Page 50 of Worthy

Tate probably thinks I’m lying.

It’s always been like this with him. No matter how sincere the words are coming out of my mouth, I always have this feeling creeping around inside me; this sensation of dishonesty. A thick, hearty mass that lodges in my throat until, even though I swear I’m telling the truth, Ifeellike I’m lying to him.

I don’t understand it. I never have.

Even back in college, when I considered him one of my best and closest friends… Before what happened between us…happened, and I turned my back on him, I still always had this feeling that what I was saying to him wasn’t true, and more to the point, I felt like he couldtell.

It used to stress me out as much as it’s stressing me out right now. Because I don’t want him to think I’m being dishonest. But maybe I am… and I just don’t know it?

Confusing. This is all so confusing.

Welcome back into my life, Tate Eckhart. Apparently, I’m still just as uncertain as I was sixteen years ago.

My eyes follow Tate as he disappears out of the club, and I release a breath that it feels like I’ve been holding since college. Peering left, then right, I take in the sight of half-naked guys dancing all around me. And my heart bunches up so tightly in my chest I actually cough.

The thing is, Iwasn’tlying when I told Tate I didn’t know what I’m doing here. I don’t.

A week ago, I got a Facebook invite from Kennan, a friend of our mutual friend, to attend a Pride party at his place here in ABQ. I haven’t seen a lot of these guys since college, but of course the general rule is that we’re all still acting like we’re actively part of each other’s lives through social media. And while I’m sure there are many internal reasons why I decided to accept the invitation this year, for the first time since we all parted ways, I don’t think I can deal with acknowledging any of them right now.

The surface reason is a simple desire to reconnect with people I’d been close to in college. That would be the short answer as to why I, a married straight man, am here at Pride.

Unfortunately, the invite to Kennan’s party doesn’t quite explain why I’m in a gay club… Or why I went into the bathroom and touched a stranger’s dick through a hole in the wall.

I rub my eyes hard enough that there are spots in my vision.

Not a stranger… Tate. It was Tate’s dick I was touching… Tate’s mouth on me, sucking out little pulses accompanied by noises from my lips that only he’s ever dragged out of me.

“Fuck my life,” I mumble to myself, shaking my head at the sheer insanity that is my existence.

The first time I let another guy near my dick, and it just so happens to be the same guy who handled it the last time. The first time… Theonlytime.

Tate.Fucking Tate…

“You alright there, Daddy?” A guy in skimpy shorts runs a hand up my arm, startling me out of the trance brought on by this bizarre cosmic rigamarole. “Maybe a dance will take your mind off your troubles…”

Trouble… Trust me, friend. Apparentlynothingcan get me away from this kind of trouble.

My lips twist into a curt, yet polite smile. “Thanks, but I’m taken.” I hold up my left hand to display the wedding band.

The creep kryptonite.

The guy smiles back wistfully. “That dude who just walked out on you?” He lifts a brow.

My mouth opens to correct him, but when my eyes flick back in the direction Tate just went, for some strange reason, I find myself nodding. It’s fucked up, but I can’t help it.

“Well… your husband’s a lucky guy,” the man says, then elbows me. “You should go get him.” He begins walking away, turning to holler over the noise, “He’s hot.” The guy winks at me, then wanders off.

And I’m just standing there like an idiot, feeling out of place and uncomfortable in my own skin.

It reminds me so much of the last time I was in a gay club…

Another thing that only happened with Tate.

Damnit, Tate…

The random stranger is right. I need to go after him. At the very least to apologize and turn this awkward mess of a reunion around.

I always assumed I’d run into Tate again one day, but I didn’t want it to be like this.

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