Nevin wipes his lips with a fist. I’m still hard from his incomplete suck job. All the players of the game have their eyes on us. We become Hollywood stars for the evening, temporarily. And yes, their mouths hang wide open, surprised. No one says anything. No one blinks. It’s the most uncomfortable I’ve felt all evening, unnecessary but real.
I lean over his left shoulder and mumble, “I need a drink. Let’s get to the bar as fast as we can. What do you say?”
He agrees, head down, perhaps ashamed of his slurping, sucking, and groaning that transpired inside the closet.
We escape to the area where he probably feels most comfortable. Here, both of us behind the bar, after waiting on a few party guests, he teaches me how to make two Long Island iced teas, and we enjoy them. We stand face to
