Page 26 of Catching Kyle
“No,” I say, handing her the shot. I smell the cloying cinnamon gasoline drink and have to resist a grimace. “You supported me through that hell of a breakup. Now just let me support you. You’re going to start writing again!”
She wraps her arm around me, then holds her shot up. “To making it big!”
I clink my glass to her. “To getting published!”
She somehow takes her shot in one go, while I just take a big sip of my spritz. The carbonation burns my throat, and I love the almost medicinal taste. It reminds of staying home as a kid from school and taking that liquid medicine from a cup. I know, it may sound disgusting. But God it was so nice to just have a day to myself as a kid. And an Aperol spritz is that feeling distilled into a drink.
“Okay,” Amani says, wiping her lips with her sweater. She sets down the glass. “I’m ready to go.”
With perfect timing, the DJ starts playing our favorite: Pink Pony Club.
I look down at her with a raised brow and pursed lips. “You sure you want to go now?”
As the bridge leads into the first chorus, Amani looks at the crowd, then back at me. Then she grabs my arm. “Come on!”
I laugh as she pulls me into the crowd just in time for all of us to scream the chorus on the top of our lungs. We dance together, and quickly, I forget about it all: David, my writing, even Kyle Weaver. I’m here to support a friend—to support myself—and have fun. I may not know how to write romance well, and I keep falling for the wrong guys, but at least I have this moment right now.
Toward the end of the song, someone taps my shoulder. Having lost sight of Amani, I turn to what I think will be her. But it’s not.
It’s David.
It’s as if my confidence is punctured like a deflating Macy’s Day Parade float. My mood gradually drifts to the depths as David grabs my hand and pulls me closer to him. He gestures for me to leave the crowd, to follow him, and I can’t stop myself. Even after all this time, I’ve been curious: did he miss me?
When we reach the bar, I hope my ears are too shot for me to hear. But, just my luck, he somehow finds the quietest spot. And his voice, ever so soothing, is crystal clear.
“I didn’t know you came out to the bars,” he says.
I pause, hoping I’ve just conjured this all up.
He puts his hand on my upper arm, and that warm touch seeps through my sleeve. This is, unfortunately, real.
“It’s good to see you,” he says.
I sigh. “I thought you had moved,” I say.
He laughs and puts his hand on the counter, flexing his arm in the process. Of course he’s gotten more muscular.
“I did,” he says. “But someone brought me back.”
My stomach turns over itself. “Someone?”
He gestures, and this tall, hunky ginger man comes in and gives him a side hug. And stays there.
I want to melt into the ground. That’s Steven. One of the guys David was sleeping with while we were dating. And he’s like a more handsome version of me.
Pink Pony Club finishes, which couldn’t feel more fitting. When I came out, I left my family’s religion behind, the one where I could never belong. I thought I would immediately find love in the LGBT community. But it never seemed like I quite fit in there either. I was too feminine for David’s friends, including Steven, and any other attempt at a gay friendship just turned into the other guy peddling for sex. Before long, I couldn’t help but feel that either I didn’t have a ticket to the Pink Pony Club, or it didn’t really exist. Seeing these two guys together, though, makes me feel that the tickets are only sold to select clientele.
And I’m not one of them.
“Good to see you,” Steven says.
I only nod back. Of course, Steven didn’t know that David was in a relationship. Only because David lied to him about us. I know Steven’s not to blame, but David has sucked up all my goodwill like the black hole that he is.
“So you came back to date him?”
David looks up at him admiringly, which is no different than him punching me in the gut. He used to look atmelike that.
“Let me get us a drink,” Steven says. He looks at me. “You want anything?”
