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Maybe what had happened the night before was just him doing his job—making me feel like we had a connection, so I’d keep subscribing to his page.
Nah. I wasn’t cynical enough to believe that, especially not about Lark. There was no way that had just been an act last night. He was sweet and genuine, and we really did have some sort of connection. I was sure of it.
After waiting around for a while to see if a message from him would pop up, I clicked back over to his start page. The right side of the screen was filled with a photo of him from the waist up. He was shirtless and smiling flirtatiously at the camera while pushing back his dark hair with both hands, and he looked so sexy.
Beside the photo, it said: Lark, age 26, San Francisco, California. Originally from L.A., this sweet and sexy former exotic dancer is ready to rock your world. I wondered if someone else had written that tag line, because it really didn’t sound like something he’d say.
There were a few icons along the top of the screen, and clicking the first one took me to a photo gallery. It was divided into three sections labeled Just Me, Costumes, and NSFW, which meant not safe for work—in other words, explicit photos.
Just Me turned out to be selfies he’d taken around town over the last year. His hair was dark brown and pretty long in the oldest photos. Now, it barely grazed his shoulders. For a few months, he became a blond, before returning to the dark brown that seemed to be his real hair color. He looked cute either way.
Lark was by himself in every picture, which might have been intentional to respect his friends’ privacy. Some of the backgrounds included Delores Park and a well-known vintage ice cream parlor in the Mission, but the majority of them were taken in his bedroom.
Next, I moved on to the photos of him in costumes, which were pure joy. They ranged from campy to sexy and sometimes managed to be both at the same time. I liked the fact that he really seemed to be enjoying himself in every picture.
After going through those two galleries, I chewed my lower lip and debated checking out the third. Even though he’d gotten naked for me the night before, this felt different. I couldn’t really explain why. It just did.
Ultimately, I ended up closing Lark’s page without looking at his naked photos. That just seemed like the right thing to do.
7
Dylan
Because I ended up dragging my feet and nearly talked myself out of going, I didn’t get to the party until ten-thirty. It was so loud and crowded that I almost turned right back around and left. But it had taken me half an hour to walk here—under the assumption that both parking and cabs would be impossible to find on New Year’s Eve—so I decided I might as well say hello to my friends before making my escape.
River and Cole lived in a tiny house, which was located in the backyard of a grand Victorian mansion in one of San Francisco’s wealthiest neighborhoods. I’d first met River about four years ago through the Victorian’s owner, a feisty little old lady who everyone called Nana. She tended to set off her smoke alarm a lot, which put her on a first-name basis with the entire crew at my fire station.
Nana had pushed River and me together, so we’d agreed to go out for her sake—and in my case, to appease everyone who’d already started asking when I was going to get back out there and start dating. But we both knew nothing was going to come from it. I was still a wreck from losing my husband, and River and Cole were broken up at the time, but they were madly in love and just needed to work some stuff out. Our “date” ended with me putting River in an Uber and sending him to Cole, and we’d been friends ever since.
As I hesitated on the sidewalk in front of the huge Victorian, I started to wonder if I’d actually be able to find those two in all this chaos. Nana was a fierce ally of the LGBT+ community, and it seemed like half of gay San Francisco had shown up for the party.
The whole thing was a sight to behold, including the mansion itself, which was permanently painted in a shimmering rainbow and currently outlined with thousands of hot pink Christmas lights. To add to the festive atmosphere, about twenty go-go boys wearing nothing but briefs were dancing to techno music in the compact front yard.
At least a hundred party guests were clustered on the porch, driveway, and sidewalk, and they were starting to spill into the street, much to the annoyance of the neighbor directly across from Nana’s house, who stood in his front yard absolutely fuming. I’d heard stories about that man, and since he was a huge homophobe I had to wonder if the go-go boys were there just to make his blood boil.
I made my way inside, which was even more crowded and chaotic than what was happening out front. When I texted my friends to find out where they were, River replied: Hey dude, glad you made it! We’re in the backyard, in front of our house. See you in a minute!
As pounding dance music reverberated through me, I cut through the Victorian’s elegant foyer with its giant, crystal chandelier, then the kitchen, where I ran into Nana and her husband. We chatted briefly, and Nana kissed my cheeks and stuck a huge tumbler of spiked punch into my hand before I continued on my way.
It turned out most of the party was actually happening in the backyard, which was huge by San Francisco standards. It took a while to weave through the crowd, but I finally reached my friends, whose tiny house was tucked away in a back corner of Nana’s property.
Cole was the first to grab me in a back-slapping embrace, and he exclaimed, “Hey, Dylan, good to see you!”
River grabbed me next, and there was more hugging and back-slapping. “Happy New Year, man,” he said. “I was starting to think you’d decided to blow off the party.”
Cole gestured at the group gathered in front of their tiny house and said, “Come and sit down. I think you know everyone.”
A blue-haired artist named Skye and his husband Dare slid over and made room for me on their bench, and greetings were exchanged all around as I squeezed in. Six married couples were seated around an unlit fire pit, which held a metal tub filled with ice and beer. Cole was right, I’d met all their friends before, and I genuinely liked them.
For nearly an hour and a half, I nursed that big and surprisingly delicious boozy tropical punch and listened to everyone exchange funny stories. Many of them centered around Nana, who was quite a character. During that time, other people joined us, then eventually drifted off again, but the core group remained.
I tried to relax and enjoy myself, but spending time with a bunch of happy couples made me feel pretty lonely. A few minutes before midnight, I got to my feet and told the group I was heading out. River got up too and asked, “You sure, D? We’re getting close to counting down the new year.”
There was no way to tell him the truth without sounding pathetic—that I wanted to leave because watching all these loving, beautiful gay couples kiss when the clock struck twelve was going to make me feel even lonelier, so I’d rather avoid it. Instead, I said, “Yeah, you know, I think it’s best to beat the rush.”
That didn’t even make sense, since it wasn’t like the party was going to clear out all at once at twelve-oh-one. But it seemed like River understood, and he gave me a hug as he said, “Alright, my friend. I’m glad you stopped by.”
After I said goodbye to Cole and the rest of the guys, I started the process of working my way back through the crowd. It was even more chaotic this time, because champagne was being passed around, and groups were starting to cluster together in anticipation of the New Year’s countdown. When I was halfway through the kitchen, it occurred to me that I was a complete dumb-ass and should have just left by the back gate. But by now the front door was closer, so I continued on.
