Chapter 3 #2
Another song passes, and then another. Curtis and I are still in our suit jackets, unlike David, who was smart and took his off before we started dancing.
By the next song, I’m sweaty and dying of thirst, so I use the universal sign that I need a drink.
Curtis and Melanie acknowledge it with up-nods, and I leave them to go back to the open bar.
I peel off my jacket, my undershirt sticking to my skin with sweat, and down a glass of water. It doesn’t help, so I immediately ask for another.
This time, I move aside and drink it slower, watching the group still bopping around the small dance floor.
I can already imagine the type of wedding Melanie and David are going to have here if they choose to.
It’s as if I can picture her in a white dress, backless for some reason, and David in a tux with his hair styled.
They look so happy out there, and I couldn’t be happier for my sister.
There’s a light airiness around the room, a happy vibe, and if this is what living in Canada is like, I could really get used to it.
I’ve cooled down enough to be ready to get back out there and join the fun, leaving my jacket lying across one of the cocktail tables near the dance floor, but my feet stall when my gaze lands on Curtis.
Because he has ditched his jacket at some point too.
Rolled up his sleeves. And as he lifts his arm to run a hand through his sweaty hair, showing off a forearm tattoo, it’s as if time slows down and he moves in slow motion.
The busy room flickers in and out of my vision, replacing the fireplace, dark slate floors, and people with the image of a plain bedroom.
A bed. And Gunner using his tattooed arm to jerk off.
I’ve finally realized who Curtis reminds me of, but I can’t be sure if my obsession with Gunner has leaked into projecting his likeness into a real-life human man. The only man to give me attention in the last however many months since I last went out and hooked up.
I’m clearly starved for attention.
Dehydrated from dancing.
Yet, when I try to picture exactly what Gunner’s face looks like, all I can see is Curtis.
It’s not like I pay attention to his face all that much. The pretty man on my screen isn’t the reason I like his videos, and he rarely shows it anyway. It’s the intimacy that other creators lack that holds my interest and why I’ve been a subscriber for so long.
I couldn’t make out the design of Curtis’s tattoo from here, and I’m not going to go over there and inspect it up close. He already thinks I’m weird because of all the staring.
Maybe I shouldn’t head back out to the dance floor. I think I need some fresh air to seep into my brain. It’s obviously starved for oxygen.
I turn on my heel and launch myself outside. The air tastes like trees here, and it’s not all that much cooler. I tug tug tug at my tie until it’s loose enough for me to pop my top button and actually breathe.
As seconds tick by, my brain tries to convince me that not only is Gunner the person Curtis reminds me of but that it’s possible Curtis is Gunner.
Goddamn, was the hand I shook earlier the one I watched so fucking hornily a few hours ago as he jerked himself off?
My laugh is supposed to release some of the delusion but only comes out sounding unhinged.
There is no reason to think Gunner is Curtis.
Or Curtis is Gunner. Nothing. Other than the sleeve tattoo and—my gut sinks as I realize this—the way his voice seemed so familiar.
That voice … Men have familiar voices all the time.
And the same tattoos. And that same-color hair and basic facial structure.
Not that I’ve seen Gunner’s face in full, but little snapshots here and there give a rough picture.
But what are the actual chances that this gorgeous, sexy porn star is my sister’s future practically brother-in-law? Which would make us practically brothers-in-law.
Okay, not really.
I tell myself not to panic, even if it’s too late for that, but I can’t go getting ahead of myself when there is not an ounce of proof that Curtis could be the man I’ve been lusting after and paying to see come for an entire year.
I shake my head. This is the part of my brain that pretends I have a real connection with Gunner, trying to make my fantasy real.
There’s no way. None.
But I know my thoughts won’t stop running rampant until I settle this ridiculous idea once and for all. I need to see Curtis’s tattoos up close. Somehow.
I begin to head back inside with the brilliant plan of asking him to show them to me.
Maybe I’m interested in getting ink; he doesn’t need to know I’m terrified of needles.
Sticking patients with needles? I’m an expert and don’t blink an eye.
Needles going into my skin? It takes two of my coworkers to hold me down and distract me for my yearly flu shots.
My point is, normal, regular people ask to see other people’s tattoos all the time … right?
My feet stall before I reach the entrance.
Maybe I should have a backup plan to get a peek at his arm.
And even if I do see his arm tattoos, and they are like the compass and feathers Gunner has, it might be a popular tattoo.
Maybe I should try to see his abs too. Gunner has a crown on his left-hand side.
Would it be inappropriate to suggest it’s so hot inside he should take his shirt off?
Probably. I should wait for a more suitable venue to ask that.
It’s summer. Maybe I can ask him to go swimming with me.
Somewhere. Melanie and David don’t have a pool, but there’s gotta be a public one in Edmonton.
Surely. Unless that’s not a thing in Canada, because from what I understand, summer only lasts a few weeks before it starts to get cold again.
Unless Melanie was only joking about that.
I’m so in my head, I’m not even thinking clearly anymore. I take a deep breath to gather myself and walk back through the doors, only to walk into a room where Melanie and David are thanking everyone for coming and sending us all on our way.
I pull out my phone because we had the venue for three hours. Surely, it hasn’t … well, shit. It has been that long. It feels like I met Curtis, met some of David’s other friends, danced, and now the night is done?
My stomach rumbles because even though I saw hors d’oeuvres being passed around, I didn’t get to have one.
People head for the exit, and while I can see over nearly everyone, I can’t find Curtis’s brown hair anywhere. It takes an impressively short time for the venue to empty, until it’s only me, my parents, my sister, and David left.
Melanie and David are smiling brightly, David’s arm slung over Mel’s shoulder, and it’s probably a good thing I’m driving because they both look like they’re tipsy, if not drunk.
“Good night?” I ask them.
“The best. You?” Mel’s blue eyes are bloodshot and shiny.
The first response that comes to mind isn’t to say the best. The weirdest, maybe. Though the only thing weird about it is that I’m questioning if I need a therapist to explain away why I think my sister’s future brother-in-law could be a porn star. Not any porn star—my favorite one.
Yeah, I don’t think I should be admitting that to anyone. Especially a therapist. So instead of telling Mel the truth, I say, “Time flies when you’re having fun. Do you mind if I get drive-thru on the way home? I’m starving.”
“That is an amazing idea,” Mel says. “We didn’t get a chance to eat.”
At least I wasn’t the only one.