Spence coughs.
The bartender laughs and says, “I think you’re confusing a Stiff Dick shot with a Slippery Nipple shot. Which one do you want?”
I lean in slightly, playful. “Definitely a stiff dick.”
That does it.
A low, annoyed sound rumbles out of Spence. “He’ll have a light beer. Same for me.”
I snort. “Yeah, okay.” The bartender chuckles, grabbing two bottles from the ice, popping the caps, and sliding them across. We both take them, turning toward the stage where Liz, the owner of the gallery exhibiting Chance’s work, is stepping up, ready to speak.
I lean back against the bar, lifting the bottle, taking a long pull. Then I glance at it, tilting it slightly, waiting. Timing it. Spence lifts his own bottle, takes a sip, and I strike…
“Beer was probably a wise choice. Enough hard liquor and my ankles pin themselves behind my ears.”
He chokes.
Good.
Beer goes the wrong way, and he sputters, grabbing napkins, wiping his mouth and the front of his tux while glaring daggers at me. I bite down on a grin, watching him.
God, I love this.
Joke’s on me, though. Spence leans in close. His breath brushes my ear, voice low. “If I ever fuck you, Ryan,” he murmurs, tone dark and deliberate, “I’d want you completelysober and clear-headed, so you remember every thrust of my fat cock in your pretty jock ass.”
My dick twitches and my grip tightens around the bottle. Spence pulls back just enough to look me in the eye, his gaze sharp, controlled. “And trust me,” he adds quietly, “you wouldn’t need alcohol to pin your ankles behind your ears. I have restraints for that.”
Then he straightens casually, like he didn’t just detonate a lust bomb in my groin. Spence searches my eyes for something, but doesn’t say another word. He just turns back toward the stage.
Liz, the owner of Muse gallery, cuts through the noise of the room as she taps the mic, starting her speech. But I don’t hear a word of it. I’m just leaning against the bar, staring blankly. Heart pounding. Throat dry.
And very,veryaware of the fact that I am in deep.
During the speeches—when Chance takes the stage and blindsides Anthony with everything he’s been coordinating for him in secret—I hang back, watching it all unfold.
A new agency partnered by Anthony and his mentor, Meg. A starting roster of the nation’s hottest athletes, me included. The THRIVE Foundation and Queer Youth Center.
It’s all bigger than anything I think Anthony ever let himself believe he could have. And when it all clicks? When the realization hits him? I see it in his face. Shock. Awe. Emotion that looks like it might split him open.
I find him afterward, weaving through the crowd until I reach him. Chance is glued to his side, like always now. “Congrats, man,” I say, pulling Anthony into a hug.
“Thanks,” he breathes, still looking a little dazed. Chance grins at me from behind Anthony, pride written all over his face. They share a kiss that quickly becomes heated.
Jesus. They’re damn near making out, hands tangled in hair, acting like the rest of the room doesn’t exist. I step back. Not because it bothers me. God, no. It’s the opposite, hitting me in the gut so hard it almost knocks the air out of me.
Because they get to do that. Out in the open. Without hesitation. Without fear. Just pure want.
One-hundred-percent pure love.
“I’m gonna grab another drink,” I mutter, already stepping away. I don’t wait for a response, because suddenly I need…
I push through the crowd, scanning faces until I find what I’m looking for. Broad shoulders. Strong, tapered back. Thighs wrapped in a perfectly fitted tux.
Spence.
He’s talking to two guys, both incredibly good-looking. Polished. Comfortable in themselves. A couple, I realize, just in time to temper my jealousy. The dark-haired one has his arm wrapped around the blond’s waist, holding him close like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
God, I think,I don’t know how much more I can take tonight.Everywhere I look are men like me. Exceptthey’reliving out loud. Touching. Smiling. Existing without looking over their shoulder. Another thought reaches into my chest, grabs a fistful of my heart, and squeezes.
