We raise our glasses together, clinking them against each other, and the liquid courage makes me feel brave.
“Cheers to you finally pulling that stick out of your ass,” I say, winking as I down the Jack Daniel’s, savoring the burn all the way.
Rhett splutters, coughing from almost choking on his shot. “Fuck you.”
“In your dreams, Thornwood.” I set down my glass, not breaking eye contact. “But seriously, you smiled. Like, actually smiled. Didn’t know you were capable.”
“Colt,” he warns, but he’s too buzzed to have a true argument right now.
“What? I’m just appreciating the view.” I let my eyes drag over him slow enough that he notices. “Sue me for giving you the same treatment you’ve been giving me. Don’t think I didn’t notice.” Cash and Dawson make their way back to the table, so I change my tune for them. “No, seriously. Sober Rhett is wound tighter than a nun. Drunk Rhett? Almost fun.”
Cash pats his shoulder while Dawson racks the balls for another game.
“He’s right, dude. This has been fun. Colt really brings out the fun in you,” Dawson says.
I’d bring out a lot more if he let me.
Rhett bites his tongue, as if whatever he was going to say wasn’t worth it at all, and heads to the bathroom.
Pretending to flip my imaginary long locks over my shoulder, I blow air kisses at him as he walks away before grabbing my beer and cue to take my turn.
Sinking a couple balls into different pockets to give us an advantage for this game, I finally decide to break the seal.
I just want to see his fucking face, alone, in the hallway, with me.
I know he’s into me.
Will he combust on the spot?
Setting my beer and cue down, I nod to Dawson to get his attention as Cash takes his turn. “Be right back, dude.”
He nods and I take off to the bathroom, swaying to some song I’ve heard in Halle’s car before. Turning the corner into the hallway, I run straight into him.
Jackpot.
“Sorry,” I mumble, half-heartedly.
Rhett and I meet each other’s gaze, and maybe it’s the drinks, but I swear I see something in his eyes that’s more than just friendly. He’s into me, even if he doesn’t want to admit it yet.
Being tense with our proximity, he backs up, making this too easy. I put my arms against the wall, caging him in.
“I told you, Golden Boy, you’re not my type,” I whisper, pushing my body flush against his, and that’s when I feel it.
His rock hard cock pressed against me.
Holy fuck.
My eyes widen a fraction, but before I can speak, panic flares in his face, and he tries to shove me away. I tighten my arms, keeping him caged against me so he can’t deny it.
Hell no. He’s not getting away—not now.
“Straight men don’t get this hard for another man.” I lay the truth out for him.
His lips tighten into a hard line, and I loosen my hold on him a bit to create some space between us. When he doesn’t move, I do. My fingertips lightly press into his shirt and I drag them down his chest, my eyes trailing behind them. I find his eyes glued to my fingertips, his breath ragged.
My fingers touch the hem of his pants, brushing against the head of his cock, which is tucked up and into his waistband. Suddenly, whatever trance we were in breaks as he shoves me hard, causing me to stumble back against the opposite wall.
As I catch myself, he spits out, “Fuck you,” before storming off through the bar and out the door.
