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Kazansky regretted his last-minute decision to visit friends in Boston. He should’ve checked the calendar. But it was too late. He was stuck here now.
The main roadways were blocked off for a parade, leaving the sidestreets too congested to get through. Drunks staggered down the sidewalks and weaved between the cars stuck in standstill traffic.
The river was green.
“Can’t we just stay in? Get some food, grab some booze, pick up something at Blockbuster?”
“No way, we gotta show you the city!”
“Maybe you can show me the city next time. When it’s not crawling with drunks and spattered in puke.”
“Nah, it’s always like that.”
They steered clear of the main parade route. Before long, they were sequestered in a dive bar in a squat brick building. Despite the St. Paddy’s Day brouhaha they’d elbowed through on the way, it was quiet and sedate inside the bar.
Kazansky could finally relax as he perched on a barstool, sipping a beer and watching his friends start a game of pool. There were no garish decorations. They didn’t even dye the beer green. It was a haven from the rest of the city.
Kazansky wasn’t looking for any action in a sleepy little dive like this. Still, he wasn’t too surprised when he felt a firm pinch on his asscheek. He always pulled.
He turned to give a cocky, speculative look at the man behind him and froze.
A horrible stress dream had come to life.
Pete Mitchell was in the gay bar.
He was grinning broadly. Swaying just a bit on his feet. He spread a hand across Kazansky’s back—for balance? His cheeks were flushed, pupils blown. Lip prints of various hues decorated his face.
Kazansky looked down at his green shirt.
Kiss Me, I’m Irish.
He clenched his jaw. “Did you just—”
An impish look twinkled in his eyes. “You’re not wearing green.”
Kazansky wet his lips. “I’m not Irish.”
“Everybody’s Irish on St. Patrick’s Day.”
“That was Thursday.”
“Can’t properly celebrate St. Paddy’s on a weekday, Ice.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?”
Mitchell pointed at the window. “Bar crawl. Me ’n some buddies are hitting up every Irish pub in Boston.”
In the window, a curved neon rainbow hung next to an advertisement for Guinness.
Ice put his head in his hands.
He heard Mitchell order a beer. “Dunno where the hell everybody else went though.”
He rubbed his face. Time to strategize. He’d let him finish the drink, then usher him out the door. Hell, he’d even help him find his friends. Between his inebriation and natural obviousness, Mav would never have to realize that he’d caught Kazansky in a gay bar. He’d just play it cool, and get him out of here before anything horribly embarrassing could happen.
He felt a firm pinch again, this time at either side of his waist.
Kazansky elbowed him.
“Will you cut it out?”
Mitchell giggled. “No. Unless—” His hand snaked around his waist. Sure fingers unbuttoned his acid-wash jeans.
Kazansky inhaled sharply and clasped his hand. “The fuck—”
“Jus’ checkin to see if you’re wearin any green.”
Mitchell leaned his chin against his shoulder, looking up at him mischievously. He laced their fingers together.
The owner cleared his throat and nodded at the windows behind them. “Take it to the back room, boys. I don’t wanna get fined.”
Kazansky swatted his hand away and re-buttoned his jeans.
Of course at that very moment, his friends returned.
“Making some new friends are we?”
Mitchell went on tiptoe to drape an arm across his shoulders. “Nah, me’n Ice go way back.”
“Ice?”
“Little pet name for you? You must go way back.”
“What’s the history there?”
“Did you spurn his advances?”
“Break his heart?”
Mitchell laughed and snorted. “Nah, nothin like that.” He seemed almost sober as he turned to look Kazansky in the eyes, inches away. Mitchell’s gaze drifted over him like he was seeing him for the first time. “You are a lot like my ex, though. Tall. Blond. Mean. Stra-strategeric.”
“That’s not a word.”
“Smart, too. Even if…you’re not a better pilot than me.”
“Wait, you’re a pilot?”
“I thought you had a desk job.”
“Desk job? Don’t be crazy. He’s Top Gun.”
There was scattered laughter.
“The existence of Top Gun implies the existence of Bottom Gun. Is that you?”
“Nah.” Mitchell pulled his arm tighter around Kazansky. “We’re wingmen. Equals.”
Kazansky’s friends exchanged skeptical looks.
For the first time all day, a real smile tugged at he corner of his mouth. “But I am Top Gun.”
Mitchell burped loudly.
Undeterred, Kazansky turned his head. “Say it. Say I’m better than you.”
Mitchell got up in his face. Kazansky could feel his warm, beery breath as he looked him in the eye and whispered. “No.”
Ice grinned.
Mitchell’s hands were wandering again. He slid his hands up Kazansky’s shirt and pulled up the collar of his pale pink polo. Then he fished a string of glittering green Mardi Gras beads from his pocket and draped them around Kazansky’s neck.
“So nobody else will getcha.”
“I—” His friends glared daggers at him. “Thanks. I guess.”
Mitchell patted his chest. “Well. I should catch up with the rest. The St. Paddy’s bar crawl waits for no man.”
He watched with mingled relief and bemusement as Mitchell walked to the door like a sailor who hadn’t gotten back his land legs yet.
He took a stumbling step sideways as a leather-clad biker entered.
The biker paused and looked down at him. “Nice shirt.”
Mav gave him a lopsided grin. “Thanks. Been a big hit today.” And he winked.
The biker grabbed the front of his tee and pulled him in for a smooch.
Kazansky’s nails dug into his palm.
His friends leaned forward with rapt interest.
The biker released him and strode to the bar with a spring in his step.
Mitchell looked shocked. Then he blinked a couple times and his trademark cocky lopsided smile spread across his face. He threw his shoulders back and pointed at Kazansky. “You had your chance, sweetheart. This is what happens when you play it safe!” With a flourish of his wrist, he held his palm outwards and sashayed out the door.
His friends exchanged signifiant looks.
Kazansky sat staring at the doorway in a stupor as his beer slowly warmed. His friends quietly gossiped about him. He didn’t snap out of it until they shook his arm and told him it was time to head to Blockbuster.