Page 40 of This or That
Granted, I steer clear of the makeshift dance floor and keep my back to the DJ to avoid mauling him in front of his rapt audience. I’m not afraid, worried, or freaked out like I was at Matteo’s birthday party. As crazy as it sounds, Troy owned me from the moment I returned his revenge kiss at that club. One day, I’ll tell him that if it hadn’t been for one of my coworkers insisting that I join their celebration, I wouldn’t have been there. Clubs aren’t my thing and that’s why I got sloshed. One day, I’ll tell him how he haunted my Parisian dreams—him and his damn cowboy hat—and I was too chicken-shit to face the obvious, no matter how clairvoyant Lisa tried to open my eyes. One day…
That was then, this is now.
So, upon Simon’s request, for the umpteenth time, I parrot an edited version of how Monster Troy and I got to talking on the cruise. Despite my distaste of techno, clubs and whatnot… Of course, some details remain private. Such as our raw, feral, insane chemistry.
Heading towards the bar to munch on some finger food and get a refill, he scolds me for the simple black Netflix T-shirt that I’m sporting. “What’s the deal with your Halloween costume? It’s not like you to slack on something like this.” He goes on, reminding me of countless costume parties. “You didn’t put in much effort tonight.” He chortles, moving to a quieter corner to allow more room for the other guests.
My hip rests on the bar. “Au contraire, mon ami.” I wiggle my eyebrows. “Wasn’t planned, but it worked out perfectly. It’s been a while since matching costumes were so fitting.” I bark out a laugh.
“Matching costumes?” Simon snatches a couple of pulled pork sliders, wolfs them down, and quirks an eyebrow, scanning the room. To tease him rather than provide more information, I ask who’s playing Cleopatra to his Julius Caesar, and instead of offering a witty comeback, he smiles sheepishly. Wondering why, I get my answer when I notice who’s approaching and smile at the familiar face.
“There you are, baby.” Stella, my former hook-up in Brazil, who’s dressed as Cleopatra, addresses Simon, her coveting glance revealing more than her words. She adjusts her black wig, then sips on her frou-frou cocktail.
I should have put two and two together when I saw Simon’s costume! Feigning outrage, I gesture theatrically towards Caesar and exclaim, “Et tu, Brute?” although Caesar should be saying this, not me. Realizing that I’m not privy to their status, she looks from her boyfriend to me, and her angelic face gets flustered. I wink as he freezes. “Oh, come on, guys! Stella and I…”—I alternatively point between Stella and myself— “were never an item. Right?”
Relief flashes across their unnecessarily guilty faces. She shrugs and nods, sounding too eager to switch topics. “So, besides letting your hair grow, how have you been, Mike?”
I’m tempted to say, “gay... or bi,” but I can’t stand labels, not because I’m ashamed; I’ve merely decided to be myself. I’m tempted to say, “thoroughly fucked in the best of ways,” but that might be too blunt. I’m tempted to say, “happily deep-throated by my sexy as hell boyfriend,” but she probably doesn’t care about that or how I’m working on my gag reflex. Yeah, I’m not here to brag, provoke, or broadcast.
So, I opt for another approach. “Busy with work. Happy in New York. Attached...” I trail off, pondering what to reveal, but Simon saves me the trouble.
“Oh, is that so?” His voice is tinged with mockery. “And yet, you didn’t mention anything!” Thoughtful, he rubs his chin.
“Looks like we’re even, then.” I wink at the couple.
Stella giggles, wraps her arm around Caesar’s waist, and tiptoes to peck his cheek. Stroking my forearm as encouragement, she taps her foot on the hardwood floor. “Spill the beans, Clayton.”
“Let’s see…Simon says…” I chortle as I air quote the words.Asshole!“I’m not wearing a costume, per se, but my significant other and I are wearing matching ones.”
“Oh, right, matching non-costumes and the mysterious significant other!”
I smirk, wave over a waiter, and down the shot of vodka, enjoying the slight burn. Caught up in my own game, I will myself to conceal my growing irritation while part of me is getting a kick out of tormenting him. “Here’s another hint: There’s nothing ‘mysterious’ about my other half.” Again, I air quote Simon’s words.
He grumbles between clenched teeth. “Where did you guys meet then? Brown or blue eyes?” Wow, Simon’s on a roll. “Blonde or not?”
“What is this? Twenty questions? I’m not answering any of this… or that!” The corner of my mouth quirks up at the mention of Troy’s favorite game.
“Guys, relax, will you?” Stella admonishes. I’m not responsible for her man getting all worked up over nothing. “By costume, Mike, you meant lack of, right?” Her tone is amused.
Stunned that she doesn’t pry for more, I scratch the back of my neck, wondering if it’ll register...
“Great minds, Stella.” Simon snorts and high-fives his girl.
“Ha-ha!” They don’t miss my sarcastic tone. Sighing, I swivel my upper body towards the nearest bartender to order myself a second shot and more champagne for Simon. I drink, then turn my attention back to my friends.
“I told him the exact same thing minutes ago.” He sneers, swats my forearm, and they clink glasses.
Torn whether to disclose the mystery before Troy’s done with his set, I shamelessly redirect the conversation to our earlier topic, eager to hear how these two grew closer. That’s how I learn that my early departure from Rio was profitable for all three of us.
“What are you guys talking about?” Scandinavian Alex and British James ask in unison; the former has a possessive arm around a woman’s shoulder. Must be his date since they’re dressed as John Smith and Pocahontas. Why James chose to dress up as Beckham back when he was with the PSG is beyond me… considering that October in New York in fucking brutal!
“Relationships... Costumes… and Mike’s denial on both accounts.”
“Will you get off my dick already?” I grunt, glowering at his assumption. “I amnotin denial. Thisismy fucking costume!” My thumb and index finger pinch the fabric and pull on it.
“Yeah!” James taps on Simon’s forearm and looks my way. “I saw you talking to a hot girl with a T-shirt that could match yours, although I’m not exactly sure…” He halts as if trying to uncover a hidden meaning.
“You’re referring to the tall brunette with amazing blue eyes, right?” He nods excitedly. “I’m glad you’re more observant than this moron.” I swat the back of Simon’s head, letting him recover the sliding laurel wreath. Snickers follow. “Anna is all yours. She definitely doesn’t want to be part of my sandwich!” It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to guess where this is going. James’s eyes shine with playfulness, and we fist bump like we did over a decade ago. “I’m not sharing anyway!”
