A White Coat Is My Closet (6 page)

“It was like a freight train coming out of a tunnel. The burrito grande that had been percolating in Alex’s gut for the past five hours required immediate release. Diarrhea shot out of Alex’s ass like mud out of a floodgate. Levi looked like he’d taken a swim in a septic tank. Needless to say, the erotic vibe went right down the sewer, and the back room emptied faster than yelling ‘fire’ in a theater.

“Fortunately, someone took pity on Alex and released him from the sling, or he’d probably still have been hanging there when the hazmat team showed up.

“Needless to say, Alex didn’t get any more party invitations in Sydney, and I wouldn’t be surprised if stories of his exploits didn’t still circulate throughout the entire country of Australia.”

The laughter continued for what seemed to be an eternity. The gang was undeniably completely grossed out but was simultaneously convulsing with laughter. Alex laughed harder than any of them. Incredibly, he beamed with pride. It was almost as if he thought his celebrity had ascended to a higher level, and he basked in the recognition. For any of the rest of us, being the central character of the story would have meant complete and utter humiliation. For Alex, it meant that once again, his adventures garnered unsurpassed notoriety and ensured his status as a gay icon.

Gay icon. Unabashed pervert. It was sometimes a fine line, but Alex prided himself on recklessly trying to skirt it.

Declan threw his arm around my shoulder and drew me into an embrace. “You’re too much, Zack. You really know how to spin a story.”

“Not too difficult when you have Alex to supply the material. I don’t have to do anything except sit back and play the part of the narrator.”

“Did that really happen to him Down Under?” Declan searched my face for an indication that the story had been a complete fabrication.

“How could I make shit like that up?” I said, trying my best to look offended that he’d challenged the authenticity of my rendition of Alex’s adventure. “That shit really happened!” I smiled. “Literally and figuratively.”

We were still laughing and exchanging comments about the frustrations we’d each had to endure in our respective workweeks when I looked up and noticed a guy sitting on the far side of the bar.

He looked Asian. Maybe Filipino. Olive skin, dark hair, and a killer smile. He was wearing a collarless shirt that tightly framed an incredibly muscular chest. He had a bottle of beer in front of him, but he only sipped from it occasionally. He seemed more determined to slowly peel the label off the side as he scratched it distractedly with his fingers. He bobbed his head with the music and soundlessly mouthed the lyrics. When he realized he was becoming increasingly animated as he threw himself into the song, he appeared to suddenly become self-conscious. His gyrations instantaneously froze, and he glanced around apprehensively. He looked like he hoped his enthusiasm hadn’t become obvious to anyone watching.

Our gazes locked briefly, and he smiled awkwardly. He shrugged like he’d been caught doing something embarrassing, but then winked unapologetically. What the hell, he seemed to say; he’d been having fun.

I tilted my chin in his direction as I discreetly spoke to Declan. “Now that’s husband material. Body of death, great smile, and obviously doesn’t take himself too seriously.”

Declan glanced over his shoulder to see who I was talking about. He immediately picked out the object of my desire based solely on his musculature. He smiled teasingly. “Since when have you become a rice fan. You’re usually a bean-only kind of guy.”

Declan knew I usually reserved my attraction for Latinos, but I tried nonetheless to appear put out. “Since the menu offered rice with extra muscle, that’s when.” I jabbed him jokingly in the ribs with my elbow. “Don’t stereotype me. I welcome all comers.” I lowered my voice an octave and smiled conspiratorially. “As long as they’re built, have dark eyes, and don’t come too soon.”

He elbowed me back. “All comers, huh? When was the last time you went out with a blond guy?”

“Hey!” I responded smugly. “I said I don’t discriminate, but I still have standards. I can’t help it if it’s been scientifically proven that only opposites attract. Would you have me disrupt the laws of nature?”

“Okay, Isaac Newton,” he chided me. “Put your money where your mouth is and go talk to him.”

My smile quickly faded, and I diverted my gaze. I flushed slightly and tried to play off my discomfort. “No, I’m cool. I didn’t come out tonight to crash and burn. I just want to hang out with you guys.”

As best friends, Declan and I went out together frequently. On those occasions, when one of us was attracted to someone, we’d frequently goad one another into working up the courage to go talk to them. In an attempt to defuse the disappointment we might feel if our advances were rebuffed, we’d arbitrarily convince ourselves we anticipated rejection.

