Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
I USED TO BE A HOOSIER.
Meaning, I went to college at Indiana University Bloomington.
My parents wanted me to go to a school in California, preferably starting at a community college and transferring to a state school to save money. But at the time, I needed to get away. Not from my family. From what happened to me the summer before my senior year of high school. I wanted a fresh start, someplace to redefine myself.
So I secretly applied to a few out-of-state schools, including IU. When I got in, I told my parents that it had a great political science department and a top-notch law school, and didn’t they want the best for me and my budding young attorney dreams? But the truth was that I wanted to go there because it was the farthest school from California that I got into.
Now, ten years later, a part of my Indiana past is standing right in front of me in an Oakland bar. My ex. The one I never really got over. Aaron Berry.
“Aaron?” I say, gaping.
He reaches over the counter for me. “Rex! Holy crud,” he says. His voice is as deep and rich as I remember, a gravelly baritone that sounds exactly how a grizzly bear probably would if it could talk. He wraps an arm around my upper torso, and his boulder-biceps digs into my shoulder. The bristles of his beard stubble rub against my cheek, making it burn in the most amazing way. And his scent—scotch, denim, bath soap, and a hint of exertion—is so delicious I nearly swoon.
I pull back and sit down on the barstool to steady myself for a few moments and make sure I’ve identified him correctly.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“What am I—Dude, I live here!”
Over the years, as I’d drift off to sleep, I’d inevitably fantasize about running into Aaron again. I didn’t think it would actually ever happen. I never planned on going back to Bloomington, and Aaron was too much of an Indiana boy to ever leave.
But now he’s here. The hottest guy I’ve ever met in my life. Six feet tall, chestnut hair, blue eyes, a boyish face with a devilish grin, and the body of a man that could shepherd farm animals by carrying them on his shoulders. Aaron’s always reminded me of a cross between Chris Evans and Kristoff from Frozen . Roguish and boyish. As if you can never be sure whether he’ll smack you on the butt and laugh or grab you by the back of the neck and pull you in for a kiss. My preference would be for both, one right after the other.
“You actually left Indiana?” I ask him.
Aaron blushes, turning pink. An easy thing for him to do with his light complexion. “I followed someone out here.”
“Oh?” I say as neutrally as possible. “A guy?”
“My boyfriend, Russell. It didn’t turn out well. We broke up a month ago.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, not sorry at all.
When Aaron and I dated, he was still firmly in the closet. In fact, we didn’t really date so much as have a secret sexual relationship. He didn’t want anyone to know he was dating a guy, so we never actually called ourselves boyfriends . I pushed him on it a couple of times because I wanted people to see that we were going out, to show him off. That ended up being a mistake. I was only thinking of myself, and he ended up breaking up with me.
But now he’s comfortable saying “my boyfriend” out loud and is working at a gay bar. It’s fantastic to see that he’s evolved.
And even better to hear that he’s single.
“Thanks, man,” he says. “Russell took a software job out here, and I came with him. He hated living here, though. He went back to Indiana. I stayed.”
“Why didn’t you go back with him?”
“Something about this place made me want to stay.” He rubs the back of his neck with one of his beefy hands. “It’s funny, I thought he was the adventurous one. Wanting to uproot ourselves and move out to California. But after living here for a month, he was the one who wanted to go back home. While I realized there’s so much more to the world than just Bloomington, Indiana. Heck, I thought Indianapolis was cosmopolitan, but it’s nothing compared to Frisco.”
I flinch at the word. No real Bay Area resident ever utters it. But I let it slide and make a mental note to teach him the acceptable nicknames—the City, SF, or possibly even San Fran—later. Preferably while we make out back at his place.
“And besides,” he says, “I owed it to myself to see if I could make it on my own. I’d just gotten promoted to manager by the owner.” Aaron nods his head over to the man sitting at the bar, now deeply involved in an episode of Designing Women . “Bryan.”
So the older guy’s not just some random patron.
“That’s great, Aaron. I know you’ve always dreamed of managing your own place. But it’s so different from where you used to work. Is Kilpatrick’s still around?”
“Still around and still the same old,” he says. “Back home, I didn’t have the guts to work at an actual gay bar. Now—well, you know how it is here. More open. And something about this place in particular makes me feel, I dunno, kinda like home, but more so? Not exactly sure why. Whatever it is, the Pink Unicorn helped me be more comfortable with who I am.”
A safe space can do wonders for a person. I know that from firsthand experience. In a place where you’ve been given the permission to truly be yourself, you have the freedom to explore and grow. And hopefully, that place will always be somewhere you can feel secure.
We’re not always that lucky, though.
“It’s amazing luck that you got a job here, then,” I say.
“It wasn’t exactly luck.”
“What do you mean?”
“My mom and Bryan are old friends. He’s from Indiana, too. When I told her I was moving out here with Russell, she let Bryan know, and he offered me a bartending job right away. So I’ve been working here since the day I arrived. About two years ago.”
Two years. Aaron’s been at a bar just ten minutes from my office for two whole years, and I had no idea. Why the heck didn’t I come here sooner?
“So,” he says, leaning back against the counter, “what are you doing here on a Tuesday evening all by yourself?”
“Funny thing,” I say. “I forgot to close out my tab when I was here on Saturday.”
“Ha,” Aaron chuckles. “So you haven’t changed.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, and I can’t help but watch as his biceps grow even bigger. A whisper of excitement winds its way through me.
“Neither have you,” I say.
Aaron grins and holds my gaze for a few endless moments. My throat goes dry.
