Page 167 of The Menagerie

“I mean for us. I don’t want to jump straight back into any intense stuff this weekend if either of us is gonna be rattled.”

“Yeah, prob’ly a good idea. Do….” Rowan can picture him shaking his head. That pretty pink flush he gets every once in a while coloring his cheeks and ears and neck.

“What?”

There’s a deep breath before Mal speaks again. “Do you wanna grab a drink or something on Saturday? Same time?”

Rowan’s head spins. He has to lie down fully on the couch to prevent himself from falling back onto it.Like a date? echoes in his mind, but he forces himself not to blurtthisparticular thought out loud.

“Yeah, that’d be great.”

Rowan Campbell has successfully played one thing cool in his life so far, and he thinks it earns him a congratulatory pat on the back. He’d do it if he could get his limbs to move.

They talk until Rowan’s phone is hot against his cheek and his battery threatens to give out. When they finally hang up, it’s close to midnight, and Rowan barely manages to pry off his work uniform before crawling into bed.

ROWAN BREATHESas deeply and evenly as he can while he gets ready to go out with Mal.

This time there’s no good excuse for why they’re going out other than to spend time together. No birthday, no getting to know one another’s kinks, nothing. They could have easily skipped a week or two entirely and not seen each other, though the thought of that makes Rowan’s stomach lurch. He hasn’t gone without seeing Mal at least once a week since they started their arrangement several months ago, and the thought of it happening now—even hypothetically—is a little too painful for him to bear.

They meet outside the bar, a decent little hole-in-the-wall in the Back Bay, somewhere that seems much more suited to Mal’s liking than the club they went to for his birthday. The floor’s only slightly sticky with beer, with the occasional peanut shell or two strewn about, dark walls filled with signed photographs of famous patrons, and some rock song playing over the speakers. The bar is fully stocked with every type of liquor, from cheap brands to the top-shelf stuff that Rowan isn’t sure he’d ever be able to justify buying.

“I’ll get a table,” Rowan says to Mal. “Grab me a beer? Whatever doesn’t suck.”

Mal salutes him. “One Bud Light, comin’ up.”

“I’ll kill you if you get me a Bud Light, Mal.”

Mal only laughs and stalks toward the bar.

Rowan finds them a table for two tucked away in a corner, much like their usual spot at Sheila’s diner. The dim overhead lights cast the area in a warm yellow glow. A few minutes later, Mal appears by his side, placing a bottle of beer in front of each of them.

Mal had gotten him a Blue Ribbon, and he has to laugh as Mal takes a sip of his own beer.

“Thought I said something that doesn’t suck?”

“Bitch, I know it’s your favorite,” Mal says, flicking the side of the bottle. His nail makes a tinytink! against the glass that has Rowan grinning.

“What’re you drinking?” Rowan asks, not recognizing the silvery label or the dark liquid inside.

“Some kinda local stout,” Mal says, turning the bottle so Rowan can read the label. “They only sell it in-house, but it’s pretty good. You wanna try?”

“Sure.”

Mal slides the bottle over to him, the glass bottom making askriiitchnoise across the wooden tabletop, a ring of condensation streaking along the way.

When the near-black liquid hits his tongue, Rowan’s first inclination is to grimace at the heaviness of it, and he hears Mal laughing gently as he tilts the bottle back farther. Tries not to think too hard about how it had Mal’s lips wrapped around it moments ago as a more pleasant aftertaste of coffee settles in his mouth.

“First sip’s always fuckin’ weird, but it’s got a good aftertaste,” Mal tells him.

Nodding in agreement, Rowan slides the bottle back to Mal and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “’S good, though.”

“Kinda weird not being at the club tonight,” Mal says after a few moments.

Rowan hums. “What’s the longest you’ve been away from it?” he asks, knowing that Mal’s been going there for a long time, practically since the moment he was old enough.

“Few months. After Steven fucked off to Florida, I took some time off.”

“Wow,” Rowan says, slightly awed.

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