Page 8 of Studious
Icandance, after all.
My hips move, and before I know it, I’m in the middle of a group of guys in tight T-shirts and jeans, dancing to a sped-up club mix of last summer’s big hit by the Paradise. I’m sweating, and my tuxedo jacket becomes heavy and uncomfortable, but I don’t want to take it off. The stiff shoes pinch my aching feet, and the crap in my pockets weighs me down.
Soft lips and a bristly chin rub against my ear. “Hey, handsome. Did you escape from a wedding?”
Two hands are on my waist. I turn around and grin. The guy’s good-looking and slightly older than me. Maybe early twenties. Shorter than me. He smells like strawberries. I make a quick decision: he’ll do. “Nope. This is how I always dress.”
“Liar,” he shouts.
Still dancing, I shrug and lean into him. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
By the next song, we’re kissing. He tastes like the strawberry I smelled, but also mint. It’s nothing like kissing Brian.
And he’s gonna be the best thing I could do to forget I got dumped on prom night.
I can feel club boy’s hardening cock when our zippers touch, and I reach down to grab his ass. Soon we’re grinding and making out hardcore to hoots and hollers from the dancers around us.
I don’t know his name. I don’t want to know it. All I want is to get past how much it hurts that Brian doesn’t love me enough to stay with me when we go to college… or even dance with me at prom.
Club boy’s helping me forget. After teasing me through another few songs, he says in my ear, “Want to go down the hall?”
I nod. I don’t know what’s “down the hall,” but I’m ready for anything. I want to be inside him, if possible, but I’ll take what I can get.
I’m horny, desperate, and angry. I want to feel better. I want to feel less alone. I want to feel like someone wants me.
I don’t want to count on anyone ever again.
Taking my hand, the guy tugs me to an area where guys lurk in the shadows making out. And more.
Fuck yes.Thisis what I want.
Only there’s no room. We both cast around, but…
“Where do you want to go, hot stuff?” the guy asks.
A solution comes to me. “I have a limo.”
He grins and follows me to where my driver is waiting. I ask him to just drive for a while and raise the privacy screen.
Eighteen minutes later, strawberry-mint and I slump into the leather upholstery, our sated dicks flopping against sticky skin.
Oh,hellyes. Sex is awesome. What was I thinking, waiting for Brian? Waiting forlove? What a joke.
I’m going to fuck my way through Los Angeles. Try and stop me.
CHAPTER1
Alden
Present day, ten years later
I let myself out of the Lyft and trip on… flat pavement. Oh, man.Nerts. Good thing I catch myself before I do a face-plant. After I regain my balance, I glance around to see how many people saw that. Apparently none. Not even the driver, since when I go to give him a little wave, he’s already sped off.
With a few clicks on my phone, I give him five stars—because he didn’t say a word to me, which is worth a perfect score—and leave him a tip. I slip my phone into my pocket, brush my damp hands on my slacks, and head into the Santa Monica restaurant located just across the street from the ocean.
Inside, it’s packed. People are waiting everywhere, and between the music and chatter, the noise level is higher than the sounds of traffic and waves outside. Thankfully, the restaurant has a “Please wait to be seated” sign up—I need that kind of step-by-step guidance—so I head for the host stand. The guy at the podium is wearing black sweatpants that must be designer, since they have a weird cut—a dropped crotch but tight around his shins—along with a dress shirt and white leather running shoes studded with silver spikes. None of those garments look like they’ve ever been worn for exercise. He’s about my age, but way cooler than I’ll ever be.
I’m in baggy khakis and a ringer tee that says, “Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal.” Scratching the back of my neck, I realize I probably should’ve worn something else, but the shirt makes me happy, and I’m about as out of my comfort zone as I get. I needed something familiar—like a blankie. Plus, I didn’t get the memo that this was a trendy place.
