He’d just claimed a few seats and was chatting with Mig and Trixie when Timmy showed up. Colt followed behind him, looking around, taking the place in. Timmy, no surprise, headed straight for the bar.
He hung out in his seat, watching, waiting. He’d made his move with the invitation. He wanted to see what Colt’s would be. He was pleased when Colt walked right up to him with a warm, open smile, an outstretched hand. “Hey you. Comment ça se roule? You good?”
He stood up and took Colt’s hand, returning his smile and digging deep for that high school French. It didn’t help him much. “Uh… I’m well. I’m glad you came.” He went in for the cheek kiss, figuring that was a good middle ground for a little more than strangers but not quite friends.
“Thanks for the invite. You need a drink?” Colt’s fingers burned in his; he could feel each and every fingertip. He wasn’t in a hurry to let go.
“Thanks, my buddy Greg hooked me up. But Jennifer’s solid. She can make you anything you want. No lie. People try to test her all the time.”
“’M a beer man, though I have had a hurricane or hundred, no lie.” The cadence of Colt’s voice made him want to nod, to bounce along. “Be right back, eh?”
“Sure. I’ll keep your seat warm.” He opened his fingers, not so much letting go as letting Colt slip free, calluses making his palm tingle. He watched the man walk away, admiring the easy stride, the tight little ass.
Timmy chatted with Colt for a second, then brought some fruit-garnished bright blue concoction over. “I’m here….”
“You are!” God, Timmy would drink literally anything. “Listen, thanks for?—”
“Timmy!” Trixie waved, and Mig got up to give Timmy a hug. “Come on and sit.”
Timmy gave him a wink and headed off to sit with his buddies. He glanced back at the bar to find Colt smiling and having a conversation with Jenny while she pulled his beer. Friendly guy. He loved that.
Things were going to ramp up pretty soon, and the whole gang was making their way over to the tables they’d pushed together. He took a seat, guarding the one next to him for his date.
Colt came back to him, dancing around the crowd with ease, laughing as he fought not to spill his beer.
Kyle laughed with him. Not Colt’s first crowded bar, clearly. “That took some serious talent, mister.” He pushed Colt’s chair out for him.
“I know some crowds, me. I been working Mardi Gras since I was eight.”
“Whoa, really? That’s a party I need to go to sometime. I hear some wild shit goes down.” He broke out in goose bumps as Colt sat next to him, their thighs brushing together. They were pretty crammed in with so many people around just a few tables.
“It’s something else, sure enough. The best party on earth.”
“I don’t know, we can whoop it up here when we want to.” He winked at Colt over the top of his drink and then took a sip that went down just right. “So you’re up here for that gig?”
“Yessir. I got me some good work with Little Mel and all. I been jamming my happy ass off.”
Mig got up, sat at the piano, and just started playing.
“You sounded smooth. I was watching your fingers fly. It was great. Oh, that’s Mig. He does mostly pop and show tunes.”
“Mig. Cool.” Colt watched for a second with a grin, then turned to him. “You sang?”
Listen to that accent. “I… uh. Well, I sing here sometimes, but no. I dance.”I dance ballet. Telling another guy that you danced ballet was like coming out. Didn’t matter how confident you were or how little it mattered to you what they thought, you were still never sure about how they’d react.
“No shit? That’s fucking cool, man.” Colt lit up, eyes sparkling. “Like a… like fancy dancing, eh? Not the fais-dodo, but the—” He pursed his lips and snapped his fingers. “—the ballet kind?”
Well, well. That was interesting. He turned to look at Colt, to really look at him and let the man know it mattered to him. “I dance ballet, yes.” He had no idea what a “fay-doo-doo” was, though. Except that it apparently wasn’t ballet. “You like the ballet?”
“I like anything that has to do with music. Anything. Y’all know how to make y’all’s bodies do shit I can’t even figure. So friggin’ cool.” Colt grinned at him, not the slightest bit mocking.
Oh, this one was interesting.Where are you from? Who are your people? How did you pick up guitar? Do you play anything else?All good questions, if maybe a bit personal yet. And he didn’t feel like asking any of them right now. What does your chest look like under that shirt, was more like it, but it seemed a little early and two drinks shy yet. “How are you liking New York?”
Ali got up and took the mic, singing a pop song he didn’t know, but doing it well, as she did everything. Her voice was raspy and all-out rock and roll crammed into a five foot nothing package.
“It’s something else, no? Like all sorts of worlds all smashed together. Music everywhere. Lots of folks, not so many gators. It’s all good.”
“No alligators, plenty of sharks.” He laughed. There was music everywhere and actually, that was easy to take for granted when you lived here day in and day out. Street performers, buskers in the subways, musicals, clubs… everywhere. “It is all good. And a lot of times, people don’t even look at you funny when you dance down the street.” He did that all the time. Most of the time without meaning to.