Page 3 of Skeletons in the Closet

And maybe I would have taken action if a slim man with brown skin and stylish dark hair—dressed similarly to Tallus—hadn’t appeared out of nowhere, arms spread and grinning so wide his white teeth glowed under the parking lot lights. Thetwo embraced and shared cheek kisses like they were British royalty. A quiet conversation followed, full of more smiles and familiarity.

Was this the date?

They turned and headed toward a crowd of other hot young gay men, pouring through the main doors of Gasoline after paying their Friday night fees to the bouncer.

The stone in my gut didn’t feel good, and no matter how I adjusted myself in the seat, it wouldn’t go away. So much for taking action. The event I needed Tallus for was Sunday afternoon. At this rate, I’d be doing it myself. When I failed, I’d call Faye, return her deposit, and take another bad review on my site. Great. Perfect.

Fuck my life.

This time, I was smart enough to leave. Sitting in the Jeep at Gasoline, stewing over unpleasant memories, was asking for trouble. The chance of being approached by interested horny drunks was too high, and I didn’t have the patience for other people, nor did I need an infraction on my record for public indecency.

On my way home, I stopped at the store and bought a frozen pizza, a case of beer, and a pack of Nicorette. I stared longingly at the cage covering the cigarettes behind the counter, but I bit my tongue and avoided asking the clerk to grab me a pack.

Fuck it. I didn’t need Tallus’s help.

I could figure out the case on my own.

2

Tallus

The night was a bust. Despite the hum of alcohol running through my veins and the sheen of sweat coating my body from hours of dancing, I hadn’t connected with anyone interesting enough to take home. It was a young crowd, which was becoming typical of Friday nights, and I wasn’t feeling it.

Memphis was doing okay. He’d snagged some nineteen-year-old college freshman in the first hour we’d been at the club, and they’d barely left the dance floor. With their tongues halfway down each other’s throats and their lower bodies grinding excessively, I wasn’t shocked when they vanished for a bit to the washrooms.

Maybe that was the problem. Colleges and universities were out for the summer, and it was more packed than usual, with kids barely out of high school exploring their freedom. The influx of guys my age or older seemed to have dwindled in the past two weeks like they knew something I didn’t.

Twenty-seven was creeping up on me. Most days, I didn’t feel old, but when surrounded by guys a half-dozen years younger, it was never more glaring that my youth was slowly vanishing into the mist. Unlike Memphis, I preferred older men. Experienced men. Men without acne and baby fat. Ones who lived on their own and not in Mommy and Daddy’s basement.

Guys in their thirties were fewer and farther between lately, and I couldn’t sort it out. Maybe they felt like me and didn’t want an atmosphere inundated by practical teenagers, so they had gone elsewhere to drink and dance.

I wish I’d gotten the memo.

I wish I knew whereelsewherewas.

At least Memphis was having a good time.

“Another?” The bartender, a redheaded guy named Kyle, tinkled his fingernails against my empty glass.

I checked the time—quarter after one—and shook my head. “Thanks, man. I’ll pass.”

Kyle winked and offered a flirty smile before pouring and uncapping beers for other patrons. He’d been working at Gasoline for several years and was a seasoned pro. We had enjoyed a couple of sweaty nights together a while back, but since neither of us was interested in anything serious, it had come to a natural end.

The current song faded and was replaced by an equally bass-heavy pop rendition of a classic rock song. I wished they wouldn’t ruin my favorites like that. Wasn’t there enough new age stuff out there for us to dance to?

The strobing lights pulsed with the beat, flickering and shining off people’s shirts—those wearing them. Memphis appeared from nowhere, black hair sweaty and stuck to his forehead, cheeks flush from whatever he’d been doing in the bathrooms. He air-kissed my cheeks before leaning heavily against the bar, grinning wide. “You done?”

“Yeah, but don’t let me impede on your night. I’ll get an Uber.”

“Forget it. I’ve had my fill.” My best friend waved down Kyle and asked for a glass of water.

“What about your purple-haired rockstar?”

“We took a lengthy bathroom break. I don’t need more than that, sweetie. Besides, he’s moved on.”

I glanced at the dance floor, and sure enough, the guy he’d been schmoozing half the night was grinding on someone else. At some point—maybe during Memphis’s lengthy bathroom break—he’d lost his shirt.

Kyle delivered a sweaty glass of water, and Memphis guzzled it before taking my hand and guiding me toward the doors. “Come on. I need air. It’s sweltering in here. There are probably cabs lined up outside anyhow.”

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