I Promise - 1. I Promise

“I promise!” Apollo Paterko might be one of my best friends, and one of my business partners, but he could be a royal pain in the ass. “Stop nagging. I’ll be there by ten thirty.” Ending the call, I again stared at my naked self in the free-standing mirror, which separated the sleeping area from the rest of the loft. Now all I needed to do was decide what to wear.

“Why do I even bother?” I asked my reflection.

“Because you’ve been a hermit, because you work all the time, and because it’s New Year’s Eve.” Replied the life-sized reflection staring back at me. What I saw was a decent-looking blond guy in good shape who was definitely going crazy―I was talking to my fucking self again.

Screw it. I wasn’t dressing up. Who cares if I’m not chic? I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Boots, black jeans, a thermal gray t-shirt, my motorcycle jacket, and a Harley-Davidson knit beanie would suffice. There wasn’t a chance I’d find someone to really connect with tonight, but I might get laid wearing that outfit. The Chelsea boys always went for the bad boy look. I wouldn’t even shave; the scruff would work with the whole I-don’t-give-a-fuck image. It also helped disguise a face too many people had called pretty.

A blast of cold air hit me as I walked out the door. My building fronted Eighth Avenue, a busy major artery full of traffic most of the day, with the entrance to the three residential floors on the side street where automobile traffic was minimal. But the sidewalks were busy; pedestrians in a festive mood hurried toward their destination. The smell of snow in the air, forecast to begin sometime after midnight, promised the coming year would begin with a carpet of white. I looked up to see a clear sky, free of clouds, aglow with the reflection of the myriad lights of the city. Back in Iowa, on a night like this, the heavens would have been ablaze also. But there it would have been a sky full of stars, countless points of flickering light, not the yellowish glow of the urban environment. If anyone had bothered to look up, that is. Few did; the spectacle in the heavens was just the norm in rural Mid-America.

But this was New York City, and light pollution hid all those far away suns. No wishing upon one tonight for Mr. Right to show up. I shook my head, trying to dispel the longings of my romantic soul. There was no need for the love-at-first-sight bullshit. Instead, I smiled, pleasantly surprised I was looking forward to seeing my friends, and headed toward Ninth Avenue, intent upon having a good time. Prime, the club I was meeting my friends at, was just a block away from my place.

“COLT! Get your ass over here, blondie!” Apollo was leaning against the wall at the back bar of the club when he saw me. “Damn glad you agreed to join us tonight, buddy. About fucking time you came out of seclusion. We’ve barely seen you the past couple of months.” The hug he gave me could have crushed the bones of a lesser man; the fucker often forgot his size and how strong he was.

I’d met the guy who was now my business associate earlier in the year when he asked me to spot him while working out at Jungle Gym. I may have drooled when I first saw him. The dark-haired, olive-skinned stud was built like a prize stallion, with muscles everywhere. After exhausting ourselves lifting, we walked together towards my building; I entertained thoughts of the stray following me home being the one to keep. We showered, and suddenly we weren’t so exhausted after all. We got sweaty again real quickly. Back to the bathroom we went to once again clean up. An hour later, we were sweaty and sticky all over again. I discovered the stallion was equipped like one, and had just as much stamina.

He turned out to be funny, caring, smart, and sexy, but not husband material. If you looked up playa in the Urban Dictionary, you’d probably find his picture as part of the definition. He and I did become regular workout buddies, eventually friends, and in the end, business partners. Unhappy with the available gyms in Chelsea at the time, we decided to build our own. WOOF opened its doors in the fall of twenty thirteen; three months later, we were already turning a small profit.

“Sorry I haven’t been around much, guys.” The other men in our small circle of friends at the bar each greeted me in a similar manner, although their hugs were not painful ones. “First, it was getting the gym ready, then it was the actual opening, and now it’s dealing with the unexpected response. We’ve added so many members since opening day, we’re already planning to expand into most of the remainder of the space we own. Apollo knows all this. Hell, the last time I went out was when that Australian band, Buck and the Furballs, played here at Prime at the beginning of November.”

