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“Looks like it’s a goner,” he said as he handed it back to Greg.
Greg took the phone and shook his head. Just what he needed. He was flying out in another day and already had a to-do list a mile long before he left. But he smiled and thanked the guy for rescuing it from further damage.
“No worries. Can I buy you a drink?”
“Oh, I’m…um…I’m getting drinks for my friends.” Greg took a breath. Steadied himself. “Can I buy you one as thanks?”
The guy flashed him a smile. “I’d like that.” He leaned close enough and shouted in Greg’s ear. “Name’s Holden, by the way.”
Holden held out his hand, and Greg took it, feeling an unfamiliar tension in his chest as his palm connected with the other man’s. Startled, he looked up and found his gaze was met by lively hazel eyes. “Greg,” he offered, but his voice was too soft to be heard over the noise. He cleared his throat and tried again, this time with more success, and was rewarded with another smile.
The guy was older than Greg’s thirty-three by at least a decade, though he wore it well. A real silver fox with gorgeous dark hair sprinkled with gray. He was clean-shaven but had the rugged look of a guy who spent his weekends rock climbing or hiking rather than cruising bars, and the way he carried himself with squared shoulders and a direct gaze… If Greg had a type, Holden was it.
A tug on his hand made Greg realize he hadn’t let go yet, and he tried to pull away, but Holden held on and nudged him forward toward the bar.
“I spent all night waiting for someone like you, I’m not going to let you get away now that I’ve found you.” He smiled. It was the kind of line that should have made Greg wince, but instead he laughed.
“You spend a lot of time coming up with a line like that?” Greg asked.
Holden smiled and shrugged. “Nope. You inspired me.”
Still laughing, Greg stepped up to the bar to order everyone’s drinks. He glanced over his shoulder and asked Holden what he wanted, adding a Manhattan to the list.
He tried to think of something to say while they waited, but Greg was really out of his element. Holden definitely ticked his boxes for physical attractiveness, and based on the way Holden was eyeing him, he did the same for Holden.
Over the years, Greg had figured out the signs that someone was attracted to him—something that had completely eluded him when he was younger. When he recognized it, he could mimic signs of interest, but the kind of I-want-to-get-naked-with-you attraction didn’t happen for him. He wasn’t sex-repulsed or anything like that; he just rarely felt sexual desire. He also preferred connection, trust, and a genuine sense that this person cared for him, or at least saw him as more than just his body parts and the orgasm he could facilitate. It was a lot to ask of a hookup. It was also a lot to ask of himself since Mason.
Greg’s phone buzzed again with an incoming text, and he retrieved it from his back pocket, wincing again at the sight of the cracked screen. The message was from Ricky, letting him know he was taking off with someone and not to wait up for him. Greg started to text back, but the cracked screen caught at his fingertips, so he just turned the phone off and slid it back into his pocket.
Holden leaned close enough he could speak into Greg’s ear. “For a moment, I was worried you were getting a better offer.”
Even with the wild variety of colognes and aftershave and bodywash assaulting his nose, Greg could detect a scent he knew was Holden’s. It was musky and warm, and reminded him of leather and cinnamon, and Greg knew it must be expensive. It was the kind of scent businessmen flying first class wore that spoke of tailored suits, smoky Scottish whisky, and expensive cigars.
Greg turned toward Holden. His hazel eyes sparkled in the lights from the bar’s impressive display of high-end spirits and the neon that edged the bar top, and Greg decided to take Micah’s advice. He could have a drink with Holden and ask the man to dance. It didn’t have to be the start of something.
“I don’t think anyone could give me a better offer tonight,” Greg said. It was the truth, but he felt a moment of dismay at Holden’s reaction—the slight widening of his eyes and flare of his nostrils, the way he leaned closer and brushed his arm against Greg’s. Did he need to disabuse Holden of the idea he was getting lucky tonight? But then the drinks were ready, and Holden helped him carry them back to the high-top where Luis and Darius were still waiting.
“What happened to the bear?” Greg asked.
Luis shrugged, and Darius shook his head. “Told us he was heading to the bathroom and didn’t come back.”
With a pout, Luis grabbed his drink. “That happened the last time we went out too.”
Greg nodded in sympathy but didn’t say anything except to introduce Holden to the guys and let them know Ricky had left already.
“Well, I, for one, am not going to let that little shit be the only one to get something tonight.” Luis downed his drink in a couple of swallows, then dragged Darius back to the dance floor. Greg watched them get swallowed up by the crowd, then turned his attention back to Holden.
The man leaned with one arm across the surface of the high-top. It put his hand next to Greg’s, close enough he knew the placement wasn’t casual but far enough away that it wasn’t crossing any boundaries of personal space. Greg appreciated it, as he did the first chance he got to really take Holden in. He was dressed in dark pants and a white button-up that was open just far enough for Greg to glimpse the swell of well-defined pecs and a smattering of salt-and-pepper hair between them. He almost reminded Greg of the guy in those beer ads, more for the self-assured way he leaned against the high-top than for his looks, but the comparison worked in Holden’s favor.
Holden sipped his drink, then angled closer but still kept the buffer of physical distance, as if he recognized Greg hadn’t invited him into his personal space yet. It was reassuring, and Greg reciprocated the advance by taking a sip of his drink, then placing his glass on the table a bit closer to Holden’s outstretched hand. Close enough to feel the heat of the man’s skin but not quite making contact yet.
They chatted as much as the decibel level in the club allowed. Nonsense talk, easily digested sound bites. Do you live in LA? Yes for Greg, just visiting from Holden. Where are you from? Greg had grown up in Denver, Holden lived in Virginia. They stayed away from anything like jobs, families, personal history and made observations about the groups on the dance floor, all the while closing those remaining millimeters of space until Holden’s little finger finally grazed the outside of Greg’s hand, and Greg didn’t pull away.
Holden smiled at the brief contact but didn’t push any further, and Greg had a moment of wondering if Holden was genuinely so attracted to him that he’d be patient or if he was just waiting for something better to come along. His gaze flicked to Holden’s, and those lively eyes caught him again. There was definitely the possibility of something for him, but whether Holden was perceptive enough to understand what Greg needed remained to be seen.
By the time they finished their drinks, Holden’s hand rested atop Greg’s and his thumb gently stroked across Greg’s palm. They’d moved close enough that their thighs pressed together beneath the table. It wasn’t overtly sexual; Holden wasn’t pressing his knee between Greg’s legs, wasn’t rubbing his thigh against Greg’s cock or aggressively bringing their bodies into alignment. He’d seen the look in too many guys’ faces when they tried that move and been disappointed to find Greg wasn’t hard. Holden hadn’t done anything like that. In fact, while Holden was the one taking action to increase their contact, he was only doing so in response to Greg’s subtle invitations, like when Greg had turned his hand face up on the table, and Holden had laid his on top and begun his light caresses. Greg stared into those gorgeous hazel eyes and wondered if Holden was real.
“Any chance you’ll dance with me?” Holden asked, leaning close enough the warmth of his breath ghosted across Greg’s ear.
