Chapter 7

I had no idea what to wear to a gay nightclub. I thought about calling Miguel to ask, but it was embarrassing. I was a thirty-year-old man. I should've known how to dress myself. Then my shoulders slumped. I wasn't used to going to clubs, gay or otherwise. Most of my friends had faded away after high school, and I didn't really get along with the guys I worked with. A lot of racist and homophobic bullshit spilled out of their mouths on a regular basis. More than once, I had to remind them my mother was half-Black. That would shut them up for a little while, but I was really tired of it.

Then there was Miguel. My friendship with him came as something of a surprise. I remembered the first time I'd seen him at his cousin Raphael's wedding at Moonlight Inn. He'd just been hired as the assistant manager and had jumped in with both feet. He helped me set up the outdoor bar before the ceremony and then helped keep things running smoothly after. I remembered being surprised by the makeup, but I thought it suited him. He'd seemed shy at first. But then I'd realized he was making sure he could trust me not to be an asshole toward him before he let his guard down. The fact that I found myself looking for him when I came into work and tracking him when he walked into the dining room was still a puzzle to me.

Our night out at Watermark had been a lot of fun. I'd been pleasantly surprised by how much we had to talk about. And he never once put me down for not going to college or being a mechanic.

I sighed and went to my closet. I had a few nice shirts and pairs of pants saved for weddings and such. I pulled out a couple of shirts I thought might work but then put them back, still unsure. I knew I would have to bite the bullet and call Miguel. I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his best friend.

I pulled out my phone and hit his number. He answered on the first ring. "Hey, Zach. What's up?"

I huffed a frustrated breath. "I don't know what to wear tonight."

There was a brief silence before he said, "Okay. Do you want some help with that?"

"It's stupid. I should know what to wear. But I don't go out to clubs." I groaned. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have bothered you."

"It's okay," Miguel soothed. "How about I come to your place instead of meeting at Kim Marie's pub? Then we can take a rideshare there together."

"Are you sure? I feel like an idiot. But I don't want to embarrass you in front of your friends."

"Hey," Miguel admonished. "You're my friend too. I could never be embarrassed by you." I heard movement on his end. "I'm going to finish getting ready. You're in Bradley Beach, right?"

"Yeah," I replied, overwhelmed by his casual acceptance.

"Okay. Text me your address, and I'll be there in about half an hour."

After I texted Miguel my address, I panicked. My place was nowhere near as nice as his. It was small and a little messy since my week had been hellish. I hurried to pick up the clothes I hadn't bothered to put in the hamper and wash the few dishes in the sink. After that, I took a nail brush and some Gojo and worked to remove the grease that remained under my fingernails even after my shower.

I was drying my hands when I heard Miguel coming up the outside stairs that led to my apartment above my landlord's garage. I went to open the door for him before he could knock. He wore the same coat as the night we went to Watermark, but it was buttoned up so I couldn't see what he had on underneath. In contrast to what he'd worn to Watermark, his makeup tonight was bolder. His eyeliner was thicker and darker, and his gray eyeshadow had sparkling highlights. His already long eyelashes were further lengthened by a generous application of mascara. He looked amazing.

I must have stood there staring for too long because he cleared his throat. I hurriedly opened the door wider, feeling myself blush. "Come on in," I said.

Miguel walked in wide-eyed and curious. "Nice place. It's cozy. I'll bet you get a lot of light in the daytime."

"Yeah, I do." I walked with him into the open-plan living room and kitchen. "It's small, but I like it," I said.

He made a small squeak and hurried over to my keyboard, which was on a stand in the corner of the living room. "It's Cody's ‘no!'"

I stared at him. "I'm surprised you remember that." A little before Christmas, I'd had Cody in the hotel dining room because Allie hadn't picked him up from me before I had to go to work. Cody had made a break for it and started pounding on the hotel's Steinway grand piano. At the time, he couldn't say piano, so he kept saying, "No!" It'd been pretty cute. Miguel had rescued the piano and charmed my nephew at the same time.

"Of course I remember," Miguel said. "That boy's as cute as a button."

I had to smile. "Yeah, he is. It turns out he has a speech delay, which was why he couldn't say piano. They picked it up in preschool. He's working with a speech therapist now."

"That's good," Miguel said. "The earlier, the better." He ran his hand over the keyboard. "This is a pretty nice keyboard. Do you play a lot?"

I shrugged. "I haven't in a while because I work too damn much. I really like to play, and I'm pretty good at it. I wish I had more time."

He shook his head. "I don't get why you work so much. I thought mechanics made pretty good money."

"Most do," I said with a bitter twist to my mouth. "But Jeff is a cheap bastard. And he took away my Saturday because of my National Guard training. Plus, I help Allie pay for some things for Cody. She went to community college and got an associate's degree in early childhood education. I helped with some of the expenses. She was going to go on to a four-year college, but Cody came along and she never did it. She could only get a certificate to work in a daycare, which doesn't pay very well."

"Wait. Back up," Miguel said, his brow creased in a frown. "Your boss won't let you work on Saturdays because you serve your country one weekend a month and two weeks a year? What the actual fuck?"

"I guess I shouldn't complain about not having to work on Saturday, but I need the extra money. That's why I'm so glad your brunch idea worked out so well. I make a lot more in tips now."

"Maybe it's time you found a new place to work," Miguel said.

