Maybe it’s that James can be so damned charming, and it’s probably only a matter of time before Gabriel gets sucked into his orbit.

Maybe it’s this feeling that there is so much Gabriel isn’t saying. So much more I want to know.

Maybe I’m fooling myself about Gabriel’s interest in me, and James will see right through it.

Maybe reality can never be as good as what’s in my head, anyhow.

I think of telling James my mom won’t let me go.

But then I picture Gabriel at the club, assuming that I’m pissed at him, damp bangs hanging seductively over his eyes, and Simon, a priest over at St. Bartholomew’s—only none of us are supposed to know it—coming over and using his magnetic church voice on him. I’m a good listener, Simon always says. But from what I’ve heard, listening isn’t the only thing he’s good at.

Gabriel is Simon’s type too, with his coal eyes and his easy smile and… I shake my head.

Let’s get going, I say to James. I don’t want to be late.

Danni waves as we walk in.

Brian pours me a Coke with extra ice.

James takes his place against the wall.

I wait.

The rituals of a night out.

Gabriel doesn’t lean in when he talks to James. He stands right behind me. Close enough that I can feel the heat off his skin.

We’re working up a show at The Space, James tells Gabriel in a way that makes it sound like the most boring thing in the world. It’s a performance art piece about the cost of silence.

I’ve heard this speech before. So while James talks about the impossibility of ever achieving perfect quiet, given the body’s tendency to beat and pump and gurgle, and the price of hiding yourself behind a public face and assuming your voice doesn’t matter, I take a small step to the left and watch.

Gabriel stands straight. Tall. He links his thumbs in his belt loops, angles his head, allows his eyes to stray to mine. Making sure I’m watching him, which, of course, I am.

James speaks so softly that Gabriel has to take a step closer to hear him. James is exhausted, so maybe that’s the cause of his quiet speech. It could be. But I don’t think it is. He’s too deliberate. Too aware. He leans an arm around my shoulder, trying to act casual, and pulls me close.

My arm moves around his back out of habit, and then I drop it when I see the questioning look in Gabriel’s eyes.

And James. Here’s the thing. When he looks at you, his attention can make the room a warmer place, but if he doesn’t like you or isn’t sure, those same eyes can make you turn away from their chill.

Gabriel is fighting it. Fighting him.

But I can’t.

I pull away and wander to the bar. Gabriel’s eyes heavy on my back.

Here, Brian places a Coke on the bar. Looks at me. Takes the glass back. Adds a shot of something. You look like you need it, he says.