Page 101 of Sweat

“It’s cool. I’ve never been carded.”

For a Wednesday, Mustache Jack is packed. Then again, it is the night before Halloween. From the looks of it, some people are already in the spirit, done up in costumes that are weird and a little sexual. A group peels from the bar and we snag two of the stools they left vacant.

While Tommy scans the place looking half-enthralled and half-terrified, I order us two blackberry margaritas.

“Brought a friend this time,” the bartender says with a wink, and I realize he’s the same dude who usually serves me. He’s in a leather kilt tonight, his eyelids painted neon green.

Tommy notices and smirks at me. “Only been here once or twice, huh?”

“A handful of times. No more than a dozen.”

He chuckles, the disco ball over the dancefloor putting sparkles in his eyes. A Prince song plays through the speakers while the accompanying music video shows on big screens around the hall. The air feels crisp and smells like liquor and leather.

Leaning his elbows on the bar top, Tommy says, “We look like two straight guys who accidentally wandered into a gay bar.”

I laugh, because he’s right, and that’s usually exactly what I look like when I’m here by myself. No one ever questioned me, though. Everyone left me be to stew in my self-loathing surrounded by people who wouldn’t bat an eye if I chose to actually be honest for once.

“Who cares how we look?” I tell him. “No one else does.”

Grinning, he sticks his hand to my head, kneading my scalp until my eyes roll.

“Where’d you find this one?” the bartender asks when he sets two purple margs in front of us, on the rocks with sugar on the rim and a skinny straw to sip.

“We’re on the Sac State soccer team together,” I answer. “I’m a forward, and he’s a midfielder.”

“I don’t know what that means, but I love it!”

Me too.

For a while, Tommy and I simply chill at the bar, drinking, roasting the music, and staring at each other until one of us blushes first.

“Wanna dance?” Tommy asks when our drinks are down to ice cubes, and the bartender has already swiped my card.

I balk. “I can’t dance. Don’t got any rhythm.”

“Are you kidding me? I watch you when you play. You’re a fucking work of art out there.”

“That’s different. That’s soccer.”

“C’mon.” He takes my hands, scoots off his stool and tugs me off mine. “I can’t dance either. We’ll suck together.”

Now, sucking together sounds more up my alley.

Tommy pulls me into the fray. Thankfully, only a few people are full-on dancing. Most are just vibing, swaying, bobbing,and mouthing the words to whatever Cher song this is. That’s pretty much what Tommy and I do, minus mouthing the words, since neither of us knows them. We vibe, and it feels nice. His hands on me always feel nice. My hands on him feel even better. Our foreheads touch, then our mouths. Right under the disco ball like it’s a mistletoe on Christmas. I’m happier now than I ever have been on any Christmas day.

Finally, I realize what’s so great about this place I’ve been coming to once a month since last year. It’s not the ear-splitting pop music, the flashing lights, the half-naked people, or the fruity drinks. It’s the freedom. The freedom to choose whether I’m left alone or noticed, and the freedom to kiss my boyfriend and not feel like the world is going to fall apart around me. Even if outside is doomsday, this place is a bunker. Being in here, avoiding Armageddon with Tommy, feels like the epitome of happiness.

This time, when Tommy puts his mouth to my ear and tells me he loves me, I actually kind of believe him.

It’s the last match of the regular season, and even though our team is undefeated, I need this win like I need air in my lungs as my team fights to break a tie against UC Davis in their home territory.

I think I spot a few scouts in the stands, and I don’t want to disappoint them. Even more, I don’t want to disappoint the team, who’s put their blood, sweat, tears, and EpiPens into this season. I don’t want to disappoint Tommy, who’s got my back right now, making sure the opposing team can’t make their plays. Hell, I don’t want to disappoint McDonough either,because I’m sure the dude could use a raise with how much child support he’s on the hook for. Another benefit to only liking dick.

The second half is flying by. Players are faking fouls just to catch their breath and buy some time. Levi intercepts the ball. I call out his name and receive the pass. I dribble it between my feet, racing for the enemy’s goal, but their defenders are dogging me. When I look for Raisel, I find my baby instead.

“Row!” he hollers in that voice that will never not send a shiver down my spine.

In a split second, I decide to take a chance on him the way I’ve been doing this whole time, and I make the pass. No sooner than Tommy has possession of the ball, he’s striking it toward the goal. The Davis goalie dives the wrong way, and the ball hits net.

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