He dreamt of James again that night.
Which sort of shouldn't really be a surprise at that point. But he'd never had a dream featuring the guy two sleep cycles in a row. The earlier Medieval themed revery meant that he shouldn't have seen that tan skin or white teeth or brown-green eyes when he went to sleep after a few rounds with Lucy and Mercedes.
He blamed Camille and her bullshit. He wouldn't have been thinking about James at all if it hadn't been for her bringing him up. And since he was thinking about the guy, then he ended up dreaming about him. Ergo, Camille's fault.
His sister was clearly to blame for the scenario of his dream, mainly the fact that she'd forced him to watch The Notebook when he'd visited her at college a week or so before. Only way to explain why he'd dreamt that he was in the 1940s, a boy from the wrong side of the track in love with the son of a rich family from old money who disapproved of their relationship for several reasons, not the least of which had to do with their gender.
He woke up feeling upset, sitting there wondering why, if it was due to the dream being over or because James wasn't real. Not that it mattered really. It was over, done with, James nowhere in sight. And since his life wasn't a fucking Nicholas Sparks book, he wasn't about to find the guy in real life.
The beginning of Kendall's work day was fairly simple, a couple walk-ins wanting some flash pieces done that took less than an hour each. Old school sparrow, a skull, a cute little butterfly that Lucy refused to do and the shop helper Carlos couldn't talk her into. Most of his afternoon was being taken up by a half-sleeve piece he was starting on a guy named Dak, who'd walked in with his boyfriend Logan.
Because he wasn't surrounded by enough couples, what with Carlos blabbering about yet another girl named Jennifer that he was dating and Jo beaming about her boyfriend Jett and Lucy bragging about her girlfriend Mercedes to a client she was inking. Couples, couples everywhere and he was still fucking single.
But whatever. He hid anything he might be feeling, remaining professional as he tattooed the outline, chatting with his client. They talked about how Dak and Logan had met their freshman year of college, both now in med school. They talked about how Kendall got into tattooing and how long he'd been doing it. They talked about how Logan almost didn't come, but Dak had reminded him that in a few years he'd be dealing with blood and needles and scalpels and that he needed to deal with his discomfort now before it cost someone his life. That had led to an exchange of goo-goo eyes the likes of which Kendall had never seen.
Luckily he was spared any envious feelings by the manager Kelly storming through the main part of the shop screaming her head off, the owner Gustavo yelling at her from his office doorway before they both parted with slammed doors.
"Wow," Dak commented, squeezing his wide eyed boyfriend's hand. "That was, uh—"
"Must be Saturday," Kendall stated, wiping away excess ink. "They always get into it on Saturdays, then Kelly takes Sunday off, and comes back on Monday refreshed and ready to deal with Gustavo's bullshit again."
"So this is a regular thing?"
He dipped the needle in the inkwell before answering. "Pretty much." His eyes scanned the stencil, reminding himself of the shapes of the tattoo and what part he was working on. "It's gotten to the point where we don't even listen to what they're yelling anymore or pay attention to any of it." He shrugged in dismissal before resuming inking, managing to get a few lines done before Lucy plopped a backpack on the half-wall that separated his station from the next.
A backpack that rattled slightly.
Fucking hell, what now?
Removing his foot from the pedal, he turned his head to his right and stared at the black bag with a raised pierced eyebrow before switching his questioning gaze to his friend. "Okay, I'll bite," he began, sitting back slightly on his rolling stool. "What the hell?"
She shrugged one shoulder like it was no big deal and she hadn't just dropped a bag of who the hell knew what in front of him with the obvious implication that its contents were meant for him. "It's your outfit for tonight," she answered nonchalantly, tucking a loose chunk of hair that had fallen out her ponytail behind her heavily-pierced ear.
The eyebrow remained raised, his suspicions growing, an uneasiness causing his stomach to start churning. "Why'd you need to get me a whole new outfit? What's wrong with the clothes I already have?" And seriously, didn't they have that discussion yesterday about how all he wore to pretty much everything was jeans and band tees? Where exactly was she dragging him that he needed different clothes for?
Aw hell.
"Because the place we're going, they probably won't let you in wearing anything you have in your wardrobe."
She needed to quit dissing his clothes, her and Mercedes both.
