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CHAPTER 13

JUST PEOPLE

TOMMY

Tommy opened the door to Sazòn and was immediately greeted by a sharply dressed ma?tre d’. The tapas restaurant was new, and its modern interior was trendy without trying too hard. Light fixtures like woven baskets hung above the dining area and bar. Rather than a formal dining room, high tables were spread around a central, circular bar, giving the restaurant a more casual vibe. A band was setting up in one corner, and he could make out a cleared area on the other side of the bar that was most likely a dance floor.

He found Wade easily, and was glad he’d taken the time to put an outfit together. Tommy took pride in being well-dressed, and he’d put some thought into his long-sleeved white button up and slim fit jeans, and had taken extra time styling his hair.

He’d also been sucked down the internet rabbit hole when it came to responsibly (and safely) navigating the world of dating as a queer man. He’d started taking PrEP earlier that week, and had adjusted his shower routine to include some very thorough cleaning. While he had no plans to jump right into the world of sex, he figured it couldn’t hurt to be prepared.

“Tommy,” Wade greeted him with a handshake, gesturing to the seat across from him.

Tommy grinned. “Wade Johnson,” he replied.

A waiter approached them. He was slender, with a tight black t-shirt and skinny jeans that left very little to the imagination. Tommy let his eyes trail over the man’s body, searching for a reaction. For something .

“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?”

“I’ll take whatever Pilsner you have on tap.” Tommy said, and then turned to Wade.

“A ginger ale with lime,” the older man offered.

The waiter’s eyes lingered on Wade. “I’ll be right back with those.”

When Tommy had texted Wade to ask if he’d go out to The Pride Tide with him, Wade had replied that he’d be happy to go out with Tommy on one condition: they go somewhere other than a gay bar. Wade had suggested the restaurant, citing that the queer owner made sure it was a welcoming place for everyone.

For a few minutes the two men exchanged small talk, swapping stories about work and family and friends. Tommy listened, but he let his gaze wander around the room, looking for anything or anyone that sparked his curiosity.

“So.”

Tommy turned back to Wade, realizing he’d lost the thread of the conversation. “Sorry,” he said with a wince. He scrubbed his hands over his face, trying to shake the nerves that had him fidgeting in his seat. “What am I supposed to do now?”

Wade looked at him for a moment and then burst into laughter, throwing his head back as he shook his head. “Nothing, man. You’re not supposed to do anything you don’t want to do.”

Tommy felt his cheeks heat. “I know, but…” He trailed off. What he really wanted to ask was: What am I supposed to do if the man I can’t stop thinking about told me to get lost because I’m so new to this? If he rejected me because I haven’t explored these feelings with anyone else?

Wade took pity on him. “Look, Tommy. You’re here because there’s something you want to explore. I remember how awkward I felt the first few times I let myself pursue the things that had only ever existed in my head. The truth is, there’s no right or wrong way. Have a drink, eat some food, go dance for a bit, and for fuck’s sake, try to relax. You look like you’re bracing for a hit.”

Tommy forced out an exhale and dropped his shoulders. He nodded. “Right,” he said, psyching himself up for getting out there, whatever that might look like. “You’re right.”

They agreed to share a variety of small dishes, and the good food and excellent company made Tommy’s nerves ease little by little. Wade Johnson was a great guy: easygoing, and an excellent storyteller.

When the waiter cleared their dishes away, Tommy’s eyes drifted to the dance floor. At some point, the band had started to play upbeat Latin rock, and a few people had migrated over to dance. Tommy noticed different constellations of people coming together—both straight and same-sex couples. It soothed something in him, a tiny knot of anxiety he had barely even noticed until it was gone.

Wade slapped the table. “Come on. Let’s go dance.”

Tommy grinned at him. “You a dancer, Wade Johnson?”

The older man’s face twisted into a mock scowl. “I’m a fucking incredible dancer.”

Laughing, Tommy followed Wade. He was conscious of eyes on the two of them as they wound through the crowd of people standing around the bar. When they got to the dance floor, it was easy to slide right in. The music was good, and there was a sense of freedom and anticipation in the air.

Within minutes of dancing, people started to approach them. A tall woman with long bronze legs approached Wade, and he politely turned her away. When she turned to Tommy with a question in her eyes, he shook his head with a smile.

Then a man approached Tommy. He was lean, around Tommy’s height, and dressed nicely in jeans and a deep red button up. His blue eyes held Tommy’s gaze, and when Tommy gave him a smile and a nod, the man slid his body into Tommy’s space.

A knee brushed his, a hand curled around his hip, and then there he was: Tommy Littleton, dancing with a man.

He tried to be fully in the moment, to appreciate the man’s dark eyebrows and thick black lashes and the full pout of his lips. He tried not to compare him to Chuck, but how the fuck was he supposed to pretend he hadn’t already figured out exactly who and what he was attracted to?

