“You got it. You shoulda seen the first time I tried to use a corkscrew. I pushed the cork all the way down in the bottle.”
Kyle laughed. “You can bring it to me, if you’re feeling insecure.” Oh, that lilt was dripping sarcasm.
“Shut up, dork. I done opened me a bunch of bottles since.” He pinched Kyle’s ass on the way by.
“Ow!” Kyle hammed it up, faking injury. “Yeah, that’s pretty obvious. I’m not a lightweight, but I don’t think I’ve even seen you tipsy yet. Hm. Maybe that’s tonight’s goal. Get Colt drunk.”
“I’m a silly drunk. It don’t happen much, though. You got to watch yourself in a bar.” He knew how to pace himself.
“Well, this is not a bar, and I could get into silly. I’m more of an esoteric drunk. Everything becomes very interesting. Deep.” Kyle winked at him. “And then I usually end up making out with like, whoever I’m sitting next to.”
“Well, then, you’d best sit next to me.” Because he wanted that making out done with him.
“Ooh. I like that attitude. I will sit next to you every time, lover.” Kyle hovered close, watching him open the wine, and chuckled. “Or if I forget, you can cut in.”
“Believe me, cher. I will.” He was willing to work for what he wanted.
Kyle leaned in, lips close and offering. “Mm. I love that kind of talk. It’s hot.”
He took that kiss, letting it wash over him.
Dinner somehow made it to the kitchen table despite all the flirting and wandering hands and the heat between them. Kyle served him up a big plate of pasta and covered it with the garlicky pomodoro that had been simmering on the back burner.
“So, you said your songs do pretty well. How come you don’t record them yourself? Or do you?” Kyle slid over the plate of sausages and refilled their wineglasses.
“I ain’t much of a singer, and I’m less of a performer. I like getting lost in the music, you see, and a singer has to know the audience is out there.” He loved the way music spoke to him, but he didn’t need the crowd. He didn’t mind them a bit, but it wasn’t why he played.
He played because his soul needed it.
Kyle nodded and forked up some noodles. “I get that. I know what you mean because I’m like that, though sometimes I can’t completely forget the audience either.”
“Do you have to, like, look at them? The audience, I mean.”
“Depends on the piece. Most of the time, no. I only have to look out over them, and the lights are so bright, I can’t see the mezzanine. But some of the more modern stuff calls for eye contact, or at least breaking the fourth wall.”
“What’s that mean? Breaking the wall?” It was a neat thought, no matter what it meant.
“Oh! Oh, it’s a theater term for stepping out of the show and talking to the audience directly. The three walls are the sides and the back of the stage. The fourth is the invisible one between the audience and the performers. Between the play and reality.”
“That’s cool.” Okay, yeah. That made sense. Sorta like singing right to someone in the crowd when you didn’t mean it.
Kyle traced one of his fingers. “You like the pasta okay? I know it was a quick thrown-together thing.”
“I love it. It’s best all in one bite. This is good sausage.”
“Yeah, the sausage and the pasta I get from this wonderful hole-in-the-wall Italian market. I’m glad you like it.” Kyle looked pleased and smiled at him. “I like cooking with you. I enjoy the way you appreciate the process as much as the result. You make it fun.”
“It ought to be, hmm? It’s a good thing.” It meant family. Home. Good things.
“It should. I didn’t grow up with it, though. How’d you learn to cook?”
“My granny. She was the best cook. She spent all her days behind a stove.”
“Oh, that’s a nice memory. Was she cooking for the family? Or was she making a living?”
“Six of one, half dozen of another. She had a kitchen that did shrimps and all the gumbos and bread pudding. Oo-la!” He’d sit and play with his blocks while she stirred and the girls took out bowls to the shrimpers.
Kyle laughed. “Mmm. Sounds so good! To Granny.” Kyle raised his glass.