“I don’t do silly. However, I’ll make you a deal.” Sean pulled a golf ball from his pocket and set it on the grass. “I’ll do whatever you want…within reason—if you hit the ball from the tee.”
“Easy.” I made a production of perfecting my grip, then widened my stance over the ball and wiggled my ass before pulling the club back and walloping the ball. “Next.”
Sean opened and closed his mouth comically. “You said you’ve never played.”
“I haven’t. But I’m a pro on the miniature golf course.” I grinned as I tapped a finger against my chin thoughtfully. “Let’s see…break dance?”
“No.” Sean moved to the tee, set another ball down, and swung his club.
“Somersault.”
“No.” He set another ball on the tee and swung again.
“Hmm. Handstand.”
“No.”
“I have a good one.”
“No.”
“It’s really good, though. Let’s switch shirts.”
Sean chuckled. “You just said that being seen in a polo shirt is a fate worse than death.”
“And I stand by that, but—oh! Better idea. We’ll switch underwear.”
He hit one more ball, then turned to me, pulling his sunglasses off. His smile grew to a wide grin that lit his eyes to perfection. “I cannot believe I’m having his conversation, but…if I recall correctly, you’re not wearing any underwear at all.”
“True, but I meant tomorrow. All day. Not trying something on and tossing it aside. I want you to be committed to the banana hammock.”
“I think I require an eggplant hammock,” he replied in a serious tone.
I snorted as I stepped up to hit a couple of balls. “Truth. Mine are a smidge smaller, but I brought a pair I think will look even better on you.”
He moved to my side, fixing his gaze on my mouth. “What does it look like?”
I hit a ball, struck a pose, and turned with a wink. “You’ll see.”
We stayed out on the course longer than I thought we might before making our way to the clubhouse for happy hour. Sean commandeered a prime table for two at a corner window with lush vistas of the grounds. We ordered drinks and nachos, then settled in our chairs, lost in our own thoughts.
After a minute or two, I scooted closer and nudged my knee against his. “What are you thinking?”
Sean smiled. “I’m thinking this is the most relaxed I’ve felt in a long time. Cheers.”
I tapped my gin and tonic to his and took a sip. “It’s beautiful here. You should come more often.”
“I know. It’s been a strange couple of months. I didn’t have time. Harry and Darren are my excuse to come for business, but they’ve driven in to LA and…” He looked away with a sigh. “It feels good to be here now. That’s all that matters.”
“So you have a nightclub here too. Is it like Vibes?” I asked.
“Yes. We get the WeHo crowd too. Lots of familiar faces in town. When someone looks familiar and I can’t remember where I’ve seen them, the answer is usually Vibes.”
“Right,” I drawled lasciviously. “Out there bumpin’ and grinding with the hot, shirtless hunks. I see how it is. Lucky bastard.”
He chuckled softly. “Not a chance. You’ll never see me dancing with anyone at either club.”
“Why not?” I thanked the waiter when he set our nachos on the table, then scooped guacamole onto a chip and popped it in my mouth.
“It’s a business for me, not a playground.”
“Are you saying you have ethical concerns about dancing with shirtless hunks?”
“No. My ethical and moral compasses are intact,” he replied, reaching for a chip.
“I know. So, why can’t you dance? Or…is it that you don’t know how?” I teased.
Sean rolled his eyes. “It’s just business. That’s all. Have a chip to go with that guac.”
“I love guac. This is good.” I finished swallowing, then sipped my cocktail. “Do you ever dance at your clubs?”
“No.”
“But you drink at your bar.”
“That’s different. I’m forty-five and—”
“Forty-five-year-olds dance too, Einstein. You’re a curious one, Mr. Gruen. You use age as a weapon. Too old, too young. Maybe it’s all just too gay.”
“That doesn’t make sense. I’m out and proud.” He lifted his drink in a mock toast.
“Sort of.”
Sean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means…nothing in life is really black or white. Everything is in shades of gray. Trust me, I’m living proof.” I pointed to my eyes before continuing. “You may be gay or bi or whatever, but you reveal yourself differently to others depending on the circumstance. Kids notice that their parents speak to teachers, friends, and work associates in completely different tones based on what the situation calls for and what they deem appropriate. Are you following me?”
“Yes.”
“Even people with faulty filters have a built-in governor for voice modulation. You, my friend, govern your gayness.” I smiled to take the sting from the sentiment, but I didn’t think it worked.
The creases at the corner of his eyes deepened. “How?”