“Not your scene?” a deep voice says behind me, and it’s a good thing I’ve already used the facilities as that voice would have scared the crap out of me otherwise. It’s him. Bar guy.
Now, a query like that could mean one of two things. It could mean the guy’s also not into titties and is checking me out, which, given my luck with guys, is kind of unlikely. On the other hand, it could mean he’s just making sure I really am a fag before he beats the crap out of me. And guess what? You don’t get to find out until you answer which of those two it is. See, I told you running’s a useful life skill.
“Uh, not so much,” I tell him, making sure my feet are ready to get me the hell out of Dodge. I don’t have my sneakers on, but I’m pretty damn fast in loafers too.
He smiles, and lets his gaze roam all over me. “Me either. I’m just helping out a friend.”