Read Online Bankers' Hours by Wade Kelly - Free Book Online
Authors: Wade Kelly
Tags: gay romance
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grumbled, throwing the blankets back and storming to the bathroom.
I washed up and changed my underwear, returning to my bed.
“Why can’t I find a nice gay guy to dream about?”
I rolled over and closed my eyes. Going out for a beer with Tristan was a bad idea. I liked him too much. I should probably suggest waiting a week or two so my body could calm down. How could I casually hang out with a guy who was the object of way too many fantasies? He had been the main character in my subconscious for about seven wet dreams thus far, and I’d only met him two weeks ago.
I curled my legs up toward my chest and readjusted my feather pillow as I hugged it. A rebellious tear slipped out of my eye, and I felt it roll over my nose and drop onto my hand where it lay on the pillow. I just knew I was going to screw up the friendship before it started. Tristan would end up hating me. I couldn’t make friends with a guy I lusted over. Sunday was doomed.
SATURDAY PASSED as any other Saturday when I worked and helped my mother. We’d done plenty of things together on Saturdays because it never interfered with her mah-jongg tournaments on Sundays. I liked mah-jongg and used to take part in the tournaments until Mel had pointed out that no twenty-something guy played mah-jongg with his mother and her friends.
I’d given it up some time before I’d moved out.
SUNDAY MORNING, while sipping my tea, I got a text from Tristan.
Hey, Grant. I wanted to check in. What time and where do you want to meet? O’Lordans Irish Pub is a nice place. They have good food as well as good beer. You know, in case you want to eat too. We could meet there, or I could pick you up.
Food? He couldn’t have been asking me to dinner. Meet there? I thought about that option, but realized my potential for drunkenness and texted: Can you pick me up?
I didn’t want to explain that I’d never drunk before. I might sound pathetic. He replied and asked for my address, so I happily gave it over. Not having to drive home after would be a good thing.
SUNDAY EVENING I stood in front of the mirror trying to figure out what to wear. Every shirt I owned looked like I was going to work. What was the appropriate attire for a pub? “T-shirt and jeans, probably,” I told myself. I owned one pair of jeans and zero T-shirts. I had seven white undershirts, so I figured if I unbuttoned the front of one of my dress shirts and rolled up the sleeves, it could pass for casual. But which color?
I opened my closet and peered down the line of pressed dress shirts organized by color. Mel was right when he said they were very Easter-eggy. Pastel purple, which was technically lavender, baby blue, sage green, butter, salmon, and three shades of pink—holy crap, I realized I had the entire Easter rainbow lined up in my closet.
I dropped my head back and groaned. No wonder I was undateable.
“I could rearrange them,” I mused, lifting a handful of hangers off the rod and rehanging them in a different order.
I stood there for a full sixty seconds before the chaos overwhelmed me. “Now it looks like Easter threw up,” I said, correcting my mistake. Once they were back in the appropriate spots, I chose a blue one. Blue was good and manly even if it was baby blue. Besides, Tristan had seen this shirt before, and I wasn’t out to impress him. It was a casual beer, much like grabbing lunch with Mel.
I heard a knock and took one last look in the mirror before heading to answer it. I looked fine.
“Hey,” I greeted Tristan as I opened the door and stepped out onto the cement landing. My stomach did a little jig, but my nerves were much less active than when I’d been on dates. This is a beer with my buddy , I reminded myself.
“You look nice,” he commented as he opened the passenger door of his truck.
I glanced down as if I’d forgotten what I was wearing. His compliment threw me. “Um, thanks,” I said. Did straight men compliment their buddies?
I washed up and changed my underwear, returning to my bed.
“Why can’t I find a nice gay guy to dream about?”
I rolled over and closed my eyes. Going out for a beer with Tristan was a bad idea. I liked him too much. I should probably suggest waiting a week or two so my body could calm down. How could I casually hang out with a guy who was the object of way too many fantasies? He had been the main character in my subconscious for about seven wet dreams thus far, and I’d only met him two weeks ago.
I curled my legs up toward my chest and readjusted my feather pillow as I hugged it. A rebellious tear slipped out of my eye, and I felt it roll over my nose and drop onto my hand where it lay on the pillow. I just knew I was going to screw up the friendship before it started. Tristan would end up hating me. I couldn’t make friends with a guy I lusted over. Sunday was doomed.
SATURDAY PASSED as any other Saturday when I worked and helped my mother. We’d done plenty of things together on Saturdays because it never interfered with her mah-jongg tournaments on Sundays. I liked mah-jongg and used to take part in the tournaments until Mel had pointed out that no twenty-something guy played mah-jongg with his mother and her friends.
I’d given it up some time before I’d moved out.
SUNDAY MORNING, while sipping my tea, I got a text from Tristan.
Hey, Grant. I wanted to check in. What time and where do you want to meet? O’Lordans Irish Pub is a nice place. They have good food as well as good beer. You know, in case you want to eat too. We could meet there, or I could pick you up.
Food? He couldn’t have been asking me to dinner. Meet there? I thought about that option, but realized my potential for drunkenness and texted: Can you pick me up?
I didn’t want to explain that I’d never drunk before. I might sound pathetic. He replied and asked for my address, so I happily gave it over. Not having to drive home after would be a good thing.
SUNDAY EVENING I stood in front of the mirror trying to figure out what to wear. Every shirt I owned looked like I was going to work. What was the appropriate attire for a pub? “T-shirt and jeans, probably,” I told myself. I owned one pair of jeans and zero T-shirts. I had seven white undershirts, so I figured if I unbuttoned the front of one of my dress shirts and rolled up the sleeves, it could pass for casual. But which color?
I opened my closet and peered down the line of pressed dress shirts organized by color. Mel was right when he said they were very Easter-eggy. Pastel purple, which was technically lavender, baby blue, sage green, butter, salmon, and three shades of pink—holy crap, I realized I had the entire Easter rainbow lined up in my closet.
I dropped my head back and groaned. No wonder I was undateable.
“I could rearrange them,” I mused, lifting a handful of hangers off the rod and rehanging them in a different order.
I stood there for a full sixty seconds before the chaos overwhelmed me. “Now it looks like Easter threw up,” I said, correcting my mistake. Once they were back in the appropriate spots, I chose a blue one. Blue was good and manly even if it was baby blue. Besides, Tristan had seen this shirt before, and I wasn’t out to impress him. It was a casual beer, much like grabbing lunch with Mel.
I heard a knock and took one last look in the mirror before heading to answer it. I looked fine.
“Hey,” I greeted Tristan as I opened the door and stepped out onto the cement landing. My stomach did a little jig, but my nerves were much less active than when I’d been on dates. This is a beer with my buddy , I reminded myself.
“You look nice,” he commented as he opened the passenger door of his truck.
I glanced down as if I’d forgotten what I was wearing. His compliment threw me. “Um, thanks,” I said. Did straight men compliment their buddies?
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