Page 118 of Game Night: Truth or Dare

Bryson pouts. “No, Derek. Come on. It’ll be fun. And you know Evan will give us shit if we stay in.”

He’s right. And he’ll feel guilty because he’ll think he stopped us from going. “Fine. Let’s go.”

“Not so fast,” Bryson says, a mischievous look on his face. “You have to pick: truth or dare.”

“Fucking fine.” I throw my hands up and face him. “Dare.”

His eyes glint and he sits back on his heels. “Gimme a minute. I need to make this good. I really thought you’d pick truth.” I frown at him and he laughs, hopping off the bed and skipping to his room.

Knowing Bryson, it’ll be something outrageous, but I don’t try to stop him. It can’t be too bad, right?

Bryson stays in his room until it’s time for us to go, heading downtown to the gay club, Bangers. I love this club. It’s fairly new, and the crowd is pretty chill. They also have really good drinks.

When I park, Bryson turns to me, bouncing in his seat. “I have your dare.”

Rolling my eyes, I glance at him. “I thought you gave up on that. We’re out of the house, so that means the dare doesn’t count anymore.”

“Not this time. You picked dare, and I have one.” I shrug and motion for him to get on with it. “I dare you to blow a stranger in the club.”

Wait, what? Why is Bryson like this? “Bry. My sweet summer child.”

“Nope,” he says, shaking his head dramatically. “Nope, nope, nope. You said dare, so you have to do the dare. No excuses.”

I groan. “Fine. But I get to pick the person.”

Bryson narrows his eyes at me. “Not a chance. How will I know he’s a stranger?” I open my mouth to answer, but he slashes his hand in the air. “I’ll pick. And I promise he’ll be our type.”

Conceding to his ways, I nod and we hop out of the car, but I’m dragging my feet now. I just hope Bryson finds me someone that’s as fine as I want my men. It’s stupid, wanting to do the dare, but what the hell? It’s not like I have to see this person ever again.

Once we’re inside, we beeline to the bar, ordering rum and Cokes. We turn, eyeing the hot bodies on the dance floor. Most of the men are hot, sweat dripping down their torsos as they writhe to the bass beats. I’m not much of a dancer, but I feel the urge to unwind from a rough week of homework and studying by getting lost in the music.

Just before I take the plunge and make a fool of myself on the dance floor, Bryson taps me. “Him. Daddy in the gray shirt. Holy fuck, he’s hot. I might take this one off your hands.”

My eyes follow where Bryson is pointing and I swallow thickly.

Holy fuck is right.

The man Bryson pointed out was fine with a capital F-I-N-E. He’s dark-haired, with wide, curious eyes. He’s tall, well-built and has a sexy belly that I can imagine myself curled up on, my arms wrapped tightly around him as I stroke it… if he lets me be the big spoon.

I shake my head to eliminate that thought. There will be no sleeping or cuddling. There will only be head in the bathroom.

Bumping Bryson with my hip, I tell him, “Nah, I got this. Hold my drink.”

Chapter 2

Keith

This was a stupid idea. Probably the dumbest idea I’ve had in a while. I came to visit my kid and surprise him with the news that I’d decided to move closer to him, but that didn’t pan out. He wasn’t feeling well and said he’d call me back when he was rested and not feeling like garbage that’d been run over.

With nothing else to do, I decided to try to make my apartment more livable and stock up on groceries. While I was in the grocery store, I heard a few college-aged kids say something about the new gay club that had opened in the next town over. My interest was piqued.

My wife and I divorced three years ago and I haven’t gotten around to dating anyone else, man or woman. A club isn’t the best place to go to find companionship, but I’ve been alone for so long. I’ve hooked up, but nothing deep and no real connections. So I figured fuck it, why not go see what the hype is all about? I can always leave if I feel uncomfortable.

As I stand around and watch the younger people dancing, flirting, and drinking in the club—Bangers—I feel like a dirty old man for watching them. None of them are underage, of course, but they are the same age as my son. I shouldn’t be here.

I come to that conclusion just as a handsome young man catches my eye. He smiles and weaves around people to get to me. Instead of bolting like I want, I hold still. I’m trapped in his gaze, his flirty smile keeping my feet planted.

When he’s standing a few feet from me, still smiling, he says, “Hi,” in a loud voice to be heard over the music.

---