One dance became another, and while there was definitely something that stirred in him when a hard, sweaty body was tucked tightly against his, he couldn’t help but feel like there was something missing, a hollow tone to the interactions that left him feeling defeated.

He politely extracted himself from his partner at the end of the song and walked back to their table, where Wade sat mopping his glistening forehead with a napkin. His expression turned thoughtful as he looked up at Tommy. “You don’t look like you’re having fun,” he observed.

“I am!” Tommy sat down, grabbing his water and draining the glass as he tried to put words to what he was feeling in that moment. “I think I want to have an actual conversation with someone, you know?”

“So go have an actual conversation, then.”

Tommy shifted in his seat. “Just like that?”

“Queer people are just people,” Wade said, leveling him with a look like he was being particularly dense. Then he looked over Tommy’s shoulder and nodded with his chin.“That guy over there has been checking you out for a while.”

Tommy glanced back and found a man watching him from a stool at the bar. When their eyes met, he gave Tommy a shy, hesitant smile. He was a big guy, maybe a little older than him, with a wide torso, full chest, and a neatly groomed dirty-blonde mustache. He had an objectively handsome face, kind eyes, and fuck it , Tommy was going to go talk to him.

He pushed up from the table, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans as he approached the stranger.

“Hey,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt as he came to a stop beside him.

“Hi,” the man said, his smile widening as his eyes dipped down to trace over Tommy’s body. “I’m Noah.”

Tommy took his offered hand, the brush of soft skin doing something to his body. “Tommy. Nice to meet you.” He wet his upper lip. “Can I get you a drink?”

A dimple appeared in Noah’s cheek. “Please.”

Five minutes later, Tommy had learned that Noah was a tax accountant with a large firm, and seemed to genuinely love his job. He was a great conversationalist, asking Tommy about his work, his friends, his past as a college athlete, and how he liked to spend his spare time. Noah was an avid board game player, enjoyed eating out around downtown Charleston, and had an aging mother in a local assisted living home.

Noah was nice and sweet and Tommy could honestly say he liked his dimples and the blonde hair dusting his forearms. He could even imagine sharing a meal with him would be an enjoyable way to spend an evening.

Maybe the problem had been that he needed to get to know someone before the attraction followed. Maybe that was what he needed.

* * *

“That looked like it went well.”

Tommy and Wade walked side by side down the sidewalk toward their parked cars. While he still couldn’t quite believe that he’d spent the evening with one of his favorite athletes of all time, Tommy was starting to get used to being in the presence of the towering man.

“It did,” Tommy responded. “We’re going to have dinner this week.”

“Nice!”

“Yeah. It is.”

Wade shot him a look. “You don’t sound convinced.”

“He’s lovely.” Tommy shoved his hands in his pockets. “Seems like a great guy, but it’s just not the same. Not as electric as…”

“As it is with Chuck.”

Tommy didn’t need to ask him how he knew, or how he guessed. He simply nodded.

“Want to talk about it?”

Tommy sighed. Yeah, he really wanted to talk about it—needed to talk about it . “We had a moment. I kissed him, and Chuck, well, I thought he was into it too. But when I tried to talk to him he made it clear he wasn’t interested.”

“Hm.”

Tommy looked up at him. “What’s that supposed to mean, Wade Johnson?”

Wade’s expression was serious as he responded. “It can be a scary thing for someone who is queer to open up to someone who might only be experimenting. What if you let them in, give them a real chance, and then they decide the experiment is over and they don’t actually want you?”

Tommy was already shaking his head. “It’s not like that for me. Chuck is— Fuck , Chuck is everything.”

“I believe you,” Wade said, his eyes sympathetic.

“So what am I supposed to do?” They’d reached Tommy’s car, coming to a stop beside the parking meter.

Wade shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Tommy let out a groan, throwing his hands in the air. “Great.”

“Nah, man.” Wade’s dark brows rose, creasing his forehead. “This is the kind of decision that’s all on you. This is between you and the man who is, from my understanding, your best friend. You’re the only one who can decide how you want to handle it.”

They exchanged a back-slapping hug with a promise to hang out again.

Tommy climbed into his car, slumping back in his seat as he ran his hands over his face.

Fuck .

* * *

Tommy checked the time on the oven, flipping a cooking towel over one shoulder. Eight minutes . He tossed the spinach and berry salad one more time, and dipped a pinky into the dressing he’d made. Good .

Next, he wandered into the living room, where he’d made a half-assed attempt to do some unpacking. A framed photograph of his grandparents sat next to the TV. Some of his favorite history books were arranged on a bookshelf with a few professional awards: Top Selling Branch: 2014. Top Customer Service Area: 2016.