He snorted, body rocking with the motion. "Then I don't wanna go."
"Well, too bad, you're going," she declared, folding her arms on the short wall and leaning forward. "It's still my birthday week and my Chinese ring daggers just arrived. Don't make me use your ballsac to sharpen them."
Both eyebrows raised this time, green orbs widening. After he wrapped up this tat, he needed to put an ad on Craig's List for new friends. Hell, maybe he could just hang out with Dak and Logan. They seemed pretty cool and not likely to threaten his genitals with sharp objects. Or shooting objects. Or any object at all really.
Kendall's face fell, brow drawn into a frown, lips turned down into a pout. "Why can't we just go to the Palm Woods like always," he muttered petulantly, not seeing the point in going elsewhere. The Palm Woods had been their place for years, since they'd gotten hired at Rocque Tattoos at seventeen and had gotten stellar fake IDs from a friend of Lucy's. Why change it now?
Old habits and all that shit.
Lucy tilted her head down, face full of "you can't be fucking serious?" "Because James clearly doesn't go there, otherwise you would've met the guy already," she explained in a tone that meant the answer was completely obvious and he was a dumbass for not getting it. "You need to expand your search zone, spread your wings, look elsewhere, otherwise you'll never find the guy."
Kendall let out a heavy sigh, shoulders heaving with the action. He knew Lucy meant well, that she only had the best intentions, but she seriously needed to let that shit go. James wasn't real, just like that winged purple elephant who loved Scrabble that Kendall dreamt about when he was six, or the talking liger who took him ice-fishing out a silent helicopter when he was thirteen, or the triceratops that tap-danced a musical number from Mary Poppins with him last week and wow, did he have some fucked up dreams sometimes. But the point was that they were all figments of his—admittedly fucked up—imagination, just like James. He wasn't gonna meet a flying purple elephant or talking liger or tap-dancing triceratops, nor was he gonna meet James. And the sooner Lucy realized this, the better.
"Lu—" he began then paused, trying to figure out how exactly to get his thoughts across without sounding crazy or spill a bunch of personal info to the two strangers currently sitting in his station and most likely listening in on their convo.
Awkward.
"No," she argued back anyway, holding her hand up to stop him from speaking further. "You're doing this. It's still my birthday week and you have no choice. And no, neither myself nor Mercedes will be letting this go, not until you find the guy."
Of fucking course.
He turned to face forward, glaring at the tattoo he was working on, mind composing the Craig's List "New Friends Wanted" ad. "Fine," he grit out, knowing he didn't really have a choice. The "It's My Birthday" Card was still being used, not to mention threats of bodily harm and the single-minded determination of his buds. He was screwed really.
Glossed lips spread into a smile, Lucy grinning widely, nose crinkling with the expression. "That's what I thought. Be ready at nine. Merce and I will pick you up at your place. Wear. That." Glaring, she pointed at the backpack in warning before smiling again and blowing him a kiss, the shift in moods so sudden he was slightly dazed. She and Mercedes really needed to stop picking up each others habits. Dealing with them one at a time was hard enough.
Giving her a mocking salute, he watched as she spun on a boot-covered heel and bounded away, smugness trailing after her like an extra layer of her scent.
He sighed again, shaking his head in defeat before focusing on the tattoo once more. Dipping the needle in the inkwell, he made sure the tube was filled before stepping on the pedal and putting needle to skin.
"Never a dull moment in this place, huh?" Dak commented with a smirk, dimple forming on a cheek, blue eyes sparkling in amusement.
Kendall snorted as he worked on a line. "Not just at work," he clarified, eyes focused on his client's arm. "That girl's been my best friend since kindergarten."
"Wow," the med student summed up, his boyfriend's eyes wide in surprise. "Guess she's tryna set you up with someone?"
"Something like that," he reluctantly muttered, really not wanting to talk about it. To anyone. Especially a stranger. But he needed to be nice and polite to ensure that his clients always returned to him to get more work done, not wanting to risk them deciding to go elsewhere because he was a prick. Kind of important when most of your income came from commissions and being paid by the piece. If it was a slow month for tattoos, then he didn't have the cash to pay his bills.
Hence him nearly getting kicked out his apartment.
