises his glass toward me and gives a little nod.
Uh. Okay. I nod back, not wanting to be rude.
Zoe smiles, glancing over her shoulder. “You made a friend.”
“Uh, I guess.”
“Hey,” says a low, gravelly voice, just then, way too close to me. I jump, looking up to see a very handsome man smiling down at me.
“Hi…” I say, because he doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Um…”
“I need to go to the little girl’s room,” Zoe practically squeaks. She jumps up, grabbing her bag, and then—honest to God—she winks at me.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
Handsome McHandsome clears his throat next to me. I plaster on a polite smile.
“I don’t think so. But thank you.”
“Alrighty. Let me know if you change your mind.” And then he winks too, and I start to feel like I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone.
A quick but targeted survey of my surroundings seems to indicate that—yup—we’re in a gay bar.
It also results in me noticing another man starting to head in my direction, a sexy smile plastered on his face, before I hold up my hand to stop him.
It’s probably rude, but I really don’t want to be chatted up right now.
I take a sip of my beer and mull the situation.
Am I going crazy here? Suddenly, I really need to check in with the one person I know who would know.
I fish out my phone and text.
Hey, what are the odds Zoe taking me to both a queer running club this morning and a gay bar tonight is just a coincidence?
This is Owen, by the way, in case you don’t have my contact info stored.
I tap my foot anxiously. Then it suddenly occurs to me I’ve just broken our unspoken email-only rule by texting George. But before I can worry about it, his reply comes in.
Oh God, I am so sorry.
He doesn’t seem bothered that I’m texting him, so I continue.
That’s what I was afraid of.
She means well…
…But she can’t help herself?
Yep, something like that.
I chuckle, feeling more relaxed already, just from the short exchange with George.
George
So where are you?
I’ve completely forgotten the name of the place, so I look around, trying to spot any clues. I come up empty. No sign of Zoe yet, either, which is fine. I’d like to chat with George for another minute, and for whatever reason, I don’t really feel like letting her know George and I are texting.
Not sure. Someplace in the East Village with red leather booths and old brick? Mood lighting.
Augie’s?
Yeah, that sounds right.
I can just barely see down the hall to the ladies’ room from where I’m sitting. The door swings open, and for a second, I tense up, ready to shove my phone back into my pocket, but it’s just one of the servers.
I look back at my phone, but George hasn’t written anything more.
Probably for the best—Zoe will be back any minute, and while I’m not thrilled with the trend today, it’s a nice enough place, and she has sent me to so many weird spots lately, you have to figure some of them would lean more queer-friendly.
She’s probably—in her Zoe way—trying to find places where I’ll feel comfortable. She wants me to get out, not just come to New York and hermit away somewhere else. And maybe she has a point. It would be different if she were setting me up on blind dates or something.
I’m just oversensitive to this sort of thing after Beau. Not to mention the well-meaning folks back in Moonlake Village suggesting dating apps one too many times. But it’s not fair to take my knee-jerk reaction out on Zoe.
The bathroom door opens again, and this time it is Zoe.
She starts toward the table, pausing at the bar to chat with the bartender there—and now I feel silly.
She probably just comes here from time to time.
Probably with George! Which would explain why George recognized the place when I described it.
Well, now I feel both stupid and like a jerk.
My phone buzzes.
George
Sorry, it took me a minute to find what I was looking for. I hate to do this to you, but I think you’re going to want to see this.
Then there’s a link. To a FlashPop article titled 101 Places to Meet Your Soulmate When You’re Gay and New to New York. By Zoe Wilde.
Dammit, Zoe. She has to know I don’t want any part of this sort of thing.
I send George a quick, grim “thanks” and then click through to the article.
But there’s almost no need, because sure enough, laid out there in chirpy, logical fashion, is almost every place Zoe has sent me (or tried to send me) in the last few days.
Plus, dozens of others that were presumably in store for me later this week.
All compiled by her (along with a very steamy photo of two guys pressed up against an alley wall), two years ago last August.
It’s at that moment that the conniving cupid herself reappears at the table.
“Hi!” she says, smiling broadly. “What happened to the guy who wanted to buy you a drink? He was cute, wasn’t he?”
“I have a question for you, Zo.”
Her smile falters at my tone. “Sure, babe, what’s up?”
“You tell me. What in the ever-loving hell is this?”
I hold up my phone.