It was only as he’d started to unpack that he realized how little he had to show for his adult life. Most of the pictures, artwork, knick-knacks, and other items of sentimental value had all been connected to his marriage.

They’d had a collection of seashells from their yearly anniversary trips to Kiawah Island where they rented a beach house. There were the holiday photo shoots every year in their backyard, each of them in matching cream-colored sweaters.

What was left was dismal: pictures of Tommy and his family, a few of him and his friends, and then trophies from work , for fuck’s sake.

He should probably go buy some artwork. Anything to make his apartment look less depressing. Chuck would be?—

Fuck . Tommy rubbed the heel of his hand against his chest where there was an ache that just didn’t seem to go away.

A knock at the door had him shoving aside that topic for later.

“Hey!” He opened the door with a big smile. “Thanks for coming over.”

Rebecca and Darius both gave him long hugs, and their warmth was exactly what he needed. Darius was in a white t-shirt and jeans, and Tommy could tell he’d just gotten his hair cleaned up.

“Looking good, D,” he said, giving Darius a nod.

“Isn’t it?” Rebecca reached up to trail her fingers over the side of her husband’s head. “I finally convinced him to keep a little bit of the length up top.”

Darius smiled wide at Tommy, revealing the gap between his front two teeth, rubbing a palm over the tight curls on the top of his head. “What can I say? I’m a creature of habit.”

“Come on in,” Tommy said, leading them into the main living space. A tall bar separated the kitchen from the rest of the room, and he’d brought the extra chairs up from the garage so he had enough seats for all of them at the table.

“This is a nice place,” Darius said, looking around the room.

Tommy shrugged, struggling to believe the compliment. It felt like a step back, moving into an apartment after all those years of being a homeowner. Even a loft like this with the industrial accents that were in fashion felt sterile after pouring so much of himself into a home.

“Can I get you guys something to drink?”

Soon they were all arranged on the long L-shaped couch Tommy had bought as soon as he’d moved in. It was decent enough, with firm cushions and soft fabric, but was missing personal touches like the throw blanket and decorative pillows that Chuck had at his house.

He sat on one end of the couch, fiddling with the label on the beer bottle in his hands, while Darius and Rebecca sat side by side on the other, their bodies pressed together. Darius slung an arm behind Rebecca’s head, and his deep brown fingers brushed her shoulder in an absent rhythm. Rebecca tucked a leg up under herself, a soft, content expression on her face as she looked at Tommy.

“How are things?” she asked.

Tommy shrugged. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I guess I’m just trying to move on, you know?”

“That’s good,” Darius said. “It’s been tough to watch you struggling.”

Tommy managed a weak smile. “Thanks, man.”

“So what does moving on look like? Are you dating, or are you trying to focus more on yourself before you dive into that?”

“I actually just went on a date last night.”

Darius broke out in a grin. “How’d it go?”

“It was good,” he said, and it was the truth. “There wasn’t a spark like I was looking for, but he was a great guy.” At Darius’ confused look, Tommy rushed to clarify. “I’m… I think I’m bisexual. It’s a new thing, and I’m trying to put myself out there. There’s already someone I’m interested in, but I don’t think he wants me back.”

Tommy had been in a bit of a funk in the wake of his date with Noah. He couldn’t help but wonder if he hadn’t already known Chuck, if he didn’t know what that felt like, if things could have been different. Noah had looked handsome in his blue shirt, and Tommy had caught himself wondering what his thick belly would feel like against his body.

They met at a sushi place and enjoyed a relaxed meal and good conversation. Tommy had walked Noah back to his car, and, in a moment of courage—and maybe a little desperation—he’d kissed him.

It was a perfectly fine kiss. The mechanics of their tongues tangling and the way Noah had tasted like mint: it was all fine. But it had left Tommy with a glaringly empty feeling where there should have been heat and desire and wanting . Because he’d tasted that now, and didn’t think he could settle for anything less.

Noah had taken Tommy’s gentle rejection in stride, offering him a sad smile as they exchanged a quick embrace. Tommy hated the thought that he might have hurt the kind man, but could bear the thought of leading him on even less.

He caught Rebecca’s sympathetic look. “We’re here if you need to talk about it,” she offered. “Not like we have it all figured out or anything.” She and Darius exchanged an amused look.

“Pshh,” Tommy scoffed. “You guys are perfect.”

Two sets of brown eyes stared at him like he’d lost his mind, and then both of them burst out laughing; Darius’ laugh was rich and musical, while Rebecca’s was so high and bright it was impossible for Tommy to keep a straight face when she laughed.