That, plus the medical bills from his trip to the emergency room when Mercedes had convinced him that going on a mechanical bull while shitfaced was totally safe and totally a good idea.
Fear had the back of his neck prickling. Oh shit. What if that was where they were going to that night? What if the backpack contained chaps and flannel and that rattling had been spurs he'd have to put on over cowboy boots?
Just because he was gay and had seen Brokeback Mountain didn't mean he wanted to act it out.
Although leave it to his friends to completely ignore his wishes and make him do it anyway.
He shook himself out of it when he realized Dak was talking, mind taking another second to figure out what exactly the guy had said.
"Who they setting you up with?"
That was a loaded fucking question.
And while he really didn't wanna talk about it, he figured ranting to a person he might not see again—depending on whether the guy wanted another tat or not—was all right. After all, he had to get this shit out somehow. And who knew? Maybe his client would see things his way and would back him up on the sheer lunacy of the entire thing.
"She and her girlfriend dragged me to a psychic last night," Kendall began, pausing to dip his needle again.
"Sounds like a pattern," his client pointed out, causing the artist to snort.
"Yep. Anyway, this so-called psychic told me that these dreams I have about this dude I've never even met are actually memories of past lives and that the guy is my soul mate." He wrapped it up with an eye roll, shaking his head in disbelief before going back to the tattoo.
Dak and Logan exchanged a long look before both turning back to the tattoo artist. "So. You don't believe in soul mates or past lives or any of that stuff?" his client asked dubiously, making Kendall wonder if the guy had been sniffing the same brand of insanity incense that Camille had lit up.
"Soul mates? Sure, I guess. Past lives? No fucking way."
The couple exchanged a look again before Logan spoke up timidly, nervous smile on his face. "Dak and I had dreams about each before we met."
"My favorite was the one where I was a 1950s greaser and Loge was a nerd," Dak added with a dimpled smirk, eyes twinkling. More goo-goo eyes were exchanged and Kendall felt that now familiar pang of loneliness twinge within his chest.
The couple got lost in their own little world, conversation turning to the so-called past lives they'd shared. Kendall zoned them out in a well-practiced move he used when out with Lucy and Mercedes, putting all his concentration on the tattoo he was finishing up.
The entire piece took a couple hours, Dak pleased with the results and raving wildly about it. Kendall smiled, proud of his work, going through his usual tattoo-care spiel he gave to all clients before handing over a paper copy of what he'd just told him. With a twenty dollar tip and a thanks, Dak and Logan left the shop, arms around each other and goo-goo eyes locked together.
Kendall's station suddenly felt a million times lonelier, despite the shop still bustling. Lucy was working on a regular's back piece, Carlos was bouncing around and singing to the radio as he swept, Jo was talking to a couple clients who were sitting and waiting for their appointment to start, and Gustavo was bellowing into his phone so loud everyone could hear it through the closed door. And yet, as Kendall cleaned up his station, he felt his chest get tight and his heart pound in a sluggish beat.
His eyes came across the backpack still on the half-wall, Lucy's earlier words springing back to the forefront of his mind. Maybe she was right. Maybe he really was unhappy and lonely and in need of a real relationship that was about more than orgasms and a free meal. And maybe he did need to expand his horizons and try some place new in order to find that person he'd have a true connection with and possibly even fall in love with.
He felt that tiny flicker of hope deep inside once again, a small piece of him actually wanting the psychic to be right and for James to exist and be out there, waiting on him. And if he was, Kendall just knew he'd do damn near anything to be with the guy.
The backpack contained leather pants, a mesh shirt, leather cuffs and collar, and big clomping boots.
What. The fuck.
He spent a good twenty minutes on the phone arguing with Lucy about her outfit choice, Mercedes chiming in that she'd actually picked them out and he was welcome—because he'd been put on speakerphone, naturally. His blatant refusal to wear it was met with more threats and a mention of something called an Uli knife that was supposed to be so sharp, one didn't know they were cut until they saw the blood, and Lucy was just dying to test it out.
He tried to switch tactics and declared he wasn't going to a fucking S&M club with his friends, it was just too weird. He got laughed at, the couple both stating that it wasn't that type of club and he still needed to fucking wear that outfit.
He didn't feel all that reassured, but figured he didn't have a choice since he was rather fond of his current record regarding the number of days it's been since Lucy had cut him with something.
