Page 52 of Candy Hearts, Vol. 2

CHAPTER 6

FORD

I caught a rideshare over to the Ace Hotel, where “Fabulous Drag Bingo” was held every Monday night. Bonus: you got to eat dinner at the same time. There was also a trivia night afterwards, but I had other plans.

I’d been to a drag queen bingo night at a charity event once, but this was an entirely different experience. More raucous, more noise, more fun. The host, Bella da Ball—self-proclaimed Hostess with the Mostest—wore a towering pink wig and enough sequins to put on her own Pride parade. She was serious about her bingo, but she had great jokes and made sure everyone had a good time.

I was seated at a kind of trestle table with bench seats. My table companions were five twenty-something women in town for a bachelorette party trip. Vivian, Regina, Fallon, Jaquae, and Charlene. They made me memorize their names after I promised not to hit on them. Fuck, I might be bi, but they seemed like infants to me. Plus, I hadn’t come to Palm Springs for the women.

Once I’d been deemed safe, they forcibly adopted me into their little group, buying my drinks and making sure I marked all the numbers off on my card. Everyone—led by Bella of course —went wild when she called O-69. There was even a cowbell. I didn’t win, but I had a great time.

After getting a selfie with the girls and Bella da Ball—which I promptly sent to Zachary—I ordered a car to take me back to the hotel. The ride seemed way too short. Was I really going to go to some club in borrowed clothes? Surely everyone would see I didn’t fit in. I didn’t dance much, and certainly not the kind of dancing these guys would be doing.

Fuck, I needed to Google my options. Maybe I could find a place that was more my speed, a little calmer and quieter. As soon as I was back in the hotel room, I flopped onto the bed with my phone and started searching.

The list seemed overwhelming, so I looked at a map to see if I could walk to any of them from the hotel. There was a cocktail bar-slash-gastropub about ten minutes away. That would do. No dancing, which was a plus.

I got on Discord and messaged everyone that I was heading out. I resisted the urge to wait for replies and resolutely put my phone down before getting up and going over to Zachary’s suitcase. I’d hung his shirts up yesterday to get the wrinkles out, but I still hadn’t touched the underwear.

I had my choice of hot pink, light blue, bright green, or black. My first inclination was to choose the black ones, but I was supposed to be adventurous. The bright green reminded me of a parrot, so I picked those.

Humming “Fruitcakes” to distract myself, I went into the bathroom and undressed. I didn’t have a lot of extra flesh on me, but I certainly didn’t have any muscles either. But Zachary had said I was sexy. And I couldn’t look any worse than anybody else at the bar, right? Plus, the lights would be dim, both at the bar and when I got naked with somebody. I ignored the roiling feeling in my stomach. Not the time for nerves.

I pulled on the panties. They had a little stretch to them, which was nice, and there was a pouch in front for my dick. I spent a moment arranging everything. Zachary probably manscaped, but I figured anybody who got as far as seeing me in these could deal with my unruly pubes.

I dashed to the bedroom to get my phone, then—trying to smile and not grimace—I took a selfie. Without letting myself think about it too hard, I sent the photo.

Me: I know I need a trim, but what do you think?

Me: [photo]

While I waited for a reply, I put on his black jeans, which were, as anticipated, pretty damn snug. I turned around and—holy fuck, I needed a pair of these! My ass was fucking perky . I couldn’t resist snapping another picture and sending it to Zachary.

I went to the closet and pulled out the shimmery t-shirt. I pulled it on. Should I tuck it in? Wear a belt? Wait, was I supposed to do that half-tuck thing I’d seen people wearing?

I tried all three ways and finally settled on tucking it in without the belt. It was too cold at night here for flip-flops, so my only shoe option was my leather lace-ups. It’d be dark in the bar.

My heart in my throat, I pocketed my phone, my room key, my ID, and a few twenties. The jeans were too tight for me to carry my wallet. I left the hotel and headed down the street, trying not to hyperventilate. Fuck, I needed to get a handle on myself.

It’s okay. You’re just going to have a drink and talk to some guys. If you have good chemistry with one of them, you’ll—oh, shit. Should I go to his place? Or bring him back to the hotel? Why didn’t I think this through before now?

Don’t panic. It’s not that big a deal. Go with whichever place is closest. This is about sex, remember. No one will be sweating the details except you. And if you don’t find someone at this place, you can try somewhere else tomorrow. There are plenty of options.

I could do this.

I hummed “Fins” to myself as I walked. The sidewalk was busy with people—mostly men—going in and out of various restaurants and bars. A few had music playing at levels that I could hear from a block away, and I made note of their names so I could cross them off my list for tomorrow night.

I felt my phone vibrate, so I stepped close to the side of a building to check it.

Zachary: Holy fuck, Ford!

He followed this with a series of emojis I was pretty sure were sex references.

Zachary: Damn, if you were here in Vegas I’d pick you up in a nanosecond. You’ll be beating the Palm Springs geezers off with a stick! And, trust me, any guy who undresses you and finds those panties underneath will pretty much bust a nut just from looking at you.

Me: Thanks. I hope you’re right.

Heartened by Zachary’s praise, I put my phone back in my pocket and walked confidently into the bar.