Chapter Nineteen
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THINGS CHANGED AFTER the night of Liam’s grand opening. First off, Liam’s schedule went from busy to insanity as his studio took off without needing training wheels. Every class he offered had a waitlist, and every mom in town was abuzz with how much they loved the new dance teacher. Tate heard some shit talk and slurs over the rainbow flag sticker on the entrance door as well, but in general, Liam was being accepted in town much better than Tate had feared.
Tate felt himself changing as well. Not overnight, but in small increments that moved him toward a life he never dared to hope for but wanted now. No, he wasn’t ready to sit on a float in a gay pride parade, but he no longer hid his friendship with Liam. They weren’t making out in public or even announcing their relationship, but they’d sat together at the coffee shop on a number of occasions when they happened to show up around the same time. They’d met for a drink one night, just two guys chilling after work. Tate had even taken him fishing in the creek once. That time, they’d been alone and probably scared a few fish for life with their inability to keep their hands off each other, but people in town knew they’d gone together since they rode to the bait shop in Tate’s car.
So far, Randy hadn’t given him any shit, but it was coming. He could feel the curious stares and heavy tension at work and around the trailer park. He’d decided to get it the hell over with, so he’d accepted Randy’s invitation to lunch at the diner between jobs today. Of course, he was the first to arrive.
The place had seen better days, for sure, with maroon vinyl seats that had cracks and exposed foam cushions. The floor always seemed just shy of sticky, and fewer than half the tableside jukeboxes worked. Most stole patrons’ quarters while management claimed there was no possible way to open them up without the ‘jukebox representative’ who always happened to be scheduled the next day.
Such bullshit.
Still, Tate had practically lived at the diner as a kid, with his mom working there since she turned fourteen. The place held a nostalgia that nowhere else did.
Millie, a waitress he’d known since birth, sat him at his favorite booth. “You need a menu, kid?” She’d been calling him kid for the past twenty-three years.
“Nah.” He knew it like the back of his hand. “Just waiting on Rand and Daryl.”
“Okay, sugar. I’ll get you some coffee while you wait.”
“Thanks, Miss Millie.” She turned to leave, but Tate stopped her with a, “Oh, hey, my momma come in for her shift this morning?”
“She sure did, sugar. Just left about twenty minutes ago.”
Thank God. At least today had that going for it.
The bell above the door jangled, and Tate glanced up to see the second good omen of the day. The best part of any day. Liam strode in with a smile on his face. He had the same painted sleeveless tops he danced in but, thankfully, had slipped a pair of loose shorts over his dance tights. He spoke to the waitress at the hostess stand, indicating he had a to-go order to pick up from the counter. As he spoke, he noticed Tate sitting there, and his entire face lit up like a damn holiday tree.
Instead of going to the counter, he walked straight to Tate’s table and slid into the booth opposite him. Tate hated himself for the momentary flicker of nerves or the impulse to glance around and see who might be watching, but he resisted the urge and counted it a win.
“Well, hey there, handsome,” Liam said in a low voice. “Fancy meeting you here.”
“Damn, Luxe, why you gotta go around town wearing those tight-as-fuck shirts. They might give the wrong kinda man some nasty ideas.”
He batted his eyelashes. “What? This old thang?” he drawled in an exaggerated Southern accent before bursting into giggles. “I’m between classes and just ran to grab some lunch. Dancing all day works up an appetite.”
“Eat up, Luxe. You’re gonna need some energy for tonight.” He winked.
“I sure do enjoy flirty Tate,” Liam said with a sly grin. “Glad he’s coming out to play more and more.”
The bell jangled again, and in strutted Randy, followed by Daryl. Tate couldn’t help how his spine snapped straight and his breath caught. Fight or flight tried to kick in, but he focused on Liam’s face instead of his internal freakout.
“I’ll go,” Liam said as he started to scoot out of the bench.
“No. Don’t. It’s okay.” He wanted to reach across the table and take Liam’s hand but hadn’t reached that level of bravery yet.
“You sure?” Liam cast a sideways glance at Dumb and Dumber making their way over.
He nodded as Randy approached with a raised eyebrow and sneer like he’d smelled something rotten. “So, what? You’re like buddies now?”