She still argued that the welt on his back from her bamboo sword didn't count, but he maintained that if he bled from it, it fucking counted.
Knowing he didn't have a choice, Kendall at least put on the leather pants, the material tight and clinging to him, making it difficult to pull them on. He threw the shirt into a corner, refusing to have anything to do with it, opting for a plain black wifebeater he had stashed in a drawer. The cuffs and collar made him feel gayer than he ever had in his life and he gave them the same treatment as the shirt. He managed to find a black bandana and wrapped it around his wrist as a substitute.
Neither girl was happy with his variations on his outfit, but he flat out told them that they should be glad he's at least in the pants and boots and that if they didn't like it, he didn't have to go. They exchanged looks before sighing simultaneously and giving in, deciding it was a halfway decent compromise. Kendall let out a sigh of his own, his more relieved than anything, glad Lucy wasn't about to use her spiked ring on something delicate of his.
Again.
He double-checked the black plugs in his earlobes, fiddled with his eyebrow ring, made sure he had his wallet, keys, and phone before declaring himself ready to go, leaving his apartment with his friends to fuck knew where.
He just hoped he'd survive the night.
"Fuck Knew Where" turned out to be a club named Kno'Where and Kendall was about ninety-nine percent sure that was a planet from Guardians of the Galaxy. Not that the place had much of a comic book clientele, judging from the endless sea of black and leather that comprised the line outside and the flowing mob of dancers in the building.
Lucy blended right in with her black and red hair and heavy eyeliner, her usual black leather pants now paired with a red tank covered in black lace. Mercedes played the part in her own black corset, putting what she called her best asset on display, black leather miniskirt and knee high stiletto boots completing her look. Kendall felt like he stood out like a sore thumb, despite his own outfit seeming to blend it with countless matching looks. But as he scanned the crowd upon first entering the club proper, he had the paranoid thought that everyone was staring at him and knew what a fraud he was, that he didn't usually dress like that, that he was actually looking forward to taking those damn pants off so his skin could actually breathe. They were already overheated and he could practically hear them cry out for help over the booming bass of whatever dubstep was playing through the house speakers.
Lucy gestured to a table in a far corner, Mercedes following it up by yelling that Kendall needed to get the first round. He wanted to argue that she was the one with an AmEx the same color as the walls so why shouldn't she pay, only to decide it was better just to keep his mouth shut. Chances were she wouldn't even hear his reminder or would just pretend that she hadn't. Better just to play the cooperative li'l friend and behave and use that as a later argument for why he should be allowed to leave before their predetermined exit time.
The words "but I've done what you wanted all night, can I please just go home?" coupled with big green puppy dog eyes and a few rounds in his friends' stomachs pretty much always worked in his favor.
Kendall made his way around to the bar, twisting this way and that to avoid running into people with far less courtesy than he as they walked in the opposite direction. He managed to find an empty slot to the side, settling in and leaning against the bar, set to wait for the attention of one of the two 'tenders. His thumb tapped a rhythm against the wood, halfway in sync with the music pulsing in his bones, eyes flitting about as he took the place in. Black walls, black stools, black bar, black shelves. Hell, even black lights hung over the dance area and he was glad he wasn't suffering from dandruff at the moment.
He gave a surreptitious glance at his armpits to make sure he didn't have any embarrassing stains from his deodorant, thankful his tank was all clean.
Returning his attention to the bar, he took in the bottles lining the shelves at the back, deciding what shots to buy and what drinks to get. Had they been at the Palm Woods—like he wanted—he would've just ordered their usual Heinekens and shots of Jose Cuervo and called it done. Here, Mercedes wanted some sorta fancy drink that actually had to be mixed and Lucy would later order the most inappropriately named thing she could find just so she could yell obnoxiously loud about her desire for a screaming orgasm. She never liked the damn thing but she still cackled asking for it.
Kendall chewed on a thumbnail—that he refused to let Mercedes paint black because a line had to be drawn some-fucking-where and it was at make-up—before reaching a decision. Just in time, too, because one of the bartenders had made his way to the group on Kendall's left, making him next.
