Page 98 of Fighting for You
I turn around to proposition him and find he’s already making out with someone, the hand not holding on to my waist rubbing over the front of another guy’s miniscule gold shorts. The Rocky Horror vibes are strong.
I watch them suck face for a bit, it’s really hot; they’ve got some great chemistry. The song changes, and I realize I’m just watching these dudes kiss like a creep, I’m not even dancing anymore, and Trevor has definitely forgotten about me. Can’t say I’m disappointed, I may even be a little relieved. He’ll have a great night with Mr. Hot Pants. Maybe they’ll hit it off and move in together and get married and have kids. Who am I to stand in the way of true love?
I push my glasses up my nose and look around to see if anyone else catches my eye but decide to grab a glass of water before I head out. I guess it’s just me and my hand tonight. Maybe I’ll get a little wild and crazy and use my left for a change.
It takes a minute to push to the bar, but I manage to squeeze in between a few bodies, shimmying my shoulders to make room for myself. I see I have my work cut out for me in getting the bartender’s attention from the other end. Maybe I should take off my shirt and flash some skin like the rowdy group he’s filling shot glasses for. I let out a resigned sigh and resolve to just call it a night. My suitcase won’t messily stuff and zip itself after all.
As I turn toward the exit, I notice the suited man I saw in line earlier standing just to the right of me.
Oh.
I rake my eyes over him. I wouldn’t call him a twink. Just short-ish, probably a good six inches shorter than my six-foot-two. Even through the pretentious suit he’s wearing, I can tell he takes care of himself. Fuck, he probably runs and lifts things, and he probably wakes up at the ass crack of dawn to do it too. Why is the thought making my dick chub up?
He’s leaning his forearms on the bartop, glass of something neat and brown in a tumbler he keeps fiddling with. He looks like he’s been here all night and just as uncomfortable as outside. His overly formal ensemble appears freshly pressed and wrinkle free, not a hair is out of place in his perfect coif. If I had to guess, I’d think he came in here, planted himself at the bar and hasn’t moved from the spot.
What a shame. And oh how I want to change that. Mess him up a little. At the very least get him to loosen the fucking tie.
Thankfully, he’s not paying me any attention, his gaze caught on something on his other side; he’s not witnessing me check him out so blatantly. Like the full-on creep I apparently am tonight, I lean a little toward him and inhale. He smells fucking delicious. Whatever cologne he’s wearing is crisp and spicy, sophisticated and serious.
“Hi,” I croak out, internally cursing the fucking bartender for not having the decency to see I’m parched and only have oneshot at a first impression. I clear my throat and try again, “Hi. What are you drinking?”
He turns to me in the middle of my lame opening line, and I almost lose the second half of my sentence. Holy fuck. His eyes are so blue. Even under the dim club lights, they’re almost glowing.
I’d say he’s somewhere around my age and checks off every one of the all-American star quarterback fantasies I had in high school: blonde hair, blue eyes, broad shoulders, full, pouty pink lips, and a well defined nose that’s perfectly proportional to his face.
His gaze slides up and down my body quickly, and the blank look on his face is replaced by widening eyes, pink cheeks, and a tight mouth.
A shy boy.
He opens his mouth to say something but is interrupted by a loud, “What can I get you?” Of course the fucking bartender’s timing couldn’t be worse.
But now that I have this pocket-sized Ken’s attention, I abandon my plans of going to my hotel alone. “Two of whatever he’s having,” I say, dipping my chin toward the glass in front of the man I plan to do ungodly things to later.
As the bartender busies himself with pouring us both two fingers of Buffalo Trace neat, the man next to me says, “Hi,” and I just about melt at the perfect, smooth-as-velvet voice that matches everything else on him.
“Do you come here often?”Do you come here often?Am I fucking serious right now? I mean, I know it’s been a while, but I usually have a little bit more game than this. What is wrong with me?
Fortunately for me, my pitiful second opening line earns a small smirk from him. “No, first time. I’m from the west coast. You?”
“Same,” I answer and hand over some cash to the bartender who’s delivered our drinks. “But I’m from the east coast. I was here for the bourbon conference that just wrapped up. What brings you to Louisville?”
Seriously, at this point I’m a walking cliché of bar talk; someone take me out back and end me, spare this poor man. I throw back the bourbon, enjoying the burn all the way down. His eyes are on my Adam’s apple as I swallow, and I see a flash of hunger on his face before it’s gone, back to the timid expression he’s been sporting.
“I—I’m here for work. Heading back home tomorrow.”
“What do you do for work?”
“Uh, I’m in the restaurant business,” he says, stammering a bit. I wonder if he was here for the conference too, but I don’t push the topic since he seems to want to keep things vague.
I chuckle. He’s cute. “Alright, keep your secrets.”
“Pussy Is God” by King Princess starts playing on the club speakers. “Wanna dance?” I ask as I erase the two inches of space between us, pulling him to me by that ridiculous, preppy tie. His body is tense, and his gaze is locked on my lips. I can’t help running my tongue over them before smirking. His eyes flare and dart up to mine. Fuck, they’re gorgeous, such a clear crystal blue, pupils blown. “Better yet, wanna get out of here?”
I wince internally at how trite I sound, but my brain is not functioning properly. There’s something about this tiny, bite-sized man that’s doing all the things to me right now. I want to peel all his secrets back and see what’s underneath.
Mostly I want to peel his pants off and find out if the fucking log I’m feeling on my hip is as big as I think it is.
He nods quickly before downing his drink in a few swallows. “My hotel is right next door.”
