Chapter 27 Will
Will
The bathroom door flies open, crashing against tile, as my roommate comes barreling in. I let out an undignified squawk and spin around in the tiny shower cubicle so fast I whack my elbow on the faucet.
“Dude! What the fuck?”
His eyes widen and form two perfect cognac circles.
Dark curls bounce around on his head momentarily and then settle back into their usual style—a style that can best be described as chaos personified.
I’m annoyed, but as always, I can’t muster nuclear-level annoyance because he’s Mat.
Mat, who’s been my best friend since his family moved in one street down from our place in Ventura, California, when we were in the fourth grade.
Mat, who climbed through my window when we were fourteen to tell me about his first kiss, his voice wispy and filled with wonder as he—erroneously—declared Cindy Keller the love of his life and the kiss the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Mat, who crouched beside me and supportively patted my back the first time I drank too much and puked my guts out.
It didn’t matter that he turned green and gagged every time I was sick.
He stayed at my side because that’s how he’s made.
At this point, I can barely remember how we became friends.
It might have had something to do with him having a juice box and me having milk in our lunch boxes one day.
Yeah, that’s right. That’s what it was. I agreed to switch with him, wholly unaware that in so doing, I signed away the right to be my best friend forever more.
I was a reserved kid, an introvert, and he was anything but.
He just kind of took to me. I couldn’t shake him.
At first, I tried, but the fucker wore me down with an infectious grin and an infallible instinct for sniffing out fun.
“What?” he asks, genuinely surprised I’m not thrilled to have him barge in on me.
“Jesus, Mat. How many times do I have to tell you? If you keep coming in without knocking, you’re going to walk in on me taking a shit.”
“And how many times do I have to tell you that if you keep taking so damn long in the shower, I’m coming in with you? Hurry up. Gould will be pissed if we’re late.”
“Gould has literally never been on time for anything in his whole life.”
“Yeah, well, you know what he’s like.”
He starts brushing his teeth, talking the entire time despite the fact I’ve told him many, many times I can’t understand a word when he does that. I wrap up my shower as fast as possible.
The thing is, when it comes to Mat, you just can’t put anything past him.
“So, to recap,” Mat says as we get out of the Lyft and start walking to the bar, “we’re both totally fine with going to a gay bar.”
I sigh heavily. “I feel like if you were completely fine with it, you probably wouldn’t still be talking about it.”
He stops dead in his tracks. “I’m not homophobic. You know that, right?”
“‘Course I know that. We wouldn’t be buds if you were.”
“I’m just worried about having a ton of guys hitting on me. It’s never happened before. I don’t know how to deal with that shit.”
“Well, what do girls do when they shoot you down? You have a ton of experience dealing with that shit,” I tease.
“Fuck you, Will.” He punches my shoulder lightly. “But seriously, I hate being shot down. That shit hurts. That’s why I’m worried—I don’t want to make anyone else feel like crap.”
“Just smile and say, ‘No, thanks.’”
“I dunno, that seems a little up-your-own ass, you know?”
“Okay, ummm, how about, ‘Thanks, I’m flattered, but I’m straight.’ Simple, to the point, truthful. What more do you want?”
“Yeah, but how fucking rude is it to go into an LGBTQ+ space and start throwing your straightness around. I can’t stand people like that.”
“I get it. We can do better.” I run through reams of suggestions, and he takes issue with every one of them. When I’m completely out of options, I say, “You know what, we’re just going to have to play it like women have to all the time—tell ‘em you have a boyfriend. Tell ‘em we’re together.”
He considers it for a moment, then his face bursts into a huge grin that dimples both cheeks. He slings an arm loosely over my shoulder. “That’s perfect!”
“You know, what’ll be really fucking funny is if neither of us even gets hit on after all this.”
He looks at me like I’ve taken leave of my senses. “Um. Have you seen us?”
I burst out laughing. “Honestly, bro, shit like that is the reason you’re single.”
“You’re single too,” he says defensively.
“I’ve been single for three months. Kerry and I were together for two and a half years.”
“Talking about that, Mr. Serial Monogamist, you getting any closer to locking Sadie down.”
“Uh, yeah, nah, that’s not happening.”
“It’s not?”
“No. Wasn’t feeling it.”
