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'd never had straight male friends, other than Mel, so I shrugged it off as a possible maybe. Tristan had always been pleasant at the bank, so this was probably his nature.
Ironically, he was also wearing blue-a blue T-shirt that said something about a Dogfish Head. I would have to look that one up when I got home, because I wasn't sure why heads of dogfish were appealing, or even if dogfish were real fish. For all I knew they could be mythical creatures like jackalopes.
"Are you hungry? I know I mainly suggested beer, but they do have good food." Tristan turned onto Route 27 and glanced at me as he watched the road in front of us.
"Not really. I ate some leftover stew an hour ago."
"Oh."
"Yeah. My sink decided to clog, and it took a few hours to take it apart and clean it. Then I had to put it all back together and make sure it didn't leak. It was a whole ordeal, and by the time I was finished and showered, I was hungry. Besides, you said we were going out for a beer."
"Yes, you're right. That's what I said."
I didn't understand why he sounded disappointed. I'd eaten because I'd been hungry an hour ago. This wasn't a date, so I didn't see the big deal.
"I noticed you're wearing your glasses."
"Um, yeah. My eyes were red this morning so I opted for the glasses. I probably look nerdy, but I hope that's okay for a pub. I've never been to one."
He chuckled. "Guys wear glasses in pubs, Grant. It's not a parochial school with a dress code. You're fine."
Was he laughing at me or with me? I ignored it.
After parking in a garage next to a stone building, he said, "So you've never been to a pub before?"
"No."
He locked the truck, and we walked side by side to the entrance and down a sidewalk next to the building. "Then I'm glad I picked this one. It's nice. I've never seen drunken disorder or rowdiness except maybe on Saint Patrick's Day." He opened the door for me and I went inside.
THE EVENING went better than I expected. We talked about some of his adventures in the Navy. He'd enlisted and been deployed shortly after his daughter had been born, and went to college for four years after he'd gotten out. Tristan said he didn't regret being in the Navy, but he'd been grateful his father had asked him to take over the family business while he went to college because it had given him a valid excuse to change careers. He said, "Being away on a ship so often right after Claire was born just about killed me. I missed her a lot."
He didn't talk about his daughter's mother, and I wasn't sure why they weren't together, but he did tell me he had Claire with him every other weekend and two weeks in the summer. He sounded pleased.
I also learned that he loved craft beers, and Dogfish Head was a brewery. I made a mental note.
"So, this was fun," Tristan said as we walked out of the pub and headed to his truck. I was glad he'd picked me up, because I was feeling lightheaded even after the one beer.
"Yeah. I can't say I've ever gone out drinking before."
"I'd hardly call one beer drinking. It's more like sampling." We walked up the sidewalk toward the parking garage. I stumbled on an uneven part of the pavement, and Tristan grabbed my arm. "Whoa," he said. "You okay? I guess one really is your limit, if you're walking sideways."
I snorted. "No. I'm fine. It's that bit of sidewalk," I said as I turned around and pointed.
"Okay there, soldier, anything you say," he mocked. I don't think he believed me.
We entered the lower level of the garage, and I glanced around. Nothing looked familiar. "Where'd you park?"
"Second level."
"What'd you drive?"
"Blue Dodge Dakota. It's this way." He waved me to follow. "I can't believe you're this tipsy after one drink. I think next time we need to eat first."
"I'm f-fiiine," I slurred, exaggerating my speech on purpose.
He stopped, regarding me seriously. "You're kidding, right?"
I smiled. "Of course I am. My head might feel a little woozy, but I'm not drunk." I scoffed at the notion.
Tristan smiled. "Come on, you." He rolled his eyes and pinched my sleeve, bidding me to follow. I'd probably follow him anywhere-he had a nice ass. We got in his truck, and Tristan backed out of the parking space.
I commented, "I had a great time. I kind of wish it didn't have to end, but we both work tomorrow."
He stopped at the light, looked my way, and smiled. I think he'd smiled the entire night. "Me too. But hey, we can do it again another time. I'd like to take you out on a real date. We could have dinner and maybe catch a movie."
Maybe I was drunk, because it had sounded like he said date. "Wait … what?" I screwed up my eyes and stared at him across the seat.