He found himself checking the guy out, eyes perusing a nice ass in jeans so tight they were clearly painted on—and he'd thought his own leather pants were constricting, holy hell—moving up to a slim waist and sculpted chest. He spent a long time visually appreciating a muscular arm, a hint of black and gray ink peeking out from under black t-shirt sleeves that were practically strangling the well-sculpted biceps and triceps. The guy was clearly built, and Kendall found himself fantasizing about having that defined frame pin him against something and fuck into him.
And he hadn't even seen the guy's face.
His eyes moved further up, taking in a sculpted jaw covered with well-tended scruff, thin but nice lips, slender nose, and...
Holy. Shit.
Holy shit.
Just. Yeah, holy shit seemed to cover it.
Kendall felt his heart skip a beat in his chest then start up at double time, pounding against the back of his ribcage in a beat much faster than the bass echoing throughout his body. He felt his stomach do that weird twisting-into-knots, filling-with-butterflies thing that it would do in his dreams, skin tingling all over in awareness and slight arousal. His cock twitched in interest within the confines of his boxer-briefs and he had to grip the edge of the bar to keep himself from jumping over it and tackling the man serving drinks.
Because that very man was James. His James.
Holy shit, he was actually real.
And damn if he wasn't more gorgeous in real life.
Kendall stood there with his mouth gaping, mind alternating between shock and joy and arousal, watching the man he swore was a figment of his imagination. But his make believe friends in childhood had never been that attractive, nor had they actually interacted with other people who were real. And James was clearly real, handing drinks over, taking money and exchanging the bills for the customer's change, smiling when he was given some back as a tip. He was real and he was there and he was real and he was walking over to Kendall and he was real and he—
He was standing a foot or so in front of Kendall with raised eyebrows and parted lips, shock evident in wide eyes.
The blond knew how the guy felt.
James shook his head, seeming to snap himself out of it before taking the final step necessary to bring him up to the bar, to bring him within earshot. His lips pulled into a smile, perfectly white teeth displayed, ones that Kendall thought only ever existed in toothpaste ads.
Shouldn't surprise him that James, of all people, had a smile like, since Kendall didn't think he existed in reality either.
The bartender leaned forward, hands on the wood, bringing himself closer to the customer. Kendall could smell him, he was that close, recognizing the scent as Cuda manspray, remembering the free sample of it that he'd gotten in the mail and how he'd liked it but not on himself, which hadn't made sense at the time. Only now it did. Because on James, it was mouthwatering and Kendall had to curl his fingers into fists to stop them from grabbing onto his black tee and hauling him in closer for a better whiff.
Although he'd be damned if he could remembering the reasons why that was unacceptable behavior.
"What can I get ya?" James asked, voice managing to be audible over the music. Despite the cacophony of sounds mixing in with it, it still sounded just like it did in Kendall's dreams: not too deep, yet still masculine. A warmth flooded throughout him, arousal spiking at memories of that very voice creating groans, swearing out in ecstasy, bossing him around in bed, crying out his name as he came.
The blond cleared his throat, shuffled around as his cock chubbed up, trying to think decidedly unsexy things and failing. "Three tequila shots," he requested. "Cuervo if you've got."
The bartender nodded once, tongue darting out to lick his lips, Kendall's mind automatically supplying a million places on his own body that that tongue could go if it wanted. "I need some ID."
Kendall pulled his license out his wallet, handing it over with a slightly shaky hand. He needed to get a grip, needed to calm the fuck down and have his heart pound at a normal pace. But his mind was screaming at him at what a huge deal this was, what a major moment. Because that was him, his James, his soul mate, the literal man of his dreams and the love of many, many lives.
Shit. Camille had been right.
Hell, even admitting the psychic was correct didn't put a damper on the moment, didn't affect him in any way. He was still a mix of excitement at having found James and fear of what that meant from here on out and did the other man feel the same way? Did he recognize Kendall at all? Was this a one-way street? Was he a twin and this wasn't actually his James? After all, the guy hadn't spoken his name, wasn't wearing a name tag. Just because he looked like his James didn't mean he actually was.
And wouldn't that just suck?
James looked at the license in his hand, eyebrows raising, eyes widening, lips parting again. "Kendall?" he practically squeaked, head snapping up. "Your name is Kendall?"
