Page 34 of Ambiguous
We walk past hordes of pretty people having their significant others take videos and pictures of them, like it’s more important to prove that they were here than to actually be here. We look at some of the booths and listen to the music, which is in the format of band after band after band on numerous stages. We find a shady place to sit and people watch for a while. Concertgoers pass us with plastic cups of beer, and I don’t think I’ve seen more stoned individuals in my life.
In short, this event isn’t my thing.
“I stick out, don’t I?” I say, tugging at my shirt. Several women in cowboy hats and short shorts saunter by.
“In a good way. You’re you.”
I see a group of shirtless guys shotgunning beers. “It must be fun to be able to let everything go for a while and not worry about something getting into the news cycle or social media.”
“I’m sure you could take your shirt off without jeopardizing marriage equality.”
I shake my head. But a grin tugs at my mouth, because I actually wouldn’t mind doing it.
“Fine.” She sighs. “I’m just trying to get you to loosen up—”
A guy holding a plastic cup stops and stares, then tugs on his friend’s shoulder and points at me, slurring a little. “You’re that guy!”
Tilting my head, I look at them. “Which guy?”
“The guy in the ads. About Pride. Some new, um, thing.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s me.” I rub my face.
“Can we get a picture?”
I shrug. “Sure.” There are tons of celebrities here, but they want a pic with me? Fine.
I smile for the camera and shake hands, and they go on their way.
“Guess being recognizedissomething for you to worry about,” Emily muses. “I thought you were exaggerating, but maybe you aren’t. I forget how you’re a member of a dynasty. I just think of you as Sam.”
“It’s only going to get worse, with Pop-Pop’s campaign.”
“Are you okay with that?”
“It’s not like I have a choice.”
“Oh, you always have a choice,” she says. “You just don’t want to make the hard one.”
I decide to let whatever she’s talking about go.
As the day goes on and the crowd gets drunker, we pass couples making out, some getting really hot and heavy, especially as the sun starts to set.
She gives me a quick squeeze. “Want to get a drink?”
We’ve been monitoring our alcohol consumption, not wanting to get sick in the sun. But it’s now darker, and since the air is still hot, a beer sounds good.
We get in line at a rainbow-flag-bedecked booth to buy a drink, but before I get to the front, someone runs into me with a full cup of beer.
Cold, smelly, sticky liquid runs down my front and pools in my shoes.
“Oh god, I’m so sorry, dude,” a man slurs.
“No worries,” I say, thinking of how Julian handled me doing practically the same thing. Though at least that was clean water. “It can happen to the best of us.”
My polo shirt is soaked, so I take it off and put it in my back pocket. I’m toned from all the yoga. I just don’t usually flaunt it. But if I’m going to cut loose, this is the place.
“Looking good there,” Em says, trailing a finger up my abs and licking her lips exaggeratedly. “I mean, six-packs aren’t only for drinking. And you’ve got some pretty nice pecs. Just sayin’.”
