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Why, you interested?
No, but I know you are.
The idea of him going alone sat like a heavy stone in my gut. Supposed that made me a jealous ass, especially since I had no rights to Girard.
Come pick me up and go together?
I don’t know.
If we hate it, we can leave.
What if only one of us hates it?
We make a deal. Arrive and leave together.
I like that idea.
Then pick my ass up.
See you in an hour.
A little while later, I got changed into something more decent than sweats and headed to my car. Girard met me in the back parking lot of the bowling alley and slid into the passenger seat as I punched the address for Neon into my GPS.
It was tense in the car on the way there. Girard must’ve known I was nervous, so he didn’t try to make small talk, which I appreciated.
After I found a place to park on an adjacent street, I hesitated behind the wheel.
“Hey, it’s only a bar. Filled with lots of different people.” He placed his warm hand on my thigh, and I shivered. His touch had that effect on me. “Probably even people just like us, going for the first time.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” I said as my shoulders unwound. “You’re good at that, you know?”
“What?”
“Making me feel calmer.”
“Yeah?” The flush on his cheeks was endearing. “Well, you’re good at ramping me up, so let’s go before I either strangle you or maul you.”
We smiled goofily at each other as we got out and joined the line at the door. I felt a bit self-conscious, like someone from campus or one of our teammates was going to spot us standing there, which was ridiculous.
When we finally got inside, I realized it wasn’t much different than the straight clubs I’d gone to a dozen times—loud music, sweaty bodies, a couple of bars, and pockets of people standing everywhere. But as we moved through the crowd to get drinks, small differences stood out. Like same-sex couples holding hands or making out, dancing close, and plenty of interested looks from different sorts of men. When Girard’s hand brushed my waist, no doubt so we wouldn’t lose each other, I nearly flinched, even though I liked the contact. I really liked it. And then I remembered where we were and that nobody would bat an eye, and I reveled in it.
Once we ordered drinks from a bartender who wore cutoff shorts that left little to the imagination—damn—we turned toward the crowd to jostle for a place to stand because it seemed even more packed than when we’d first arrived.
We moved toward one of the columns near the dance floor, neither of us saying much, just taking it all in, when I noticed an older guy—who happened to be good-looking, I could at least acknowledge that—sizing us up.
My skin tingled in this strange way as he moved toward us, and had I been in a straight club, I would’ve known exactly how this was going to go down. Talking, flirting, possibly hooking up. But now I felt like a fish out of water, and that made my pulse pitch. When the guy sidled up to Girard and gave him the once-over, I tried to see it from his point of view. Girard was gorgeous—inside and out—so it made sense that plenty of men would have him in their sights. But I couldn’t douse the blistering fire in my gut as the man inched ever closer. I recognized the feeling as jealously, or maybe possessiveness, something I’d only ever felt with Girard, and it was definitely messing with my head.
“Having fun?” the guy asked Girard in this deep, suggestive voice, and I pretended to watch the dance floor, feigning obliviousness, even as all my muscles tightened. I couldn’t help wondering how Girard would respond if he were here alone. He’d said he was curious from the onset—we’d even played that ridiculous game in the hotel room—and now I questioned if I was somehow holding him back.
“Not sure. We just got here,” Girard replied with a little chuckle. His hand brushed over mine and he knotted our fingers together.
My hands were trembling, my pulse pounding, and I was trying so hard not to read into it, but it was like Girard was making a point that we were in this together—or just together. And I didn’t realize how much I would like it, how much I would crave it.
“Nice.” Now the man was giving me the once-over. “You want some company?”
I held my breath as Girard squeezed my hand, my palm warm and prickly. I couldn’t even find it in me to scowl or make a flippant remark, I was that off my game.
“Sorry,” Girard said. “I’m only interested in this guy.”
“Makes sense to me. Have a good night.”
My heart practically burst through my chest and landed at his feet in worship for how Girard just made me feel. Even after the guy walked away, I stayed frozen, my fingers still tingling.