The blond raised a pierced eyebrow before lowering it back down a second or two later. Maybe he wasn't a twin. Maybe this was his James. Maybe the bartender did recognize him, did dream about him, did know that the two of them had been together in past lives and were fated to be together in this one, too.
God, please let him know that.
Kendall swallowed hard, nodding, lips pressed together in a hard line. "Yeah. I'm Kendall," he replied, lips curving up at the corner in a nervous smile. "Why?" Dumb question probably, but he needed to know, needed to hear James say that he'd dreamt about him, too, and that he'd already known who he was but the confirmation was still throwing him through a loop and fucking with his head. He needed to hear that he wasn't alone in this situation and that it was just as surreal and weird and fucked up and awesome as Kendall found it to be.
James let out a nervous huff of a laugh, similar grin on his face as he slid the ID back across the counter. "No reason," he muttered. "You just look like a Kendall, is all."
Well, that certainly killed the joy and ruined the excitement of the moment.
Disappointment was a heavy lead ball in his stomach, making it churn before he'd even had a drink. It got worse when James turned away to fulfill his order and Kendall wondered if he'd even be able to handle the shot. Or if he shouldn't just down all three as soon as he got them then order another round to bring back to the table.
It didn't take long for the shots to be poured then placed in front of him, fingers digging through his wallet for cash. Only to have a tan hand cover his pale one.
He looked up to find James staring at him imploringly, dark eyes pleading, lips working as he struggled to form words. "Sorry," was what he finally came up with, huffing at himself. "That was lame. But I am sorry. I just." He paused, huffed again, hung his head for a moment before meeting Kendall's eyes once more. "Seeing you here? Realizing that you actually exist and aren't just some guy I keep randomly dreaming about? It's kinda throwing me off, ya know?"
Holy. Shit.
Phrase of the evening really. Holy shit. Because really, it pretty much just summed everything up and Kendall wasn't entirely sure he still had a brain after the number of times his mind had exploded over the past ten minutes or less, rendering him incapable of thinking of anything. Other than "holy shit", of course.
He found himself nodding dumbly, a weak "I get it" leaving his lips before he licked them, snapping himself out of it. "I didn't think you were real either."
A toothpaste ad smile formed on James' face, his entire visage lighting up from the inside out. The look took Kendall's breath away and he found himself staring like a moron, still not entirely sure the guy was actually really truly real.
The other bartender yelled for James' attention, he waving back and yelling that he'd be right there. "I gotta go, but I'll see you around. Right?" The final add-on was spoken in such a pathetic voice that even if Kendall wanted to stay away—yeah fucking right, he wasn't as dumb as the stereotypes surrounding his hair color stated—he wouldn't. So he nodded, finding himself blinded by another bright smile. "Shots are on the house." With a final wink, James turned and walked around, leaving Kendall standing there stunned.
Fucking. Hell.
Wait, no, it was "holy shit" that was the phrase of the night.
Either way though...
He moved on automatic, hands gripping the shots carefully, legs on autopilot as they carried him over to where Mercedes and Lucy sat waiting. He barely remembered putting the glasses on the tall round table or lifting one up to his mouth, only aware of the burn sliding down his throat before he finally snapped out of it.
And discovered he was being stared at with matching expressions of "what the fuck?"
Glass back on the table, Kendall shoved a hand through his hair then plopped down on a tall chair, sighing before he finally spoke. "You guys can give up your search for James."
Mercedes scoffed—at least he was sure she did, since he couldn't hear it, but her body rocked like she'd made that noise—and Lucy rolled her eyes like she did whenever he came up with an idea that she deemed "ridiculously retarded".
"Now why the hell would we do something like that?" she questioned, lips twisting as she folded her arms over the table and cocked an eyebrow at him.
"Because I just found him."
"How?" Mercedes snorted, leaning over the table to get closer as she sat across from him. "The only person you even interacted with in this place was—"
Both females seemed to get it at the exact same second, both heads snapping to the bar Kendall had just left. Mercedes leaned back in her seat, arms folded over her torso and pushing her chest up even more than her corset already was, lips twisted in a playful smirk. Lucy wore a wide grin, teeth showing, a devious sort of laugh leaving her.
"Oh, we are gonna be ordering a shitton of drinks tonight," she declared before clinking her shot glass against her girlfriend's. Kendall watched them knock the drinks back, somehow not surprised at her declaration in the slightest.
