Wingman

Andy sat down to his desk earlier than usual Monday morning. His first order of business was removing his self-reminder post-it from the corner of his monitor.

Navy Suit. Pro-Wingman. Friday after eight. It said.

"I really do owe you, man." Andy said to Oscar in the break room the previous Friday.

Oscar shook his head, sighing mildly. Andy proceeded, unhampered:

"No worries, I've got this figured out. You, me, the absolute grooviest club-slash- gay-bar in the city limits. And guys..." Here, he tilted his head and smiled, quirking his brow, "Hot."

"I appreciate it but I don't think it'll work."

"Dude. I will hook you up. I could go pro as a wingman."

Oscar agreed, after an internal "Why the hell not?" sort of realization.

In truth, Andy planned the outing far enough in advance, and wouldn't have accepted 'no' as an answer.

He checked his watch as he stepped out of the dry cleaner's, navy suit draped gently over his arm. At home, he changed into it, deciding it was suave enough, before rushing back into his car.

They met in the parking lot outside of the club to go over plans.

"I got the table under control. You go for drinks..." Andy recited, "But not both at once. Make two trips. Then you look like you aren't here on a date, and that you might be the perfect amount of tipsy. You get me?"

"Sure." Oscar didn't mind going along with it, as long as he was there. He missed spending time with Andy, anyway, after their bonding over a business trip.

Andy commandeered a dimly-lit spot near the dancefloor, which he watched until Oscar's second drink trip. The neon lights were dizzying as they flashed.

"Cheers?" Offered Oscar, taking his seat.

They toasted to absolutely nothing.

"That blond one." Andy said after awhile of quietly sipping his cherry-colored drink, "He came in by himself. And don't mind me saying that he's totally attractive. Textbook, I mean."

"Why would I mind you sa...?" Oscar caught himself and rephrased, "Yah, he's alright."

Andy studied the guy, thrilled when he actually chose a table near theirs. He turned up his smile until his jaw ached. That's when the new guy came closer.

"We're not here on a date." Andy stated, setting down his glass.

The blond guy looked back and forth, deciding almost instantly to give Andy his focus.

"That's cool." He said, voice reserved, "I'm meeting a couple friends later too. Might be able hook your buddy up." Here, he gestured to Oscar.

Andy put his hand to his chest dramatically, though his voice was even and careless.

"Nobody for the Nard-Dog. Great..."

The blond turned sharply back to Andy.

"Sorry that wasn't clear, I guess. You didn't get that I was, like, asking you out?"

"Oh..." Andy rubbed his lips and thought quickly, "I'm really flattered but I was thinking more along the lines of... well, maybe a woman. You were talking friends...?"

The blond guy left and moved his table.

"Smooth." Oscar muttered. He buried his face in his glass, embarrassed to watch the blond meet up with his friends. He studied what he could have been set up with, had Andy acted normal.

A second man ambled past Andy and Oscar's table. He paused a moment, offering Andy a completely corny wink before heading to the dancefloor.

Oscar gaped across the table.

"It's the suit." Said Andy, "Sorry... accents my eyes, y'know."

He unbuttoned it and hung it on the back of his chair. Oscar rolled his eyes, noticing Andy was now displaying his matching, shiny waistcoat.

"You look ridiculous."

"Uh, really? Cuz the guys here seem to think it's pretty spiffy. Wanna borrow it or what?"

"No one calls anything 'spiffy'."

"No one's hitting on you, last I checked."

Oscar huffed, but was forced to trade jackets anyway. The logic was stacked against him.

When a third guy approached the table, wearing a navy shirt and (unbuttoned) waistcoat, Oscar started to believe the superstition in the suit. And in Andy's fashion sense.

The three of them got into a fairly engaging discussion. But that's when the music shut off.

Andy stood up, habitually enraged.

"Gonna go request a song." He told Oscar, "Wait for me."

Oscar stayed behind, talking with the third man at the table. His name was Stephen, and he was the best part of Oscar's night so far. He found it harder to keep conversation going without Andy present, and was relieved when he returned.

"Shall we move to the dancefloor?" he asked, almost out of breath, "Oscar's got some great moves."

Oscar scrunched his face, trying to think of the last time he'd even watched anyone dance.

The song Andy had requested started up a few seconds later.

"Great song." Said Stephen, "I didn't know anyone else even knew it."

"Pff." Declared Andy, "Love the indie scene."

Oscar opened his mouth, ready to re-enter the conversation. But that's when Andy started singing along.

Stephen's jaw dropped into an unbelieving smile.

"That's awesome." He said to them, "Really, really cool... you wanna dance with me?"

"Here," Andy stopped to breathe and nudged Oscar forward, "You guys dance. I'll sing this one out."

Stephen rushed for his phone, pretending to be shocked by the time.

"I'll catch you guys later. Sorry..."

He did, however, find time to leave Andy his number.

Oscar sighed and went to pay their tab.

"We should probably go, too." He told Andy.

"Sure, man. Whatever you want."

They returned to their cars, opening the doors in unison.

"Hey, same time next week?" Andy asked.

Oscar couldn't decide on whether to nod or shake his head. He and Andy tossed their jackets back to each other like it was an afterthought.

"Maybe."

"Cool. I think it went okay. Next week, we've got something to build on, ya know?"

Andy drove home, humming to himself.

Oscar started his car, swearing to himself to buy the next navy suit he saw.

Oh, and to find a new wingman.