Chapter Two
Kayden
I’ve made a mistake.
I’d only been back in Boston for two weeks and I was already sitting in a queer bar feeling decidedly not queer enough to be here.
In my defense, I’d planned a meetup with a guy from QueerMatch but he’d canceled at the last minute.
I was already dressed and was looking forward to relieving a little bit of the stress that came with being back in the same city as my father and starting a company from scratch, so I’d decided to go out anyway.
I hoped a few hours of good sex would help me forget about the business meeting I had coming up on Tuesday afternoon that I’d been relentless prepping for.
It was a project that felt extremely fortuitous for my first client, and I really wanted the meeting to go well.
So rather than scrap my Friday night out, I’d thought, What the hell? Just pick someone up in a bar.
Hence the mistake.
I was not the kind of guy who picked people up in bars, or really, anywhere.
I hadn’t picked someone up in person in years, and even the last time had been an entirely random encounter years ago that had led to one amazing night with a beautiful woman who I never saw again despite frequently thinking about her.
I’d unsuccessfully hidden the fact that I was a nervous wreck, and she’d been sweet enough to look past my obvious quirks.
I preferred to find someone on an app, meet up, have a fun night, and part ways.
Then rinse and repeat a couple weeks later.
It was enough action to maintain my sanity, while not having to make awkward conversation in a bar with strangers and wonder how to tell them I was interested in them or gauge if they were interested in me.
While I mulled over the life choices that had landed me on this barstool—surrounded by attractive men and women but lacking gall to approach anyone—the bartender set another tonic water and lime in front of me.
I could have imagined the judgment on their face, but I swore the look they gave me said: Aren’t you a little straight to be here?
Okay, they’re probably not thinking that. Just because I don’t feel queer enough doesn’t mean they can tell. They’re probably annoyed I keep drinking water.
I thanked them and smiled as I adjusted my square-frame glasses. They wandered back to the other end of the bar and I picked up the drink. I’d drink this, pay my tab, and leave. Nothing good was going to come from a partially-closeted bisexual man trying to make awkward small talk with a stranger.
I glanced down at my lap, shaking my head at myself.
I’d worn dark wash jeans and an Oxford shirt that I’d tucked into my waistband.
If this doesn’t scream librarian who took a wrong turn, I don’t know what does.
I looked around the room at the confident people swaying to the beat of the music on the dance floor, standing at high tops, laughing, and flirting with each other at the bar. Yeah. I am so not ready for this.
Apparently being a one-foot-out-of-the-closet-and-the-other-firmly-planted-inside-the-closet bisexual in Boston was no easier than it had been in Phoenix.
Bisexuals have it hard enough, but closeted and about to turn thirty?
It felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. I wasn’t straight, even though I could pass, and I didn’t really feel queer if I wasn’t willing to admit it to anyone outside of my hookups.
I’d known I was bi for a while, but it was only in the last few years that I’d let myself explore that side of my sexual orientation.
Growing up with a homophobic father who beats the shit out of you on the regular creates a level of shame that takes years to overcome.
But I had overcome it. I wasn’t even remotely ashamed of who I was attracted to anymore.
I liked men and women. Spending time in the bedroom with both over the last four years had been incredibly freeing.
Now, I was back in the same city as the homophobe who I wasn’t prepared to out myself to and way too anxious and introverted to pick people up without being able to hide behind my phone. I needed time to think through my responses so that I could flirt carefully and strategically.
I took another sip of my tonic water and lime and sighed. Time to go, Kayden.
I turned in my seat to try to catch the attention of the bartender so I could pay my minuscule tab and go home, where’d I’d probably research the company I was meeting with again just to make sure I hadn’t missed anything critical.
“Hey,” a smooth male voice sounded to my left, pulling my attention away from the bartender who’d just gestured that they’d be down in a minute. I faced the voice, taking in the tall, gorgeous man who looked way too cool to be intentionally standing next to my barstool.
Is he talking to me?
He smiled a little, almost as if he could see the disbelief on my face as I locked in on his vibrant green eyes. He ran a hand through his slick-backed curls, which were not quite blonde but not quite brown.
“Are you waiting for someone?” he asked, gesturing to the empty barstool next to me.
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “Sit.”
