15. Last Man Standing
15
LAST MAN STANDING
Hunter
William orders a round of sparkling cider for everyone. A recovered alcoholic, the rocker’s been sober for two years now.
With the bubbly, we toast to the newlyweds.
“Details,” Nate demands after he knocks back some cider.
William yanks his hubby in for a kiss, then says, “We came here for the show, but everything has been so bloody fucking great, that we said let’s make it official .”
“For the record, I was going to propose after William’s concert tonight,” Christian says, giving dreamy eyes to his hubs.
“But then, we passed a chapel an hour ago, and we said fuck it . We know we love each other. So we got our marriage license and did the deed,” William adds, sounding equally hearts and flowers.
Nate grins, his smile electric. He’s thrilled for his friends, and it’s endearing to see, especially given his personal history. Nate lifts his glass again. “To Mr. Laird and Mr. Halifax.”
“The dude and the dude,” Luke puts in.
Everyone gets in on the toasts, and I add my own simple, but heartfelt cheers . Then Nate introduces me officially to the newcomers. It’s a whirlwind, being part of this world. Everyone is either rich and famous, or an athlete or former athlete. Most are a little older and more sophisticated than me. Here among the glitterati of sports and film and music, one of these men doesn’t belong.
And it’s not the handsome former athlete turned home contractor—Bryan, who’s all golden California guy charm and part of the club. Oh, and he also renovates celebrities’ mansions, so there’s that.
It’s me.
I’m the mere associate TV producer.
I’m not even a creative type, like my father.
I’m just a media business guy, and a newbie at that. An interloper. When Nate retrieves the bottle of bourbon from the table, I waggle my glass his way. I need the real stuff to cover up this bout of I’m not good enough .
He fills my tumbler.
I knock some back, grateful for the burn. Nate drinks too, then he curls his arm around me and tugs me close. “Thanks again for saying yes tonight,” he says.
Ah, hell. I shouldn’t twist myself into a funk at an impromptu celebration.
Who cares if I’m not famous or wickedly talented? I’m making my date happy and that’s good enough for now.
“Easiest yes ever,” I say.
Then, when Luke steals Nate to chat about football, I catch the attention of the rock star whose music I adore. But I don’t go fanboy. No way. I’m cool Hunter tonight. “Congrats again,” I say to William. “I’m happy for you.”
He lights up. “Oh! You’re from London too?”
“Yeah, I grew up there. Spent a little time in the States for uni, but you know how it goes. Can’t get the London out of the guy.”
“And who would want to?” he asks. “Where do you live now?”
“Bloomsbury,” I tell him. We slide into a conversation about our favorite pubs in London, as well as his favorite clubs to perform at. After a few minutes, Nate asks if William can play a hand of cards before he hits the stage.
With a sigh, William shakes his head. “Sound check and all. But after the show, okay? Promise me?”
“I’ll promise your married ass,” Nate says.
After William takes off, we drink another round of the good stuff in honor of the happy couple.
An hour later at the concert, the rock star is crooning one of his chart-topping love songs. “And I said someday, we will meet again.”
He strums the guitar, then holds the final chord for a long, anthemic note that reverberates through the theater.
I feel it deep in my bourbon-soaked bones.
The crowd cheers in a deafening boom. I let loose a thundering woohoo that parches my throat. But I’m a planner, and I brought a water bottle. I down some, then offer it to Nate. He chugs more.
Then, William thrusts an arm in a rocker salute. “Thank you, Las Vegas. You were a fucking amazing crowd. And I love you all. And I absolutely love my husband. Did I tell you I got married today?”
The audience loses its mind.
Nate cheers on William.
I shout.
We’re all effervescent.
William brandishes his ring again from the stage. “Made the love of my life an honest man tonight and I’m so fucking happy. Thank you for coming.”
“You’re welcome,” Nate shouts back, and nobody hears but me, but I think I’m the intended audience, and I laugh.
Just because it’s the mood.
As we shuffle out, hot from the press of bodies, high from the music, buzzed from the bourbon, we meet William backstage, where he says he’s cashing in on the game of poker. “But I have to do a meet and greet first. Can you boys amuse yourselves for an hour or so?” he asks.
An hour would be plenty of time to screw, but I don’t want to pull Nate away from his friends.
“I think we can manage,” Luke says drily, then turns to the rest of us. “Rapture is right across the hall.”
“You like nightclubs?” Nate asks me.
“Love them,” I say.
Fifteen minutes later, we’re slipping past the velvet ropes at the nightclub at the edge of the casino.
Before I know it, Nate, Bryan, Tanner, Luke, and I are dancing under the smoky purple lights, ordering disgustingly large cocktails, and downing whatever these sugary concoctions are.
No idea, but they turn the night into a haze. Time slows and speeds up all at once.
