Chapter 2

Dane gives him one of his self-conscious smiles, the ones Krish loves to kiss away. When he slides into the booth and sets the mugs down in front of them, Krish lets his hand find Dane’s leg in the darkness beneath the table and trails up until it rests in the joint where thigh meets groin. He can feel the pillowy softness at his lover’s crotch, and another smile from Dane makes him wonder why they’re here at all. We should be home,he thinks, watching Dane sip his latté. The game on TV and the two of us naked on the couch…now that’s what I call an evening.Nodding at the bar, Krish says, “She was all over you.”

Dane looks at him over the top of his mug as he blows on the latté to cool it down. “What?” he asks, following Krish’s gaze.

The girl behind the bar sees him and waves. “Dane,” Krish sighs.

“She’s just being friendly,” Dane says, waving back.

Krish doesn’t buy that for a minute. “You don’t have to encourage her,” he mutters. He sips his latté, grimaces at the bitter taste, sets the drink down and pushes it aside. “Why did I let you talk me into this again?”

Beneath the table, Dane’s hand slips into Krish’s. He may be a little on the thin side, but Dane has big hands, calloused from his guitar, and Krish thinks that old adage is true, about the size of a man’s hands, because Dane’s got nothing to be ashamed of in thatdepartment, either. Another reason to go home now, salvage what’s left of the evening by making love on the sofa…in front of the TV preferably, so he can hold Dane close and watch the end of the game when they’re done.

“Randy Blake,” Dane explains, giving Krish’s hand a squeeze before he lets go. He cranes his neck to look around but the stage at the far end of the room is still dark, no one on the mike yet. “He should go on by eight…”

Krish doesn’t answer. Randy Blake is not exactly his idea of a good time—the guy’s a local musician, a favorite of Dane’s, but he’s pushing forty, and with dark hair in that shag style that went out in the 80’s, a full beard and mustache, he looks more at home on Bob Villathan in the Dharma. So he can strum a guitar and hum a few bars, so what? He’s not all that.

But to hear Dane tell it, the guy invented the six-string. When he sings, the heavens open up and the world stops turning, Dane’s eyes get this faraway look in them that makes Krish throbwith envy—why can’t hesing like that? Why can’t he put that almost orgasmic smile on his lover’s face with his voice alone? He has to remind himself it’s nothing, just a celebrity crush, if Randy Blake could even be calleda celebrity—he’s known at the Dharma and the bookstores around town, a few of the college girls swoon over him when he sings on campus, that’s about it. As Dane sips his drink, Krish brushes the hair back off his shoulder, lets his fingers feather through the silky length, and his lover’s smile is all he needs to assure himself Randy Blake isn’t anything to worry about. Sure, we came to see him,he reasons, tenderly tracing the curve of Dane’s cheek with one knuckle, but you’re leaving with me.Softly, even though there’s no one else nearby to overhear, Krish whispers, “I love you.”

There’s that smile again, the duck of the head that makes Dane’s hair fall across his eyes, and his hand presses into Krish’s lap, stirring his groin. “Love you, too,” he murmurs, and before Krish can pull away, Dane gives him a quick peck on the cheek. He’s the open one, the singer, the poet—he doesn’t think twice about touching or kissing or hugging in public. Krish still has to remind him at times to tone it down in front of his parents. “Thanks for coming, babe. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

Krish doesknow; that’s why he’s here. He toys with his mug, running his finger around the rim, not really interested in drinking the tepid latté. I want to go home,he thinks, but Dane’s hand is a warm, pleasing weight on his thigh and a glance at his watch tells him he’s going to miss the game anyway, he might as well enjoy himself. If Dane’s right, they have a few more minutes before that Blake guy goes on, and then maybe an hour of crappy songs, his cover of “Me and Bobby McGee”—everyone does that song at the Dharma, everyone, without fail. He’s already thinking beyond that, though, to their small apartment and the two of them crawling into the full-sized futon they share, and because he came downtown tonight Dane will snuggle up against him beneath the covers, stroke his lower belly right above the hair that kinks where his legs meet, kiss his neck and sing to him softly in his bedroom voice. He’ll want to show Krish how much he appreciates this, coming out to hear Randy Blake when he knows the guy doesn’t do anything for his lover—that’sthe real reason Krish is here. Admit it, he tells himself. You just want to get laid.He can stand a few hours of listening to bad music and sipping pretentious coffee if it makes Dane happy.