Carter
Ican't stop smiling as I watch Nate set up.
It looks like they're about to start. There must be a hundred people crammed into this bar, and somehow, around thirty-five dogs of all shapes and sizes roaming around or being held.
I honestly can't believe any bar would allow that many dogs inside.
Like, what if they just shit all over the floor?
I wonder if the bar is doing this as a good deed or if they owe someone a favor; either way, it's extremely sweet.
Nate's standing just behind Mel, both of them with guitars in hand.
Not many people are paying attention yet, which might actually be a blessing, especially for Nate.
When we talked earlier, he didn't seem that nervous, but I could sense some nerves were lingering in his head.
Mel, on the other hand, looks completely at ease.
I can't help but be jealous of how chill she seems.
They start singing "Same Old Love," and I notice a few people shifting their focus, with less attention on the dogs and more on the stage.
People are beginning to sway, some half-dancing while still playing with their pups.
Honestly, I don't even think I need to pump up the crowd right now.
Mel's great, but my focus is entirely on Nate.
The way his hips are moving with the music is making my dick start to motion upward.
He's wearing this tight white shirt that perfectly outlines his biceps and even his abs.
He just looks so good. I feel like I'm practically drooling, and honestly?
I don't even care if anyone notices. That's new for me.
I don't know what it is with this guy. It's like no time has passed, and I'm back to where I was four years ago.
All I want is to jump on him and rip his clothes off.
I'm not even thinking about sex, not entirely.
I just want to touch him: squeeze his ass, kiss him, cuddle him. It's wild.
Paul walks up beside me, catching me completely zoning out. He gives me this sideways look and says, "Well, look at you, all invested. You've just met these people, and you're already their number one fan. Isn't that Nate guy cute? I wonder if he'd be into me."
I grin, still feeling dazed by my Nate fantasy. "I mean…you should go try," I say casually.
But Paul’s studying me now. I can tell he’s picking up on something. He squints a little, trying to read me. “You’re not telling me everything,” he says. “The way you’re looking at Mel? I don’t get it. You don’t know her. So it must be the guy…Nate. You two have met before, haven’t you?”
I start to smile uncontrollably. My face heats up, and I can feel the blush spreading across my cheeks.
I lean a little closer and whisper, "You really can't tell anyone, okay?
But…he was the first guy I ever kissed. He might even be the only person I've enjoyed kissing, as depressing as that sounds. "
Paul blinks, clearly expecting more details.
"I know this is random, and maybe I sound batshit, but I haven't seen him in four years.
And still, I feel there's something about him.
He's one of the only people I've ever felt this kind of instant connection with.
I'm not even sure if it's just physical.
I don't feel this way with people, which is why I don't get laid," I say.
“Help Me!” I joke. “This is a new feeling for me. I feel this connection with him. What do I do now? You seem to have experience with this kind of shit.”
Paul looks at me with this half-shocked, half-not-surprised expression.
“I knew you two knew each other,” he says, lowering his voice.
“You were talking like you’ve been best friends for years.
So what’s the deal? If you’re into this guy, why not go make a move?
Or are you just too scared to say something?
I mean, I know you’re not out to the public, but that doesn’t mean you can’t just chill.
People might just think you’re brothers or cousins. ”
I let out a subtle laugh, trying not to blush again. “Trust me, I am actually planning to ask if he wants to hang out after the set. No offense, but if you and Mel could make yourselves disappear, that would be great.” I jokingly blurt out, “k bye, Thanks!”
“Well, excuse me, sir. I’ll just get out of your way now.” Paul teases.
"I just…I want to talk to Nate, maybe really talk. Get to know him. Maybe even see him next weekend before my first preseason game."
Paul lets out a little grunt and smirks.
"Fine. I'll actually get out of your way.
I'll take the guitars back to Mel's place, and we'll disappear.
But seriously, you better take advantage of that ass.
I mean, his face is cute, and those glasses?
Come on, but that ass. God, the things I'd do to it… I won't even say."
I just shake my head and smirk. “You’re the worst.”
We're about to go back to watching the set, realizing they're now on their third song, some Third Eye Blind track that I swear I've heard a thousand times but can never remember the name, which is when two middle-aged guys approach.
