Where Nerves End

jeans and an old T-shirt. Still jeans, but with a button-up shirt and a silver chain that rested across my collarbones. My lucky chain, as Wes had always called it. Dont know about that, since Id been wearing it when I met him.
I went downstairs and made a quick exit, and when I drove out of the quiet little cul de sac, I didnt go anywhere near Lights Out. Yeah, the books needed attention, but I wasnt behind on them or anything, and concentration wasnt happening tonight. The only place I needed to be was somewhere other than my house.
So instead of driving to Lights Out, I went to the opposite end of Hacktown to Jacks. Sure, it was one of my biggest competitors, but I wasnt going out on the prowl in front of members of my payroll.
I parked on the street and walked the half block to the club. At the door, a bouncer took five dollars for the cover charge and gestured for me to go on in.
Though Id never set foot in this place, it was familiar in the way all clubs became familiar after a few hundred visits. The same neon signs for the same beer brands, from Budweiser to the local microbrews. The crack of pool balls occasionally punctuating the constant murmur of chatter and the thumping bass from the music playing beside the dance floor. Loners by the bar, couples in the corners, everyone else somewhere in between.
More booths and barstools were empty than occupied. Typical of a Wednesday. Friday or Saturday, thered be far more options, but I couldnt get away from my own club on those nights, so the midweek crowd would just have to do. And thin or not, the crowd offered plenty of choices: the cowboy wannabe in tight jeans and a tipped hat, the wide-eyed and terrified college kid probably setting foot in a gay bar for the first time, the forty-something with five hundred dollar highlights. Even after Id weeded out the too young, the too aggressive, and the too married—hey, I had standards too—there was no shortage of the willing and the good-looking.
I was in no hurry. I had what I wanted—an escape from home—and Id find someone before the bartenders called last call. For the patient man, this place was a one-night stand waiting to happen, and I was a very, very patient man.
I took a seat at the bar and continued scanning the crowd. Some of these guys were familiar. Hell, Id probably seen most gay men in Tucker Springs come through the door of Lights Out at one time or another, so of course Id recognize some of the faces here tonight. Maybe theyd recognize me, maybe they wouldnt. It had been known to happen. I usually found out after the fact they were more attracted to my wallet than me, but most of the time, we both got a decent night out of it before I found out he was a gold digger and he found out I was severely lacking in gold.
I recognized the bartender from somewhere, and apparently it was mutual, because his expression soured after a seconds worth of eye contact. Oh yeah. I remembered him. He interviewed for a bartending position at Lights Out a few months ago after one of my guys quit. I even thought about hiring this kid until he opened his mouth and let his attitude show.
“Rum and Coke,” I said.
“Rum and Coke,” he repeated. “Thatll be four-fifty.”
Even as I pulled out my wallet and drew out a five and a one, I watched him mix the drink. He probably thought I was smugly scrutinizing his technique and reminding myself why I hadnt hired him. In reality, I just wanted to make sure he didnt throw in a spitball or some pocket lint just for spite. With the way his interview had gone, I wouldnt have put it past him.
He finished making my drink and slid it across the bar on a square green napkin. I paid him, tipping him properly, and with my glass in hand, turned to take in the scenery.
I didnt need liquor to work up the courage to approach someone. As much as Michael could render me tongue-tied, I could hold my own when it came to playing the games men played between flirting and fucking. No, the alcohol was to settle the nerves that had driven me out of my own house tonight. Calm down, then put on the game face and find what I came for.
The first to catch my eye was a guy with curly blond hair over by the dartboards, but a tan line on the third finger ruled him out. Guy leaning over the closest pool table? Cute ass, but way too young. I might have approached the one leaning against the wall with a blue Mohawk and an “Im too cool to be here” smirk if I hadnt recognized him. The Mohawk had been