Free Better Than Friends by Lane Hayes Page A

he had me at the wink.
    We made our way up 17 th Street and continued a friendly banter about music. Paul was a big jazz music fan. I liked it for sure, but I was really a novice about the genre. It was entertaining to see him get worked up about a subject he was passionate about, though. And as shallow as it may have been, the sound of his voice alone was a total turn-on. I could have listened to him talk all night and never heard a word he said. He nudged my arm as we neared the corner of R Street, indicating we were turning. I followed his lead and took a quick look around me.
    The avenue was crowded. Saturday night in the heart of all that was fabulous in DC was always one of my favorite things. Beautiful gay men of all ages, shapes, and sizes were out for a night on the town. Twinks, bears, or regular guys like me…. There was something for everyone. A man dressed in leather from head to toe stepped in front of my path, causing me to shorten my stride. I couldn’t help but notice his ensemble. Frankly, all that leather seemed a bit uncomfortable. He didn’t seem to mind and he did look hot, I mused. I listened to Paul with half an ear as he chatted about Miles Davis and John Coltrane, but I kept my eye on the guy walking in front of me. He stopped abruptly, and I ended up bumping into his shoulder hard. He turned and apologized quickly before disappearing into a hip but dark-looking bar. I read the subtle sign above the window and stopped dead in my tracks. Jack’s.
    My pulse raced at just the sight of his name in lights. I had a sudden urge to go inside.
    I’d been there before. True. But now that I’d met Jack, I was intrigued all over again. Maybe to see if I would view it differently now that I’d met the proprietor. But that was stupid. Nothing had changed. In fact, I was dressed in khakis again… just as I’d been on my one and only prior visit. I didn’t belong there.
    My companion realized he’d lost me. Paul had walked on a few steps without me but turned back to my side and gave me a quizzical look.
    “Are you into leather, then?” His tone was teasing as though leather was the last thing he pictured me in. He was right of course, but for some reason his observation bugged me. I shrugged and laughed, giving him a pointed “as if” look for good measure. Paul grinned good-naturedly as we continued our walk to the jazz bar.
    The rest of the night was nice. It wasn’t special or extraordinary, but it was pleasant. Paul seemed like a good guy, and I’d enjoyed my night away from the bland routine I’d fallen into. After a couple of drinks, we made our way back up the crowded streets toward the restaurant where we’d both left our cars.
    I drank in the sights of the circle, buzzing with bright energy and plenty of visual distractions, while Paul waxed poetic about jazz fusion. I had stopped trying to pay close attention to his words, opting to listen to the gentle cadence of his gorgeous accent. It served as a soothing melodic background noise to some of the more jarring visuals on the street. Like Jack’s. There it was again. This time I couldn’t ignore the almost-magnetic pull I felt at simply seeing his name.
    “Did you valet your car?” Paul inquired as we approached Georges’.
    “Um, no. I found a spot on the street,” I lied. Of course I had valet parked. There were never open parking spots on the street, but I was suddenly anxious and found I didn’t want to linger.
    “Amazing.” Paul smiled wanly as he pulled a ticket from his pocket and handed it to the young man at the valet kiosk.
    We stared at each other for an uncomfortable moment, neither of us sure about what came next. Did we shake hands or hug? I wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was, which may have been the product of too many years between dates and not being completely blown away by our evening together. I didn’t feel a burning desire to kiss him or physically connect with him. Not yet.
    When I couldn’t take