Page 35 of Coming to Grips
Chase unabashedly watches the muscles shift and roll across Kyle’s back, watches the flex of his biceps. He can do that now. Watch Kyle and admire his body. Chase’s dick perks up—precisely what he didn’t want to happen, so he forces himself to think about what to wear. He could get away with sweats and a tee shirt, but they’re celebrating, so he’ll ask Kyle to help him with jeans and button-up shirt.
* * *
By the time he and Kyle reach Black Gold, the lights are low and the dance floor is full. It’s Friday night, after all.
The dance floor is full of couples whirling about to a Kenny Chesney song, the band’s lead singer doing justice to the original artist. Juicy burgers and tangy barbecue scent the air along with an underpinning of sweat and animal manure. It sounds worse than it actually smells, and it makes Chase miss his job more than ever. It’s been a month since the accident. He hopes recovery is akin to a snowball rolling downhill, and that he’ll be back to work sooner rather than later.
Shorty Erickson has reeled Kyle into their never-ending pool rivalry. Chase watches Kyle lose the first game and has gone to get another round as the last handful of balls of the second game wait to get shot across the felt and into whichever pockets seem most likely.
He carries their fresh beers to a newly emptied table and perches on one of the stools. He watches the people around them eating, talking, laughing, dancing. The band plays mostly country but throws in a few classic rock hits now and again to keep things interesting.
The status change in his relationship with Kyle and his own physical breakthrough make it a good night. Nothing could bring him down right now.
The second beer has gone straight to his bladder, and when he catches Kyle’s eye, he indicates the hallway leading to the restrooms with his thumb. Kyle winks and nods, and a thrill rushes through Chase’s system at the evidence of affection just for him. Chase can’t remember the last time he felt so happy, so joyful. It’s been more than four years ago, that’s for damn sure, and he just wants to enjoy it. He finishes his business, washes his hand, and steps into the hall.
The door closes behind him with a squeak and a body gloms onto him in the barely lit space. A woman’s body. Every nerve ending goes on alert and his hand comes to rest on her waist. The cloying scent of jasmine fills his nose.
Anna?
Heat flares in his gut. He steps backwards, but because of her hold on him, she staggers forward. Warm lips plaster sloppy, alcoholic kisses along his neck and jaw. The stench of rum and Coke mixed with her perfume makes Chase’s stomach roil.
“Chase...” says Anna.
Chase grips her hip and pushes, but her nails dig into one shoulder and the other bicep. “Ow— Dammit, Anna, let go of me.” She holds fast and he curses his dead hand. Without it, he’s at a slight disadvantage.
She presses her breasts, overflowing from her vee-necked tee shirt, against his chest. Why does she feel the need to show them off? He’d always hated that. “Anna, what the hell are you doing? Knock it the fuck off.” He pushes against her hip again, but she’s strong for someone so obviously drunk. He’s got to free himself from her clutches.
“Oh, Chase... I’ve missed you soo much...” All her S’s are slurred, and her breath rivals a distillery for smell.
She grinds her pelvis into his and then runs a hand over his crotch.
He’s so surprised, he freezes. His heart somersaults into his throat, and he sees red. “That’s enough,” he barks. Wedging his working hand between them, he shoves hard on her chest. She stumbles backwards and into the wall, her head hitting the wood paneling with a thud.
She blinks at him and rubs the back of her head. “Oww...that...hurt.”
“Serves you right. Don’t come near me again.” He stalks past her, anger and disbelief making him shake. She has some fucking nerve, drunk or not. The acrid taste of bile tickles the back of his throat. The thought of her hands on him again, her mouth on him makes him sick.
Oh, God—Kyle can’t find out. He’ll go ballistic. Which means Chase needs to calm down, catch his breath; otherwise he’ll give it away. He needs to forget about it for the rest of this evening at least.
Chase exits the hall and glances toward the pool tables. Kyle sits at the table Chase had commandeered earlier, his back to Chase. Chase pulls in several deep breaths and lets them out slowly, his heart finally returning to normal. When he feels as though he can act as if nothing happened, he returns to the table.
“Hey,” Kyle says, pushing Chase’s beer across the table. “Took you long enough.”
Chase grabs the beer, but doesn’t take a drink. Watches the dance floor for a moment. “Sorry, one of those things...” he says, with a shrug, although he can’t quite meet Kyle’s eyes. Not yet.
“Gotcha.”
Chase sighs in relief. His anger dissipating further.
“I could do with some food,” Kyle says, getting to his feet. “What about you? I’m buyin’.”
Chase smiles then, relaxing even more. As long as Anna doesn’t come anywhere near him, he’ll be fine.
“A regular burger and some fries’d be great, thanks. And can you get me some water?”
Crinkles form at the corner of Kyle’s eyes when he looks at him. “You all right?”
“Yeah, ‘course. Why wouldn’t I be?”
