“And then you stopped kissing girls?” he teases. It’s careful, though. Maybe he already knows what I’m going to say. Maybe he doesn’t like it.
It won’t keep me from being honest.
“I’ve never totally stopped kissing girls,” I say. “But they generally deserve better than someone like me, and if I’m looking for an easy fuck, I’ll say no to them, and yes to a hundred different men instead.”
Jake chuckles. “Gay sex as sacrifice? Redemption? Self-flagellation? Do I need to drag you to Mass and teach you a thing or two?”
“That’s an unexpectedly sexy threat, babe.”
I’m about to respond with a deep dive into his religion and what it means for us, but there is nous, and I’m not sure I’ve got a great grasp on holiness. I back away then, and I work as much as I need to, the already low demand getting lower as the time ticks closer to closing. My drinkers say goodnight one or two at a time, and when the last cowboy tips his hat, I’ve got another half hour before I can lock the barn doors. There are things I can get away with on an occasion like this, though. I swap Jake’s empty glass for a smaller one with Jameson and pour one of my own, then hold it up for an unnecessary toast.
“To gratitude.”
“And friendship,” Jake adds.
I nod, and we savor the whiskey. When I leave him behind again, I clean the tables, restock the little that’s been used over the past several hours, and start to run the receipts for the night. Jake is patient, and I’m beginning to wonder whether inviting him here was a good idea. He could’ve met me at home, or I could’ve gone to his again, but I’ve brought him here to tell him something, curious about whether he’s up for anything else tonight.
Once we’re finally locked in, I’m slow to approach him, but his eyes never leave mine, and I know it’s time to talk.
“So, I found someone who wants to buy the mechanical bull from us, and we’ve scheduled a company that'll transfer all the parts from here to there.”
Jake barely blinks. “When is it happening?”
“The week before Christmas,” I say. “The new place wants it by the end of the year, and we don’t need it, so I was able to make a decent deal.”
“And then you’ll have someone clean up that space and build a small stage?”
“That’s the plan.”
“Then you’ll be able to audition bands, and Trailhead will have another draw, on top of karaoke and trivia.”
“The challenge is that we actually have topaythe band, so it needs to be worth it,” I note with a bit of a sigh. “But there’s a lot of potential if I can get this right. And I really, really want to get it right.”
Jake hums to himself and takes a long look around the room. “Did you ask me to come here because of the bull or the music?”
“You don’t miss much,” I smile.
“No, I don’t,” he agrees. “And while I have no objection to conversation as foreplay, you probably have an entire list of alternatives for that. So, either there are some songs you want me to hear, or you think I’m about to ride that bull, and I’ll admit one of those seems more likely than the other.”
I glance over my shoulder and back again. “Have you ever been on one?”
“I ride my Harley.”
“Great. Maybe on another night, I’ll get a turn on that.”
There are only a few seconds of silence, but it feels long enough for me to consider pouring another round of whiskey. I don’t reach for the bottle—the two of us will drive away soon—and the way Jake clears his throat might’ve been enough to stop me anyway.
“Have you ridden it much?”
“Not as often as you’d think.”
“Of course,” he teases. “Why straddle that when you can climb on someone less eager to buck you off?”
“And toys are great, but I don’t need one that could crush me.”
“Mmmm, looks kind of fun, though. Might be a shame to miss out on a thrilling new experience like this before it’s gone.”
“Oh, yeah. You definitely haven’t had any thrilling new experiences lately. Nothing different about your life these days. Nothing you’ve let a friend talk you into trying.”