“All work and no play makes Colton a dull boy. No way were we going to let you stay home tonight.” That was Nevin, my former co-worker at Goldman Sachs, the one guy from the company I’d stayed in touch with after I quit the crazy world of high finance.

When I graduated from the University of Iowa with high honors, job offers were abundant enough I had my pick of places to work. Bank of America almost lured me to Charlotte, North Carolina, but I reconsidered and, at the last minute, changed my mind. Coming from a small rural community, I feared going to Charlotte would place me in a similar environment to the one I was leaving behind. A mostly unaccepting place, in all likelihood full of bigots and homophobes. That was something I wished to escape, so I chose New York City instead. The move seemed daunting at first. The cost of living in Manhattan was outrageous, the entire city was crowded at all times of day, and the long hours left me with barely enough time for a social life. Whatever socializing I did outside the office was almost entirely client-related. On my own, I wasn’t the type to go out, get drunk, do drugs, or sleep with anyone who came along―on the rare occasion I had the time anyway. I was no prude, but my hookups were far and few between.

Instead, I became friends with Nevin Stanyan, another recent hire at the firm. Both of us whiz kids, our days in the analysts’ pool were short. The powers-that-be swiftly placed us in the unofficial rainmakers club and handed us our own starter portfolios. Their faith in us was soon rewarded, as we steadily grew our numbers every month.

With or without clients, we went to Yankee Stadium for baseball games all through my first summer in town. The firm had a luxury box we could use to entertain or on our own when it wasn’t reserved. Fall had us over in Jersey, at the Meadowlands, watching the Giants. Those tickets weren’t as easy to come by. The suite leased by the firm was generally booked by upper management, wanting to butter up high rollers. Sometimes it was our clients who came through with a couple of extra admissions. That was followed in winter and spring by frequent visits to Madison Square Garden to catch the Knicks or the Rangers. Yeah, you could call me an athletic supporter; go ahead, laugh.

When my second summer in the City loomed on the horizon, Nevin came out to me and invited me into his bed. I gently turned him down. Smooth guys like him just weren’t my cup of tea. I didn’t want to lose my friend, and fortunately, I didn’t. In fact, we went in together with some other guys and took shares on a place on Fire Island from Memorial Day Weekend to Labor Day. We became as close as brothers over those three months. The Pines were an eye-opening experience for a country bumpkin from Bumfuck, Iowa.

“Thanks, bud.” Nevin had just handed me a cold, sweaty, martini glass, with three olives stuck on a stirrer. There was no doubt in my mind the oily liquid inside it was gin, and the olives were most likely stuffed with blue cheese. My friends knew my go-to cocktail.

“Now, isn’t this better than sitting at home reading or watching TV?” Apollo had draped an arm around my neck as he spoke.

“I guess … but December thirty-one’s not my idea of a night to spend at a bar. I’ll stay until we ring in the New Year, but I’m headed out right afterward. I have zero interest in dragging some drunk home.”

Prime was the spot to see and be seen in Chelsea. The gold lettering underneath the ever-changing neon sign on the front window read:

PROUDLY GAY OWNED
HETEROPHOBIA FROWNED UPON

Needless to say, the cheeky tagline attracted attention and customers. Typical of establishments in the area, the room was narrow and deep, with high tables in front and a bar running along one side for half the length of a wall. Another one was located against the rear wall, where the floor plan opened up. In the shape of a T, the back spread out in both directions, taking up a portion of the spaces to either side of it. The joint was jumpin’ this New Year’s Eve.

“That’s all we asked for.” My bud pulled me in tighter and whispered in my ear so only I could hear, “Colt, you better get ready ‘cause tall, dark, and handsome’s headed this way, and his eyes can’t see anyone but you.”

“What?” I asked as he turned me in the direction he was looking. I came face to face with shining dark eyes, the like of which I’d never seen before. They were pools of melted chocolate I wanted to dive into and drown myself in. A sudden flash of brightness distracted me from the pretty brown peepers. There was an opening somewhere in the scruffy beard covering the face in front of me, lined with pearly whites reflecting the lights. Fuck! The corners of my mouth turned up without a conscious effort on my part. My lips parted to display my own teeth in what had to be the ultimate in silly smiles. I felt my face grow warmer, a sure indication the blushing would make me glow like Rudolph’s nose.

