“It’s not over yet.”
“There’s more?” I balk. “I don’t know how you could top this.”
Luke’s lips twist up into a devilish grin, and he leans closer to me, his voice barely a whisper in my ear. “I can think of something else I would love to top,” he purrs, and I can feel my cheeks flush as the meaning hits me all at once.
I pull back to stare at him in surprise, and he’s got that ravenous look in his eyes that turns my stomach molten. My eyes go wide, and I snap my head forward toward the stage, swallowing hard. I can feel Luke shaking with laughter beside me, clearly having garnered the flustered reaction he was aiming for.
It’s enough of a dizzying prospect that, when the lights dim again, and the orchestra returns for the second half of the show, I have a hard time paying attention. All I can think about is Luke’s comment and the various ways we could accomplish that. I need to readjust myself in the seat a few times to hide what else it’s done to me.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Playing with Fire
Lukewasn’tjokingabouthaving more planned for the evening. After the DSO concert ends, we go outside, where he does the most typical New York thing I could have expected. He puts his arm out and hails a cab—a literal yellow taxi driving down Woodward with a lit-up sign and everything. I didn’t even know Detroithadtaxis.
As we get into the backseat, Luke directs the driver to take us to Michigan Central Station, and I frown as I try to remember what that is. It sounds familiar, but I’m unwilling to ask and look stupid. If Luke planned it, I’m sure it’ll be spectacular. So, as the car lurches forward, moving more erratically than I’m comfortable with, I hold onto the ‘oh-shit’ handle and wait for the nightmare to be over.
Thankfully, it doesn’t take us long to get there, and while Luke pays the man with cash, I get out and stare in awe at the massive old building standing alone in front of a little park. I recognize it now as the old train station, a historic building that had been derelict most of my life until they started redeveloping it a fewyears ago. I’ve never been before, but I’ve seen pictures of it in its heyday.
A small crowd is gathered in the park for a nighttime exhibit that’s already in full swing by the time we arrive, a dazzling laser light show across the front of the old station. Luke drags us to sit on an available patch of grass where we can watch as brilliant beams of light dance over the architecture. There’s loud music, and people are dancing, their movements free and easy. I have to wonder if drugs are involved, but even without them, this whole thing is very psychedelic.
What I like most is how Luke sits between my legs, leaning back against my chest, his head on my shoulder, and my arm around his waist. It’s the most relaxed I’ve ever felt around so many people in a strange city, and I know it’s because he’s here with me. I would not have been this calm if I had been here with anybody else, yet somehow, with Luke beside me, my anxiety hasn’t been an issue all night. I don’t want to analyze it too deeply, but mygod,does it feel nice.
The show ends just before midnight, and Luke admits that this was the last thing he had planned for the evening. The rest he leaves up to me. We could just as easily drive the hour back to my house if I’m ready to call it a night, or we could continue to hang around downtown and see where the night takes us. At this point, he’s only interested in bar hopping, but there are some cool spots he’s dying to check out.
I’d have a hard time saying no to anything Luke suggested. He could have asked me to hop across the Canadian border, and I wouldn’t have batted an eye. Okay, that’s a lie. Border Patrol scares the shit out of me with the way they interrogate you for coming or going, but I would have boldly pretended I was fine if that’s what Luke really wanted to do.
Thankfully, exiting the country doesn’t come up.
Surprisingly, I’m not tired, despite how late it is. It’s probably the adrenaline from the day's excitement, but I’m not complaining.
For the first time all night, Luke actively looks at a map on his phone to find the bars in our area, and we start walking through the city again. My feet are a little sore, but I don’t mention it. Luke doesn’t seem to have that problem, likely used to it after living in a big city for so long. Still, his pace is leisurely—I suspect for my benefit—as we meander for the rest of the evening.
Each new bar we hit up is unique from the last and incredibly modern—nothing like Lucky’s back home. The drinks have fancy names, with even fancier liquors and higher price tags, but I don’t feel out of place while I’m with Luke. These are the environments he’s used to, like they were made for him.
He makes conversation with perfect strangers, and even gets me to talk with them, too. It’s second nature to him, but I’ll blame the copious amount of alcohol as my excuse. Lord knows a sober Ethan wouldn’t be this chatty, and I’m pleasantly buzzed before long.
But I have to laugh when Luke actively starts getting hit on by incredibly attractive and fashionable men who simultaneously ignore me like I’m invisible. They approach him with a ridiculous amount of self-assurance, offering to buy him a drink, or tossing out some well-rehearsed pick-up line, and Luke always cuts them down with a sharp and succinct "no" without even giving them a proper glance. It’s brutal but amusing to watch.
Or at least it's cute the first couple of times it happens. It gets irritating by the fourth or fifth guy who comes to flirt withmyboyfriendwhile I’m sitting right here, like it’s not the rudest thing they could do. It’s clear that he’s out with me to anyone paying attention, so it begins to feel personal, like these guysonly feel confident approaching him because they think they can offer him something better. The longer it continues, the harder it is to squash down the worry in my gut that it might be true.
So, when yet another guy comes up after we’ve been at a new bar for all but twenty minutes, I’m ready to lose my cool. He asks Luke to come home with him outright, skipping the pick-up line and going straight to the point of what he wants. I nearly choke on my drink, and my jaw drops at the audacity. Turning to look at this guy, I can’t help but scoff in disbelief that anyone would be comfortable starting a conversation like that.
He’s unmistakably handsome, so it’s likely a line that works well for him. At around 6’3”, his tanned olive skin and chiseled jaw with the shadow of a beard growing in give him an ethnically ambiguous, rugged ruffian vibe. His dark, curly black hair is chin-length and swept to the side. It looks like it would absolutely be the best thing to run your fingers through, and he knows it. He’s even got smoldering gray eyes—the kind that seems impossible outside of a romance novel. Actually, I wouldn’t be surprised if hedidjust step out of a romance novel. It's almost unnatural how pretty he is.
My brain instantly paints a picture of this man’s entire life, and now all I can see is the image of him and Luke living happily ever after together, standing side by side as the most beautiful power couple in the world. He has an impeccable sense of fashion, on-brand with Luke’s particular charms, so they’d be equally matched there. I bet he’s even got some fancy career as an artist that he and Luke could bond over. He’s probably a painter. Or a sculptor. Maybe even a pretentious writer—the kind who writes for the accolades instead of the story and looks down on everyone else.
With the sound of my disapproval at his offer, Mr. Smolder turns his gaze in my direction, his attention suddenly focused on me. He seems unimpressed as his eyes travel down my personand back up to my face with a single arched brow. He makes a ‘tch’sound with his tongue against his teeth, then turns back to Luke, dismissing me as any competition. I bite back a string of curses as my blood boils.
“Not happening,” Luke says curtly, cutting the asshole off before he can speak again. He then turns his whole body to me, grabbing my hand to drive the point home that we’re here together, unexpectedly sending my heart aflutter.
I get another disgusted look from the guy before he saunters away, and I stare after him in shocked disbelief.
“Jesus Christ, gay men aremean,” I say.
“They come in all sorts.” Luke sighs. “But you’re not wrong.”
“Is this normal for you?” I ask, my brows furrowing. “Guys really come up to you like this and treat you like some kind of conquest?”
