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January 4, 2016
“This is not about”
Studying the Wiley Coyote-esque diagram he’d sketched on his napkin while waiting for his dinner to arrive, Drake Arthur concluded that something was missing from the elaborate Rube Goldberg trap. Glue. Buckets of it. Drums of it. That’s what he needed. Drake nodded his head decisively. Where to find it? How to haul it? He began sketching barrels of glue in.
“Drake?” Mick Stone’s impatient voice made it clear it wasn’t the first time he’d attempted to gain Drake’s attention.
“Huh?” His head snapped up and he caught Mick’s concerned stare. “What?”
“We don’t have to stay here,” Mick offered, nodding sympathetically toward the bar, where Drake had studiously avoided glaring since they’d entered their local neighborhood bar and grill some thirty minutes earlier. More specifically, he indicated a couple of men who had been holding down that bar. The first man was a stranger to Drake, a tall slender blond who appeared to think it cool to shave his head on the sides and leave a dramatic sweep of hair on top. That man smiled too much, laughed too loud and was way too touchy with his hands and his body, constantly leaning on, nudging, or petting the shorter man next to him. Drake hated him on sight. His slick appearance and hip clothing grated on Drake’s nerves.
But the trap… it wasn’t designed for that man. No the trap was for his companion. A small, dark haired, pale little man with elegant features, overlong hair and a propensity for overdoing the eyeliner. Sean.
Yeah. The glue was for him. His fingers moved… sketching Sean into the diagram, flat on his butt on the floor, a drum of glue poised over him, spilling out in a wave.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. We already ordered.” Stubborn. That was him. All his life people had been shaking their heads, clicking their tongues and telling Drake Arthur that he was stubborn. He’d always laughed them off, told people he was determined, persistent, a hundred things that were less negative. That character trait had stood him in good stead, gotten him through high school with honors, the same in college. It had landed him a dream job with a fabulous company and a place on the career fast track.
But sitting here watching his ex-lover play kissy face and flirt with some tall drink of water with ash blonde hair… he kind of wished he’d been oh… intelligent...resourceful...charming.... Maybe then… “I still love him.” He sighed, thunking his head on the table and avoiding Mick’s sympathy. The napkin fluttered to the ground. Drake made a half hearted effort to reach for it, but missed.
“Don’t be an ass.”
Sympathy? What the hell was he thinking? His head shot up and he stoked the spark of annoyance into a flame. “Have a little sympathy, man. My ex has moved on, and he’s rubbing my nose in it.”
Mick scowled at the bar then turned the dark look on Drake. “This is not about that. It’s been over a year. Quit moping around acting like an idiot.”
“I'm not moping.” Drake stiffened, flicking a glance at the bar, where Sean’s date was flipping some raggedy hank of hair out of his eyes and smiling in a smarmy way that indicated all too clearly… as though his wandering hands left any doubts…. what he was up to. “That guy is a snake. A user… all he wants is to get laid. Sean deserves better than that.”
“Fuck.” Mick grabbed his highball glass and gulped the remainder of the whiskey in it. He spluttered, eyes watering and thumped the glass back on the table. “This is not about what Sean deserves. It’s about you, you stubborn fucking asshole. It’s about what you deserve. And that is not to live in the past hankering after some guy who was never fucking going to stay.”
Mick shoved his chair back and dug in his pocket.
Drake sat, frozen into silence, heart thumping loudly in his ears, heat burning his cheeks and the nape of his neck. Without looking, he knew they were the center of everyone’s attention. The diners, the drinkers, the meager staff, Mick knew how to make a scene. Drake just sat there as Mick threw a crumpled bill on the table and stalked off.
Finally he drew in a breath and released it, finally he shook off the embarrassment and sipped his own water, staring determinedly at the salt and pepper shakers and a green card announcing that it was National Margarita Day next Wednesday.
“He’s right you know.” The voice cut like a knife, stabbed him clean to the heart and left him bleeding.
He glanced up in time to see Sean strolling away from the table, one arm wrapped around the blond’s waist.
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Love the beginning of this story... I know what I want to happen! :)
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