Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63311 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 253(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
I reached for my wineglass and took a sip. “Done what?”
“Turned the tables on me. You have a talent for asking one question and turning it into twenty. You did that at the bar the night we met, and you’re doing it now,” he accused with a laugh.
I huffed indignantly. “You’re supposed to trade bits and pieces of information to get to know someone. It’s called being friendly.”
“No, it’s called intentional coercion. And I’m mindlessly being led by my cock.” Graham furrowed his brow, shifting to rest his bare foot on the rung of my barstool.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m not in the habit of inviting cute men into my home to stay for pizza. Especially not ones who steal covers in the middle of the night and don’t rinse their toothpaste spit from the sink,” he scoffed without heat.
I grinned like a fool. “I’m flattered.”
“You should be.” He brushed crumbs onto his plate and refilled our glasses. “Well, let’s get on with it. Trade yer information with me.”
“What kind of information?” I asked, charmed by the contrast of his gruff tone and the press of his knee against mine.
“Dunno. Tell me about the adventures of young Ray-n. Are you an only child? What’s your family like? What about yer mates? Do you miss anyone yet?”
I bit my bottom lip and beamed. “It’s a good thing you’re sitting ’cause this is gonna take all night long.”
He groaned on cue. “Ah, Jayzus. Let me get another bottle.”
I snickered, tugging his wrist before he could slip away.
Unlike Graham, it didn’t take much for me to spill my guts and share bits and pieces of my life. He already knew my worst secret. The rest was easy.
I told him about growing up in a dusty old trailer park, just me and my mom. I told him I’d never known my father and that my mom’s family in Texas stopped coming around when I was about eight years old. “Mom never said why, but it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. They didn’t like us. Mom’s a hippie who sells crystals and handmade crafts, and I’m gay.”
“They could tell you were gay when you were eight?”
“Oh, for sure. Mom is a firm believer in letting kids tell you who they are. I liked Disney princesses and dancing, and she never let me think for a moment that it wasn’t okay.” My smile dipped slightly. “Other people did that for her—school bullies, judgy family, asshole neighbors. Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all bad. I still have a couple of high school friends, but I couldn’t stay there. Mom loves it, though. She says the land speaks to her. And she’s the first to say that you should always follow your heart and look for inspiration along the way.”
“She sounds lovely,” Graham commented.
“She is. I miss her…and my friend Winnie. He’s a six-foot-tall queen and an aspiring beautician. We met at SF State. When he walked into Anthropology 101 wearing red leather pants and Doc Martens, and his hair was spiky and dyed in all the colors of the rainbow, I knew he was someone I wanted to know. For an eighteen-year-old who’d just cashed in a coveted ‘Get out of jail free’ card from a teeny-tiny town, he was a revelation. According to Win, I friend-stalked him.”
“You?” Graham chided sarcastically. “Hard to believe.”
“Yep, I followed Win around like a puppy, sat next to him in class, invited him to meet up for coffee. He thought I was making a move on him and had a come-to-Jesus chat with me in the library. I believe his exact words were, ‘You’re as cute as a buttermilk biscuit, honey, but I like a thick slice of bread, if you catch my drift.’ ” I wrinkled my nose, chuckling at the ancient memory. “We still laugh about that. I mean, who the fuck describes their ideal beau as a thick slice of bread? Only Winnie.”
“He sounds like fun.”
“He’s the best.” I shared a few Win stories and told Graham about our WeHo gang—Max, the dental-hygienist-slash-Mariah-fanboy; Deacon, the shop boy who pushed mesh-wear on the aging queens who popped into his Melrose store; and Andre, wedding photographer to the stars. “I’m the odd man out. My friends are fabulous and interesting. I’m the boring dork whose useful skills are making a mean margarita and helping with the Sunday Times crossword clues.”
Graham snorted. “I assure you, Ray-n, there is nothing boring about you.”
I beamed, and because I tended to get chatty when overwhelmed, I kept talking. But now it wasn’t a one-sided info blast.
When I mentioned that my mother was a Sunday brunch regular at LA drag shows every time she’d visited me in LA, Graham shared that his mom had taken over his kitchen and rearranged his cupboards on her last trip to London.