60. Salem
SALEM
THREE WEEKS LATER
H mm.
I’m standing in the doorway of my bedroom.
Well, mine and Blue’s. He’s here every chance he gets, including last night when I got in from a stretch of road games.
I have him for two nights before we both head back out on the road.
It’s no surprise he prefers being here over Los Angeles, though I fly to him when I have longer breaks.
He’s seemed a little off. I didn’t think much about it, but that’s the fifth time he’s picked up the glass and put it back down on the nightstand in the same spot.
I clear my throat.
“Fuck!” He jumps.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Nothing.” He steps back. “Figured out the Tart-jelly thing?
Pfft. Looks like I’m headed toward my seventh failed attempt. I’m not sure what’s clashing the flavors, the gelée or the tartes Tatin, but I need a break. “You just picked up the cup and placed it back down five times.”
“N-no I didn’t.” He rubs his palms on the sides of his briefs. “I’m gonna shower.”
“Baby?”
“What?”
“What’s got you anxious?”
His brow furrows. “You know what this is?”
I peel off the doorframe and step toward him. “Yeah. Denzel also struggles with OCD when he’s anxious. He’ll be like, ‘ Chill, Fred. We’re good. ’”
The lines on his face relax. “His OCD is named Fred?”
“Yeah. Sometimes I catch him having full conversations with it. The other day, he said, ‘ For fuck’s sake, Fred. That’s dark, even for you.’”
We both laugh.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” he says, frowning at the cup.
“Baby.” I pinch his chin and turn his face so I can see his eyes. “You can tell me if something’s wrong.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Nothing is wrong. I’m good. Better than I can ever remember.”
“So, nothing being wrong is making you anxious?” I question.
He nods. His palm’s clammy where it embraces my arm.
I pull him into my chest and kiss the top of his head. “That makes sense.”
“How?” he asks, hugging me back tightly.
“New is scary for you. Being in a relationship, one that makes you happy, is new.”
“But I want to be with you. I’m not running.”
“I know.” And I do know that. I can tell sometimes, like today, he struggles with anxiety, but I never doubt that he’s committed and wants this as much as I do. “Doesn’t mean it isn’t scary. What’s the thought that made you pick up and put down the cup?”
“Your flight on Wednesday. I had to make sure you’ll be safe.”
“You’re worried about me being safe?”
His forehead drops to my chest. “All the time.”
Sounds exhausting. “You’ve mentioned this to Zuri?”
“Yeah. We’re working through it.”
“How can I help?”
He shrugs.
“Go shower,” I say. “It’s my turn for date night, and I’m taking you out.”
“Where are we?” he asks as we approach a historical factory building in the DUMBO neighborhood of Brooklyn.
“You know how we always talk about missing out on doing stuff because we were in the closet for so long?” I ask as I lead him to the elevator. “I’ve started making a list for our date nights.”
“Really?” He crinkles his nose at me.
When we reach our floor and the doors open, a flash of gold whizzes past us.
The lights are low except in the center of the room, where spotlights of color light up the floor.
“For two?” A white guy with blond hair, rainbow wings, and booty shorts skates up to us.
“What do you say?” I yell to Blue over the music.
His eyes widen, and I follow his gaze to two men slow dancing together on skates.
“First time?” the guy asks, watching Blue’s face shift in to a small grin.
“Yup. For us both,” I answer.
“Welcome to the only queer roller-skating rink in New York.” He refuses the cash I pull out.
“First timers skate for free.” He reaches into his fanny pack and pulls out two rainbow wristbands.
“You can rent skates over there.” He gestures with his chin as he snaps our wristbands on.
“Makeup counter is that way, but if you just wanna skate, Reese over there”—he points to a guy in a gold bodysuit—“will hook you up. And you can’t miss the bar. Our milkshakes are bananas.”
“Thanks,” we both reply.
“So.” I turn to Blue. “Feeling it?”