“Oh, your card,” he says, finally breaking off eye contact. He walks to the far side of the bar and sorts through a metallic box. “Yep, here it is.”
When Aaron hands it to me, I feel his fingers brush mine. He smiles at me, maybe implying the touch wasn’t accidental.
“Uh… maybe I should just leave it here to keep open a permanent tab. Now that I know you’re here, I’ll have to start coming on a regular basis. To catch up ,” I say with as much innuendo as possible.
“Perfect idea. I’d love to see you come back often,” he says.
“Heh.” I feel my face get hot. “Just maybe not on karaoke nights.”
“So you’re not a fan of it, either,” Aaron says.
“You don’t like karaoke?”
“It’s fine. But you know me. I don’t really know a lot of popular songs. I’ve got my favorites, and they’re good enough.”
True. One of the things about Aaron that I couldn’t quite understand: he didn’t really listen to a lot of music. His music collection was a whopping three CDs: Garth Brooks’s No Fences , Shania Twain’s Come On Over , and a compilation of vintage TV theme songs. I usually like to have music on when I hook up, but I learned not to ever listen to his after completely losing my erection while listening to the theme song from The Golden Girls .
“And our karaoke night isn’t very popular,” Aaron adds. “It’s part of the reason I don’t work Saturdays anymore. That, and I have this regular thing now.”
“Oh?” I hope he’s not referring to some new guy he’s seeing.
“Yeah. Joey.”
“Oh.”
He smiles. “Joey’s a twelve-year-old kid from Oakland I volunteer to hang out with once a week while his mom works the evening shift at a hospital. I’m his Big Brother.”
“Nice,” I say, both relieved and impressed by his volunteer work.
“It’s too bad, though. No one hardly ever comes on Saturdays anymore. We hired a new host, but he hasn’t gotten up to speed yet.”
“Paolo seemed okay to me.” Except for the fact that he didn’t really know what he was doing with any of the controls. Or that he tried to get me to sing even after I said no. Actually, maybe he wasn’t so great.
Aaron picks up one of the bar towels and starts drying off some of the glasses from the dish rack. “He’s a nice guy but doesn’t really have the kind of personality you need for the stage. Back at Kilpatrick’s a few years ago, when we started doing karaoke, they’d hire one of the IU theater majors to come beef up the night. It helps when you’ve got someone who’s a good performer to host. It gets the crowd going. Those kids were always so amazing. I don’t always know the music, but I know a good show. That’s the kind of karaoke I could get behind.”
My fingers begin to quiver. The same way they used to right before I’d reach for the microphone.
Aaron appreciates good performers. I used to be one. A really good one. I know all about karaoke. I know how to be on the stage. How to entertain a crowd. I used to…
“You know, I might be able to get more people in here,” I blurt out.
Oh, no. I can’t believe I just said that.
“Oh, yeah? Are you volunteering to host?”
“Me? No.” Dammit. “I just mean, I…” I look around, grasping for some alternative ideas. The Pink Unicorn has definitely seen better days, but there’s obviously more to this place than meets the eye, if it helped Aaron to come out. This old bar is important enough to him that he ended up staying here instead of going back home.
What if I could help improve the Pink Unicorn?
What if I could be a part of something that makes him happy?
“The décor could use a little brushing up. I’m pretty handy with interior decoration.” Nope. No one should allow me to come near any sort of designing challenge. “And I could help out with social media for the bar. I’m pretty good with TikTok.” All my social media accounts are defunct or barely attended to, and I’ve never once used TikTok.
No, Rex. Don’t say it. Don’t offer it. “And…” My tummy begins to ache, and my forehead goes hot.
But then I look at Aaron, his chiseled jaw tensing slightly in anticipation of my suggestion, something that might help his bar out.
“I know someone who could host your karaoke night.”
Crap. My stomach tenses up into a ball of wires. What am I thinking? I can’t put myself out there again. It’s a bad idea.
I’m about to take back what I said, but Bryan swivels his head around to us and says, “Well, don’t keep us hanging, young man. What do you have in mind?” As involved as he was with his bowl of peanuts and TV, I didn’t think he was paying the slightest bit of attention to anything we were saying.
Aaron puts down the glass, throws the drying towel over his shoulder, and leans in so close that I can smell his breath, hot and soothing like a eucalyptus shower. “Yeah. Tell me what you got.”
Back in Indiana, Aaron wasn’t ready to be serious with me. Maybe he is now. I’ve got another chance with him. A real chance at a real relationship. And right now, I’ve got his full attention.
But I don’t have the slightest clue about how to remodel or create better publicity for the bar. And most of all, I don’t know if I’m ready to put myself out there again, performing and hosting a show. In public. Making myself vulnerable. It would take one heck of a reason.
Though Aaron is one pretty damn good reason.
I just need more time to think about it all.
“Sure,” I say. “But I’ve got another commitment right now.” Not a lie, at least, since I’m having dinner with my family. “Are you free later this week?”
“My Friday’s open,” he says. “Loretta, the other bartender, asked to trade with me. I can do it this week since Joey’s visiting his grandparents on Saturday. Means I have to work karaoke night, though. Yahoo.”
Good. That gives me a few days to think about what I’m going to say. And when we meet again, it might as well be in a more romantic environment. “How about dinner Friday? I can tell you all my big ideas then.”
“I’d like that.” He smiles his incredible aw shucks smile at me.
“Perfect.”
Now I just have to figure out what the heck my actual plan for the Pink Unicorn is going to be.