Page 35 of We Could Be So Good
Andy’s going to have a stroke and then that’ll really ruin Nick’s evening. He tries to get some control over himself.
Nick orders his usual Maker’s Mark, neat. And Andy, unable to force his mouth to make intelligent words, just mumbles “same” to the grumpy bartender, earning a confused and skeptical glance from Nick, who knows Andy prefers a gin and tonic, heavy on the tonic.
“I need to know you aren’t going to panic if some man approaches you,” Nick says as they take seats at the bar, Andy’s back to the door.
Andy will absolutely panic if some man approaches him, but not for the reasons Nick is worried about. “I’ll behave myself,” he assures Nick.
“What are you reading?” Nick asks. Andy doesn’t know if it’s his imagination that Nick is leaning a little closer to him than usual. He can feel the heat radiating off of Nick, and Nick’s voice is quiet enough that it’s just this side of a breath.
“What?”
“Okay. So, you see how you have a book with you? It has words in it. I think you’ve even read some of them. What’s the book about?”
“This book?” Andy can’t figure out why Nick is talking about books when he could be doing—his mind supplies images that it has no business thinking of.
“Right, so, what I’m doing right now is called making conversation. We’ve done this before, you may remember. Every day, even. Multiple times a day.”
“Uh.”
“I’m waiting to see someone I like the looks of,” Nick murmurs.
“Oh,” says Andy, feeling like a fool. Of course Nick isn’t going to grab the first man he sees by the collar and drag him off to the restroom. He needs to wait for someone he finds attractive, and Andy wonders who that will be, what kind of men Nick is drawn to.
“And also I’m curious about the book because this is the fourth one I’ve seen you read by the same author,” Nick adds.
So Andy tells him about the book, occasionally noticing Nick’s gaze stray toward the door. Until, finally, he holds up a finger for Andy to pause and then flashes a look over Andy’s shoulder. The look is—it isn’t anything Andy’s ever seen before. It’s almost a smile, if smiles were made of molten metal and bad intentions.
Andy resists the urge to turn his head to see the recipient of this look. He doesn’t have to wait long. A moment later, a man appears at Nick’s side. He’s older, maybe in his early thirties, with blond hair, slicked fashionably back. He has on a suit that looks, to Andy’s eye, bespoke.
Andy recognizes this as his sign to start reading. He opens the book to his bookmark—or, where his bookmark was before he lost it and replaced it with a matchbook. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nick and the stranger move further down the bar. Nick takes out a cigarette and the stranger leans forward to light it.
The words on the page refuse to align themselves into any kind of sentence. All Andy can think about is the conversation happening just out of earshot. He turns his barstool a fraction to the left so he can at least see what’s going on without craning his neck.
The stranger is leaning into Nick’s space, one hand braced on the bar behind him. Nick does not seem to mind this encroachment in the least.
Andy wonders where they’ll go—the blond man’s apartment or Nick’s. Surely Nick had been joking about taking care of things in the restroom. He hopes they go to the stranger’s apartment.
Andy isn’t much given to jealousy, truth be told. He was never bothered by other men looking at Emily, but that’s because he was always sure that she’d ignore anyone who made a pass at her. Hewas wrong, it turns out, but he can’t even find it in himself to be jealous of the man she left him for.
But right now he’s being driven crazy by the idea that this stranger gets to light Nick’s cigarette and lean in and whisper something that makes Nick laugh, soft and deep. He doesn’t want this man to sit on their sofa, doesn’t want him to drink out of any of the jam jars Nick uses as water glasses, doesn’t want him to see the orange cat that comes through the window. This man shouldn’t get any of that.
This can’t be safe, can it? That stranger could be a cop. Granted, most cops probably can’t afford suits as nice as the one this man is wearing, so that’s some peace of mind, but still. He could be a murderer. Only last week Nick was attacked and Andy doesn’t think he can stand the idea of seeing his friend getting hurt again.
The man puts his hand on the small of Nick’s back and Andy wants to hiss at him. That strange smile is back on Nick’s face, and Andy doesn’t like that smile one bit, partly because it doesn’t seem very happy, and partly because he thought he had seen all of Nick’s smiles already.
Andy knows he isn’t being especially rational. There are times when he couldn’t possibly explain why he’s doing a thing, times when a number of bad reasons somehow add up to a good enough reason. And that’s what’s happening here. The grim edges of Nick’s smile, the fact that he’s in a queer bar for the first time, fear for Nick’s safety, the steady thrum of wanting that’s been with him all week: all terrible reasons on their own, but put them together and you get something that looks almost like sense, if you don’t look too carefully.
He slams his book closed and crosses the room.
***
“I need to leave,” Andy tells Nick. He’s surprised to hear that his voice sounds almost normal.
“You... what?” Nick says. He looks confused. Well, so is Andy.
“I need to leave,” he repeats.
“Okay?”
