Just a Friendly Confession

Just a Friendly Confession

 

Two strangers, one truth, and a night that changes everything.

 

Mille Dynamite

 

© Copyright 2025 by Millie Dynamite

 

NOTE: This work contains material not suitable for anyone under eighteen (18) or those of a delicate nature. This is a story and contains descriptive scenes of a graphic, sexual nature. This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

 

Just a Friendly Confession

 

She didn’t mind the din of voices, of too-loud instruments, or the hiss and clang from the barista. Lena settled into the café’s mess of sound and smell and warmth, shaking off the cold of another city, another start, another hope. Cradling her drink, with both hands wrapped around the too-hot mug. Everything in the place hummed with its own anxious energy, the lights too bright, the flyers too colorful, the crowd too eager to be more than this town allowed them.

 

Lena was like them, but more so.

 

But the man across the room caught her attention. Tall. A calm in the clutter and clatter of the club. With her catching his eye as. And unmistakable attraction, the way his focus danced back to her, lingering, confident. The gaze, filled with the promise of more to be said, done, more than any online profile offered.

 

The heat from the coffee seeped into her fingers. Lena pushed her bag under her chair, untangling her scarf and unzipping her jacket. She was still awkward with layers, having spent too many years in a state with a single season. But she was learning what seasons were again, some warm and friendly, others cooler, standoffish, and one, more often than not, cold and unforgiving. The same as it is with people, areas, and with everything these days.

 

The guy was talking to someone. Laughing in a way that made Lena’s stomach tighten, as though she discovered him before, but in a dream. One she couldn’t quite hold on to. Even as he nodded to his friend, he was staring back.

 

For a second, Lena let the corner of her mouth turn to grin. She wasn’t sure what gave her away. But it was there, an electricity hummed through the packed room and found her.

 

“Hey, can I get a refill?”

 

The barista was a peppy blonde girl, the sort of person who lived on foam and espresso shots.

 

Lena slid her mug across the counter.

 

“Surprise me.” One of the few things she enjoyed about being new. Still pretending not to recognize what she wanted. Because when you love something, you lose it, she might try everything without emotion.

 

The young woman handed back a cup full of something too sugary. “If it’s awful, next one’s on me. But if it’s dreadful, I’ll be offended.”

 

“Sweetie, I’m not that picky.” Lena made her way to the remaining empty table. Two people were staking a claim to one side. They moved their bags, sketchpads, and things as she sat.

 

They introduced themselves. A feller in a newsboy cap and a lady with septum piercings. They were charming, but Lena allowed the names to wash past her. She wasn’t here to be the third wheel or a science project for the youngsters. They nudged in, chattering, folding her into their talk about the latest noise-pop sensation, which would’ve sounded just like the last if it had made it this far from Brooklyn.

 

“Not my type of tune.” Sidestepping the conversation. Actually, she loved all music. But these 18- or 19-year-old ‘children’ didn’t interest her. Oh, it’d be fun to have them in bed, if they handled who and what she was.

 

Sipping it, she determined that she didn’t hate the drink after all. The duo slipped back to the stage area, but she stayed where she was, taking in the scene. Some places had always been easy for her. But they were easier when the stakes were low, when it didn’t matter if she fit in or if she left after a month. Then, those times, no one remembered she existed at all. This time was different.

 

She sought more than a shiny toy; she desired this to be home.

 

Another glance at where the man had been, but now he wasn’t. She pulled her phone out of her pocket and checked it. Nothing but some app notifications about messages she wouldn’t read until later. When she glanced up, he materialized, a few feet away, his back to the performers. Close enough, his mouth worked as he spoke with the chick beside him, not so near to catch a word of the conversation.

 

Not quite able to make out what he said.

 

Lena let herself watch him. A one-or two-day growth of beard on a handsome face. Tall, broad shoulders, a scruffy, rugged, well-kept face, which only certain men got away with. He was animated and expressive, his body never out of step with his thoughts. The crowd swallowed him in noise and chatter, but he stood out.

 

Biting her lip, Lena pondered all the things she wanted to do to him in bed. He was her kind of man, but she doubted she was his type of gal.

 

When she caught his eye this time, he smiled and turned his attention laser-focused on her. Giving a slight nod, half hello, the rest, can you believe this joint? Lena liked it, the shared sense of being outsiders together in a world where everyone was an outsider.

 

She was about to stand, to close the distance, when the mic cracked and whined and brought her focus back to the front.

 

“Hey! Wow. Thanks for coming out, all you beautiful people!”

 

The MC wore a floral dress and more eyeliner than Lena believed was advisable for anyone who blinked. The crowd erupted. Lena didn’t know if it was for the outfit, or the mascara, or the beauty thing. But she became part of the cheer. It was good to make noise, to be swallowed up in everyone else’s clatter.

