A Short Story –
Part One
It’s a good night. In terms of atmosphere, at least. Dark and warm, the air just a little heavy with a heady humidity that held a man like a lover.
I peel off my coat as I enter the shadowed alley in the back of the club where I parked my car. Leather may make the look, but it’s damned hot.
Still, a good night in the city, weather-wise. Not so great on all the other fronts. I was supposed to meet someone tonight but, after waiting away a good chunk of my evening for someone who never came, figure it's past time to head home.
I watch as a couple, a little tipsy and a lot horny, stumble out of the club door, helped out by Gabe, his massive hands hard as he shows them the door. The tall man tips his head at me. “Rand,” he greets, as he takes a drag on his cigarette. “Nice night.”
“Could always be better.” I nod back, thinking it a shame the man’s on duty. Gabe’s a good time, if I remember right. Real shame he’s working.
But he is. And, for the first time in three weeks, I’m not. And I’m in the mood for a good time now. Just got off a big sting, a drug ring—little sex thrown in. Vice. I work vice.
Or it works me; six years in and I’m still trying to figure that one out.
I head to my car alone. Again.
My job’s not real conducive to a relationship, you know? Takes me away for long stretches; never letting go till the job’s done. Then there’s always the danger. Got me shot twice. Made me do more bad in the name of good than I’d like to recall. Sometimes the stress of it gets to you too, you know? Gives me a temper sometimes—not proud of it. Not exactly easy to find somebody willing to put up with that for long stretches.
But that’s all right. I like my job and I’m good at it; it’s a good fit. Even without it, I’m not too conducive for relationships either.
It’s why I do thirds. Be the second guy to someone else’s half. Be the less-significant other. It’s easier. On everybody. See each other when you can. Enjoy the hell out of each other. Then walk away. No expectations. No demands. No disappointments.
Except on hot, humid nights like tonight when I’m still fucking alone.
I pause by my car, digging for my keys in my pockets.
“Nice night,” I hear a voice say from the shadows. It’s light, kinda high, like a teenager. Slurred too.
My lips twitch. Just what I need...
I peel off my coat as I enter the shadowed alley in the back of the club where I parked my car. Leather may make the look, but it’s damned hot.
Still, a good night in the city, weather-wise. Not so great on all the other fronts. I was supposed to meet someone tonight but, after waiting away a good chunk of my evening for someone who never came, figure it's past time to head home.
I watch as a couple, a little tipsy and a lot horny, stumble out of the club door, helped out by Gabe, his massive hands hard as he shows them the door. The tall man tips his head at me. “Rand,” he greets, as he takes a drag on his cigarette. “Nice night.”
“Could always be better.” I nod back, thinking it a shame the man’s on duty. Gabe’s a good time, if I remember right. Real shame he’s working.
But he is. And, for the first time in three weeks, I’m not. And I’m in the mood for a good time now. Just got off a big sting, a drug ring—little sex thrown in. Vice. I work vice.
Or it works me; six years in and I’m still trying to figure that one out.
I head to my car alone. Again.
My job’s not real conducive to a relationship, you know? Takes me away for long stretches; never letting go till the job’s done. Then there’s always the danger. Got me shot twice. Made me do more bad in the name of good than I’d like to recall. Sometimes the stress of it gets to you too, you know? Gives me a temper sometimes—not proud of it. Not exactly easy to find somebody willing to put up with that for long stretches.
But that’s all right. I like my job and I’m good at it; it’s a good fit. Even without it, I’m not too conducive for relationships either.
It’s why I do thirds. Be the second guy to someone else’s half. Be the less-significant other. It’s easier. On everybody. See each other when you can. Enjoy the hell out of each other. Then walk away. No expectations. No demands. No disappointments.
Except on hot, humid nights like tonight when I’m still fucking alone.
I pause by my car, digging for my keys in my pockets.
“Nice night,” I hear a voice say from the shadows. It’s light, kinda high, like a teenager. Slurred too.
My lips twitch. Just what I need...
Read Part Two Here
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