It could have been worse. Romeo’s was a neighborhood joint. Big enough for a decent dance floor, but it wasn’t a huge establishment. I recognized most people there, even if I didn’t know all their names.
Point being, it was on the tame side as gay nightclubs went. But still, I wanted—needed—Greg on my side. Would his opinion change when the existential concept of his brother being gay became in-your-face real by watching him—me—bump and grind on a dance floor with other men? And if I sat it out with him at our table, he’d surely realize I was holding back on his account.
Once again, I got myself all in a twist. Was anything uncomplicated anymore? Maybe it was, and I was simply over-thinking everything.
We approached the tall table where Craig, Bob, Brandon, and Isaac sat. I introduced W
