The Heart Rate of a Mouse (Larry)

Chapter 8: An Absurd Notion

So maybe I am attracted to him. His full lips and beautiful eyes, his slender body, the round ass... But acknowledging that doesn't mean that I'm not a straight man. I admire beauty. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. Though, if I asked Liam, he would say that it's one thing to admire beauty from afar and another to want to touch it and feel it in your hands.

I'm not going to consult Liam on this. No, that is a definite, definite no. I'm never going to tell anyone about anything. Not their business what I do.

I keep watching the light of the street lamps sweep across the lounge table as our bus treads more and more miles in the quiet summer night. An orangey glow goes across the table, and then the shadow is back, then the light, the shadow. I watch the way the lights play on the opened notebook, the pen, my knuckles and the empty vodka flask.

The page remains empty. I haven't written anything since Ottawa.

And, besides, the more I think about it, the more I realise that I'm not attracted to him. It's an absurd notion that I would be, and the fact that he kissed me doesn't prove anything. I'm famous. I'm not exactly ugly. He's gay, and he's lonely. I'm one of the few people around here who bother socialising with him. So he misread the situation, and I went along with it. Could happen to anyone, I'm sure.

I'm so not attracted to him.

The door separating the bunk area from the lounge opens. My eyes, which have adjusted to the dark, instantly spot a sleepy looking Harry, who doesn't look my way as he simply enters the toilet, pyjama bottoms hanging low on his hips. The lock clicks to its place. The bus hums silently around me.

My pulse has picked up.

I muffle a frustrated groan and bring the flask to my lips. One drop drips into my mouth. I stare at the flask disappointedly. "Et tu, Brute?"

The toilet is flushed, the swoosh sound coming through the paper thin walls. I slide the flask back into my pocket, trying to hide evidence.

Maybe I'm a bit drunk, but I certainly am not attracted to the roadie. I should sneak to my nest before he comes out, or maybe I should go to the front to chat with Luke, but I've been trying to figure out if Luke knows. Harry might have told him, them being friends and all. Luke's not said anything. Luke's not the kind of guy who could hide a thing like that; he'd tell half the world and send letters to the rest.

The lounge is dark, the lights switched off. I'm in the shadows, so I stay where I am, knowing I'm pretty invisible in my corner. Good plan.

The bathroom door reopens. The light inside casts a narrow beam across the lounge. Straight on me.

Well, shit.

Harry stops. "Oops. Hi. Didn't see you there." He closes the door. I hum.

Apart from the "Morning," "Where's the dressing room?", "Where am I?", "Can you pass me the capo/guitar cable/weed/setlist?" comments, we've not talked, and we've not been in private without others around. I don't know much about the guy, but I know he's not stupid, so my avoiding-all-eye-contact technique was pretty easy to read. It still should be.

He asks, "What are you doing?"

I shrug, lifting my shoulders more than necessary. "Sitting in the dark bus lounge in the middle of the night."

Silence. I didn't look, it's not like I looked, but I still saw the flat plane of his stomach, the V of his hips, his bare chest. "Want some company?" he asks.

I tense up. Is that gay code for something?

I take my pen and tap it onto the still empty page, letting my eyes focus on it. "I'm good, thanks."