I immediately shake my head. “No, we have to go—”
“We’d love to,” Troy cuts in smoothly, squeezing Craig’s shoulder. “Thanks, man. Appreciate it.”
Craig grins like he’s been expecting that answer all along. “Good. I’ll make you our specialty.”
He moves swiftly behind the bar, grabbing bottles of liquor and a shaker. Ice clatters against metal, liquid splattering on the bartop as he pours. He slides two glasses in front of us, each rimmed with sugar and glowing a suspicious shade of purple.
“What is it?” Troy asks, amused.
“It’s called the Bi-Bi Berry,” Craig says with a wink. “Thought you’d appreciate it.”
Troy barks out a laugh. “Love it!”
Heat floods my face so fast I’m sure it’s visible even in the dim lights.
Troy thanks Craig, grabbing one of the glasses and passing the other to me. The glass is cold in my hand. I take a cautious sip. It’s sweet with a tart afterbite, definitely heavy on the alcohol.
Thank God.
Troy’s fingers lace through mine before I can second-guess anything. “C’mon,” he says, tugging gently.
He leads me toward the center of the dance floor. The music swells as we step into the crowd, bass vibrating through my chest. Bodies press close on all sides, moving without hesitation. I take another sip of my drink, hoping it’ll dull the tension coiled in my stomach.
Troy’s hand slides to my waist, warm and firm. He leans in, close enough that his breath brushes my ear as we start to move—nothing complicated, just swaying to the beat.
“You’re doing great,” he murmurs.
I huff a quiet laugh. “I’m standing.”
“That counts.”
I hesitate, then tilt my head toward him. “How did Craig know?”
Troy snickers softly. Instead of answering, he sets his drink down on a nearby ledge and points to his forearm. I’ve seen the tattoo a hundred times—a butterfly. The wings are detailed, beautiful, colored with blue, purple, and pink stripes.
I blink at it, confused.
He arches a brow. “You really never put that together?”
“Put what together?”
“It’s a bi Pride tattoo,” he says, amusement lacing his voice. He runs his finger lightly along the ink. “Those are the colors of the bisexual Pride flag. I got it when I was eighteen—my first tattoo.”
I stare at the stripes again, realization dawning slowly.
“It’s subtle,” he continues. “Most straight people just think it’s a pretty color combo, but other queer people usually clock it.”
The music pulses around us, lights flashing over the ink as his arm moves.
“So Craig saw that and just… knew?” I ask.
“Probably,” Troy says. “Or maybe he just picked up on my vibe.”
“Yourvibe,” I repeat weakly.
He grins and pulls me closer, his hand firm at my waist. “We don’t have to hide here, baby. You’re safe, okay?” His hips rock subtly forward, brushing his crotch against my thigh in time with the music. “Just let loose for once in your life.”
A shudder races through me as he sways with me, tucking his face into the curve of my neck. He presses a slow kiss to my collarbone, and my eyes flutter shut as the strobe lights flash around us. His black hair grazes beneath my nose, and I breathe him in—heady notes of woody cologne and citrus shampoo that have become my favorite scents.
