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Chris blew out a breath; he felt the guy hear it in the way he smiled, shook his head a little bit.
His heart beating a little faster, he looked again—a suit this time, but the shirt was open and the face obscured; great body, but it screamed ‘I’m just here to get my dick wet’—and Chris was speaking again like he couldn’t quite believe his own audacity.
“He’s not going to reciprocate.”
The guy actually chuckled this time. He exited the profile without doing anything further—no block, no favourite—and Chris smiled curiously at the side of his head. Did this guy like being used?
The line moved them to the front and Chris felt annoyed—just that slight movement shifted the energy, broke the little bubble they’d been in.
None of the bartenders came over to them though and he glanced back at the guy; he’d obviously deduced the same and fixed his gaze back on his phone.
Chris didn’t bother to pretend he wasn’t looking. And okay, this one was nice looking in sunnies at the park, hugging a chocolate-coloured Labrador, but, “Way too young,” Chris said.
The guy huffed a laugh, blocked the kid and pocketed his phone.
Chris knew this was the moment he needed to say something. The guy looked at him, an appraisal in that look, and he was about to say something too, and Chris held eye contact, his heart beating faster—
“What can I get you?” came from in front of him.
He startled and felt the moment break.
“Six pints of the pale,” he said, dropping his volume as much as he could, “and a Slippery Nipple.”
The guy next to him snorted a laugh. Chris looked back, relieved for the new opening, but embarrassed too—curse Brendan’s love of ridiculously sweet, terribly named shots.
“It’s not for me,” he said.
“Sure it’s not,” the guy smiled at him. It was a real smile—eye contact held and everything—and Chris couldn’t help smiling helplessly back. Shit, but this guy was hot, and so relaxed in the way he leaned back on his heels, hands resting easy in his pockets as he checked Chris out.
A bartender was in front of him and the guy focused on him, placing a normal order— the boutique pale ale on tap, rather than the standard—and Chris’ drinks appeared. He swiped his card, got the drinks between his hands in a three-pint hold, the shot balanced precariously with a beer, and tried to think of a way to keep this going.
“Well, good luck with all that,” his mind supplied in about the most useless attempt at showing interest he could get.
The guy gave him a languid smile though. “Thanks, you too,” he nodded at the shot.
Chris huffed a laugh. “Jesus, it’s not mine.”
He was met by an open-mouthed smile, perfect white teeth, and Chris got a fluttery feeling. He decided on an impulse he’d put the drinks down and then go over to this guy’s table and tell him to open up the app again, check “nearby”, and point to himself, say something suave like: “That guy definitely reciprocates.”
“What took you so long?” Brendan asked as Chris tried to gracefully place all the drinks onto the table and spilled beer all over his hands.
“Have you seen the line?”
Brendan took the shot and downed it in one go.
Chris rolled his eyes and sat, looked in the other guy’s direction.
The guy was back, setting the drinks down gracefully and saying something to his friends, who all laughed.
Chris felt himself blush for no reason—it’s not like the guy was talking about him.
He tuned back into the conversation, half there and half in his head—to talk to him or not? He glanced up and as if feeling it, the guy looked his way and smiled—nothing too personal, no real interest, just a nice, acknowledging smile. Chris smiled back feeling a little wrongfooted. He dropped his gaze and picked up his beer.
After this pint, he’d go over there.
When he finished it and looked again, the guy was gone, the table filled with a new group.
He was disappointed, but if the guy actually liked him, he’d see him on the app and message.