Rebecca caught her breath first. “Tommy,” she said, shaking her head. “We aren’t perfect. We fight and argue and accidentally hurt each other all the time.” She reached a hand out to squeeze Darius’ thigh. “We are constantly messing up, but he’s my best friend and I can’t imagine doing it with anyone else.”

“And she’s hot,” Darius added with a teasing grin, ducking out of the way of Rebecca’s soft smack. “But seriously, T, it’s hard being married. The only reason we’re still together is because we want to be, and we fight damn hard to make it work.”

“We worked our asses off,” Tommy said, voice rising. “Court and I. We went to couple’s therapy for a whole fucking year , and the grand conclusion from that experience was that I wasn’t loving her the way she wanted me to.”

“And what about you?” Darius asked, leaning forward.

“What about me?”

“Did she love you the way you wanted her to?”

Tommy felt his jaw tighten. “I thought so. I really did. I guess it just felt like enough,” he admitted. “What we had was enough for me.”

The oven timer beeped, and Tommy pushed up to standing. “Enough about my life,” he called out over his shoulder as he pulled the pork tenderloin and roasted potatoes from the oven. “Tell me what’s new with you.”

As they ate, Tommy found himself watching his married friends more closely. He watched the way Darius rolled his eyes and shook his head when Rebecca repeated a story he’d already heard. He watched Darius indignantly try to deny his gluten intolerance, in spite of Rebecca’s graphic descriptions of their bathroom after he ate pasta for dinner. He watched Rebecca flick Darius’ hand when he tried to steal food from her plate.

There was an irreverence to the way they were with each other, like they knew exactly how far they could push the other and liked flirting with that line. They were teasing, but affectionate. It was obvious they were best friends, and, more than anything, it didn’t look like they were pretending.

It felt good to have people in his apartment. Their voices and laughter filled the space, and it felt a little less empty and cold than it had before.

Darius had to teach early the next morning, so they left pretty quickly after dinner. They exchanged hugs at the door, and Rebecca promised they’d return the favor and have Tommy over soon.

“And call us,” she added. “If you need to talk about any of it, call us.”

Tommy thanked her, gently closed the door behind them, and then face-planted onto his couch with a dramatic groan, his mind still stuck on the way that Rebecca and Darius interacted with each other.

Were he and Courtney ever like that? He knew the answer before he’d finished the question. No. No way.

Tommy and Courtney’s relationship had always been more traditional. When they first started dating in school, he’d pick her up at her dorm room with a bouquet of pink roses and then take her out to Angelo’s for dinner. Afterwards, they’d get handsy in his car and then he’d walk her back to her room. Even after college they’d kept a certain level of formality to their dating: going out in Charleston together, Tommy always driving, and then, most nights, returning to their respective apartments to sleep.

He’d thought she’d make a good wife, with her seemingly endless well of kindness and the way she’d always be waiting for him with a smile when he got home. He’d proposed with a ring he’d found saved on her Pinterest, and he’d thought she was happy.

It had been weird for them, at first, learning how to live together. Tommy wasn’t good with laundry, and tended to drape clothes over the hamper if he thought they had another wear in them before they needed to be washed. Courtney wasn’t used to sharing a bathroom space, and spread her huge collection of cosmetics all over the counter.

But they’d made it work, and Tommy made sure every Friday night was date night, complete with flowers and candle-lit sex when they got home. For all of their struggles, they’d always been great in bed together.

It was hard for him to remember how he’d thought about Courtney and their life together before the couple’s therapy. The request had completely blindsided him, but of course he’d agreed. If his wife said their relationship needed work, he was going to show up and work his ass off.

The first time he’d heard Courtney speak candidly about their marriage, he’d felt like the floor had given out beneath him. He’d had no idea she felt unseen, like a doormat, like he didn’t actually care about her as a person.

All along he thought he’d been a good husband, doing the things he thought mattered, when all he’d done was hurt her along the way. He wasn’t sure he’d ever actually known Courtney until those months of sitting stiffly beside her on the couch in the therapist’s office. He didn’t know she liked to do puzzles, or that she craved more variety in their life. He didn’t know she felt excluded from his friend group or that roses made her sneeze.

She wasn’t without fault either: her lack of communication about what she’d wanted or needed had played into the outcome of their relationship. By the time they’d dug deep enough to identify all of the areas where they’d failed each other, in her words, it was too late.

And now that he was on the other side, Tommy could allow himself to imagine what a marriage—or shit, even just a relationship —might look like with someone he really, deeply knew. What it could be like to love someone who was his best friend.

It would probably be comfortable. There would definitely be sweatpants and home-cooked meals. There would be lazy, unhurried sex because neither of them would have anywhere better to be.

There could be freckles and laughter and too much singing. Legs tangled on the couch and Spartacus playing on the TV. Burgers and sweet-potato fries.

He burrowed his head further into the couch cushion.