I jog over and give Ava her cup before joining Ali at the table.
He continues to watch me, and as I stare down at him, he opens his mouth to ask the question that’s become our thing. Before he can get the words out, I bend down and say, “Yep.” And I press my lips against his in a soft kiss.
Merrick’s Statement
It was a little over ten years ago that I realized I was gay. Shortly after, I fell in love with my best friend, and I’m lucky to still have him in my life today. Like a lot of people, I was afraid of coming out. I worried about how my family and friends would react. Fear kept me in the closet. Fear kept me from being an out and proud gay man. Fear kept me from the love of my life, and I refuse to continue to let fear control me.
Nobody should have to explain or talk about their sexuality, but I understand that while we appear to be taking steps toward equality, there’s still a lot of people who have to endure bullying and discrimination, and we’ll only continue to make progress if people stand up and have their voices heard. My platform allows me a louder voice than most, and I plan on using it.
While I want to keep my relationship private, I can now happily and proudly say that I’m in a relationship with a man who I love more than anything in this world.
-Merrick Kingston
Preview of On the Rocks
Royce
“You break up with your boyfriend for me yet?” I ask London as she wiggles into the barstool across from me.
She purses her pink lips and tilts her head. “Sorry to disappoint,” she answers, placing her wallet down in front of her. “You know what I want.”
I smirk at her. “You know what I want, too.”
She rolls her eyes, but a smile plays on her lips. Her head turns toward the stage where the band is setting up.
“New band?”
“Yep,” I answer, pulling the Johnnie Walker bottle out and then pouring it over ice. “They’re pretty good.”
“Gonna be hard to fill the last band’s shoes,” she says, raising her brows at me.
I chuckle. “Yeah, I’d say so. But we can’t keep doing karaoke every Saturday night. It’s been months of that shit, and the last thing I want to hear is a bunch of drunk asses getting up there and screaming the wrong lyrics into the mic.” I slide her glass over to her. “Black Label. On the rocks.”
“Thanks, Royce.”
I give her a nod and quick smile before moving down a few seats and serving another customer.
It’s only six-thirty, so it’s not too busy yet. The place usually starts filling up around nine, and it doesn’t slow down until about one.
Gaspar is a small town and it isn’t really known for its nightlife, but we get plenty of business throughout the week, regardless. In fact, we’re probably the number one place people choose to spend their time after work or on the weekends.
“Same thing, Jim?” I ask one of our regulars.
“You bet,” he answers, knocking on the wood before going back to a conversation with his co-worker, Craig.
Because I’ve lived in Gaspar my whole twenty-seven years of life, I know most everyone who comes in here. Craig and Jim always come in after work on Wednesdays, and most Saturdays and Sundays.
I pour him a Jack and Coke, heavy on the Jack, and place it on one of our King’s Tavern napkins.
“Craig, buddy. What are you talking about? The Bengals are way better than the Browns!”
“No they’re not,” Craig scoffs. “A Bud Light, Royce.”
I grab a pint glass and begin filling it up, still listening to their conversation.
“What?” Jim exclaims dramatically, his hand slapping against his forehead. “We lead the overall series fifty to forty-one.”
Craig waves his hand through the air, dismissing the stats.
I place his beer in front of him. “Good luck.”
“You’re not gonna help me out here?” Craig asks, gesturing to Jim before sliding me his credit card.
“Sorry, man. I’m staying out of this one.” I leave them to their arguing and start their tab before I go back to London.
“Need me to fill you up?” I ask, my lips pulling up on one side.
“Why does everything you say sound dirty?” she asks, running her dainty pointer finger around the rim of the glass.
“Maybe you have a dirty mind. I’m just asking if you need a refill.”
“You could just ask if I need a refill, and not if I need you to fill me up while you look at me like that.”
“Like what?” I ask, leaning onto my forearms in front of her. My tongue briefly slides across my bottom lip as my eyes drop to her mouth.
London attempts to keep a serious face as I stare into her light blue eyes, but she falters after several seconds and dismisses me with a laugh. “You know what you’re doing,” she utters, taking a sip from her drink.
I stand up straight, raising my arms in surrender. “Hey, I’m just making sure my customers are satisfied. It’s part of the job.”
“Mmhhmm,” she murmurs. “I’ve seen you in action. You don’t have to tell me twice.”
“What do you mean you’ve seen me in action?” I ask, leaning my hip against the bar.
“Oh please,” she says with a laugh, pushing her long, blond hair behind her shoulder. “Everybody in here knows you hook up with some rando who laughs too hard at your jokes, which aren’t even that funny, by the way.”
“Rando? And what do you mean I’m not funny? Remember that joke I told you about how French fries weren’t first made in France, but in Greece. You laughed!”
“I chuckled, maybe. But that was only because an eight-year-old had just told me the same joke the day before.”
“Ouch,” I
