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I can’t help the way my whole body shakes with laughter. I give his waist a gentle squeeze and place a kiss on his cheek, then gently coax him to stand.
“I think you’re a little too enthusiastic for me.”
Noah pouts, and where I expect him to crawl back to Blair, he puts his hands on his hips and pouts.
“I don’t like this game. I want to go out.”
“Out where?” I ask.
Noah trains his eyes on Blair, who sits up straight and gives us all a lopsided smile. “‘Out’ means he wants to go to Knockout. It’s a queer club over in Oakvale.”
“Didn’t know you went to queer clubs, Blair-Bear,” Shiloh says with a widening grin. “I could do with some loud music and naughty dancing.”
Blair’s own smile falters as he rubs a hand over his eyes. “I’m already getting a buzz headache. Can you all give me an hour?”
Shiloh fist pumps the air, and Noah’s stance relaxes with a pleased smile.
As the others start moving around, Blair turns to me, a hand on my knee that sends a shiver up my spine.
“How about you? You feeling up to going out?”
I nod, the idea of shutting off and getting lost in sounds and moving bodies becomes more and more appealing as B starts coming back to mind. It’s natural for me to place my hand over Blair’s and squeeze our fingers together.
“Tylenol and water. I have a feeling we’re going to wear you out.”
Blair chuckles and presses his shoulder to mine.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Chapter 10
Blair
I don’t feel so fuzzy by the time Shiloh comes barreling back into the apartment forty-five minutes later.
I’ve been staring at myself in the bathroom mirror for at least fifteen of those, and part of it is that I haven’t put eyeliner on in so long it feels like I’ve forgotten how, and the other part is that this is part of my life—part of who I am—that I’ve kept from my brother and just about everyone.
But Noah threatened to withhold cuddles if I tried to leave in a hoodie, and the cuddle-slut in me couldn’t have that.
So here I am in one of my Icon For Hire band tanks, neon orange leggings that make me impossible to miss under all the pulsing lights, and my hair partially pulled back to keep it out of my face while I’m trying not to poke myself in the eye with the liner stick.
Someone pounds on the door—interrupted by a hushed voice—and a second later the door clicks open slowly.
“Hey.” It’s Atlas, which brings a smile to my face as I pack up the tiny bag of makeup I hardly ever bring out. “Cool if I come in?”
“I’m decent, don’t worry.”
He steps inside and shuts the door, sighing and resting his weight against it. “Loh is going to give me a run for my money tonight.”
Atlas isn’t a partygoer, not unless it’s a fraternity or sorority party, so I’m not surprised that his attire is a pair of form fitting jeans and a tee that stretches snuggly over the bulge of his muscles.
He’s every little gay boy’s wet dream, and I’m no exception.
Which reminds me of a conversation I had with ‘A’ while I was getting ready.
A: I’m sorry about before. It wasn’t your fault. I promise. I’m just a mess.
Me: You don’t have to apologize. But maybe we should ease up on the sex stuff? I don’t want you to push yourself.
