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Calder wanted to die.
Or maybe just get blind, stinking drunk.
Baer and Wiley had come up with this “brilliant” idea that he and Lucien would get along better if they went out for a night of drinking and laughs. As if loosening their tongues with alcohol would make things better. They weren’t exactly holding back their barbs right now. Calder couldn’t imagine how bad things were going to get if they lost the last of their inhibitions.
Naturally, Lucien proclaimed this to be a great idea, and Calder had no choice but to agree. He couldn’t appear to be the one who wasn’t trying to smooth things out.
So now here he sat on a high stool at a pub table with Lucien, Baer, and Wiley. Dane and Clay had passed, preferring to spend a quiet evening in. Grey had passed as well, not surprising considering he was still recovering from the book festival fiasco. Cort had opted to remain behind to baby his mate. In short, the two couples were going to enjoy an evening of loud sex since the house was empty.
The night had started off well enough. Wiley had selected a nice restaurant where they’d enjoyed some good food and a few warm-up drinks. The poor artist was the designated driver, but he was still having fun. And it didn’t hurt that Baer was an easygoing guy with lots of amusing stories. Between the two of them, they deftly navigated the strained, awkward silences.
In the meantime, Calder had come up with his own plan. Every time he felt the need to say something snappish or snarky to Lucien, he took a drink.
But then he started taking a drink every time he noticed how Lucien looked tonight. The red button-down shirt revealed a strong neck and hints of a muscular chest all while stretching across these powerful shoulders. Then there were his black slacks that perfectly caressed the curve of his ass and clung to beautifully tapered legs. The man was a sex god. And judging by the smile on his lips as they stepped into the bar, he knew it.
Calder frowned at his dark-blue jeans and T-shirt. He looked like someone’s kid brother. He couldn’t do the hot sexpot thing. There wasn’t anything hot or sexy about him. Men tended to see him and say they had a fetish for Asian twinks or the nerdy look, neither of which he found complimentary.
Most of the time, he wasn’t swamped with feelings of insecurity and inferiority, but it all came out whenever he was with Lucien. The guy was a better Weaver, a better fighter, and all-around more interesting. Lucien could walk into any place and just shine as the fun, outgoing person.
Calder was little more than a quiet shadow gliding through the room, praying someone—anyone—noticed him.
Lifting his drink to his lips, he was hit with ice but no more sanity-saving alcohol. He lowered the tumbler and frowned at it. Empty again. How the hell did that happen? This had to have been his third drink since they reached the bar, and he was still too damn sober. Right now, the only thing the alcohol was doing was making him introspective and helping him to realize that a good chunk of his problem was jealousy.
Well, jealousy and raging attraction for the one man he could not have.
It didn’t matter if Grey saw some kind of faded-out string binding them. They weren’t fated mates or soul mates or whatever the hell Clay, Baer, and Grey had found. At this point, Calder would feel lucky if he and Lucien could find a way to be friends.
And he did want to be friends with Lucien. He did like the man. More than merely being sexy, Lucien was also compassionate and funny. His strength was beyond physical. At his very core, he was strong and brave. Calder admired him for all those things, but he also found that he wanted to kiss the man senseless, and that nearly uncontrolled need was driving him insane.
Control was something he needed in spades with Lucien. He needed to control his desire to climb him like a tree, and he needed to control his tongue, but not the fun way. More the way of keeping it from spewing the nasty and mean things he’d been saying recently.
Yes, it wasn’t him alone. Lucien could be just as mean. But if he stopped, maybe Lucien would stop.
Swallowing a pathetic sigh, Calder lifted his eyes from his empty drink to glance around the bar, trying very hard to avoid Lucien along the way. It was a nice place Wiley had selected, well away from downtown Savannah. The pestilents had clearly gotten accustomed to looking for them there, and they needed a night off from chaos and slaughter.
While not exclusively a gay bar, it definitely catered to men out on the prowl for other men. There was a long bar that seemed to stay perpetually busy and a scattering of pub tables and stools about the place. A small dance floor was in the center as well as a professional DJ who was good enough to keep the floor moderately packed with dancers. He was obviously saving his best stuff in reserve for later in the evening when everyone was ripped.
