It`s time for Tuesday Tales.
Today we have an excerpt from Reading the Play, Watkins Glen Gladiators #5.
Please do bear in mind that these snippets are unedited so please be kind if you find any mistakes.
This story may have gay erotic scenes, strong social issues addressed and mature language. If those things offend now is the time to move onto another Tuesday Tales blog. Thanks for stopping by!
“Dude, you could have waited inside,” I said as I neared. “It’s super cold out here.”
“I noticed. They were cleaning up the main dining room so I waited out here to get out of their way.”
“Shit.” I peeked around him. The inside of the eatery was dimly lit. “Are we too late to eat?”
“Maybe?” He shrugged wide shoulders.
“Shit,” I said again. “Okay, so you totally get out of surf and turf costs. We can go this little bar in Corning. Nice place, gay friendly, good bar food.”
“Yeah, that sounds good. Will people know who we are?”
“I doubt it,” I replied with confidence. We weren’t famous hockey stars. Yet. “Come on. I’m not letting you off the hook.” I bumped his elbow with mine. His gaze met mine and a fissure of something warm sparked in my lower belly. Something sexual. Something that was whispering to me to lean in and kiss him so his perfectly beautiful lips would warm up under mine.
The door behind us opened, warming us with a rush of heated air. I spun to find an older man, maybe mid-fifties, with thick, dark, curly hair wearing a tired but welcoming smile. He was in dress slacks with a wrinkled blue dress shirt, no tie or jacket.
“Did you two want food?” he enquired with an accent thickened with a Slavic flavoring.
“I think we missed the serving hours,” I replied and the older man shrugged.
“We have some things left. You would like?”
I shot Marcus a look. The poor guy looked half frozen. “Please and thank you. We’ll eat quickly.”
“No rush. I have books. Come in, please.” He held the door open for us, then followed in our wake after locking it behind us. “There is table here by the bar is perfect for intimate late night date.”
Marcus and I both ran over each other verbally to reply.
“Oh, no, this is not a date,” we both said in tandem. The older gent studied us in confusion.
“My bad mistake. I saw you two through the door, staring at each other like lovers and thought…” He lifted a hand then rolled it around. “Apologies. Still good table by fireplace.”
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