Holding Hands

February fourteenth had always been singles’ night at Jake’s.

Not to say that it wasn’t still. Jake knew how to pull in the dough, and singles’ night at a gay bar meant a lot of stereotypes drowning their sorrows in booze and booty. But it wasn’t the same now that Jake had Cole, and you could bet your right nut that Cole was lurking behind the bar keeping an eye on his man that night. If Jake was even working. His absence last year had spoken volumes.

At least for Hollis. He’d been friends with Jake—the kind of friends you become after hanging around a joint for far too many years chatting up the bartender. It wasn’t that he had feelings for the guy or anything—well, not anymore. Sure, when they were younger, he might have had a fantasy or two about the older man. Who wouldn’t? He was fucking gorgeous. Anyway, he was friends with Jake and was happy for him, even if he was sick of seeing him so damn happy.

That was just jealousy. Hollis was done with lurking around the bar waiting for hisCole to show up. So, the week before V-day when Jake handed him a flier, Hollis handed it right back. “Not this year, man.”

“No? What’s up? Got a date?”

How he wished he could say he did. “Just not in the mood for the whole scene this year. Not that your dyed-red beer isn’t great, but…” He shrugged. “Guess I need a change of scenery that night.”

“Not losing you to a competitor, am I?” Jake teased.

“Yeah, I thought I’d try my luck at a straight bar.” Hollis rolled his eyes. Jake’s was the only gay bar in this part of town. A few places were welcoming, and most of the rest were bigot central. Not a lot of competition unless you wanted to drive through wretched traffic to the opposite side of town—except on the dance floor, where the grinding, writhing bodies tried to find their perfect match. “No, probably just stay home. Getting old, you know.”

Jake bopped him on the head with the stack of fliers. “Old my ass. But I won’t push. You know I hate to see regulars here on that night.”

“Want us all happy and paired off?”

“I do. Just an old matchmaker.” Jake huffed. “Smart-ass. You guys are my friends, can’t help wanting to see you happy.”

“Thanks.” Hollis lingered a moment, wondering if he should take the flier—this year could be his lucky year—then shook his head and stood. “I’m going to call it early tonight. See you around, Jake.”

“Night. Take it easy.”

Hollis wrapped his blue-striped scarf around his neck, tucked it securely, and pulled on his peacoat. Only seven o’clock and already further below freezing than he wanted to think about. He made sure his gloves and hat were secure before he opened the door, fumbling the keys out of his pocket as the first gust of wintry wind snapped at his cheeks. He blinked away the burst of tears and lowered his head into the wind to walk down the block to his car.

Dark and cold. Just like his apartment—though hopefully that was warmer. At least when he turned the ignition, the car and heaters came to life, even if they initially blasted cold air. Wasn’t any colder than he already was. He bounced in his seat, shivering, waiting for a trickle of warm air to start. He’d heard that driving would get the heat going faster, but he was too fucking cold to focus on driving.

God, when had he become such a miserable bastard?

Maybe it was the long nights or unrelenting chill. Maybe it was that cursed holiday (like so many of the others) that rubbed his singleness in his face. Christmas and New Year’s were the warm-up to it: they focused on being with the ones you love, but not just couples. No wonder suicides spiked. And then February. And Valentine’s Day. Where you felt like an aberration for not having “that special someone.”

And bars all over—not that he could blame a sound business plan—had to have singles’ night. How many people actually met someone—someone they saw more than once—at those things? Hollis sure as hell hadn’t.

This year was going to be different. It was going to be home alone with a good movie, relaxing and enjoying the evening just like any other.

Valentine’s Day didn’t have to exist if he didn’t want it to.

* * * *

The flaw with his plan was that he still had to go to work. Which involved other people, who cared about the holiday. Many of the women had their office spaces decked in hearts, flowers, and little cupids, but he could ignore that. Marketing-influenced crap, same as every other holiday, and he liked the color red, although the overwhelming pink was a bit much. Still, the decorations weren’t toobad.