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As bright as when we first met all those years ago.
9
Austin Romero
Charlie looked great, even for someone just getting off a six-hour shift working with animals and their sometimes wild owners. His light green polo shirt made his eyes shine, and his khakis were snug, not leaving a whole lot to the imagination.
Not that I needed to use my imagination with Charlie. Everything about him was so vivid, even though I hadn’t seen him naked for years now. I felt pretty positive I could still trace an outline of his exact shape, lying down and ready for me. It was a sight I never forgot, and one I had been thinking about more and more frequently.
When he agreed to grabbing a drink, I almost let out a relieved breath. For a second, it almost seemed like he was sticking to his “no.” And I would have understood. The way I walked off after our kiss wasn’t cool. I shouldn’t have shut down like that, and I wanted to make it up to him.
Buying him a Moscow mule was the least I could do.
We started down the main street, filling the air with idle chatter about the day as we walked. It felt equal parts familiar and new. Charlie and I used to walk down Bay Road almost every weekend, having our usual haunts we would stop at: Jilly Bean, the coffee shop that had now been turned into a clothing boutique; Himalayan Scoops, one of the best ice cream shops this side of the globe and one that had survived the test of time; and of course, Neon Playroom, a three-story arcade that had the best laser tag course known to man.
Charlie and I gave each other our first blowjobs in that arcade, but I figured that would be a story for another day.
“You know,” Charlie said, drawing my attention away from the bright blue-and-green arcade sign and toward his similarly bright gaze, “I got a flash of something. I remembered your eyes.”
“Really? My eyes?”
“Yup. It’s like there’s a flashlight, and it’s only shining on the part of my brain that filed away how beautiful your eyes are.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “Beautiful, huh? You never told me you think my eyes are beautiful.”
“Because you’re already cocky enough—I don’t want to create a monster. But yes, I think your eyes are beautiful. And lips, and nose, and chest, and, well, yeah, you get the picture.” Charlie chuckled, slipping his hands into his pockets.
“That’s incredible,” I said. “Not you finding me devastatingly handsome, but that your memory’s coming back. This could mean it’s all coming back, right?”
Charlie shrugged. “I hope so. The doctors warned me that the brain is basically like the universe of the body—they know jack shit about it. I could get all my memories in a flood or a trickle or never at all.”
“Let’s stick to the positive, then.”
“Let’s,” Charlie said, throwing me a smile that almost stopped my heart. He had one of the most charming smiles in the world, no comparing, no denying. I was about to tell him, after he had opened up to me about his passionate obsession with my eyes, but we reached the entrance to the Library just then.
The bar used to be what its namesake represented: a domed-ceiling library that had been caught up in a money-laundering scheme by corrupt management and a few librarians moonlighting as mini-Walter Whites, minus the meth. The scandal dominated the news (and gossip) cycle for a few months, until the library was shut down and the property was sold by the owner, sometime around the time I left Blue Creek.
And so the Library was born. Charlie and I showed our IDs to the bouncer and opened the doors, stepping into a dimly lit entrance room where one would typically check out books. Instead, there was a small bar packed with people sitting on low-backed leather chairs, chatting and laughing. Straight ahead, the floor dipped into a circular lounge area with oversized plush gray couches surrounded by stacks of colorful books.
“There’s a few different sections,” Charlie explained, having to lean in so I could hear him over the music and conversation. “There’s an entire dance floor to the left and an outdoor area to the right. It’s usually more chill outside.”
We both agreed that the quieter outdoor section was what we wanted. I let Charlie lead the way. We walked underneath an archway that I vividly remembered from the old library, then through a row of tables that used to be the fantasy books section.
Charlie was right on the vibe being calmer outside. It was a covered terrace with scattered round tables and comfortable benches, orange trees spreading their branches over the tables. A bar was set against the brick wall of the library, a line of happy-hour regulars already beginning to form.
