Unfortunate Son Read Free Page A

things. And was that glittery pink nail polish on his toes?
    “So let me buy you another of whatever it is you’re drinking there, Evan,” Riley was saying when Evan tore his gaze away from Riley’s tiny, shiny feet. “It’s the least I can do after throwing myself at you.” Riley smiled at Tony. “I’ll have a club soda with two lemon and two lime slices, please, and whatever the gentleman wants.”
    Tony nodded toward the beer, a question on his face, but Evan decided he was about done for the night. “I’ll have the same as him.”
    Riley gave him a long, appraising look. “Don’t think you have to not drink on my account, honey. Just because I don’t doesn’t mean I mind if others do.”
    Evan blinked. “No, I—I didn’t know you don’t drink. I’m just done drinking for tonight.”
    Riley studied him for a few more moments before turning back to the bartender. “Okay, then, make it two club sodas, please.”
    Tony nodded and started on the drinks, and Evan pulled out another cigarette, figuring he’d get one more smoke in with the soda. Riley shook his head.
    “Those are bad for you, you know.”
    It was all Evan could do not to crack up. Shit, on the list of bad-for-you things he’d done, cigarettes barely broke the top ten.
    “Yeah, I know,” he said. “Don’t do it a lot. Probably should quit.” Probably won’t .
    He lit up and took a good, deep drag, aware of Riley’s gaze still on him. He blew out the mouthful of smoke—considerately away from his unexpected companion—and knocked the ash into the glass dish that already contained his previous butts. “So if you don’t drink,” he asked, “why are you hanging out in a bar?” He lifted the cigarette back to his mouth, held between two fingers, and raised an eyebrow in question.
    Riley shot him a grin. “Believe it or not, I like the music.”
    Evan’s other eyebrow shot up to match the first. The country-gone-dance (or was it dance-gone-country?) fusions the bar preferred were an acquired taste, to put it mildly. The current soundtrack to their conversation was some kind of club version of Shania Twain’s “Man, I Feel Like A Woman,” and before that had been a mash-up of a classic twangy hit he didn’t know the title of combined with Lady Gaga’s “Born This Way.”
    “Yeah, I know.” Riley headed off his comments. “It’s not all I like, not by any means. But it’s certainly unique, wouldn’t you agree?”
    Their club sodas arrived just then, and Riley smiled at Tony before lifting his glass from its napkin coaster and toward Evan. “To being unique?”
    Evan couldn’t help the smile. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and they did.
    The song changed as Evan swallowed, this time into something both straightforward and easily recognizable, at least to anyone with any knowledge of modern country music: Garth Brooks’ “Friends in Low Places.” Every bar or group Evan had ever been in when this song played had turned it into a sing-along, and tonight was no exception. Voices of varying quality rose around them, including a not-bad baritone from Tony, but Evan and Riley sat it out in silent agreement. Evan smoked between sips of his lemon-lime flavored soda. Riley just sipped his drink, one leg bouncing incessantly, though not in time with the music in any discernible way.
    What with all the singing, the noise level had risen much too high for conversation, so they didn’t talk. Their eyes met occasionally in the mirror behind the bar, but unless Evan’s instincts were deserting him—not entirely out of the question—the interest in Riley’s never strayed past the friendly. It felt… well, it felt strange, actually. Not only had Riley shown no sign of recognizing him by his profession, he’d shown no sign of coming on to him, either. Those two things nearly always went hand in hand, and that was a big part of the problem. Trevor could bed any guy he wanted anytime he wanted, but Evan? Evan rarely even got