Page 40 of Hush

The rest of the bar was fading away, and it was just him and Mike and their little bubble in the world. They talked about Mike’s days in the Navy, his deployments to the Mediterranean and the Middle East. Mike asked about his funniest case and the craziest day he ever had as a prosecutor. Kris appeared and disappeared, listening and watching with eyes that were far too shrewd. Tom kept waiting for Mike’s gaze to wander, for his attention to wane, but Mike kept looking into his eyes, kept smiling right at him.

Either Mike’s smiles or the Mexican Martini were starting to mess with his mind. The boldness of his twenty-one-year-old-self came crawling back, a shadow of who he’d once been coming out of the past, resurrected by the bar and the men around him. He leaned his thigh against Mike’s and left it there.

Kris reappeared again with another pink Martini. “Tom,” he said, his voice a little looser, a little deeper than before. His eyes were shining, bright and tipsy. “Tell me. What’s your opinion about international development organizations? You think they’re effective?”

“Oh, here we go,” Mike muttered under his breath. He winked at Tom, but stayed quiet.

He and Kris went back-and-forth, him arguing for international relief in all cases and sustainable development projects in certain cases. Kris listened, his eyes flashing, and then jumped in, cross-examining each point he made like an expert attorney. They bantered, Mike’s eyes bouncing between them like he was watching a tennis match.

And then, Tom heard it. An electronic drumbeat, a pitter-patter sound,close by. He knew that sound. From where—

Mike slipped his phone out of his hoodie pocket and swiped it on.

GrindMe’s icon splashed on his screen.

Tom couldn’t help it. His eyes darted to Mike’s phone, and he watched as Mike’s message window popped up. Kris was still talking, gesturing as he waxed on about the benefits of sustainable local workforces as opposed to propping up long-term relief missions. He sipped his Martini every other sentence, and his gestures grew wilder.

Mike’s message opened.

A picture splashed across the screen, a young, smooth, naked man on all fours, spreading his ass.

Come fuck my hole baby, the text read.I’m so horny for you.

Holy shit. Tom stared, his mouth dropping open, his eyes boggling.

Kris stopped talking, going silent mid-word.

Mike looked up and angled the screen away, hiding it against the zipper of his hoodie, but it was too late.

Shifting, Tom turned back to Kris, trying to pick up their conversation again. Kris wasn’t having it. He stared at Tom, and then at Mike. Mike had palmed his phone and slid it back into his pocket like nothing had ever happened.

Well, hello, reality. The text was a slap to Tom’s soul, a wake-up call for his delusions. OfcourseMike was onGrindMe. OfcourseMike was looking for hookups, for men who were his type—young, beautiful, and confident about who they were and what they wanted. Oh-so-confident. That was Mike’s type. He wasn’t looking for a boring middle-aged man, too scared of his own shadow to do anything.

“What?” Mike frowned, staring at Kris. Kris’s expression had soured, going frosty. His pouty lips pursed and his eyes slitted, and he glared at Mike like he wanted to fight.

“Excuse me. I’ve got to use the restroom.” Tom smiled, as best he could and slipped away, moving through the crowd. Behind him, he heard Kris’s voice rise and carry over the din, but he couldn’t make out the words.

In the restroom, two younger guys were making out against the back wall while everyone else did their business. He watched them from the corner of his eye, smiling. Another man caught his gaze and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, too. Young love. To be so young and free.

He headed for the bar and found a slice of room between two groups of gabbing friends. He smiled politely at a younger guy, college-aged and skinny, who gave him a long, lingering once-over as he drank his colorful cocktail through a tiny straw. His cheeks hollowed as he sucked.

Tom looked away, flushing.

“How can I help you, daddy?” The bartender leaned across the bar top, smirking.

“Uhh…” Jesus, the last time he’d been at a bar, he’d laughed at the older men, the daddies, and said he’d never end up like that. Oh boy. “Uh, that table over there?” He pointed to Kris, sulking as he stabbed his pink Martini, and Mike, who stared down at his phone. A pang of jealousy hit him in his chest, and he sucked in a quick breath. “I’d like to pay their tabs.”

“Mmm, that’s sweet of you. You want to pay my tab, too?” The bartender leaned in a little closer, pushing his shoulders back.

He held out his credit card and kept his mouth shut. Sighing, the bartender snatched it and flounced away, one hip pushing out in a pout as he worked the register.

“You look familiar…”

A deep voice rumbled beside Tom, just over his shoulder. Cold panic washed down his spine, the combined fears of twenty-five years hitting him all at once. He stared at the man who’d spoken, a middle-aged businessman leaning against the bar beside him, a gentle smile on his patrician face. His brown eyes were warm, his full head of salt-and-pepper hair swept to the side, like Tom’s.

The businessman wagged his finger at Tom, smiling. “I know…” he said, “You were in my dreams last night.” He winked.

Relief broke like a wave against a rocky shore. Tom laughed, helpless release and a little bit of guilt.