. . .
Fuck!
Derek sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, throat clogged with tears.
I should’ve fucking called him Saturday night!
Or not.
He changed his fuckingnumberto keep Derek away.
Get a fucking clue, you stupid motherfucker—he never wanted you! It was all in your fucking head!
“Derek…” Bailey touched his shoulder and Derek jerked away, practically leaping to his feet.
“I gotta go,” he rasped, swiping at his eyes. He cleared his throat and avoided looking at Bailey as he grabbed his clothes and hurriedly dressed.
“If you’re going home, you can take my car,” Bailey murmured. “Lucas can bring it back.”
Derek sniffed and paused in the doorway. “I’m not going home.”
“Where…?”
He swallowed. “I don’t know.” Derek exited the bedroom and then the apartment.
On the street, he chose a random direction and justwalked—head down, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jacket, eyes on the sidewalk, weaving through pedestrians without looking up. He tried to shut his mind off—didn’t want to think about Patrickever again—but his rebellious thoughts rallied around the beautiful young man and prevented Derek from banishing his memory. And it pissed Derek off as he was forced to recall every fucking detail of their interactions, re-analyzing Patrick’s every word, his every look, his fuckingbody language.
It was never real—he was never attracted to you. He didn’t want to see you Saturday night—he just got trapped!
Derek wasn’t aware of his internal destination until his feet slowed and he realized he was approaching The Lion’s Den strip club. Halting outside the entrance door, he cleared his throat and wiped his eyes, then walked inside.
In the late morning, the club was hardly jumping. A few customers were sprinkled among the tables, casually watching the sexy stripper onstage. Theambianceinside the club created the illusion ofnight—and that’s what Derek needed. He didn’t want to be outside, the bright light of dayglaringon his open wounds,spotlightinghis stupidity.
He took a seat at the bar and ordered a shot of whiskey.
“Starting kind of early, aren’t you?” Daniel took the stool next to Derek. “It isn’t even noon yet.”
Derek shrugged and threw back the shot, then tapped the bar for another. The bartender obliged and refilled the shot glass.
“Are you all right?” Daniel asked doubtfully. “Since when do you have a taste for the hard stuff?”
“Since now,” Derek rasped and downed the second shot. When he asked for another, Daniel waved off the bartender.
“That’s enough this side of noon.” He gazed at the young man with concern. “What’s going on with you?”
Daniel Reed was as muchfamilyas Gideon and the other guys Derek lived with. Derek and the rest of the boys of the house were convinced there was a lot more going on between Daniel and Gideon than the two men admitted. They had yet to claim the title “boyfriends,” though everything in the way they interacted proclaimed they were indeed. Derek and the boys were rooting for them; Gideon and Daniel were perfect for one another.
The ideal match—porn boss and strip club owner. No hang-ups or issues to get in the way. No “religious” barriers to contend with.
“Am I being presumptuous to assume this is about that boy Patrick?”
Of course, Gideon would have mentioned Patrick to Daniel. Gideon told the man everything. Whether they were boyfriends remained unclear, but there was no questioning theirbest friendstatus.
“No,” Derek whispered. “Not presumptuous at all.”
Daniel nodded. “Have you spoken to him since your date?”
Derek sighed and longed for another shot. He wasn’t typically a big drinker—learning about last night’s bender had surprised him. He could party with the best of them but rarely drank to excess outside of the party.
