After Rachel left, I realized that I was definitely not dressed for clubbing. So I rushed outside and dug through my glove compartment for a comb and some spare eyeshadow that I kept on hand whenever I had to do touch-ups in the car. There was nothing that could be done about my glasses because I’d left my contacts at home, and the clothes were definitely not ideal, but my large T-shirt, skinny jeans, and checkered slip-ons would have to suffice. Of course, if I was going to be surrounded by other gay people, they’d have higher standards than your typical bar-going crowd. But some things couldn’t be helped.

Part of me wondered if Rachel would keep her word and come back for me after I closed up shop, but just as I was setting the alarm code, she peeled into the parking lot. There were two other people in the car with her—one woman and one man, though they weren’t immediately distinguishable as one or the other. The man was high fem for sure, more so than me.

“This is Mindy and Ben,” Rachel said as I got into the back seat, pointing first to the Asian girl with the butch haircut and then to Ben, who fluttered his fingers at me from the other side of the car. “Mindy and Ben, this is Justin, my old high school bestie.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” Ben said.

“Sorry I’m not dressed up more. I didn’t expect to go clubbing tonight.” I felt a bit sheepish that Ben should see me so out-of-sorts, considering he had actual glitter on his face.

“You look great,” Ben assured me with a tilt of his head. “Very bookish.”

Rachel laughed from the driver’s seat. “Let’s see how bookish he is when you get a few beers in him.”

Ben arched a carefully manicured eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I can get a little wild.”

Rachel pulled out of the parking lot and into traffic. I assumed she’d bring me back when we finished up, or I’d find someone to take me to their place, since that’s usually how my nights ended. Rachel, Ben, and Mindy seemed to have a good relationship as they bantered back and forth, talking about Mindy’s latest girlfriend troubles while Ben offered the occasional mmhm and oh honey please. I felt like an awkward addition to their trio, and I realized why I always got drunk before I partied—because I was awful at acting like a normal confident human being in the presence of strangers. If I were Josh, all these people would be my best friends within twenty minutes. If people didn’t let him into a conversation, he barged in. I tended to keep back until someone dragged me into it, and for now, they were so wrapped up in their own drama that I might as well have been a curtain in the background. I wished that Rachel and I had some one-on-one time to talk about the past five years, but if tonight went well, we could pick another more convenient time.

At the club, we met up with two others, Billy and Candace. Candace was a pretty redhead decked out in a sequin dress, and Billy seemed to be her date, though I couldn’t ascertain whether they were male or female until I was casually informed that they were agender. I was a little new to the queer world beyond gay men, but I did my best to be accommodating. Candace was warmer than the others and asked me a slew of questions about who I was and what I did, though she was interrupted by Rachel butting into the conversation.

“If anyone is going to put him on the hot seat, it’s me,” she said, taking my arm. “Let’s head inside, shall we?”

The club wasn’t large, and there was live music tonight, which meant heavy crowding and no way to hold a conversation that wasn’t directly into someone’s ear drum. By some miracle we were able to snag a booth, but sometimes we had to share it with someone who needed to sit down a moment. I snagged the end of the booth, which meant I couldn’t hear the conversations of anyone who wasn’t directly beside me. Needless to say, I quickly became bored, and I decided I needed a fucking drink.

I didn’t really have the money to buy drinks tonight, but maybe if I worked some charm, someone would buy one for me. I squeezed my way between two men on barstools, but the bartender didn’t notice me on her way to serve the hundred other people vying for her attention, so I sighed and waited.

As I tapped my fingers on the bartop, I scanned the people at the bar. It was hard to see through the flashing lights, but the bartop itself was lit, providing a glow that was enough to illuminate anyone standing nearby. Most of the people at the bar were involved with each other, but I suddenly spotted someone different—and alone.

He was taller than most people there, probably a few inches over six feet, and lean, with long and well-shaped arms covered in tattoos. He looked a bit Asian, though it was hard to tell in this light and from this distance. One side of his head was shaved, and his ears were gauged, the sort of punk rock look that populated a lot of my porn searches as a teenager. Honestly, he could have stepped off stage from a rock concert and no one would doubt his authenticity.

I spotted a word written in Cyrillic text on the side of his neck, which struck me as odd. I’d seen my share of Chinese characters in people’s tattoos, but very little Russian. I wondered if he spoke it. Maybe it was all the vodka I consumed, but I did have a little bit of a thing for Russian.