“Hi, I’m Tony Martellini. What’s your name, handsome? You come here often?”

The man’s bright tenor enveloped me in a cocoon of pleasant feelings. I had to stop myself from sighing. The voice came from the USDA prime grade A side of beef standing within my personal space―something I had no objection to. Olive-skinned and furry-chested, the guy could have his way with a certain blonde Iowa boy at the drop of a pin. The unbuttoned plaid shirt―with the sleeves torn off―revealed squared pecs and a ridged abdomen covered in dark fur. An Australian bush hat covered his head, the wide brim somewhat shading his eyes.

“Oh no, you didn’t. You did not just ask me that!” I somehow mumbled the words, surprised by his comment, and spellbound by his looks. Wow, did this man ring my bells or what? I tried to regroup, not to look or sound like an idiot. “And what’s with the outfit? Some sort of dress code I’m not aware of? Or did you and Apollo call each other to coordinate your attire?

“Of course I used the line! I may not know your name yet, but I know you’ve seldom, if ever, been here before. I own the joint. And the attire was picked based on comfort; it gets hot in a crowded bar when you have to run around all the time.” His voice had a slight accent. It matched the last name and the looks―my guess was Brooklyn Italian.

“Colt, my name’s Colton Mann. Nice to meet you, Tony. I’m impressed you were able to use such a corny old line differently.”

“Just trying to impress the man I’m welcoming twenty-fourteen with and who I promise I’ll take to breakfast later in the morning, on the first day of the year. Who’s Apollo, anyway?”

“Apollo’s my partner, the big guy standing behind me right now, who looks like he shops at the same store you do. The other blond dude’s Nevin, one of my best friends.”

“Oops! I’m sorry, guys. I didn’t even consider the possibility you might have a partner. I’m so fucking embarrassed…”

“No, man, don’t. Colt’s my business partner. We are two of the owners of WOOF, the new gym in the hood? It’s good to meetcha, Tony. And I love the fashion statement!”

I glanced at the alarm clock on the table beside the bed, and it read eleven thirty. Stretching my arms above my head, I turned my head, looked to the other side of the room, and smiled. Sprawled out next to me, with the blankets pushed down to his waist, was the most gorgeous man I’d ever met—what a night.

Tony had spent most of the evening with my friends and me. Each time he left our small group, to handle anything from an out-of-control drunk to a shortage of singles at one of the cash registers, he would return to my side. Cocktails were on the house for the remainder of the evening. The club owner was handsome, charming, and witty.

“Hey, guys, thanks.” Tony had stepped away sometime before midnight to coordinate the distribution of champagne to the crowd in time for the traditional toast at the stroke of twelve.

“What for, Colt?” Apollo was visibly feeling no pain. I was certain one more cocktail would push him over the edge; he would soon start slurring his words and groping anyone close enough for his hands to reach. Nevin had already promised me he would see our buddy got safely home.

“For forcing me to come out tonight. If you hadn’t, I wouldn’t have met Tony.” I avoided looking in the mirror, confident the smile on my face made me look like an idiot.

“He’s hot!”

”That he is, Apollo. And you’re drunk, my friend!”

“Well, I hope he’s not too drunk for some champagne.” Tony had reappeared at our side, carrying champagne flutes and a bottle of Charles Heidsieck Brut Reserve NV. I guess plastic cups and domestic bubbly were not good enough for us.

Additional memories from the previous night flittered around in my mind: toasting twenty-fourteen with friends and great wine at midnight had been a thrill. Tony’s kiss as we watched the ball drop in Times Square on TV―cheesy gay romance stories would describe it as toe-curling—was intense. And the slow walk to the loft, sometime after while holding hands, followed by shedding our clothes, falling into bed, and making love for the next couple of hours, was the perfect ending to the evening.

Yup, I was definitely glad I’d gone out last night. It was a spanking new twelve months ahead, and they seemed to be full of promise.

“Hey, Antonio! Wake up. You promised me breakfast. How about a shower? You can borrow some clothes, and then let’s hit the Chelsea Diner. When we get back, it’s my turn on top!”

The End