Mercedes ended up getting the next round of shots, purposely standing by James' end of the bar. She came back with a pout on her face, declaring she didn't like him because he was prettier than her and no one like that should exist. Lucy had soothed her with a shitload of cheesy compliments and ass-kisses that Kendall paid no attention to, downing his shot and surreptitiously staring at James out the corner of his eye.
Lucy got the first set of beers, too curious not to go check him out for herself. She shrugged off his good looks, saying he was attractive, but not her type, winking at Mercedes as she said it. The two girls then went off to dance, Kendall waving off their invitation for a three-way grind-fest. For once, he didn't mind being left out as the couple did their own thing. Instead, he sat there in his seat, torn between nursing his beer so he wouldn't be too drunk and make an ass of himself and wanting to chug it so he could go to the bar for another sooner.
In the end, he decided to make it last, nerves messing with his mind. Admiring James from afar seemed like a much better option, his self-consciousness making itself known and making him worry that he'd embarrass himself in front of the guy or say something to ruin their chances.
Although really, was that even possible? After all, they were soul mates, had managed to make it work in countless past lives. Shouldn't they be able to do the same in this one?
He wasn't willing to risk it. Yes, in theory, he was sick of being alone and single and the third wheel. Really, he should be stoked at the chance to change all that, beyond ecstatic that he'd found his dream man, and he was. But there was still that small part of him that was terrified of what all that meant, at how his life was gonna change from here on out. And it wasn't like they'd immediately slip into a comfortable place and be like Mercedes and Lucy. The two of them had been together for five years now. He and James still had to get to know each other, learn about one another. And he was terrified of James finding something about him that he didn't like.
Soul mates didn't mean it would automatically work out and things would be perfect.
So he kept his distance, relieved when Mercedes and Lucy returned some time later with three waters, taking a breather from dancing.
Although he wasn't entirely sure how much actual dancing had taken place, given the flushed cheeks, Lucy's mussed up hair, and Mercedes' smeared lipstick.
Not telling at all.
Kendall cocked an eyebrow but said nothing, swigging the remnants of his beer before dragging his water closer. None of them said a word, the two girls quenching their thirsts, Lucy rocking back and forth to the music still pumping through the speakers. It was a long moment before their relative silence was broken by Mercedes, tone as princess and demanding as always.
"Are you gonna eye-fuck the bartender all night or actually talk to the guy and get in his pants for real?"
Subtlety, thy name is Mercedes Griffin.
Lucy snorted, smirking around her bottle as she held it by her lips, staring at Kendall in anticipation of his answer.
Only he didn't have one. Other than a lame "I'm not eye-fucking him."
"You are such a shit liar," the blonde insisted, shaking her head in disappointment before turning to her girlfriend. "Thought you taught him better than that."
"Kendall has morals," Lucy said disgusted, sneering and scrunching her nose up like she was smelling something particularly gross. Which wouldn't be much of a surprise considering the number of sweaty bodies writhing only a few feet away.
Another reason why the Palm Woods was better.
Although the Palm Woods didn't have James...
Shit. He'd just realized Lucy was right, too. Goddammit.
Mercedes scoffed, wrinkling her nose and turning to the lone male at the table. "Go talk to him."
He leveled a flat look at her, refusing to give in to her demands and bow to her every whim like everyone else in her life seemed to do. Himself included, most of the time. But not at that moment. "No."
Lucy cuffed him upside the head. "Fidiot," she muttered. "He's the man of your dreams. Literally. Go. Talk. To. Him."
Kendall looked back and forth between his two friends, wondering if he could get wifi on his phone in here and post that Craig's List ad already. But he knew deep down he'd never do it. Despite being dragged places he didn't wanna go and being forced into activities he didn't wanna do, he loved those two crazy chicks. He loved their weapons and threats and brash way of speaking. He loved their love for each other and the way they seemed to move around one another almost in sync without even realizing it, their matching expressions and similar patterns of behavior. He loved the fact that they loved him back and that they always included him in their fun. He loved that they were only looking out for him and his best interests and that they wanted him to be happy, even if they had to force him to do it.
Like that night.
