Page 87 of Tangled up in You

The bar was a typical small-town,just off Main Street, grungy old dive joint that the locals knew about and avoided during season, and the rare tourists rarely made it to outside of it. It was the only place this time of year that both served alcohol and which also had a live band playing music that didn’t require a baptism and contribution to the collection plate.

And the draft beer was a third cheaper than during season.

With opening weekend quickly approaching, Mark would end up slammed with work for weeks with little chance to relax, and even less desire to go anywhere requiring contact with tourists.

Christopher wasn’t much of a socializer, unless someone pinged one of his interests and unlocked his programming to turn him into someone who could literally talk the paint off a goddamned wall.

Christopher was, however, uncannily able to charm women without even meaning to, much less trying.

Usually because hewasn’ttrying.

Mark had long since given up trying to explain that to Chris and simply let him be himself while waiting for an opening to see if the woman was a) not a batcrap crazy train wreck who b) they might want to sleep with, who—and this was even more important than point a—c) might be interested in sleeping with them.

“Them” being a deal-breaker if she wasn’t down for being with the two of them together. They’d decided two years into whatever the hell this was they had that while they enjoyed the intimate company of women, they also weren’t willing to do anything to damage their relationship. That meant if theydecided to sleep with a woman, it was both of them, or neither of them. It’d been over a year since they’d last shared a woman.

Frankly, Christopher was far better at sucking a cock than most woman.

Maybe I am gay after all.

He’d long since given up trying to figure it out. It wasn’t something he’d ever openly admitted to his family, either. That wasn’t a problem, because he hadn’t been home for more than a weekend in several years. No one had cared enough to ask if he was dating or married or the father of a dozen kids via sperm donation or starting a crazy cat collection or…anything.

His relationship with Chris wasn’t a secret, though. They were listed as each other’s next of kin and emergency contacts. They referred to each other as partners. They’d even discussed getting married.

When they could find the time.

But either Mark was out on patrol in the backcountry, or Christopher was out in the field doing whatever the fuck it was he did with plants, so the time they snagged together at home when the snow wasn’t over their heads was usually spent sleeping or fucking.

Or sleeping after fucking.

They’d never slapped labels on themselves. Christopher had no problem talking about his past relationships with men and women, to the point Mark frequently reminded him the Montana/Wyoming/Idaho-straddling national park wasn’t New York City, and it wasn’t wise to openly discuss that unless they first established the person wasn’t a gay-bashing psychopath.

But then again, that was Christopher. It was one of the things Mark loved, that he could dive into an infodump when the conditions were right and totally tune out the world and any social cues that might make anyone else feel self-conscious.

It was also one of the things that annoyed the crap out of Mark, but Mark admitted he wasn’t perfect, either.

And since it looked like he would spend the rest of his life with his autistic sparkly vampire botanist unicorn, Mark had long ago quit trying to change him and accepted it was just the way Christopher was. Sometimes he’d give his guy a subtle nudge if Chris drastically misread a room.

When they pulled into the gravel parking lot, it looked pretty full but Mark breathed a sigh of relief when they walked in and the band was still unpacking their gear. Christopher followed him to the far end of the bar, where Mark usually stood because he liked having his back to the wall and being able to see the room. Jason, the bar’s owner, emerged from the back with a case of beer on his shoulder and greeted them before he carried it behind the bar for the young guy working with him to stock the coolers.

Christopher was still putting his earplugs in when Jason walked over to them. “Whatcha having tonight? Or are you on duty?”

“Civvie tonight.” Mark held up two fingers. “Whatever’s on special on tap.”

“Gotcha.”

Mark scanned the room. He knew maybe a quarter of the people by name, half of them by sight, and the rest appeared to be locals, cowboys, and a few tourists. Not the most promising of pickings.

Dammit.

The band completed their set-up and sound check just as what looked like several carloads of tourists arrived.

Figures.

Mark turned to watch the band while Christopher wandered off to mingle. He didn’t like Mark’s preferred corner because ofthe way the music sometimes vibrated through the amps and into the bar Mark liked to lean against.

And Mark couldn’t easily mingle in a crowd like this. He wanted his back against a wall and a tactical advantage.

It was always better to let Christopher break the ice with someone—if there was such a someone for them to meet—and observe from a distance, reading the woman’s body language, and then possibly making his way over to them if he was intrigued enough.

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