Page 18 of Fire Me Up
“Holy shit. Incoming.” Mike was already taking a step forward. “Hope he likes purple.”
Something hot and possessive flared in my chest. I grabbed Mike’s arm, pulling him back. “He’s taken.”
Mike raised an eyebrow. “That’s your baby gay?”
“Yep.”
“He doesn’t look like a baby at all. And I thought you said you were just friends.”
“We are.”
“You have zero self-control. On what planet are you going to dance with that man and not try to fuck him?”
“I have self control. And besides, he’s not my type.”
“Ooh, a top?” Mike perked up.
“Nah, he’s a bottom.” That was a bald-faced lie. I was almost positive Gael was a top—another reason we’d never work out. But there was no reason to give Mike hope.
“Fuck, why are all the muscle hunks bottoms? It’s a damn shame. I love a big strong guy whose only mission is to wreck me properly.” With that, Mike spotted someone else and rushed off to chat.
Gael spotted me, and his face lit up, his smile sunny and warm enough to make my knees weak. Time slowed as he closed the distance between us.
“Hey!” Gael’s voice was warm and slightly breathless. “Sorry, I hope I’m not late. I got turned around trying to find parking.”
“You’re perfect,” I said, then cleared my throat. “I mean, right on time.”
Gael’s eyes did a slow sweep of my outfit, lingering on my bare arms and collarbone. When his gaze met mine again, there was heat there that made my skin prickle.
“I should apologize,” he said, gesturing to his own clothes. “I don’t really have anything sexy. This is pretty much the nicest outfit I own.”
I almost laughed. If Gael thought he needed different clothes to be sexy, he was delusional. The man could wear a garbage bag and still have guys lining up to take him home.
“Trust me,” I said. “You’re doing just fine.”
The bass hit me in the chest the moment we walked through the doors of Under Colfax, the music so loud I felt it in my bones. Colored lights swept across the packed dance floor, and the air was thick with sweat, cologne, and the kind of sexual energy that made even straight guys question things.
This was exactly what Gael needed. A full immersion into gay culture, surrounded by hot guys who’d be more than happy to show him a good time.
So why did the thought of anyone else touching him make me want to punch something?
I forced myself to focus on the practical shit as we approached the cover-charge table. This was about friendship. About helping Liv’s brother figure himself out. The fact that I’d been half-hard since seeing him in those jeans was irrelevant. I could handle a night of casual fun without turning it into something deeper. I was Dylan fucking Kim—king of no-strings-attached hookups. This was just sexy fun between friends.
“Twenty each,” the guy at the table said, stamping our hands with UV ink. “And if you want to join tonight’s color-coded fun, temporary tattoos are five bucks.” He waved his hand across the display of little bandanas.
Gael looked confused, so I leaned closer to explain, trying to ignore how good he smelled. “It’s like the old bandana code from back in the day. Different colors mean different things you’re looking for.”
“What kind of things?” Gael’s voice was curious, but I caught the nervous edge underneath.
“We’ve got twelve different options tonight. Right hand for top, left for bottom, black for leather play, yellow for watersports…” He rattled off the list like he was reading a menu.
“Watersports?” Gael whispered as the man kept talking.
“I’ll explain it later,” I whispered back.
“…and lastly, orange is for if you’re just cruising and not interested in a hookup.”
Gael cleared his throat. “Orange sounds good,” he said, pulling out his wallet. “Left hand.”
