I snorted. “Get suspicious of you talking to a guy sitting at the bar?”
“Yeah.”
“Then, just tell them the truth.”
He swallowed. “The truth?”
“That I’m the lead guitarist for Flirting with Fire, and you recognized me from when we did the national anthem and gave you our album.”
“All right. That’s what I’ll say, but I should get back.”
“You’re killing me, babe,” I mumbled. “I can meet your fucking friends, and they won’t be suspicious.”
He stared at me as though he was trying to weigh the pros and cons.
“You know I’m right,” I went on.
Slate took a deep breath. “Okay. You’re just the guy from the band.”
My chest ached to hear him say that, but I understood. I wasn’t in his head or in the closet, but I knew how nerve-racking it could be to come out. “Yep. Just the guy from the band,” I mocked.
“Vaughn—”
I stood and grabbed my fresh beer. “Okay. Let’s go, baseball guy.”
“Vaughn,” he said again, but I was already walking to the group of guys.
When I got to the high top tables that were side by side, Slate walked up beside me. “Do you guys remember the band that gave us those CDs?”
“Oh yeah,” one of the guys said, while the others nodded.
“This is Vaughn, the lead guitarist,” Slate introduced me.
I shook hands with them while they said their thanks for the CDs. “No problem, I hope you like it.”
“I’ve listened to it a few times,” another guy stated. “You guys are great.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, sit,” the first guy said. “Join us.”
I gave a brief look to Slate, and then grabbed a chair from another table and dragged it over. I sat beside Slate, making sure my kneeaccidentallyleaned against his. He moved it at first, but I widened my legs to touch his knee again. He didn’t move, and no one saw or even cared.
“Do you come here a lot?” one of the guys asked.
“First time. We were recording tonight, so I came in for a few beers.”
“Where are the rest of the bandmates?” another guy asked.
I shrugged. “Probably sleeping or out trying to get laid.”
The guys chuckled, and one said, “That’s what I want to be doing, but in the opposite order.”
We continued to shoot the shit as some of the guys scoped out the ladies. I would say it was only the single ones, but it wasn’t. Slate didn’t say much, but no one seemed suspicious. I didn’t know why they would be, but I did get it. Being in the closet was a heavy weight to bear, but I wanted to show him it was okay. We could befriendsin public andmorebehind closed doors.
Slate got out of his seat, and I looked at him, tilting my head slightly. “Going to hit the head.”
I let him walk to the restroom, and then I said to the guys, “I’m going to hit the head too before I leave. It was nice meeting all of you.”