“Yeah, butt buddies,” Daryl said, snickering.
Tate narrowed his eyes, but Liam was quick as hell with the comebacks. He rolled his eyes and snorted. “Wow, Daryl, that was super original. You think of that insult all on your own, or did a second grader teach it to you?”
“Shut the fuck up, you little—”
“Enough, Daryl,” Tate barked. “And yes, Randy, we’re friends. Deal with it.”
The way Liam beamed made him feel ten feet tall.
“Shit, T, you don’t gotta take in every stray you meet. Sometimes they’re the kinda creature that’ll hump your leg if you’re not careful.”
“Randy, shut your fucking mouth.”
Liam sighed. “Look, Randy,” he said with all the arrogance of someone who knew how much they had to offer. “What if I promise to never ever, not even once, not even in jest… that means as a joke, in case you didn’t know…”
Tate snorted. God, this man made him horny as hell. The way he put Randy in his place made Tate want to dive across the table and kiss the hell out of him.
“What if I promise to never come close to hitting on you? Would that help you feel more comfortable around me?”
He shifted as though considering it.
“No,” Daryl mumbled. “Answer’s still no.”
“Here’s the thing, boys, I have a specific type of man I like to fuck.”
They both turned a little green.
“And I promise you what I want in my bed is not a small-minded, pot-bellied redneck. So, trust me when I tell you, you two are very safe from all my evil advances.” He wiggled his fingers as though casting a spell on them.
Randy and Daryl stood there, jaws on the floor like two gaping fly traps. It took everything in Tate not to reach out and take that kiss Liam was clearly begging for.
“Now, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I’ll wait for my food at the counter and leave you to belch and talk about tits or whatever it is you uber-masculine men do.” He winked at Tate, then climbed out of the booth with the grace of a prince and practically sashayed toward the counter.
Tate swiped a thumb across his lower lip to make sure he wasn’t drooling.
Eventually, Randy and Daryl scooped their jaws off the floor. Randy slid into the booth next to Tate while Daryl took the seat Liam vacated. “This shit is getting out of control,” Daryl grumbled.
“For fucking real,” Randy added with a disgusted grunt. “This guy’s got half the town eating out of his fucking hand. If we’re not careful, there’ll be more like ’im movin’ here.”
“So what the fuck do we do about it?” Daryl asked.
Tate rolled his eyes. “Hmm, considering it’s twenty-twenty-four and you two idiots don’t want to be arrested for a hate crime, not to mention you’re stupid as fuck, I say you learn to live with it.” He folded his arms across his chest and stared Daryl down with his most severe glare. The guy might flap his mouth like a runaway bull, but he didn’t have the stones to do shit, thank God.
Ducky, on the other hand. As though his thinking conjured the scumbag from thin air, the bell jangled, and in walked Swan’s most recent parolee. What the hell he had to swagger about, given he’d been in prison only a week before, Tate would never know, but he sauntered in like he owned the damn diner.
Unfortunately, it was the same moment Liam collected his to-go container and started for the exit.
Panic clawed at Tate’s chest. “Shit,” he muttered. “Rand, let me out,” he said, tapping his brother’s arm with the back of his hand.
“What? Why? You gotta piss or something?” He followed Tate’s gaze, and a gleeful smirk crossed his face. “Hell no. I ain’t movin’. That little fucker’s got a mouth on him. Let him try it out on Duck.”
Daryl whipped around. “Woo-hoo, this is gonna be fucking good.”
He shoved his brother hard. “I said get the fuck out of my way, Randy.”
Randy managed to grab the table before he hit the grimy floor. “Why the fuck do you give a shit about that fa—”
Tate’s expression must have been fierce enough to keep Randy from uttering the slur. Either that or his brother remembered he was in public, and the entire world didn’t think as he did, but that was too advanced for a Neanderthal like him, so it was probably the first thing.
Tate clenched his fists and spoke through clenched teeth while keeping one eye on Liam. “Swear to Christ, Randy, if you don’t get the fuck outta this booth and let me pass, I’ll stomp the hell all over your ass to get out.”
“Fine, but don’t expect me to jump in and help your stupid ass,” he muttered. Randy scooted out of the booth and stood to allow Tate to pass. Tate followed so close behind his brother that he barreled into him as he rushed to get to Liam.