He removes his arm from around my shoulders and squeezes my neck gently. “You still hurting over Kerry?”
“No, it’s not that. I mean, I still miss her.” I lean into the pressure of his hand on my neck for a moment because, with him, I don’t have to pretend. “But it had run its course. It needed to end. I’m just…reconsidering things, I guess.”
“You know this is the longest you’ve been single since you started dating Amy McCallister in junior high, right?”
“I know. I’m kind of…re-evaluating what I want.
” That’s true. All my relationships have followed a similar trajectory.
All of them have been with similar women.
Homebodies like me. Women with beautiful hearts, sensitive souls, and a tendency to be dark horses in bed.
I’ll always love that in a partner. I can’t imagine a time I won’t, but I know how that whole thing plays out.
I’m tired of things not working out. I’m tired of the pattern.
I’m tired of the ups and the inevitable downs, and most of all, I’m goddamn tired of being the one who wants out.
If I want something that goes the distance, and believe me, I do, I need to do something different.
I’m twenty-seven years old. I can’t keep making the same mistake forever.
“I think this is the place,” says Mat.
We’re in West Hollywood. It’s that time of night when the guard changes: sunburnt tourists head back to their hotels after a long day of sightseeing and locals come crawling out to reclaim their domain.
Streets that look grimy during the day are lit with bright lights that give the place a pulse and a rhythm, a feeling that anything’s possible, a heady conviction: you’re in la-la land now, baby.
The club almost looks like a delicatessen from the outside. It has elaborate gold gilding on the windows and intricate woodwork framing the storefront. The windows are darkened and the word Schlong is on the door.
“Looks about right,” I chuckle, opening the door and holding it for him. “After you, boyfriend.” He gives me a caustic look, so I add, “And if things between us don’t work out, I guess you’ll just have to step up and kiss a dude.”
He freezes for a split second, his eyes flashing and his mouth dipping on one side. The dipped side quivers two or three times.
Huh?
“Mat! Will!” Gould bellows as we enter. His face is shining and his dark hair is perfectly tussled. As usual, he’s wearing a T-shirt that seems a good two sizes too small. “You made it!”
He comes bounding up and almost knocks us clear over.
We follow him to the bar and get a drink.
Or should I say, Gould gets us a drink. He won’t hear of us paying despite strenuous pushback from us.
It’s his birthday, after all, but that’s Gould for you.
We gather around a table near the bar with three guys we know from playing college water polo.
Paul and Dane are a couple and Simon’s here with his girlfriend.
We talk shit about the past and people we know, nursing our drinks while Gould taps furiously on his phone screen, huffing and puffing because the rest of his crowd is running late.
Mat shoots me a look that says see?
The vibe in the place is pretty neat. It’s not what I expected, but it’s also not miles off.
It’s a sausage fest, obviously, but it seems pretty tame.
Just a lot of friendly guys having drinks.
After a good while, the rest of Gould’s party arrives.
He drags them off to the side of the bar and gives them a piece of his mind.
Mat and I make a unanimous decision to head back to the bar and stay well clear of him.
The other polo guys have another commitment to get to, so they leave pretty early on.
Almost as soon as they do, the lights in the bar flicker, welcomed by whoops from the crowd, and then dim nearly all the way down.
The mood changes instantly. The chill, welcoming vibe is completely transformed.
Glass surfaces I hadn’t noticed gleam, and the entire place is sluiced in changing neon lights.
The sound is cranked up so high the music beats in my chest. Guys start dancing, losing their shirts all around us.
Bodies connect. Chests against chests. Skin against skin. Hips grinding. Hands groping.
Mat moves closer to me, leaning in so his arm touches mine.
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. It’s just…they look so…”
“Free,” I finish for him.
“Yeah, that’s it. They look free.”
They do. These guys aren’t holding back. The way they’re dressed, the way they’re moving their bodies, the way they’re touching each other. They’re overtly sexual in a way I’ve never once felt comfortable being in public.
And yeah, a few of them are looking. No one’s come over, but now and again, I feel a slight warmth, that subtle tickle of eyes tracking down my torso.
Can’t say I hate it.
Chill. I’m not saying I’m into it.
I’m just saying I don’t hate it, that’s all.