New Tricks

Chapter 1

How many bars had Kit walked into? 

It had to be a hundred, maybe more. Shit, definitely more. 

Honky-tonks on the bull-riding circuit. Dive bars when Kit was hunting a cheap drunk. Gay bars to get laid, to dance. 

Speakeasies and upscale lounges which had master mixologists with Ron. 

That thought made him grin. Jesus, Ron had been addicted to fancy-assed spaces with cushy sofas and perfectly coiffed cocktail waiters. 

This place, though? Man, it was just a friendly neighborhood gay bar—masculine and relaxed right now, but he could see the lights and mirrors, and he knew it wasn’t always that way. 

It was a weeknight, so he wasn’t surprised to find the dance floor empty. The tiny little raised platform probably meant there was live music sometimes, or comedians or something. 

He caught a quick view of himself in the mirrors along the dance floor but didn’t look too hard. Mirrors were for watching and flirting, and he was just here for a drink. 

“Welcome!” A tall man behind the bar called out over the music and gave him a friendly wave. The place was lively but not crowded, with most people—men—sitting in booths talking and drinking. 

“Hey, there. How’s it going?” He just wanted a beer, or maybe a whiskey neat, he thought. Something he could sip and sit with. 

“Well. Very well.” The man’s dark eyes seemed to swallow up the light over the bar. “And yourself? Out wandering on this beautiful night?” 

“Yes, sir. I’m new to town, and I saw this place from the coffee shop across the way. Looked friendly.” And he was friendly, mostly. Except when he wasn’t, he guessed. “What’s y’all’s specialty?” 

“Tonight, good whiskey and local beer on tap. On the weekends, we tend more toward vodka drinks in colors that don’t appear in nature.” The bartender set a glass on the bar and poured out a Jameson’s whisky before pushing the glass in his direction. “Welcome to New York. That one’s on me.” 

“Well thank you, sir.” He held out one hand to shake after slipping a twenty in the tip jar. “Kit. Kit Swann.” 

“Lester Gray. Les, like the neon says.” Les winked at him, and his handshake was firm and confident. “Where did you move up from?” 

“Northeast Texas, originally, but my last home of record was Monterey, California.” Lord, the owner. How cool was that? “You got yourself a nice place here.” 

“Thank you. It’s home. But I’ve been to Monterey. It’s gorgeous. I can’t imagine leaving if I lived there.” 

“Yeah, it’s gorgeous. The ocean is amazing.” And he was never going back. Not so long as he lived. 

Les gave him a nod, and he appreciated that the man seemed to know when to stop asking questions. “New York can be beautiful too, especially in the spring. If you can handle the rain, May and June are blue skies and flowers in the park and sparkling views of the river. You’ll get to like it once you understand it.” 

“I’m loving it. It’s so different, and there’s so much to do and see. I’ve eaten at a different restaurant every night.” 

“That’s a great start. The food is as diverse as the city. Do you have a place? What do you do for work?” 

“I have an apartment right around the block. It’s lovely, and I’ve got enough room to have a workspace. I’m a woodworker, of sorts.” A teeny tiny one. 

“Oh, yeah? That’s interesting. Like a carpenter? They’re in demand for sure.” 

“Sort of. I make upscale miniatures for collectors, movie sets, photographers, that sort of thing.” He’d started it as a hobby while he was job hunting in California and had discovered a real knack for it. He especially enjoyed making replicas of ornate pieces. He could lose himself for hours. 

“That sounds very cool. It’s different. Movie sets, huh? Oh. Excuse me a second.” 

Les pulled his phone out of his pocket, looked at the screen, and took a couple of steps away. 

“Hello, boy. Oh? And Master Cyrus is okay with this plan? You have my permission, but I need you at the bar by noon tomorrow, Milo… I know… I love you too. Be good. Good night.” 

Do not stare. 

Don’t. 

Do not embarrass yourself or this nice man. 

He wanted to, though, because he’d seen… well, he’d studied a lot. Fiction. Nonfiction. Blogs. Everything he could get his hands on. 

He’d never actually met anyone into BDSM, and maybe he still hadn’t, but he wasn’t going to be rude, regardless. 

He was going to sip his whiskey and chill. 

“Sorry about that. Some calls I have to take. You doing okay on that whiskey?” 

Of course he hadn’t noticed the silver key around Les’s neck until just now. 

“Yes, sir, and no problem. I’m just sitting a spell.” And he didn’t have that particular type of call anymore. 

He had, though. He’d had some amazing calls with Ron. 

Les leaned on the bar. “So you saw my place from the coffee shop, hm? How long were you checking it out before you came in?” 

“A couple of days.” He’d wanted to see who came in and out, and he’d enjoyed telling himself stories while he’d people watched. “It was interesting to see all your clientele.” 

“I bet.” Les snorted. “We get quite a range. I’m pretty proud of that actually, that pretty much anyone can be comfortable here.” 

“It’s got a good energy. Y’all pretty busy on the weekend?” He’d probably not try that for a bit, but maybe. Maybe just to be in the midst of all the excitement. 

“Very busy.” Les smiled and looked around the place. “The dance floor is open, there’s a band or a DJ, and I usually staff three bartenders, a couple of bar-backs, and at least one busboy. And if there is any excuse for a party, I’ll find it.” 

“Wow!” Yeah, he’d be a once or twice on a weekday patron. “Good for you. I know it’s tough, running a place.” 

“It used to be when I was trying to get it off the ground. There were a lot of sleepless nights and long days. But I have a good crew now—loyal, hard-working—and I love all the weekend chaos. It’s just who I am.” 

“Go you! It’s a thing, right? Know thyself?” Kit used to know himself, but he had changed, on a cellular level, so he was still working that out. 

“To the extent that one can, yes. We all change and grow… I assume that’s what you’re trying to do, moving three thousand miles across the country.” 

He might as well be honest, right? He nodded and took a deep breath. “I lost my husband two years ago. I needed to figure out who I am now that I’m not his other half.” 

Les sighed. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I apologize.” 

“No. No, it’s okay. He wasn’t a secret. I’m sure I’ll mention him a lot.” He wasn’t ashamed of being a widower. He’d been well-loved. 

Les nodded. “I’m sure I’d love to hear about him.” 

“That’s the kindest thing anyone has said to me in a while.” Even if it wasn’t true, it was a lovely sentiment. 

“I’m a barman. I listen for a living; I like to hear stories and get to know people.” 

Kit chuckled and nodded to Les, tipping his glass. He didn’t even know where to start. “Ron was a software designer and brilliant. He was killed in a drive-by shooting near his office. He never even felt it. He was a great guy, and I loved him a lot.” 

“Damn. That’s a lot. I can’t imagine that happening to someone I love. My boy Milo? That would be devastating.” 

“It’s tough.” But he’d survived it. “So that’s why I left the West Coast. He was everywhere. Absolutely everywhere I looked.” 

Ron had hated the East Coast, so Kit was here. 

“I understand.” Something about Les made him believe that was true. “Can I offer you another splash?” 

“Just one, please. I have to find my way back home.” He winked at Les, then rolled his eyes dramatically. Like he was a lightweight. 

Les gave him a healthy pour in his glass. “Not to worry. I’m an expert at calling my guests an Uber. And I do hope you come back soon; I think you’ll find friends here, and I’m sure Ron would want that for you.” 

“He would. He would have loved this place. I’m glad to have met you, sir. Honestly.” He would be back.