Page 112 of Catcher's Lock
“Last time Josha got drunk, it worked out pretty well for me.” Maybe I can tease him into a lighter mood. Echo arches an eyebrow.
“That sounds like a story I need to hear.”
“Turns out, Rocket has a thing for wetsuits.”
“Don’t those, like, cover all the good bits?”
“Not the way—”
“I’ll take the damn beer,” Josha interjects, shooting me a warning glare. “And don’t you dare pop that tongue ring at me. Jesus. I’m not sure I’m gonna survive the two of you.”
The bartender, thankfully, is new and doesn’t blink at my tame order. Although that might be because she’s too busy smiling at Echo to waste a bat of her eye on me.
Drinks in hand, we make our way to one of the booths against the far wall while we wait for an open pool table. I scoot to the far side and slouch against the paneling, sipping my Coke and keeping a wary eye on the crowd, while Echo regales us with tales of his adventures with the rope company he and Byrd have been touring with since his graduation. His eyes dance from me to Josha while he talks, the neon blue bright with curiosity. I keep expecting him to launch into another interrogation, since it’s obviously killing him to hold his tongue, but he never does.
Josha keeps one hand on my knee under the table, stroking up my thigh every time I start to jitter, and I don’t realize how much it’s grounding me until he excuses himself to hit the bathroom. The second he disappears, my gaze drifts to the bar, automatically calculating how long it would take me to order and knock back a shot or three.
The best of intentions can’t rewire the pathways of habit in less than a month.
When I drag my attention back to the table, Echo is appraising me with a shrewd expression, and I sigh. Sliding my watery soft drink to the side, I lean in, propping my elbows on the table.
“Well. Get on with it. I know you must have some big warning speech prepared.”
“Do you need to hear it?” He cocks that damn brow at me again. Smooth bastard.
“I can’t argue against it if I don’t.”
“If I thought you were using him to fuel your sobriety or weasel your way back into Big Top, I’d definitely kick your ass. Or—” He eyes my tattooed biceps. “I’d try. But I’ve been on the other side of a similar speech, and I know how much good it would do. I’m also not an idiot. You might hurt him, but it won’t be because he’s some experiment to you. You’re not a curious straight boy noticing a hot ass for the first time.”
“How can you tell?” I ask.
“I have pretty good gaydar, and I see the way you watch him. Plus, you’re here, drinking shitty Coke from a soda gun, hanging out with a guy you don’t like in a place that’s got to have some complicated history for you, because you want him to have fun.” His wide mouth breaks into a grin. “I’ve also heard a few things you probably wish I hadn’t about how you take his dick.”
I decide not to be embarrassed. Idolove taking Josha’s dick, and I know Byrd well enough to guess who’s usually on the receiving end inthatequation.
“But seriously,” he continues, tilting his pint glass at me in warning. “That man savedeverythingfor you. Even when he was pissed and heartbroken. Even when I told him he was crazy for holding on. You fuck that up, and you’re an even bigger ass than I thought you were.”
“Thanks,” I murmur drily. “I’m doing my best.”
“I think you are. And I think he always knew something the rest of us didn’t.”
“He’s always been a lot smarter than me,” I agree. Before he can make another snarky comment on my intelligence, I continue: “Thanks for inviting us out tonight. It’s nice to feel, I don’t know…normalfor a few hours.”
A frown mars his features. “I’m not a big fan of the wordnormal. Too many people use it as a weapon, or to discriminateagainst anyone whose lifestyle they don’t agree with. The human condition is all over the place. Just be yourself.”
“I’m still trying to figure out who that is.” My eyes drift up, homing in onmy boyfriendwalking back across the bar. “It’s getting easier every day, though.”
“Someone puked in one of the urinals,” Josha informs us with a grimace, snatching up his beer and downing the last few swallows like he can erase the memory. “But a table opened up if you want to play.”
Eager for something to do with my antsy energy, I slide free of the booth, before standing directly in his space so our chests brush and my mouth ghosts next to his ear.
“I’m ready to show you what I can do with my stick.”
His groan is not the kind I usually like to elicit, but the shiver that runs through him makes up for it. The scent of beer wafts on his breath, and if I kissed him right now, I could suck the hoppy flavor from his tongue.
The unwanted thought makes me pull back, tarry guilt flushing over my skin. I won’t let myself use him like that—our kisses marred by the sketchy ulterior motives of my sins.
“You two play,” Echo says, biting back a smirk. “I’m gonna get us another round.”
