"Sir? Ha!"
Heat flashed over my cheeks again, and I pulled my wallet from my back pocket.
He held out the license with a younger photo showing dark-brown hair and thick eyebrows. He made a show of comparing it against me, narrowing his green eyes, then shrugged. "Welcome toThe City, Cali boy."
He stepped aside, inviting me into a dimly lit and smoky bar, alive with activity and filled with men, I was sure.I made my way in deeper, taking in the leather and alcohol scent, mixed with heavy male musk. It alone could make me drunk.
Guys pressed against each other with no shame, and I smiled at the freedom and acceptance. My chest tingled with excitement.This is where I belong.My gaze lingered on a Black bodybuilder-looking man kissing a slender White guy. Lyndon Johnson outlawed segregation five years ago, but there were still places where it was 'understood' not to mix.
And they don't care. It's wonderful!
A deep feminine cough grabbed my attention. The bartender wasn't male, but an older, thickladywith short hair.
"You're a woman!"
She burst out laughing and clapped her hands as if I had answered a hard question.
"Sorry, I thought—"
"—there would be only men here, Darlin'?"
I nodded while my cheeks grew hot yet again.
"First time?" After a whispered yes, she continued. "Let me make it easy for you, and in return, you help a lady out." With quick motions, she sliced a lime, cleaned a mint sprig, and then poured bourbon and sugary syrup over a few large ice cubes.
"Don't get used to this." Her smirk reminded me of my mother. "This place is for people who want to get drunk and screw." She shrugged. "If that's what you're into, fine… but you seem different."
I took a sip, and the minty sugar masked the bourbon. She leaned in. "You like it, don't you?"
"Yeah. I never had this before. How'd you know?"
"Comes with being a bartender." She left to wipe the bar's far-off end, leaving me alone. Soon, fingertips ran down my back, then to my ass, and goosebumps rose. I spun, meeting a hairy chest and a man over six feet in height. His muscles weren't defined, more pudgy than firm, like someone who worked with their body every day, but not in a gym.
His thick New York accent drew out. "Hey, you're pretty short." He leered. "And short and pretty."
I got compared to girls in high school, but men couldn't be pretty, could they? I stepped off the bar stool, and he matched my backward footsteps perfectly while running his fingertips over my chest.
The bartender's voice lowered to a near growl. "James! Leave the kid alone."
He backed off, wisely deciding it's best to stay friends with the person making your drinks.
He wasn't my type, but who was, besides gay? Bobby was cute, but more brother than lover. Half the men here were good-looking, but who's the one for me?
Sleep with one and see if we get along?
No. Sex would be great, but I want… a husband?
Yeah, that's it. Not someone for an hour.
I stared at the thick glass and the dark liquid. "I want a husband."
A man's chest collided with my back. He was shorter than the previous man but with defined, taut muscles. He wore a white tank top, adorned with a leather strap studded with silver. He looked like an old-style gunfighter, and the slight Southern twang in his accent added to his cowboy aura. "Is that so?" he asked, his hand brushing over mine as I gripped my glass. "I'll be your husband, cute stuff." His hands came to rest over his chest. "It won't be City Hall, but we'll be married in our hearts."
I quickly downed my drink, the sugar syrup and bourbon burning my throat as I set it down. My brain told me to make a run for it, but fear or confusion led towards a back room.
It was dim with shadows, and I had to watch my steps, especially with the sea of bodies. Yet in the murk, one person grabbed my attention and wouldn't let go.
Wow! Who are you?