 

“We’ve got an awesome lineup tonight. Lots of new talent. And if you think you can do better, talk to me. We’ve got a few slots open. Or we did.” The MC waved over her shoulder as she jumped off the stage.

 

A skinny gentleman in plaid and skater sneakers hooked up a Fender Stratocaster and introduced himself as someone Lena wouldn’t remember. She didn’t care. He had a way about him, awkward and natural all at once, causing the room to pay attention. A post-modern day beatnik. Complete with floppy hair, a pencil-thin mustache, and a soul patch.

 

“Little quiet up here. You want more vocals or more—”

 

“Guitar!” Lena said, her voice surprising herself, raw and demanding. She caught a glance from the musician and from the hombre still across the room. Both smiled. The heat rushed to her cheeks, her ears, the back of her neck.

 

“Louder, huh? Alright.” The dude stepped on a pedal, the sound ramped up, and shook the windows. The room cheered, the bass rolled through everyone, giving the bar a heartbeat that Lena realized she missed.

 

Closing her eyes, she listened. When the onlookers crowd in close and swayed awkward, uncoordinated. Not dancing, or at least, not good dance. She let herself drift with it, allowed it to sweep her up in the immediacy of people being where they wanted to be. No likes, clicks, or check-ins that proved this moment happened. The instant the song played, she took it and made it all hers.

 

The ballad wrapped up. Lena clapped hard, and the pulse left her as the energy in the room shifted. She was the first to understand him, to recognize he was next to her.

 

“Can I sit?” he said, the words as close and easy as if he were with her forever.

 

She opened her eyes. He was a little older than she thought, early thirties, but not in a way making her too young or out of her depth. Causing her to believe she was seen.

 

“It’s crowded. I get it,” Lena said, motioning to the empty chair. “But, you appreciate, I might be waiting for someone. Let’s say it’s you.”

 

He sat.

 

“Just moved here.” Skipping to the honest, playful move, helping Lena to like him right away.

 

“Been talking to my friends, I see.” Showing him her phone. She let herself laugh, a light sound, the name she used for such a short time. Having been Lena for almost three years now, it still felt as fresh as this location.

 

“Online?” he asked, settling into the chair, claiming his space with none of the entitlement she was discomforted by.

 

“That couple over yonder, well, they think I’m hip.” She glanced toward where the pair had disappeared. “They’d be disappointed to discover I still use dial-up.”

 

“You tired of dating profiles?” He held his drink two-fisted, mirroring her in a way that didn’t mirror at all. As if they drank from the same cup, the identical evening.

 

“There’s something to be said for it. You can get uncomfortable conversations out of the way and agree to move on to the next person. I get weary of everyone else being.” Drifting off and not finishing her sentence. “Sometimes I think it’s more romantic to meet someone and decide you hate each other than to get fooled and be disappointed later.”

 

He set his drink down and extended a hand.

 

“I’m Adam,” he said, “and I think I already like you.”

 

She took his hand, enjoyed the firmness of it, the way he didn’t hold back, didn’t retreat. “Lena. You may, might, probably will change your mind after our conversation. But for now, it makes me happy you think you find me attractive or fun to be around.”

 

“Okay. Is alright if I tell my friends you’re a little bit hip?” Letting her be as much or as little of herself as she wanted, he leaned back.

 

“Tell them I’m an underground sensation, with undercover assets.”

 

Ting a sip, Adam considered his next move. “Can’t keep something like you hid. Thinking out loud here, you’d end up headlining in no time. Now you have me, what’s it called, oh yes, curious about your assets.”

 

The second act came on, and Lena didn’t care about missing it. The lights lowered. The crowd’s chatter was hushed around her, everything soft and immediate and close.

 

They talked about the city, about how different it was from where she lived before. Adam had been here for two years but understood what to say to make her think it was unfamiliar to him, too.

 

“It gets easier. But let’s say if you don’t let it get to you earlier than it should.”

 

“Good. The problem is easy, bores the shit out of me.”

 

He asked about her work, about what had brought her, and she answered without thinking. It wasn’t her usual list of truths she constructed over the years, each one missing enough detail to be safe. That made everything about her less threatening and more real.

 

She talked about how much she required a change, how tired she was of doing the expected. She didn’t comprehend why, but she believed him when he agreed. When he said he understood. She was three years into being herself, and he comprehended all at once.

 

Would he still believe he got it when she came clean, she wondered.

 

Unafraid of the gaps, he allowed the conversation to go to silence, letting Lena lean back, and the melody wrap around them. When she was ready, when she dropped her guard. But for now, it’s still up, grew a little softer, and she turned back to him.

 

“And what about you?” she asked.