"Just get his number," Mercedes suggested, tone softer than before, still with that hint of brattiness to it. "You can call him tomorrow and ask him out for drinks or something?"
He cocked an eyebrow at that, lips tugging up in a smirk. "You want me to take a bartender out for drinks?" he asked, just to be a little shit.
She smacked him on the arm with the back of her hand, silver ring on her finger doing more damage than the actual hit. "Don't be a dick," she grumbled. "Just go get his number or I'll—"
"All right!" he interrupted, sliding off the stool onto his feet. "I'll get it. If for no other reason than because it's been two hours since I was last threatened by either one of you and I wanna keep that streak going."
Both girls rolled their eyes, knowing he was totally bullshitting them with his piss-poor excuse yet willing to indulge him.
Taking a deep breath, he smoothed his tank down before heading to the bar, narrowly avoiding other patrons. His eyes sought out James, finding him pouring drinks out a shaker into martini glasses to a bunch of young women, smile on his face. Kendall felt a smug sense of satisfaction that the grin wasn't as big as the ones he'd given the blond, that he'd managed to coax a brighter expression out the bartender just by being there.
He finally reached the bar, standing in his earlier spot, James doing a double-take as he checked out the new arrival, smile growing when he saw it was Kendall. And damn if Kendall didn't smile back just as big.
James handled a few other customers, the group around the bar thinning, before finally making his way to Kendall. His hips slightly swayed as he sauntered over and in all that black, he looked like a panther stalking its prey. The blond felt his cock twitch again, mouth going dry at the thought of being the one in his sights, at being the one that the other man wanted to ravage in an animalistic way.
Shit they needed to be alone.
No. First things first. He needed the guy's number. Not that Kendall had anything against one night stands. Hell, for the past couple years, that's all he'd had, one night stands and booty calls. But he wanted more than that from James, despite having just met him. He figured it was the whole soul mate/past life thing, but no matter the case, he wanted to have more than just one night with the guy, wanted him to be more than just a number he dialed or texted whenever he was horny and alone and not in the mood to trawl a bar and actually try to find a hook-up. No, he wanted an actual relationship with this guy. He wanted all night and into the next morning, cooking breakfast together before spending the day cuddling on the couch binge-watching some TV show or another. He wanted date nights and anniversaries and surprise gifts or dinners. He wanted finishing each other's sentences and being able to perfectly convey their thoughts with just a look. He wanted what Mercedes and Lucy had. And then some.
James leaned forward on the bar once again, grin plastered on his face, lips spread as wide as they could go. Kendall wanted to feel them on his skin, wanted trails of kisses and licks and beard-burn all over him as he went down, returning the favor after he'd come screaming the guy's name.
Later, he reminded himself. Hopefully not too much later, but later.
Clearing his throat, he licked his lips and shored up his courage, picking his words carefully before they left his mouth. "Think I could maybe get your number?" he asked, proud at himself for keeping his voice steady and not showing any of the nerves he was still feeling. "Only makes sense to be able to call the guy you drea—"
"I get off in an hour," James interrupted, eyes growing dark with a heavier meaning.
Kendall's cock jumped at his words and the insinuation behind it, mouth moving before he was aware of having sent the order to. "And what time does your shift end?"
The brunet chuckled, smiling wide again. "Hang out 'til then?" he suggested, making it a question so Kendall didn't feel obligated either way. "Then maybe we can head over to my place and. Talk." He put emphasis on the word yet his eyebrows wagged in a way that was interpreted as him meaning something other than exchanging words.
Kendall nodded dumbly, dropping down onto a stool and settling in. "Mind getting me a beer while I hang out?"
"Sure thing." One wink and ten seconds later, his second Heineken was sitting in front of him, James stepping over to help another customer.
He turned his head to his friends, seeing their questioning looks even at that distance, Lucy's hands out in a "what the hell?" manner. With a grin, he gave them a thumbs up, nodding his head towards James. Mercedes threw her arms up in victory, Lucy fist-pumped, then the twosome high-fived. Kendall just shook his head and turned his head and attention back to the bar, hiding his grin behind his beer bottle. His friends were the strangest, most annoying people he'd ever met. But without them, he also wouldn't have met James, and he was glad he now had all three of them in this life.
He just hoped his past self was as lucky as he was and had them, too.