“Fuck’s sake, T,” Randy grumbled.
“What a stupid shit,” Daryl said to his back.
He reached Liam just as Ducky stepped back to block the exit. He folded his beefy arms covered in new and shitty prison tats across his chest and glared down at Liam as though the man was shit on his shoe.
“Well, who do we have here? You must be that new dance teacher I keep hearing about. The one who just moved to town and wants to teach the kids all about being a gay.”
“Excuse me,” Liam said with an edge to his voice. “Just need to get to the exit.”
Ducky glanced over Liam’s shoulder. “Ah, Tate, defender of all the queers. You here to make sure I don’t make this one cry?”
“Just let ’im pass, Duck. No need to cause a scene in the diner. You know Millie will whip your ass if you do.” She’d whip Tate’s, too, if he threw the first punch, though she seemed to like Liam, so maybe she’d forgive him for taking out a few of Ducky’s teeth in her diner.
Liam propped a hand on his hip. “Oh, you’re Ducky,” he said with a tone of understanding.
Shit, here it comes. He put a hand on Liam’s lower back, trying to convey with touch how quickly this could turn dangerous.
“Look, I get it,” Liam said with a shrug. “You were in prison for a while, and it’s weird being out. You miss being someone’s bitch.” He pressed a hand to his chest with a dramatic flair. “I’m honored you thought of me, really, I am, but like I told your brother over there, you’re just not my type.”
Ducky lunged forward. “You fucking—”
Tate managed to grab Liam and shove him behind his back as Millie shouted, “Donald Hayes, don’t you dare.” She shuffled over, shaking her finger at him like he was a naughty six-year-old instead of a full-grown man about to attack another. “I will not have any of that hatred in my diner, you hear me?”
His eyes narrowed, and he shot daggers at Tate, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to cross Millie. “Yes, ma’am,” he muttered.
“Now you got two choices. You can sit down and enjoy a nice meal with your people, or you can get the hell out and let my customers eat in peace.”
“I’m hungry as hell, Miss Millie, I’ll sit,” he grumbled.
Ducky made sure to bump both Tate and Liam with his shoulder as he passed by, muttering something to Liam that Tate couldn’t make out.
Liam opened his mouth, no doubt to further slice Ducky to ribbons with his razor-sharp tongue, but Tate pulled him back. He held his upper arm gently, stroking the skin with his thumb hidden up Liam’s sleeve. “He’s a violent prick,” he muttered too low for anyone but Liam to hear. “Millie’s warning will only go so far. Walk out the door, Luxe.”
The use of his nickname seemed to grab Liam’s attention. He nodded once and sent Tate a look that said they’d be talking about this later before slipping out the door.
Every instinct Tate had screamed at him to follow Liam. To make sure he wasn’t too shaken and to drag him somewhere private so he could get his hands and mouth on the man to convince himself Liam wasn’t too rattled. But it would lead to questions he wasn’t ready to answer and possibly cause more trouble for Liam.
So, he turned back to the table he’d rather break his thumbs than return to.
“Better watch your fucking step, T,” Ducky said as he reached the table. “You think you’re a big shit, trying to be an ally or whatever the fuck, but all you’re doing is helping poison our town.”
“Actually, Duck, I’m just grabbing my stuff and going. Some of us gotta work today.” He reached across Randy and grabbed his cell and keys from the table. Without a goodbye, he turned his back on the people he’d known his whole life and strode toward the exit, head high, trying to ignore the curious stares from onlookers.
“Watch your step, T,” Ducky called out again before he shoved the door open.
Fuck him and fuck the others too.
Tate stepped outside, inhaling the fresh summer air. Liam had taken off already, and Tate only had twenty minutes before he had to return to the job site. There wasn’t enough time to swing by the studio. He’d have to settle for reminding himself Liam was a grown-ass man who could take care of himself.
And he’d be seeing him later that night, where he could spend hours checking over every delicious inch of the man. Maybe with his tongue to be extra certain he was okay.
His phone chirped, and he glanced at it to find a text from the man who’d invaded his brain.
Stop worrying about me. I’m good.
A smile curled his lips as another text chirped.
So fucking proud of you, Tate.
Well, damn.