The Boat We Row (GxMxM, 18+)

13

Bloody Mary Morning - Willie Nelson

As I walked in, there were some curious gazes toward me from those sitting at the tables which hugged the walls. To the far right side of the place was a pool table with a group of leather vest-wearing men sporting mullets gathered around shooting moves around the table with beer bottles in hand. A set of large wooden boards made up the central dance floor, boots clapping against them to the beat. A live band was playing on a small stage against the left wall, the acoustic guitarists in full cowboy attire along with the banjo, fiddler, and drums. Even through the textured belting of the instruments, I could barely make out the sound of the wood under my chucks creaking as I maneuvered and tables and people.

The bar was a safe destination in my head. I tried not to be too bothered by the increasing pair of eyes that were tugging over to me. I sat between two men, the only seat available. One was burly and rough-looking in overalls and around my father's age and the other was lean-muscled by the rolled up plaid sleeves with a more youthful face. They both half-glanced at me, the younger one making an obvious attempt not to seem too curious.

I pivoted myself around on the barstool to check out the band. It was a different genre of music that I would usually listen to, but it still managed to be honey in my ears. Something about the rhythm and energy, the clear homage to real southern lifestyle and country, was actually invigorating. It's not to say I hadn't heard any likeness to it in Oklahoma which was a big flat farmyard in and of itself.

"What's your name?" I heard gruff yet honeyed male voice ask over the music.

I turned to my left, to the younger man sitting to my left. His eyebrows perked up above a pair of gray eyes lined with almost translucent blonde lashes. I trained my gaze at him, fighting the urge to shyly divert my eyes. However, just as it was tempting to not meet his own gaze, I found it equally difficult to not part with it as he was so easy on the eyes.

"Joey." I confessed.

A smile slipped out from him. "Your parents ain't know that's a boy's name?"

"It's short for Josephine, if that's any better." It seemed I always had to defend my own name's honor.

"That makes sense. I'm Gene. It's short for-"

"Eugene, I know." I interrupted.

He fell silent as he studied me then smiled to himself. He watched my lips and I watched his eyes.

"Do you want a drink?" He asked. I nodded. "You ever tried mescal?"

I shook my head no. "What is it?"

"It's made from agave- a plant. Mexicans make it. It's a kicker though. I don't think a girl handle it."

"Why not?" I snorted.

"'Cause it's deadlier than a rattlesnake, girl."

"Oh. Well, more than a reason to try it then."

"It's probably easy for you to get free drinks from men, huh?" He said, as he called over the bartender. He ordered the two glasses.

"I've only gotten free drinks from one man." I replied, though it didn't mean much to me.

"Damn, he beat me to it." He gave a snarky smile.

Within a minute, the bartender set two whiskey glasses on the coasters in front of us. They were filled with the mere honey-toned liquor and a few cubes of ice. As I rose my glass, intent on at least taking a sip, Gene held his out next to me, offering a toast. I could oblige, and we clanged glasses before each taking a sip. I was too busy watching his stoic expression to prepare myself for the taste that would invade my tongue.