“Go on,” we’d push each other insistently. “Go crash and burn. The sooner you crash, the sooner we can pick up the pieces and continue to enjoy our evening.” Even though we fervently hoped for success, we played it off that our intention all along had been to be brushed off. That way, we felt like neither our dignity nor our pride was ever in jeopardy.

We made it a game, but really, it was how we supported one another. We even had an understanding between us that if we’d gone out together, we wouldn’t abandon one another. If, by some miracle, one of us happened to hit it off with whomever we approached, our goal was to exchange numbers. We wouldn’t relegate the role of wallflower to whoever failed to hook up.

Truth be told, Declan seldom failed. He was good-looking, had an easy manner and a quiet confidence. At the end of the day, that was probably where he had me beaten. He had the confidence I lacked. There was a never a guarantee that when he approached someone they would immediately welcome his advances, but Declan was able to give the impression that they should. Before a word was even spoken, his attitude conveyed that if they declined, they would be the ones missing out. He wasn’t cocky, he was just comfortable, and that comfort translated into infectious sex appeal.

That was what I lacked. I gave off a completely different vibe. It wasn’t that I came off as desperate, but I’d never been capable of disguising my insecurities. Physically, Declan and I were polar opposites. While Declan had dark features and an olive complexion, I was blond, with lighter skin and hazel eyes. In addition, we were both fairly muscular and outgoing. The real difference was that Declan was confident he could turn heads. Never having really believed in myself, I couldn’t imagine that anyone would find me attractive. I too was confident I’d turn heads, but I assumed if I was attracted to someone, they’d turn away.

“Zack,” he said as he captured my eyes with his intent expression, “why do you always expect that it’s going to be a crash-and-burn? I saw him smile at you. You have nothing to lose. Just go say hi. The rest of us aren’t going anywhere. If he blows you off, come on back, and we’ll continue laughing the night away. If he seems interested, give him your number and come back anyway. Either way, we’re gonna have fun tonight. It doesn’t matter how he responds. If he’s cool, it’s a bonus.” He shrugged in the guy’s direction. “There are empty barstools on both sides of him, so he looks to be alone. Pull your thumb out of your ass and go say hello.” He bumped my shoulder again, intending to give me an encouraging shove.

I brightened. Why the hell not. Everything Declan had just said rang true. Despite his bolstering my confidence, however, I couldn’t walk away without giving myself an escape clause. “All right, I’ll go see if I can buy him another beer. But in case I crash and burn, you’d better have your fire extinguisher ready.”

He gave me another shove. “Don’t be defeatist.”

As casually as I could, I walked over to the bar and stood next to the guy. I didn’t acknowledge him initially and instead tried to get the bartender’s attention. When the bartender circled over to me, I asked for another margarita.

“Margarita, rocks, no salt, please.” Then I turned and gave the guy what I hoped was a winning smile. “Looks like you’ve pretty much succeeded in getting the label peeled off that one. Can I buy you another?”

He looked up at me, smiled appreciatively, but quickly diverted his gaze back to his bottle. “No, thanks. I’m good. One’s my limit tonight. Thanks anyway, though.”

Encouraged that his smile had at least been genuine and he didn’t give the impression of being perturbed, I decided not to be put off by him declining my offer and mustered the courage to talk to him.

“Did that bottle do something to piss you off? You about have it stripped to the glass.” Even as the question escaped my mouth, I regretted sounding like a complete idiot. What the fuck was I even talking about?

With a hint of embarrassment, he acknowledged the little shreds of paper around the base of his bottle. “No, the beer was okay; guess my fingers just need to be kept busy.” He pushed the confetti into a neat little pile. “I was just listening to the music. I guess I wasn’t even aware I was doing it. Oh well.” He smiled briefly and brought the beer up to his lips to take another sip. “It will make it easier to recycle.”

His comment carried a hint of humor, but after he said it, rather than looking at me, he stared out over the bar and continued to focus his attention on the beat of the music.

Discomfort began to surge through my body like ants racing up an anthill. Suddenly, I didn’t know where to direct my gaze or what to do with my hands. I was still waiting for my margarita, so I couldn’t just crawl back to my friends. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other and tried to act as if I hadn’t noticed his indifference. “I’m Zack, by the way.” I extended my hand.

