Page 3 of Love of the Game
Great… just…
I sat on the bed and searched for the closest gay bar. Yeah, I had practice tomorrow, but I needed a drink or three and a nice hard fuck, ASAP. It was a risk—get too far out of Pittsburgh, and the surrounding area got more conservative, but a long time ago, I realized there were queer people everywhere. And with Greensburg being a college town, there was likely some queer-friendly bar nearby, right? A little searching around in the right places netted me a good lead for what someone described as an eclectic queer-friendly biker bar tucked into where you’d least expect it in the hills between Jeanette and Greensburg. Sounded like it was worth at least a drive to check out.
Took me a little bit to find the place, aptly named the Hideaway. It really was in a location where you’d least expect it—off a road that was far away from any of the major ones, tucked between what looked like a dirt driveway that led back to a farm and a business that rented construction equipment.
The place didn’t look like much from the outside—a dive bar with some cars and several motorbikes out front, but there was a rainbow flag hanging in the window next to some actual neon signs advertising different brands of beer, so this had to be the right bar. I parked my SUV next to an older Ford pickup and got out.
I didn’t know motorcycles well, but I knew enough to identify a Harley, all black and chrome, parked close to the entrance. The interior of the bar was decorated like a tidy version of a garage that was the child of a leather daddy and a unicorn. Chrome, leather, tools, mirrors, bike parts, and rainbows. Somehow it worked. Quite a few people, morethan I expected for a Tuesday night, were gathered. Some around the bar, a few in booths, and several around the two pool tables in the back.
Everyone was watching me, which was understandable. Local bar. Off the beaten path. I was a stranger, though apparently not threatening, because the two men in full biker leathers and club jackets nodded at me and went back to their conversation.
I wasn’t about to mess with them. I wasn’t here to mess with anyone. A drink had been my first goal, so I headed to the bar—and nearly stumbled over my own feet when I met the gaze of a man sitting there.
Goddamned, he was a looker. Dark brown hair and eyes accentuated by pale skin, a goatee, and a devilish smile. He looked like a dark version of a fox.
Trying to recover, I stammered, “Guess you don’t get new people coming in that often.”
That got me an even wider grin, one that lit up those eyes and sent them dancing. His voice was clear when he answered. “Well, it’s not rare, but let’s stay it’s unexpected.” He patted the bar stool next to him.
I took the invitation to sit, and the bartender, a Black woman with braids and a name tag that read Ella, strode up. “You sure he’s old enough to be in here, Jon?”
“Eh, he’s a little baby-faced,” the smoking hot guy replied. “But I bet he’s old enough.” The smile never diminished.
“I’m twenty-two.” Nearly twenty-three. My cheeks heated. Yeah, I looked a little young. Didn’t help that I was fair and blond and my stubble was barely visible most of the time. “I have ID, if you need to see it.”
The man—Jon—waved his hand as if to say,You see?
She rolled her eyes at Jon. “You know I have to checktheir ID if they look under thirty. You want this place to get busted?”
Jon rolled his eyes right back.
I showed her my driver’s license and she gave me a small smile. “What’ll you have?”
“Beer. Whatever’s local, good, and can help me put a bad day behind me.”
That got me a chuckle. “I got you. Hang on, babyface.”
While she got me a beer, I checked Jon out. Fuck me, he was in really good shape. The white T-shirt he wore stretched over muscles, and colorful tattooed sleeves snaked up both arms, vanishing beneath the bright fabric to peek out at the color of his shirt. There was even ink on the back of his right hand, but I couldn’t make out the design. He wore jeans and leather chaps, and I was glad I’d worn my slightly looser jeans, because this man was straight out of my wet dreams.
Well, hopefullynotstraight.
Still, I didn’t need to be tenting my pants like a teenager. “Hey, I’m Drake.”
“Drake? Like a dragon?”
I had to laugh. “Well, that’s better than Drake, like a duck.”
That smile again. “You look more like a dragon than a duck.” He turned to Ella as she brought me a beer. “He looks more like a dragon than a duck, right?”
Ella gave him a look that I suspected she’d cast his way several hundred times. “He looks thirsty. Leave the boy to his drink.”
He clicked his tongue. “I’m harmless.”
I nearly inhaled the beer, then met his wicked, wicked grin as I tried not to choke.
Ella chuckled, dropped a pile of cocktail napkins infront of me. “Sure you are, Jon.” Then she sauntered down the bar.
He laughed as I recovered my breath and took an actual sip of the beer. Good pick—not too hoppy, and with a depth of flavors that I didn’t expect in this area of Pennsylvania. “Oh, that’ll do.”
