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VIOLATING MAN CODE

“Sk?l!”

I clinked a glass with Amanda and Patrick in a boisterous salute. It wasn’t enough to pay homage to Mimi’s lineage—we had to do it with flair. I chugged the beer, managing halfway before coming up for air. Amanda, of course, drained hers and slammed the pint glass on the bar top.

“Gah,” she gasped. “I don’t need a reason, but was she really into the mythology thing?”

I laughed. “Not even a little.”

A Tuesday night at Spectrum meant terrible music, half-priced beer, and a DJ testing his latest country-techno album.

The only saving grace was the drag queens rehearsing for their weekend shows.

It didn’t matter that the club had a dozen patrons—they performed like it was the Super Bowl halftime show.

Knowing them, they probably broke out the same moves at the grocery store, too.

“So…” Amanda spun on her stool, poking me in the shoulder. “We just broke the law and gave her a Viking funeral as a prank?”

My grandmother never said no to an adventure.

It didn’t matter how mundane—she’d turn the most boring activity into a lively fantasy.

She hated sweeping the house but loved herding “dust bunnies” before they attacked.

Even grocery shopping became a mission to prepare for the apocalypse.

No one had a more radical outlook on life.

“Not a prank,” I said. “Another adventure.”

“She sounds like a hell of a woman,” Patrick said. Without asking, he refilled Amanda’s glass and slid it in front of her.

“We’re going to get into so much trouble this summer.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You can cause all the trouble you want. I have to go through eighty-two years of stuff. It’s going to take me forever.”

“I’ll help.” Amanda’s tone said otherwise.She'd make the experience less daunting, but her “help” would definitely make cleaning the house take twice as long. “Stop whatever you’re thinking, mister. I’ll behave.”

“That’s a lie if I ever heard one.”

Mabel leaned on the bar, giving Amanda a knowing look. Tonight, she sported blue eyeshadow and a starburst of diamonds at the corners of her eyes. “Girl, I know trouble when I see it. If it’s got a pixie cut and an eyebrow piercing, you’re like a?—”

“I’m not that bad!”

Patrick scoffed as he walked away. Mabel let out a snort. Amanda’s reputation at Spectrum was no secret. If a cute woman walked through the door, Amanda was on the prowl. Her perfect mix of charisma and confidence was like an aphrodisiac for women. If only she used her powers for good.

“You keep telling yourself that.” I shot her a wink.

Patrick handed Mabel a martini as blue as her eyeshadow. She knew how to make a statement, and it wasn’t just the sequined dress with the plunging neckline showing everything but nipples—mostly.

“Darling, you keep rocking those women’s worlds. This one, however…” She put a hand on my cheek, her nail dragging down until it poked beneath my chin. She forced me to meet her gaze. “If you weren’t blind, you’d see there’s a rugged plate of scrumptious that’s been checking you out.”

“Really?”

I tried turning, but she pushed my face back toward the bar. “Sweet cheeks, do you have no game?” No. Amanda stole it years ago. “Do you need Mabel to teach you how to get a man? I offer courses.”

“No,” I said. “Well… maybe.”

Mabel licked her lips, ending in a devilish smile. “Slow turn, honey.”

I turned casually, pretending to keep my focus on Mabel. Her dress couldn’t have been tighter without bursting, and those heels doubled as weapons. She might have been the fiercest drag queen in the land. Maybe I should reconsider her course.

My foot caught on the barstool, and I nearly toppled face-first. I grabbed the counter before busting my nose.

Hopping back to my feet, I straightened out my shirt.

I was about to comment that nobody saw, but both Mabel's and Amanda’s eyes were wide in disbelief.

Jon Olsen and graceful never belonged in the same sentence.

After making a scene, I might as well steal a glance while mounting my stool. “Damn,” I whispered.

When I turned back, Mabel’s tongue stretched out of the corner of her mouth.

Did she want to devour him or devour him?

I liked my men thick, and this fine gentleman wore a t-shirt that hugged his biceps and showed a chest that stretched for miles.

Muscles were nice—to a degree. I didn’t want to cuddle with rock-hard abs.

I needed a little beef and plenty of squish.

A man who could throw me against the wall and then make for a good pillow.

Mabel adjusted her stance, angling so I could fake looking at her while stealing glances at my mystery man.

“Patrick. Martini. Dirty. Very dirty. Put it on Jon’s bill.”

