Page 29 of Coming to Grips
Kyle pulls him out of the stream of traffic, which there’s not much left of because they’d been sitting in the first row and, so, most everyone else filed out before they did. “But you’re not.”
Chase sighs. “It’s stupid.”
“C’mon. Talk to me.”
“I thought this was a date,” he says and groans. That’s so not what he meant to say.
Surprise flashes across Kyle’s face. “It is, why?”
When Kyle had first blurted it out, Chase had been surprised. It’s not like they hadn’t gone to ball games as just friends dozens of time over the years. This being a date set expectations, and, maybe, now that he’s thinking about it, it shouldn’t. They’re still just them, even though there’s a little more to “them” than there was before. He takes a breath and lets those expectations go. The night’s far from over. And it is only a first date.
Chase shakes his head. “Sorry. It’s not important.” But his gaze is immediately drawn to a man and a woman walking toward the exit, holding hands. Kyle glances in that direction, before looking at Chase with big brown eyes and an earnest expression. “You want to hold hands?”
“Um, I mean…yeah?” God, he feels like an idiot. Or a teenage girl. Anna wasn’t overly physical and it had never bothered him. But after sitting through the ball game with Kyle in almost constant physical contact—a knee, a shoulder, an ankle—Chase wants to stay in contact. He likes the closeness and the sense of connection.
Kyle looks surprised again. “If you want to hold hands, I’m happy to hold hands.” He takes Chase’s hand in his and a thrill scurries up Chase’s spine. “The reason I didn’t is because a) this is pretty new for you and I didn’t know it was something you wanted, and b) every queer relationship is different and, out of all the guys I’ve actually dated, only one wanted to hold hands. I didn’t want to make an ass out of either of us.” His eyebrow arches in a question.
“Oh. Yeah. Okay.” A flush of heat licks up the back of his neck. Chase feels really stupid now, because this new improved considerate Kyle isn’t something he’s used to. “Sorry, sorry. I… Thank you.”
“No reason to be sorry, but you’re welcome. Now let’s go.”
Their hands fit comfortably together, and they walk hand-in-hand to the truck. The low heat of contentment simmers in Chase’s belly. He’d never felt like this with Anna, even when things were at their best between them. Chase isn’t going analyze that too deeply.
Kyle holds his hand during the ten-minute drive to the bar and on the walk from the car into the bar.
The large nondescript building on the side of the road that houses Ruby’s Tavern looks like it was built before they were born. Chase isn’t sure what decade, but it’s got an odd roof line, and old wood paneling covers sections on either side of the entrance at an angle. It might even be an old grocery store for how large it is and the double set of hydraulic doors. Music carries across the parking lot as the doors open and close and, surprisingly, it’s not country.
Inside, it’s mostly dim with a dance floor in the center flanked by booths and tables on either side. Low-level colored lights illuminate the dance floor both from above and below. Bar counters stretch across the front on both sides of the doors. A food counter takes up one back corner and restrooms take up the other.
There’s a large group of men in the back corner on the side of the restrooms, and they head that direction.
“Still okay?” Kyle asks. Chase nods and squeezes his hand in confirmation.
“Where the hell is Dakota?” Kyle hollers when he approaches the group, most of them wearing red ball caps with white script As and looking freshly showered. Must be the team.
Half a dozen loud voices offer some form of hello and a tall heavyset guy steps forward. “Kyle, you dog. Good to see you. What brings you to Ardmore?”
“Armadillos baseball, what else?”
Several guys close enough to hear hoot and holler. Kyle and Dakota clasp hands and bro-hug.
“Great game, by the way, guys,” Kyle says.
More cheers and whistles go up.
“Dakota, this is Chase. Chase, Dakota.”
Dakota holds out a hand and immediately pulls back upon seeing Chase’s arm in a sling. “Sorry, man, but nice to meet you.” His smile is big and bright. “The girls are bringing over several pitchers, feel free to help yourselves. Dudes,” Dakota addresses his teammates, “my friends Kyle and Chase from Ten Rigs, Texas. They came to watch us play.”
“Thanks for the win,” Kyle shouts, earning him another blast of happy noise.
The players mostly clump together and chatter. Some break off to dance. Dakota sidles up to a pretty redhead and she nods; they too head to the dance floor.
Chase is drawn into conversations about baseball and horses and injuries. He’s handed one beer, then a second, and a third, enjoying the buzz he’s cultivating. He’s on a date. With Kyle. He’s feeling good. Happy.
Kyle leans close. He nods toward the dance floor. “You wanna?”
Chase is just drunk enough that his first response isn’tfuck, no. Holding hands is one thing. Dancing is something else, although he’s not sure why. But, fuck it, they’re on a date, and the likelihood of ever seeing these guys again is slim. If they don’t accept what he and Kyle have going on, then he and Kyle can just leave.
