(20) I am what I am

~ Quinn ~

We got back to the squad room mid afternoon and spent the rest of the day writing up the never-ending reports. By the time we’d finished I was more than ready to head home. Or to a club to unwind after a hellishly long couple of days.

That thought had merit actually. It had been too long since I’d gone out just for the hell of it. And I knew just the place, a small watering hole that catered to the gay community with good music and a relaxed atmosphere. Not a meat market, although it was quite possible to find a good man there for a one night stand if you were really looking.

I stopped on the way back to my place long enough to pick up some Chinese, which I ate while deciding what to wear, finishing it off after a nice hot shower that did wonders for my tension level.

Dressed and ready to leave I paused long enough to put my small back-up gun, in its IWB holster. Not that I was planning on running into any trouble but I never went anywhere outside my place without carrying. Part of the cop mentality according to an old sergeant of mine. You always needed a gun when you didn’t have it with you.

For a Sunday night, the club was busy. I stood at the bar nursing a beer as I looked the place over. The pocket-sized dance floor was crowded and every table was full. Some even had hangers-on standing beside them as they talked to the men lucky enough to have gotten a seat before them.

“You look interested and bored at the same time,” a voice said from behind me. I turned and chuckled. It was San Pierre, or as he tagged himself—'one of the sexiest bartenders in the city'—and totally off-limits unless you wanted his partner to squash you flat. At six seven and well over two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle, San's partner was not someone you wanted to mess with, and going after San would put you on his shit list real fast.

“One of those nights I guess," I replied. "I might be interested—if anyone came close to competing with you. They don’t so I’m bored.” Resting against the bar I finished off my beer and ordered another.

“Guess you haven’t spotted the loner in the corner then.” San Pierre nodded to the back of the room and my eyes widened slightly. Barely visible, because of the table full of happy campers between him and me, was a delicate vision in shades of blue, or at least as much of him as I could see was wearing blue. A pale indigo shirt opened to mid-chest topped by a deep blue leather vest. His hair, so blonde it was almost white, was combed back severely which accented high cheekbones and an arrow straight nose. Around one eye he’d painted a deep blue swoosh whose tip almost touched the hair at his temple.

Now I’ve never been one to favor men in make-up, especially the kind that bordered on goth, but on him that one elegant swoop of color worked.  

“He’s not a regular is he, San?”

“No. This is only the third time I’ve seen him here.” San Pierre patted my arm, adding, “And don’t get your hopes up. No one but no one even gets to buy him a drink. If they try he sends it back untouched.”

“Now that’s a challenge if I ever heard one.”

“I’m warning you, Quinn, you’re in for a disappointment if you try.”

I shrugged. “I’ll be no worse off than I am now, will I? What’s his drink of choice?”

“Water with a twist. He’s never ordered anything but that.”

“Good, make one up for me.”

San Pierre’s eyebrows shot up in amused disbelief but he did as I’d asked.