Page 47 of Poolside

“A ginger ale with lime,” the older man offered.

The waiter’s eyes lingered on Wade. “I’ll be right back with those.”

When Tommy had texted Wade to ask if he’d go out to The Pride Tide with him, Wade had replied that he’d be happy to go out with Tommy on one condition: they go somewhere other than a gay bar. Wade had suggested the restaurant, citing that the queer owner made sure it was a welcoming place for everyone.

For a few minutes the two men exchanged small talk, swapping stories about work and family and friends. Tommy listened, but he let his gaze wander around the room, looking for anything or anyone that sparked his curiosity.

“So.”

Tommy turned back to Wade, realizing he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “Sorry,” he said with a wince. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the nerves that had him fidgeting in his seat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Wade looked at him for a moment and then burst into laughter, throwing his head back as he shook his head. “Nothing, man. You’re not supposed to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Tommy felt his cheeks heat. “I know, but…” He trailed off. What he really wanted to ask was:What am I supposed to do if the man I can’t stop thinking about told me to get lost because I’m so new to this? If he rejected me because I haven’t explored these feelings with anyone else?

Wade took pity on him. “Look, Tommy. You’re here because there’s something you want to explore. I remember how awkward I felt the first few times I let myself pursue the things that had only ever existed in my head. The truth is, there’s no right or wrong way. Have a drink, eat some food, go dance for a bit, and for fuck’s sake, try to relax. You look like you’re bracing for a hit.”

Tommy forced out an exhale and dropped his shoulders. He nodded. “Right,” he said, psyching himself up for getting out there, whatever that might look like. “You’re right.”

They agreed to share a variety of small dishes, and the good food and excellent company made Tommy’s nerves ease little by little. Wade Johnson was a great guy: easygoing, and an excellent storyteller.

When the waiter cleared their dishes away, Tommy’s eyes drifted to the dance floor. At some point, the band had started to play upbeat Latin rock, and a few people had migrated over to dance. Tommy noticed different constellations of people coming together—both straight and same-sex couples. It soothed something in him, a tiny knot of anxiety he had barely even noticed until it was gone.

Wade slapped the table. “Come on. Let’s go dance.”

Tommy grinned at him. “You a dancer, Wade Johnson?”

The older man’s face twisted into a mock scowl. “I’m a fucking incredible dancer.”

Laughing, Tommy followed Wade. He was conscious of eyes on the two of them as they wound through the crowd of people standing around the bar. When they got to the dance floor, it was easy to slide right in. The music was good, and there was a sense of freedom and anticipation in the air.

Within minutes of dancing, people started to approach them. A tall woman with long bronze legs approached Wade, and he politely turned her away. When she turned to Tommy with a question in her eyes, he shook his head with a smile.

Then a man approached Tommy. He was lean, around Tommy’s height, and dressed nicely in jeans and a deep red button up. His blue eyes held Tommy’s gaze, and when Tommy gave him a smile and a nod, the man slid his body into Tommy’s space.

A knee brushed his, a hand curled around his hip, and then there he was: Tommy Littleton, dancing with a man.

He tried to be fully in the moment, to appreciate the man’s dark eyebrows and thick black lashes and the full pout of his lips. He tried not to compare him to Chuck, but how the fuck was he supposed to pretend he hadn’t already figured out exactly who and what he was attracted to?

One dance became another, and while there was definitely something that stirred in him when a hard, sweaty body was tucked tightly against his, he couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing, a hollow tone to the interactions that left him feeling defeated.

He politely extracted himself from his partner at the end of the song and walked back to their table, where Wade sat mopping his glistening forehead with a napkin. His expression turned thoughtful as he looked up at Tommy. “You don’t look like you’re having fun,” he observed.

“I am!” Tommy sat down, grabbing his water and draining the glass as he tried to put words to what he was feeling in that moment. “I think I want to have an actual conversation with someone, you know?”

“So go have an actual conversation, then.”

Tommy shifted in his seat. “Just like that?”

“Queer people are just people,” Wade said, leveling him with a look like he was being particularly dense. Then he looked over Tommy’s shoulder and nodded with his chin.“That guy over there has been checking you out for a while.”

Tommy glanced back and found a man watching him from a stool at the bar. When their eyes met, he gave Tommy a shy, hesitant smile. He was a big guy, maybe a little older than him, with a wide torso, full chest, and a neatly groomed dirty-blonde mustache. He had an objectively handsome face, kind eyes, andfuck it, Tommy was going to go talk to him.

He pushed up from the table, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he approached the stranger.

“Hey,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt as he came to a stop beside him.

“Hi,” the man said, his smile widening as his eyes dipped down to trace over Tommy’s body. “I’m Noah.”

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