Chapter One

      Zander didn’t know what to expect from the bar Elijah had chosen. He’d been prepared for the worst, to be dragged into some seedy little building in some dark little corner of town, where the police would never find his body. At the very least, there should have been more rainbows.
     Stargazer was located in the busiest part of downtown. The exterior was ancient, fading brick, just like its neighbors. The interior was brightly lit enough to be warm and inviting, but just dim enough to be intimate. There were no puddles of vomit on the shiny floor tiles, no belligerent drunks draped over the polished wood bar, and the only fight involved a bartender and a server jockeying for control of a remote. Behind them, the gigantic flat screen TV flipped back and forth between some crime drama and yesterday’s football game.
     “No one wants to watch that crap, Ryan,” the bartender said
     “Says you,” countered Ryan the Server.
     “For fuck’s sake,” a third employee - one who looked too young to be working there - said. “You’re both idiots.” He opened Netflix, shoved the remote into a pocket, and sauntered away.
     Zander squinted up at the screen. “Is that… The Great British Baking Show?”
     “I feel like you’re focusing on the wrong things here,” Elijah said. He sat perched on a barstool like a king overlooking his domain, and sipped on something pink and fruity. 
     If the entirely-too-detailed stories of his sexual exploits were true, he could have had any of the men here eating out of the palm of his hand. Instead, he was stuck babysitting Zander, but he didn’t look put out by it. His lips were pressed together, as though he were trying to laugh.
     In another universe, Zander and Elijah might have been a thing. Elijah was far from unattractive, with his tousled blond hair and pretty, full lips, and he was fun to have around, but the timing had been all wrong. They’d been friends so long they couldn’t be anything else. Zander would almost rather fuck Leslie again.
     Thinking of her soured his mood, and he took a long swig of his beer. Maybe this time it would succeed in burning away the shame that had taken root in his stomach.
     Elijah must have noticed, because his face scrunched up in a deep frown. “Definitely focusing on the wrong things. Look,” he gestured to the bar around them. “You’re surrounded by hot guys, and you’re finally free of that bitch. What more could you ask for?”
     That’s how Elijah always referred to Leslie, in terms like bitch and cunt, even though she’d never done anything wrong. Their divorce, after all, had been Zander’s fault. Because he’d lived in blissful heterosexual ignorance, just long enough to marry a woman he didn’t love.
     If she was guilty of anything, it was reacting strangely to the news. She’d never been an emotional woman - Zander had liked that about her - but he had prepared for the worst. For screaming and crying and throwing things. But Leslie had just sat there, on the couch that he’d let her pick out because some part of him had never cared about the life they were supposedly building together. She’d smiled politely, blandly, as though he’d been talking about the weather and not the fact that their marriage was built on a lie.
     “Thank you for telling me,” she’d said, and continued typing away on her laptop. As though nothing had changed.
     Zander had sat there in stunned silence for a heartbeat, then: “Les, I don’t think you understand. I… I want a divorce.”
     “Why?”
     That was the first time they’d fought with one another, and they had been fighting ever since. Even after she finally, reluctantly signed the papers that put the final nail in the coffin of their marriage. He probably deserved that.
     To Elijah, he said, “I think I’m actually gonna call it a night.” 
     He stood and downed the rest of his drink in one go. Over the rim of the glass, he caught Elijah’s frown, but he wasn’t looking at Zander. He was looking over his shoulder, almost like he was expecting to see someone. When Zander put the cup down, the look was gone. Elijah was sipping at his drink, the very picture of bored indifference.
     “Already?” Elijah asked, a little too casually. “You haven’t spoken to anyone yet.”
     “And whose fault is that?”
     Elijah was the one who shuffled them off to this corner of the bar and shooed away anyone who tried to approach. He made some excuse every time about how he didn’t like the look of this guy, or that one was definitely trouble, and that one was wearing a ring. (Some excuses were more valid than others.) Elijah was the expert on this sort of thing, so Zander trusted his judgment. Even if he was starting to feel like this had been a waste of time. 
     Really, what had he been thinking? The ink is barely dry on his divorce papers, and he’s here making a half-assed attempt to pick up a guy. All because Elijah made it sounded like he was missing out or something. Maybe that’s true. Maybe it would be different being with someone he’s actually attracted to, in more than the superficial way he found Leslie pretty. That didn't mean he had to rush into anything, either. He had plenty of time to figure out what he wants, whether that involved another person or not.
     Elijah huffed. “I’m only weeding out the unworthy.”
     “And I appreciate that, but I think that’s enough unworthy for one day. I’ll see you at work tomorrow.” 
     He turned to leave, and a warm hand settled between his shoulder blades.
     “Leaving so soon?” A male voice, one Zander didn’t recognize, asked.
     Zander turned to face the man, to tell him that he was, in fact, leaving and that he didn’t appreciate the invasion of his personal space. The words died in his throat. The man was a few inches shorter than Zander, but he had a sort of commanding presence that made him seem taller. Curly blond hair fell artfully into a pair of star-bright blue eyes set in a soft, almost delicate face. His lips, which had a prominent cupid’s bow, stretched into a smile that was both fond and … relieved? As if to say there you are. I’ve found you at last.
     The man was good-looking, but that’s not what drew Zander up short. There was something… familiar about him. Zander didn’t know this man, but he felt as though he should. It wasn’t a feeling like maybe they’d crossed paths once or twice. It was as though Zander had known this man all his life, and yet, somehow, never learned his name.
     “Tell you what,” the stranger, who did not feel like a stranger, said. “If you stay a little longer, the next round of drinks will be on me. I’ll even buy one for your… friend?”
Zander’s head jerked to where Elijah was sitting, still with that ridiculous pink concoction. For one wild second, Zander had forgotten he was there. Rather than being offended, Elijah just gave him a bemused sort of smile, and mouthed the words you’re staring.
     Zander cleared his throat, as though that might dislodge the words caught in there. “Friend, yeah. I’m Zander, and he’s-“
     “Gone, is what I am.” Elijah hopped down from the barstool. As he turned down the small hallway where the bathrooms were, he called. “You kids have fun.”    
     Zander stared dumbly at the spot where Elijah had been. He said he was weeding out the unworthy, but he was quick to leave Zander alone with this man. Did that mean that Elijah found him “worthy” from a mere three sentences?
     The man seemed to take this as some sort of invitation. He settled onto the stool next to Zander and raised a hand to get the attention of the bartender.
     “Al! Hey, I’m talking to you, asshole.”
     “Go fuck yourself, Art. I’m busy.”
     “Is that any way to talk to a paying customer?” The man - Art- shot back. “When you’re done being a dick for no reason, give me two more of whatever he’s having.”
     Al the Bartender made a noncommittal noise, but reached for two glasses, anyway. Zander barely registered it as he poured the drinks. All of his brainpower was being used trying to figure out how he knew this man. Why everything about him, from the soft curve of his jaw to the way his long, ringed fingers drummed on the bar, tugged at Zander’s heart.
     “Art, was it?” he ventured.
     The man groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “I hate that name.”
     “Why? It’s a nice name.”
     “It’s geriatric. It makes me sound like I’m 80, and not even your pretty mouth can change that.”
     “Then what should I call you?”
     “You can call me Artem.”