Money well spent. The mystery man held a pint glass, taking slow sips. I couldn’t make out his midsection, but he promised to be the perfect man. Brawn, beard, and belly. His beard wasn’t long, brown with hints of burgundy, but I bet it would tickle in all the right places. I’d put it to work.

“Shit.” Eye contact. I nearly dropped my beer. If I made any more of a scene, the queens would throw me out for stealing the show.

The man’s eyes caught mine and lingered a second too long. Was he smirking? Great. Now, I was the awkward guy who couldn’t stop staring. I wanted to look away, but my body refused to cooperate.

“Does he really not have game?”

Amanda punched me in the shoulder. “There’s a good chance I could get your boyfriend’s number before you.”

“You’re both mean.”

Amanda and I had a pact—no hard feelings when a pretty thing caught our attention.

We arrived together but rarely left in the same car.

While I had no problem dancing with sexy men, I could never seal the deal.

If I was lucky, I got a phone number that led to an awkward first date.

Then I'd hope for a second and wind up getting ghosted. Maybe I needed Mabel’s course. Beginner level.

The man flashed a smile before taking another swig of beer.

His eyes turned to me again, and whatever mockery was coming from Amanda and Mabel vanished.

He had the right amount of swagger, and those eyes knew I’d been stealing glances.

When he dropped the glass, the smirk stuck.

I wanted to stroke… more than his beard.

When he winked, my cheeks burned. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t aiming it at Patrick.

Nope. That stare was meant for me. What now?

Casually walk over and hope I didn’t trip over my feet?

If people were on the dance floor, I’d shimmy my way out, rip off my shirt, and bounce back and forth, hoping he’d join.

Something about him looked familiar. I tried to remember if I’d seen him at the club before—or maybe somewhere in town?

I strolled down memory lane, recalling every sexy man I’d ever encountered.

The cashier at the grocery store. The manager at the coffee shop.

The entire firefighter team near my apartment.

Basically, any geeky man in a cardigan. Damn… I needed to get laid.

I could fake confidence, couldn’t I? Walk over, make a clever comment, and maybe snag his number. But then what? Another awkward date leading to another awkward goodbye? Maybe I was better off sticking with the fantasy—men on the Romance Channel never ghosted you.

Maybe another night. I smiled, making sure he saw before I turned around.

Tonight, I’d have a few drinks with friends.

Amanda would drop me off at my apartment, and then I’d pack my bags.

I could commute from Firefly back to my apartment, but it didn’t make sense when I could work out of Mimi’s house.

It’d be easier to sort through her belongings, and if I was lucky, it wouldn’t take as long as I feared.

Empty.

Clean.

Sell.

It'd be emotionally draining, and then back to my usual boring life.

“Okay, that was my last beer.” I’d said that three or four times already. This time, I meant it. Maybe. I dashed down the hallway, fearful I wouldn’t make it to the bathroom without a wet spot on my jeans.

Barreling into the bathroom, I froze. Even intoxicated, the unspoken rules of the man code kicked in.

He stood at one of the two urinals. Every bit of his thick, delicious, curvy…

hold that lustful thought. I needed to pee.

I turned to the stall to see an “Out of Order” sign hanging on the door.

Two spots. In any other space, I’d wait patiently for him to finish before taking position.

In a gay club, the rules went out the window.

I saddled up next to him, eyes forward. I fumbled with the button on my jeans, my desperation growing.

The zipper dropped, and a moment later, I let out an audible “Ahhh.” With the music muffled through the walls, I didn’t realize just how loud I was.

I’d be embarrassed, except for the liquid courage coursing through my veins.

“That good, huh?”

Did he talk to me? That violated at least three rules of the man code.

I kept my eyes forward, unsure of what to do next.

Wait… we were in a gay bar. Short of reaching over and giving his package a shake, we were safe.

I don’t know if I’d thank or blame Amanda, but I stole a quick peek over the divider. Well, damn.

“So… how’s your night?”

Did he catch me looking? Wait, did he just look over? There was far too much sexual tension in this bathroom. There was also too much beer for a rational inner monologue.

“Been good,” I said. After all the talk of adventure today, I felt obligated to take a chance.

Who knows, maybe this could be the start of an awkward friendship where we’d laugh about how we first met.

Okay, muster my inner Amanda and try not to make a fool of myself. “Caught this cute guy checking me out.”

“Really? How cute?”