Page 5 of It's Just You

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He stared at his beer again before offering a smile. “There are just better things to talk about than parents.”

“Right. So…” What did I want to ask? Are you a top or a bottom? Do you like it when your guy dresses in lace? Will you take me home and fuck me into tomorrow? “You come here often?”

He snorted. “Not much else to do here. But if you’re looking for a good time, this probably isn’t the best place for you.”

Did he mean that I wasn’t going to score with him?

I batted my eyelashes at him. “Can you tell me where to look, then?”

“There are a few places over in Martinville,” he said, naming the closest city. “This is really just a good place to have a drink with friends, honestly.” He offered what looked like a shy smile.

Not what I’d meant. Was he playing hard to get, or was he that oblivious?

“I don’t want to drive over there, though…” I trailed off, licking the tip of the bottle suggestively.

“That’s going to be a problem, then. I don’t think you’ll find anything too entertaining here, to be honest.” He pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the screen with a grimace. “As it is, I should probably head out soon.”

Well, now or never then. I placed a hand on his strong thigh. “Sure there’s no entertainment to be found here?” I looked up at him, slowly and seductively smiling at him.

The guy stared at me like I’d grown a second head — but he didn’t remove my hand. Instead, he stammered, “I— You— I—”

“Yes. You, me, a bed. No strings attached.”

This time, he picked up my hand, carefully moving it off of his leg as he quickly shook his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give you the wrong idea. I’m not… You know.”

“Gay. That’s the word you’re looking for.” At least I hoped it was. It could’ve been something much worse. I drained the rest of my beer then stood. “Never mind. I’ll just leave now.” Face burning, I slid from the chair. I’d never, ever been wrong before. I could spot them easily, and if not, it only took a few minutes of talking to read them. Even if they were straight, most guys were at least curious when they saw the way my mouth wrapped around a bottle. Being rejected like this hadn’t happened in a long time, and it stung.

My poor self-esteem.

His expression was soft, anxious then. “I’m sorry. I really am. Are you okay?” He placed a hand on my arm, then his eyes followed to the spot where he’d touched me. Slowly, he drew back.

“Sure. I’ll just go now. I’m sorry.” With that, I turned around, leaving the bar with all thoughts of scoring tonight forgotten. I called a taxi, and thankfully, the guy didn’t follow me as I waited for it to pick me up.

When I slid onto the soft seat, I could feel the stranger’s strong hand on my arm. I closed my eyes, and instead of thinking about the rejection, I tried to imagine what could’ve happened instead.

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