"Maybe," I replied. "Jeff is my dad's friend. He gave me a job at sixteen when I needed the money so we could have food in the house." I sighed. "I guess I feel like I owe him."

Miguel put his hands on his hips. "Do you or do you not work your ass off for him?"

"I do."

"Then you don't owe him anything. You deserve better."

I smiled at the fact he was sticking up for me. "I'll think about it."

"See that you do," he said. He waved his hand airily at my bedroom door, which was just off the main space. "Now, let's have a look in your closet."

My stomach tightened at the thought of the ever-put-together Miguel seeing my sad wardrobe, but there was nothing for it if I didn't want to embarrass him in front of his friends. I led the way into my bedroom and opened the closet door. Miguel took off his coat and threw it on my bed and my brain stopped working for a second. He wore a pinstriped sheer black long-sleeved shirt dotted all over with tiny silver sequins. Miguel's mouth twitched into a smirk, and he raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay?"

I blinked and cleared my throat. "Uh. Yeah. Sorry. You look really nice."

He smiled, and a little bit of color tinged his cheeks. "Thanks."

Miguel then strode to my closet and started going through my meager offerings. He hummed thoughtfully, looking back at me a few times before returning to the hangers. Finally, he made a pleased sound and pulled out a blue button-down I'd worn to a wedding last year. He crooked his fingers to beckon me closer. "Come here." He held the shirt against my body, looking up at my face and back down at the shirt several times. He nodded sharply. "Yep, this is perfect. Slate blue. It makes those pretty blue eyes of yours pop."

Miguel thought my eyes were pretty? How many times was my brain going to stall in one night? "Uh, thank you," I said.

He handed me the shirt. "Do you have black jeans?"

I nodded. "Yeah. I don't wear them much, so they should look decent."

"Good. Put those on with the shirt while I look for shoes."

"In here?" I asked, my voice rising an octave.

Miguel rolled his eyes, but the bright sparkle in them had dimmed. "Honey, you don't have anything I haven't seen before. I promise your virtue is safe with me."

Great. Now I sounded like a homophobic asshole. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I guess this whole thing freaks me out because I keep feeling like I don't measure up."

His expression softened. "Zach, I don't know who told you that, but I really want to kick their ass."

"My last girlfriend might give you a run for your money. She was mean when she was pissed."

"Yeah, well, I can get pretty mean myself." He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe I'll sic Albert on her."

"I'd pay money to see that," I said with a chuckle. I sighed. "She was also homophobic. It was one of the reasons I broke up with her."

Miguel shook his head. "She didn't deserve you."

"Thanks," I said quietly. Hearing Miguel say those things about me did something to my heart. When I bothered to date, most times, it didn't last long because I worked too much and got so dirty at work. I'd mostly given up after my last date called me white trash.

Miguel pointed at me. "That right there. What is that expression for? You're breaking my heart."

"It's nothing," I replied. "I was just thinking about the last woman I dated." He crossed his arms and glared at me. I huffed a breath. "She said I was white trash because my hands looked dirty."

Miguel dropped his head back and groaned. Then he threw up his hands. "That's it. Any woman you date has to be run by me first."

I laughed. "I might never get another one. I seem to be pretty bad at picking them."

"I'm sure you'll find someone," he murmured as he turned back to my closet.

I set the shirt on my bed and got my jeans out of my dresser drawer. I took off my sweatpants and pulled on the jeans. After I zipped up my pants, I pulled off my sweatshirt and went to get my shirt. When I picked up my shirt, I noticed Miguel standing by my closet, staring at me. I looked down at myself. "Is everything okay? Do I have something on me?"

"No." His voice sounded choked. He cleared his throat. "No. You're fine. Very fine." He pointed at my arm. "Nice dragon."

I glanced down at the red dragon tattoo on my upper arm. "Yeah, I like it a lot. I've always had a thing for fantasy. I played DD in high school. I haven't played in a long time because I don't know anyone with a game going."

Miguel blinked. "I think I heard Liam talking about a DD game he was in. I'll ask him next time I see him." He held up a pair of motorcycle boots. "How about these? They'd go well with what you're wearing. Almost wearing." He swallowed hard, and I noticed his cheeks were pink. "Shirt. You should probably put on your shirt."

And then it hit me. Miguel liked what he saw. Warmth filled me. It felt nice to have Miguel think I was attractive. I froze for a second. What the hell was that about? I put on my shirt and buttoned it, leaving the top two undone.

I was about to button the cuffs, but Miguel stopped me. "Leave them unbuttoned and roll the sleeves up to just below your elbow." He set my motorcycle boots down and helped me roll my sleeves neatly. He stepped back and looked me up and down. "Very nice. All the boys will want to come to your yard."

I felt myself blush. "If you say so." I picked up my boots and sat on the bed to put them on. "I forgot I had these," I said. "A guy down the street gave them to me after I fixed his Harley for him."

Miguel picked up his coat. "I didn't know you fixed motorcycles."

I finished tying my boots and went to the closet to get my leather jacket. "Yeah. I really like doing it. I took a course on how to fix the older model Harleys. I wanted to take the course to learn how to fix the late models, but I didn't have the time or money. I taught myself a lot, but it's not enough to get me hired at a Harley place."

Miguel buttoned up his coat. "Maybe someday you'll have the time and money to do it."

I put on my jacket. "Maybe." I spread my arms. "How do I look?"

"Perfect."