Did I just command him like a fucking dog? I wanted to melt into the floor. Instead, I put a hand in my hair and tugged on my thick brown locks, probably taking my look from dorky-librarian to hair-sticking-up-in-odd-places-librarian. I smoothed it back down.
“I’m Jace,” he said as he sat down. The bartender stopped in front of us and Jace ordered a craft IPA. They reached under the bar, twisted off the bottle cap, and slid the bottle to Jace. He turned to me again as he took a slow sip.
This is where you tell him your name, dipshit.
“Kayden,” I said, hoping my small smile looked at least slightly flirtatious.
This man was exactly my type. He was suave, with a short, neatly trimmed beard and eyes that made me feel like he was looking right through me.
This really would have been easier if he wasn’t a twelve out of ten on the hotness scale.
I’d be better off picking up a six for my first time trying to get a guy without the help of an app.
Jace tipped his chin to my empty glass. “Can I get you another drink before you go?”
I blinked twice.
When you’re aware of your blinking, you know something’s wrong. It’s probably a sign of a stroke. Yep, I’m probably having a stroke next to one of the most attractive people I’ve ever met. For fuck’s sake, Kayden, answer him.
“Sure,” I said.
“Tonic water and lime?” the bartender—who was standing in front of us and witnessing my embarrassment—offered.
I nodded, feeling my skin warm as Jace’s eyes roamed over my body. I let my eyes do the same to him, enjoying his tight T-shirt and muscular arms which were visible enough through the green overshirt that was open in the front in a very chill vibe. He’s way too cool for me.
Hey, Kayden, if you want a chance with a man like Jace, you have to open your fucking mouth.
“Thank you,” I said to Jace as the bartender placed another drink in front of me.
“So far you’re a pretty cheap date, Kayden,” Jace said with a small smirk. “Have you been here before?”
“No,” I said, quickly looking around the room. “Have you?”
He looked like the kind of guy who fit right in here. He was probably completely at ease with whatever his own queerness was. He certainly wasn’t struggling to pick up whomever he was attracted to with a face like that.
“Yeah, it’s a cool spot,” he said. “My uncle owns a great speakeasy a few blocks away, which I like better, but it’s nice to come to a queer bar where you don’t have to worry if the attractive guy you’re sitting next to is into men. Right?”
I swallowed audibly. That was why I’d come here. “Right.”
Jace leaned into me slightly, calm and confident. “Do you mind if I ask you a personal question, Kayden?” he asked.
The scent of his cologne filled my nostrils, and I inhaled deeply. The way the light hit his T-shirt made it slightly see-through, and I was pretty sure his entire chest was covered in ink. My dick twitched.
He clearly has zero nerves about hitting on someone in a bar.
“Sure.” I shifted my upper body to face him.
That’s a universal sign of interest, right? Eye contact and facing them? I’d be better off tattooing “closeted baby bisexual” on my forehead for moments like this. Yes, I’m into men too, please ask me to go home with you.
“Are you here to experiment for the first time or are you in the process of working your way out of the closet?” Jace asked.
My jaw dropped and I stared at him; his green eyes locked on mine with so much self-assurance I wondered if I had accidently tattooed my forehead. He’d read me like an open book.
I stifled a groan as I dropped my forehead into one hand and made eye contact again. “Please don’t tell me that I look so awkward I’m scaring guys away with my anxious vibe.”
Jace’s smile grew. “You haven’t scared me away. I’m talking to you.”
I took a deep breath. “Will the answer to your question impact whether or not you keep talking to me tonight?”
I really want you to keep talking to me.
Jace shrugged, eyes moving all over my face like he was trying to read my thoughts. “I’m digging your sexy, Clark Kent vibe, so I’ll keep talking to you either way. Assuming you’re interested, of course.”
I chuckled, feeling one bundle of nerves in my chest release slightly at his response. “I’m interested,” I said.
“Well, that’s a good start.” Jace smiled around his beer bottle, taking another long swig. I watched the bob of his throat and took a moment to appreciate the hard angles of his bearded jaw.
“I’m not experimenting. I’m bi. I’m just not exactly all the way out,” I said, taking a sip of my drink.
“Parents?” Jace asked with an eyebrow raise.
“That’s the main obstacle left. How’d you know?” I asked.
“They’re often the hardest to tell. For a lot of people, anyway.”
“Not for you?” I leaned closer, wanting another hit of his cologne. I inhaled, savoring it. He smelled very good.