“Fuck yeah,” he says, making me chuckle, as he pulls me toward the skate rental desk.
We’re laced up when Blue surprises me and asks the attendant how much for the feathered wings hanging in the shop.
I hand the attendant cash and then grin as Blue loses his leather coat and slides on black wings.
Damn . Between his ripped black jeans, black sweater, tats, and now wings, he’s the sexiest dark angel.
“Hello?” He waves his hand in front of my face.
“S-sorry, what?” I stammer.
“Where are your wings?” he asks.
I pull him close and plant a kiss on his lips. “Stop being so damn sexy.”
“Put your dimples away,” he warns, tugging on my bottom lip.
Whatever my face does next makes him groan and turn to the attendant. “Hey, is there a glory ho—” I laugh as my palm flies over his mouth.
“Ignore him.” I shrug off my wool coat and hand it over to the attendant, along with Blue’s leather one.
“Where are your wings?” Blue asks again as I start to skate away.
“Uh—” I turn around and pull out my wallet. “The rainbow ones, please.”
Blue wobbles on his skates as he tries to turn toward the rink.
“You’ve skated before?”
He winces, arms flailing. “Once.”
“Oh, hell yeah. This is gonna be amazing.” I smirk.
“Don’t let me fall.”
I thread my arms through each wing. “We’re definitely falling.”
He laughs. “I hate you.”
I take his hand. “Come on.”
He has a death grip on my arm by the time we get onto the floor.
Staying close to the perimeter, we skate a few laps before he turns to me, panicked, when he has to evade two women taking a time-out against the boards.
“I got you,” I tell him, despite being pretty sure I’ve lost all circulation where he’s clutching my arm. “Hey, come here.” My thigh slots between his legs as I pull him close. He’s not too afraid to let go of the wall and clasp his hands around my neck.
As if sensing my craving for one of his vampire bites, he clenches my lower lip between his teeth as his eyes glaze over.
“Hey, hotties, gold dust or eyeshadow? I have rainbow metallic colors too,” someone says.
I pull back from Blue. “Reese, right?”
He spins, lifting his golden wings that shimmer against his brown skin. “The one and only.”
I grin. “Hit me with the gold dust.” It’s hard to resist, given the way it sets his skin aglow.
Blue laughs as Reese pulls out one of those vintage-looking perfume bottles with a pump, rolls back a few feet, then sprays gold dust along my cheekbones.
He appraises his work and winks. “You, honey?” he asks Blue, who surprises me again by asking, “You got black liner?”
Reese pulls out a sheet that has thin black strips that look like stickers, peels two off, and tapes one each along the rim of Blue’s eyelids.
I groan. “How am I gonna skate if I can’t look anywhere else tonight?”
Reese laughs as Blue blushes while pulling out his wallet and tipping him.
“Come here, vampire angel.” I drool as I pull him forward. For a split second, he forgets he’s on skates. “It’s okay,” I encourage him. “Just look at m?—”
His body twists, eyes squeezing shut, as a gust of human barrels in from my right.
I try to spin as I’m slammed sideways. Clutching the air, I lose Blue as my skates slip out from under me, and I wipe out.
Blue lands with a thump next to me, choking with laughter, with a guy sprawled on his stomach, blubbering an apology.
After several failed attempts, we manage to help each other up.
Blue wipes his eyes as the guy skates away. “That was fun.” He takes my hand. “Let’s do it again.”
We do it again. Two more times. Once, when we try to slow dance together, and again when he tries skating backward and freaks out when someone whizzes past him.
But we find our groove.
Stopping for milkshakes, we camp out in front of the tall industrial windows with a view of the lit-up Manhattan Bridge.
Fighting over the final sip, I try to lick it out of his mouth and quickly forget about the milkshake. When we come up for air, he turns toward me with an oat-milk mustache and says, “Last one on the floor can’t come until tomorrow night.” Then he takes off.
“Cheater!” I call out.
I toss the shake container and race after him.