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The bartender appears, and I order another beer. He orders a whiskey and Coke, and when she sets the drinks down, he picks his up and tilts it toward me in a silent toast. I click my glass against his, and we both drink.

“I’m Evan,” I introduce myself, wanting him to do the same.

“Marcus.”

I truly hadn’t planned on hooking up with anyone tonight. It’s been months since I last bothered. Work and my friends keep me busy enough that sex usually falls lower on my priority list than it probably should at twenty-four. But I wasn’t expecting him to be in Bloomington or for this insane level of desire to take over.

“You want to get out of here?” he asks bluntly, and I like that level of directness.

I glance at my friends, and they’re still deep in conversation, unfazed that I’m gone. I’ve spent enough time with them tonight that slipping out wouldn’t feel like ditching them, even if I am about to pull an Irish goodbye.

Not that it would matter either way when Marcus is looking at me like he wants to devour me.

“Yeah, I do.”

He sets his mostly-full glass down without a word, and I do the same before taking one last look at my friends. Derek’s eyes catch mine this time and he gives me a curious glance, but I just nod at him and walk out the door behind Marcus.

He heads around the corner of the building casually, like he’s got nowhere else to be even though we both know exactly where this is going. He also doesn’t look back to check if I’m following. He just assumes I am, and the confidence he exudes makes my dick stir in my pants.

When he stops walking and turns toward me, my heart hammers in my chest as he crowds me against the wall. The brick is cold and rough against my back, but I barely notice. All I can focus on is him. How close he is, how certain he seems, and the fact that I’m half-hard just from following his lead. It’s a feeling I’ve never experienced before. Usually, I’m the one leading and taking charge. It should scare me how easy it is to let him take control, but my body isn’t arguing. All I want is to give him whatever he desires.

Marcus’s thumb traces the column of my throat before hooking under my chin to tilt my face up. My breath hitches at the bold move. He’s treating me like I’m his, and instead of pulling back, I tilt my head further, giving him more access. He uses that opening to slam his mouth to mine.

The kiss is a hungry, demanding claim as he presses me further against the wall. His other hand snakes around to the back of my neck to pull me closer, melding my body to fit perfectly against his. His tongue tastes like whiskey and his touch feels possessive. I kiss him back just as hard, my hands finding his shoulders and holding onto him as if he might pull away and disappear. This is the most desired I’ve ever felt, and it’s only a kiss. He lets the hand cupping my jaw trail down to my ass and gives it a tight squeeze. My hips thrust forward involuntarily, and my cheeks heat in the dark night, but I’m too turned on to care. He obviously knows I want him, and my boner is doing nothing to hide it.

There’s something about making out like horny teenagers in the parking lot of a bar in my hometown, ten minutes from my parents’ house, that feels so reckless and fun. I’ve been so focused on being responsible and intentional about building my career that I’d forgotten what it felt like just to do something borderline careless, consequences be damned. Marcus gives me the impression that you could lay out all the repercussions in front of him, and he’d still choose to do it anyway. The thought makes me melt further into him.

His body is solid and warm, pressed against me in the frigid air. He breaks the kiss, moving his mouth to my jaw then throat, fully taking everything he wants. I tilt my head back further, soaking in the feeling of him taking the lead. The scratch of his stubble against my cold, sensitive skin is a delicious friction. I don’t even care if I have beard burn tomorrow at Thanksgiving. This is worth it, and my aching cock agrees.

“Fuck,” he mutters against my skin before breaking away. “Can we go to your place?”

“Mine’s full of family.”

“Shit. Mine too,” he grumbles.

We stare at each other, both still catching our breath. I see him running through the same mental checklist I am on where we could go and coming up just as empty. A bar bathroom would be the obvious answer, but not here—not in a place where I know half the people on the other side of that wall. The idea of running into any of my friends on the way out of a stall is enough to kill the mood entirely.

“My car it is,” he says decisively, nodding toward the parking lot. “You coming?”

It’s not exactly what I had in mind, but the alternative is stopping, and that’s not something I’m willing to do. Not with the way he’s still looking at me like I’m a six-foot-one snack.

He unlocks a Jeep and opens the backseat, so I climb in on the other side. It’s cramped and a little awkward, but at this point, I’m so wound up from that kiss that I genuinely do not care.

I’ll make just about anything work right now if it means I get more of him.

CHAPTER 3

Marcus

The moment the doors of my Jeep slam shut, the world outside ceases to exist. The interior lights turn off, plunging us into darkness, broken only by the distant glow of a few streetlights ahead. It’s cramped back here, but I couldn’t care less. I want him more than I want comfort, and since he followed me, I’m hoping he feels the same.

When Evan’s eyes first landed on mine tonight, I wanted to get my hands on him. He’s not my type, not even close, but I’d clocked him the second he walked into the bar. It was impossible not to with the way he smiled, getting swallowed up in hugs from his equally happy friends. I observed him as he laughed and talked. He seemed comfortable here, more comfortable than I could ever imagine being. His tousled brown hair, bright blue eyes, and genuine smile screamed “good guy.” It felt like the kind of smile he’s never once had to fake to appear happy because he just is, and I’d bet money that when he comes back to Bloomington, it feels like nostalgia. His love of life is simply written all over his face, and I wasn’t the only one to take notice.

Evan said he’d grown up here too, and if I had to guess, I’d say he moved somewhere out West. Colorado, maybe. Somewhere full of adventure, the kind of place people who are full of life gravitate toward.

But then I caught him looking at me—more than once—and something about the way his eyes tracked me across the bar made heat crawl up the back of my neck, even though I refused to let that show.

I wanted to crack him. Ruin that easy, sunny exterior of his and have him begging me to make him feel good.