Suddenly he turned to me and caught my gaze. He was hot in that mysterious stranger kind of way, and the way his mouth turned up in the corner told me that he found me as alluring as I found him. He pushed away from the bar and vanished, and I let out a long breath, wondering why I’d thought I had a chance. But then suddenly he reappeared behind me, shoving his way to the bar so that one tattooed arm was pressed against mine.

“Want a drink?” he asked. He had no accent, but his voice was smooth and confident, like he did this all the time.

“If you’re offering,” I replied, more accustomed to this script than the one required to make new friends.

Because he was tall and because of his extensive tattoos, he had little trouble flagging down a bartender. He didn’t ask me what I wanted, which was good, because I didn’t really care if he was paying.

“Duncan,” he said, twisting around to face me.

“Justin.”

“You here by yourself?” he asked, resting an elbow on the bar.

“Nah, I came with… uh, some people.” I didn’t think I could call them friends. “You here by yourself?”

“Sort of. I came to support some guys I know.” He jerked his chin toward the stage, where the band was playing. “But also because I’m horny.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah, join the club.”

The bartender handed us our drinks—two old fashions. He gave the bartender some bills, not bothering with a tab.

“I like your tattoos,” I told him.

“Thanks. I’m a tattoo artist, actually.”

“Oh? I got mine done by my uncle. He gave me a very steep discount.” I twisted my arm around so he could see the nonsensical designs that covered me from wrist to deltoid, all based on the doodles I’d made while in summer school. “Couldn’t afford them otherwise.”

“Yeah, shit ain’t cheap. I know a woman who works, like, two months out of the year because she pulls in such bank. I’m not that good, but it’s probably the only form of art that pays decent these days.”

“What’s that word on your neck?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“Pravda. Truth.”

“You speak Russian.” I felt a little clenching in my chest and groin. Ooh boy, did I love myself bilingual boys. I used to ask Josh to speak in French to me, an while I was sure he said lots of nonsense, I liked to listen to it anyway.

“Russian and Kyrgyz, yeah.”

“Kyrgyz?”

“The language of Kyrgyzstan. You heard of it?”

“Um.” Not really.

Duncan took a sip from his drink. “No one’s heard of it. The Russians had it for a while, long enough to convince a bunch of Muslims to drink vodka.”

“Are you Muslim?”

Duncan snorted. “Fuck no. My mom is.” He shrugged, then downed the rest of his drink in one gulp. “We can get into it if you want. Or we can go to my place.”

Talk about direct. I was glad not to be the only one hard up. I finished my old fashioned as well and put the empty glass on the bar. “Let me tell my friends and I’ll meet you… did you drive?”

“Yeah. I live a few miles away.”

“I’ll meet you in the parking lot then.”

“Alright then, Justin.” He gave me a hungry look before disappearing into the crowd with such skill that I almost wondered if he’d been conjured by my horny mind.

I wove my way through the crowd until I was back at our booth. Billy and Candace were missing, but Ben, Mindy and Rachel were laughing about something.

“Where the fuck did you go for so long?” Rachel asked me.

“Got a drink and met someone. I’m gonna actually go and get dicked down, so, uh, thanks for inviting me.”

“Wait, what? Already? Fucking—are you serious?”

“I work fast.”

“Are you going to the bathroom or—”

“No, I’m going to his place.”

“Give me your goddamn phone number then, you slut,” Rachel chided, digging through her purse for her phone. “And text me in a few hours so I know that you’re safe.”

“I’ve done this a million times, Rachel.”

“Yeah, so? What, are you invincible to serial killers or something?” She finally found her phone and tapped her way to her contacts. “I make all my friends do this, and I do this, too. It’s a safety measure.”

Part of me was annoyed, but I was also flattered that she cared enough to worry about me. So I gave her my number, and she insisted several more times that I call her if I needed a ride home or a call to the police. Considering the two beers already finished in front of her, I didn’t think she’d be ready to drive me back to the liquor store. I would probably call an Uber.

I told Mindy and Ben that it was nice to meet them before I scuttled off. They seemed like nice people, but they all knew each other so well and I was a stranger to them. It was best to leave them to their fun and seek out some fun of my own.