Page 39 of The Best Men
“Actually, I have a better idea. There are a couple of clubs where I know people in town. I’ll drive us to one of them and we’ll see if we can’t hire the DJ for Saturday—or else hire one of his friends.”
I can’t think of a better solution. And Asher seems to have a plan as he rattles off details about DJ Drake.
“Okay. Let’s go. But I’ll drive.”
“Fine. I’m going to change. Meet me out front in ten?”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
Miami twinkles magnificently as we cross the causeway again in the dark. Warm, salty air blows past my face. But I am not relaxed.
It’s still sinking in that I just turned down sex with Asher St. James. But that was so far outside my comfort zone. I've been with one person forsevenyears. I don’t even remember how first kisses work. There’s no way I could pretend to be cavalier about his offer. I’d probably go in for the kiss and break his often-photographed nose or something.
Where is my sex spreadsheet when I need it? But I know for certain that none of the items on my sexual to-do list read:Make fool of self while naked with a professional athlete and underwear model.
Strangely, Asher is quiet in the passenger seat. He doesn’t seem drunk at all, though. I might have been wrong about that.
So, what the hell was he thinking? And why did I shut down the conversation before I got to hear more?
Because he was flip about it, I guess. And because I was angry that he’d extracted a truth about myself that I’d chosen to protect.
Not that it’s a state secret. My family knows, and they don’t care. My ex has always known. I’ve been out to her from the start. Valencia is aware too. But that’s the whole list.
Now that I’m single again, it’s more relevant. But divorce is humiliating. I haven’t discussed my sexuality with other people in my life, because I’m a little sensitive about people’s speculations about my marriage. Sometimes a guy needs some time to sort himself out in private.
And everything with Asher St. James is very exposed.
Including my attraction to him.
Waze tells me to turn left, and that my destination will be in one hundred feet.
I do as told, and pull into the parking lot, then check out the colors on the sign. Another thing that’s very, very exposed?
The clientele at this club. There are all manner of toned, tanned hot guys in twos and threes outside. They’re smoking, laughing.
Kissing. Letting loose.
Suddenly, I’m aching to go inside, and that desire has nothing to do with finding a new DJ.
I want to let loose for once in my damn life.
I want to get out of my head.
No—I need to.
14
I DON’T WANT TO DO THE CONGA
ASHER
Well, ouch. Mark’s rejection stings.
But I know how it is. Rejection is part of life. Rejection is an opportunity for growth. Rejection is merely God’s way of saying:That was the wrong attack on the ball, you dingus.
Fine. I’ll find another opening, and I’ll redirect.
