The Color Of Love | COMPLETED

01. Deception

St. Louis, 1962

Entre Nous Tavern 

He was staring at me. 

It had started out with eye contact, then a quick brush of the hand as he ordered his drink and now he was just staring at me. 

I shifted on my bar stool uncomfortably. There was only one other big group here tonight, but they were all clustered on the far side of the room. The bartender was chatting with them, and we were the only two people on this side of the room. 

But surely he wasn't staring at me? It must have been because of my disguise. A black trench coat and a fake blond wig didn't exactly scream inconspicuous, but it did say not Casey Addams, the influential Missouri Congressman.  

I scoffed silently to myself. Casey Addams, the influential Missouri Congressman, who was currently trapped in the closet because it would be so terribly scandalous if I came out as gay. 

My eyes flitted nervously up to meet his. He smiled at me, then raised his hand and patted the seat beside him. 

He couldn't mean me. He couldn't possibly want to talk to me. He was probably a con artist, or a thief, or a - 

He patted the seat more insistently. 

We were in a gay bar. What other reason would one man have to call over another man if not to - well, flirt with him?

I let myself study him more closely. With his rich, dark skin and brooding eyes, he was insanely attractive. So why would he want me to sit next to him? I wasn't even that handsome normally, and with the wig and coat, I looked like a homeless Dennis Wilson wannabe. 

"Hey," he called out, his voice deep and husky. He flashed me a quick, flirtatious smile, and in that one second, I could feel myself falling. 

There was no mistake. He was clearly talking to me. 

Oh, stop being such a candy-ass, Casey. 

I gripped my glass tightly and downed the rest of the vodka. I got up unsteadily, shaking more from nerves than the alcohol, and made my way towards him. 

The other group laughed boisterously on the other side of the room. The bartender leaned forward, his dishrag forgotten, as a young man flirted with him. We were all alone in our own little world. 

"Hey," he repeated as I sat down. 

I giggled nervously. "You already said that." 

He smiled as if my idiotic comment was actually funny and extended his hand. "I'm James."

"Ca - Michael," I quickly corrected myself. "Michael... Smith." I wasn't going to give myself away just because he was extremely handsome and his hands were calloused and warm. 

He laughed, a deep, exquisite sound and leaned forward. "What's the matter, aren't you sure?" 

"Do you come here often?" I asked, eager to change the subject. 

He tipped his chair back and frowned. "This bar? No." 

I tilted my head and studied him. I had evidently done something to offend him, as his lip was curled and he was gazing at his empty drink with disgust. "Some people like Al's better?" I offered, biting my lip. 

He gave me a tight-lipped smile, then turned completely to face me. "Well, what about you? You come here a lot?" 

I pressed my lips together. To be honest, Entre Nous was the only gay bar I came to, but James obviously didn't like something here. "Nah," I said simply.