Page 39 of Wingmen

Alright. See you in 10.

Elliot’s stomach did cartwheels for ten solid minutes until Dustin walked in.

Elliot spotted him immediately and sat up faster than he’d meant to, lifting his hand. Dustin was wearing the leather jacket again with a white t-shirt underneath, and jeans tucked into boots, and he looked so much like Heath Legend in the cowboy movie that Elliot felt like he might pass out. Dustin’s eyes found him, and Elliot couldn’t tell if it was a smile or something elsethat crossed his face as he lifted a hand back and went to the bar.

Five minutes later Bennet was standing next to Elliot’s table with a glass of what looked like straight whiskey, and they were both sipping in silence, watching the pool.

Elliot raked his head for something to say. He felt like everything inside him was going about three times faster than it usually did. He could smell soap and the leather of Dustin’s jacket.

“How was your week?” he said, at the exact same moment Bennet said, “What have you been up to?”

They both paused awkwardly and turned back to the pool. They sipped their drinks. Was it weird? Was he being weird? WasBennet?

Finally, Dustin leaned in and tipped his glass toward the bar, and said, “What about them?”

Elliot followed his gaze. Two white women had just come in and sat in the spot Elliot vacated earlier. They were dressed in crop tops and yoga pants, like they’d come from a late class or something, and they had petite, well-muscled figures. Any other night, Elliot would have already been calling them over.

His heart sank a little. He lifted one shoulder. “Sure. Which one do you want?”

Bennet sipped his whiskey and didn’t answer right away. “One on the left?”

“Aight.”

Neither of them moved. The guys at the nearest pool table wrapped up, and one of them offered his cue to Dustin. Dustin looked at Elliot.

Elliot hesitated. He glanced over his shoulder at girls. “I thought we were…”

“Sure, if that’s…” Dustin kind of spread his hands.

“I don’t mind–”

“We don’t have to–”

“Right, yeah, no–”

“Whatever you…”

Elliot gulped his beer as Dustin took the cue. “Pool sounds good,” he said. “We need a rematch, anyway.”

They racked the balls and started.

Elliot was one beer deeper than he’d realized. He was at that perfectly pleasant stage of tipsy where the world was slightly warm and fuzzy, and his legs were just alittle bitfloaty.

He was also horny. Bennet walking in like that guy in the cowboy movie had done something to him inside.

He set up the shot and broke – abysmally – and stood back from the table to watch Bennet. His eyes lingered on the arch of Bennet’s wrist as his hand tented on the felt, on his knuckles as he set the cue between them. He watched him squint one eye closed, heard the clack and rattle of balls as he glimpsed a scrap of hair down the neck of his shirt, and felt heat rush to his groin.

Dustin stepped back, linking his fingers around his cue and setting the end of it between his feet. He regarded Elliot over the top of it. “Your turn.”

Two hours later,they were standing beside Bennet’s car in the empty parking lot. Elliot couldn’t remember what flimsy excuse he’d given for needing a ride back to the hotel – it was barely ten-thirty, Ubers were definitely running – but Dustin had accepted it.

Whatever weirdness Elliot had felt at basketball had been magnified a thousand times by the pool game. It felt like every time they circled the table, the space between them shrank. When Elliot passed Bennet the first time around, their shouldersbrushed. Next time around, their hands. He could haveswornBennet was doing it on purpose.

Or maybe it was Elliot that was doing that. Or maybe they were just drunk.

They stood in the shadow just behind the car while Dustin contemplated his keys, then looked at Elliot.

“Seems a little early still, doesn’t it?”