He looked a little confused. In fact, by my estimation, he was embarrassed by the fact that I was being so pathetic and insistently trying to get his attention.

He shook my hand just before the bartender put my drink in front of me. “Gabriel,” he said curtly. “Nice to meet you.” I was reaching into my pocket to retrieve my wallet to pay for my drink when he pushed himself off his barstool and began making preparations to walk away.

For some reason, sensing that he was almost desperate to get away from me made me a little angry. Shit. It wasn’t as if I’d tried to molest him. I’d just offered to buy him a drink and tried to start up a little conversation. My irritation suddenly overshadowed my insecurity, and as I pushed a couple of bills onto the bar, I interrupted his retreat.

“No sense in giving up your seat.” I pushed as much nonchalance and confidence into my voice as I could. “I’m headed back to my friends anyway.” I lifted my margarita in a mock toast, trying to give the impression that I had decided his existence on this earth couldn’t have been any more insignificant to me. “Have a good evening. Enjoy the music. And,” I said as I pushed off the bar, “go easy on pillaging those beer bottles. They’re a protected species.”

I turned away before offering him an opportunity to respond. I didn’t want my joke to be mistaken as an attempt to further promote conversation. I walked back to my group of friends and to an overtly expectant Declan.

“Well?” he asked enthusiastically. “Did you get his number?”

“Hardly,” I answered glumly. “I got little more than an invitation to drop dead.”

“Really?” he continued a little disbelievingly. “Was he a dick?”

“No,” I continued, still feeling a little dejected. “Not a dick, just not interested. Add my most recent attempt to fly to the growing list of aviation fatalities. Guess I’d better start wearing an inflammable suit when I go out. The crash isn’t so bad, I just hate the burn.” I gave him a weak smile as I lifted my margarita and took a generous gulp. “Here’s to ‘Go Greyhound.’ I’m thinking about giving up flying all together.”

He again threw his arm around my shoulder and gave me another encouraging squeeze. “His loss, dude. Forget it.” He smiled broadly. “Going out is like fishing. Sometimes you catch a few.” His smile widened. “Some you have to throw back. And sometimes”—he was now beaming and holding up his drink like a trophy—“you don’t catch shit. Point is, just to concentrate on enjoying the fishing trip.”

“Easy for you to say, oh master fisherman. I’ve never known you not to land anything less than ten inches.” Now it was my turn to grin. “And we’re not talking tuna.”

He looked across the bar as he slapped me on the back. “Hey, look over there.” He motioned with his chin. “The guy you were talking to has his arms wrapped around another dude, and it doesn’t look like it’s because they’re brothers. No wonder he didn’t talk to you, Zack,” he said, looking at me earnestly, “he’s got a boyfriend.”

I glanced over my shoulder and confirmed his impression. Gabriel and the other guy were lost in one another’s eyes. It was obvious they had something going on.

“Terrific.” I stared into my drink. “Nothing like throwing yourself to the wolves when the prize isn’t even available. No big deal. He probably wouldn’t have liked me anyway.”

“Zack.” Declan grabbed my chin gently and forced me to look at him. “Why do you go there? Why do you always get down on yourself? The guy has a boyfriend. He probably would have blown you off if you’d been a
GQ
model with a degree in rocket science who worked for NASA. It’s not about you. He’s taken.”

To be sure his admonishment was getting through, Declan held my gaze and spoke with even more conviction. “You’re too tough on yourself. You only concentrate on the rejections. You never give yourself credit for all the guys who have been interested in you. Worse, you’re completely oblivious to all the guys you yourself aren’t attracted to.”

So as to emphasize his point, he directed me to look over my shoulder to the other side of the bar. “Without being obvious, look at that Hispanic guy sitting with his friends at the table in the corner. Next to the banana plant. He hasn’t been able to take his eyes off you since the moment you walked in, and he’s good-looking to boot. Trouble is, he doesn’t work out, so because he lacks a rack of solid muscle, he has no prayer of catching your attention.” Declan looked at me even more intently. “Does that mean he should go home and cry in his porridge? Or should he keep looking until he finds someone who thinks skinny guys are hot?”