One of them's holding a tiny golden retriever puppy, and both are looking at me like I've got something on my face.
“Are you…Carter Elliot?” one of them asks, almost whispering like he’s nervous to say it out loud.
I nod and smile, mostly because they look nervous and kind of adorable.
They lean in a little, keeping their voices low because of the band. “Would you mind taking a picture with us? No one’s going to believe we saw Carter Elliot while adopting our puppy.”
Before I can even say yes, Paul begrudgingly grabs one of their iPhones and takes a few pictures.
All three of us are grinning like idiots: me, because it’s funny and surreal people still care about meeting me; them, because I guess they actually do care; and that puppy, well, the puppy looks like it’s just happy being held.
But as I stand there and smile, there's only one person I keep thinking about, and that's Nate.
It's 4 p.m., and the set ends to loud applause from the crowd.
Both Nate and Mel seem comfortable and in tune, with their voices harmonizing together perfectly.
Even as the clapping stops and the audience turns their attention back to the puppies, I continue to keep my eyes on Nate.
He and Mel pack up quickly and head toward Paul and me.
Before I could greet them, Paul leans in and whispers, “Don’t worry, I’ll grab Mel and bounce.”
I look at him, but before I can respond, he walks over, grabs Nate's guitar, and gently takes Mel's relaxed wrist, leading her toward the exit. I couldn't help but laugh internally because Paul is always so dramatic, loud, and completely over the top.
Nate looks at me in confusion but is receptive, saying, "Um, okay...what was that?"
Grinning, I reply, "I told Paul about you, and he took the hint. Any chance you want to stick around and grab a few drinks?"
Without hesitation, Nate says, “Yeah, why not? I think we need to celebrate how great I did up there. I mean, Mel was good, but how good was I? Am I right!”
It was clear he was being sarcastic, but I genuinely think he was great. He might not have been the lead, but his backup vocals really made the performance pop. I might be biased, but I was definitely focused on Nate more than Mel…oops. Sorry, Mel!
“Yes! I’m down,” I said, almost shouting. “This bar has a drink called a Pink Penis cocktail, and I need to try it. It’s got Tito’s, Bacardi, lemon juice, and simple syrup. Want to know the best part? It’s garnished with a gummy dick.” I say giggling.
“Sir, won’t that be too gay for you?” Nate jokes.
“I mean, you’re not wrong, but I can always deny any rumors. Doubt people are paying attention to what I drink,” I shoot back.
“What about the dick, dummy?” Nate whispers.
“Well then, I’ll just shove it in my mouth real fast,” I say with a wink.
A few minutes later, we get our drinks and immediately devour our fruity gummy penises. From Nate’s scrunched-up expression, he thought it was just as sour as I did. We burst out laughing.
After about forty minutes and two cocktails, the crowd starts to thin. Only a few people still linger. The staff begins setting up some high-top tables, so we grab the available one near the bathroom. I could feel the alcohol starting to hit, as I find myself gazing into Nate's eyes.
“What are you looking at?” Nate asks.
“Your face, obviously,” I tease.
“You mean this face?” he asks, contorting his features into a ridiculous scrunch, with his lips puckered and teeth bared.
I laugh. “Honestly, I think you look hot like that. Can your face stay like that permanently? Thanks.”
We start making increasingly idiotic faces at each other, earning confused looks from nearby patrons. I wasn’t sure what we’re doing, but I’m definitely entertained.
“Let’s play a game,” I suggest. “Let’s see if we can be so ridiculous we scare off the last seven people here. Just hope no one snaps a photo of us at peak ridiculousness and we end up on the cover of a magazine with the headline: ‘Carter Elliott and Friend Should Be Sent to Psych Ward.’”
Nate has no idea, but my real goal is for everyone to disperse and give me some alone time. Maybe I could sneak in a kiss, preferably with his tongue down my throat.
Immediately, Nate jumps up, smirks at me, and shouts, "Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Donald Duck!" Then he breaks into a full minute of Donald Duck impersonations. People stare in confusion as he eventually sits back down as if nothing happened.
I wink, then stand up and immediately begin bawling. Nate doesn't know this about me, but I can immediately cry on command. If football hadn't worked out, I could've definitely been a horror movie actor. He chuckles, knowing everyone is staring at us as if we've lost our minds.