We dance through ten songs or maybe two. We laugh, and it lasts forever and hardly at all. I drink plenty of water because a night of partying is like a mountain bike race—you’ve got to hydrate as you crest the hills. Tomorrow morning I only want to feel the effects of sex, not liquor.
That reminds me…I grab my phone, place a quick order for the morning, then I make Nate drink some more water too. After each glug, he kisses me. So, I make him drink more.
Everything is funny, and sexy, and feels so good.
I have to piss a thousand times, but so does my date, so it’s all good.
After midnight, we return to the VIP room, where William and his husband wait for us. I feel like I’m walking on air. Hell, I’m floating on music and queer camaraderie and it’s the best night ever.
When we reach the poker table, Tanner shouts, “Who’s in?”
William strokes his chin, his eyes turning playful. “I’m in. And I’ve got a wager for all of you. Since I comped all you fuckers and entertained the hell out of you, how about you all entertain me?”
Nate tilts his head in question. “What have you got in mind, Halifax?”
The rocker grins. “Last man standing wins.”
“Um, dude. That’s literally how poker works,” Nate says.
William’s eyes twinkle. “Aha. But I mean, he wins as in…he gets hitched.”
Wait.
Hold on.
Did William just bet us that the winner gets married?
Tanner clears his throat, raises a hand. “Let me get this straight. The winner gets hitched? Not the loser?”
William scoffs at Tanner. “Please. The winner wins . As in , marriage is winning, so yeah, the winner gets hitched tonight,” William says, then smacks a kiss to his husband’s cheek. “But no folding. You’ve got to stay all in.”
“Those are some stakes,” Nate seconds with a long, low whistle.
William just nods. “Fun stakes. Who’s in?”
The room’s quiet for a beat. I hardly know these guys, but I’ve learned this much—we’re all decidedly single.
But we all also, pretty much, love to bet.
Tanner goes first, nodding decisively. “I can play well, and that means I can play not to win.”
With a bring it on grin, Luke plunks a liquor glass down on the felt of the table. “That’s a motherfucking bet. I’m in. And I am not gonna be the last man standing.”
Bryan shakes his head, amused, going down the line as he points to each of his friends. “I know all your tells. I’m in.”
And then there were two.
I turn to my date. These are his friends. His night. His game. I’ll follow his lead.
Nate’s face is flush from the liquor and perhaps the good news of the night. With a sloppy smile, he buries his face against my neck, his beard whisking against me deliciously. “I told you I suck at cards. I especially suck when I’m drunk. There’s no way I’ll win, but what about you?”
My skin warms. My whole body is buzzy and light. “I’ve got you. I’m good enough to make sure I won’t win. I’ll protect you from the horrors of I do .”
“Mmm. You’re more than a ten, Hunter Colburn.” He cups my chin and kisses me. It’s sexy and messy and tastes like Woodford Reserve, and his beard is doing unholy things to my brain. I grab hold of the table for balance. He stumbles, then balances himself, breaking the kiss to whisper, “Can’t wait till the game is over.”
“Me too,” I say as my pulse spikes, but it’s not from the liquor that’s gone to my head. It’s the night, it’s the thrill, it’s the sex plan for later.
It’s the now too.
The wild adrenaline of the dare.
I’m in my element. I’m ziplining. I’m skiing a black diamond. I’m parachuting out of a plane.
“I’m so going to not win,” I say to Nate, doubling down in the spirit of things. He wraps his arms around me, and he’s having a blast.
The dealer doles out the cards. I’ve got an ace. I need to get rid of this fucker. I focus on the two in my hand instead. Or wait. Maybe I should ditch the two? Nope. Don’t want to win with an ace high.
I draw two cards, consider my hand, then pray like hell.
“One by one, show your cards,” William announces.
I blink, fighting off the haze of the alcohol to scan each hand laid on the table.
Tanner lands with a pair of fours. Damn. That won’t do me any good. But he’s holding his breath, crossing his fingers, hoping others have better hands.
Same here.
Luke slaps down an ace high, then taps it for emphasis. He’s safe. “Take that motherfuckers,” he says as a rock forms in the pit of my stomach.
“So cocky,” Bryan says, patting his lone king. Why does he have a get-out-of-jail-free card too, dammit?
With a wicked grin, William shows off a pair of sixes while his husband waves a pair of fives.
The rock becomes my stomach.
Bryan points at them. “So you two win?”
Tanner sucks in a breath.
William laughs, very oh, silly boy . “We’re already married. We’re not getting un-married.”
“Fair point,” Nate says, then displays his jack high. “Looks like Tanner needs a groom.”
The baseball player cringes. He’s been taking a romance timeout since his brief and torrid fling with a sports reporter ended badly.
Nate chuckles and tells me, “Damn good thing I suck at cards, right?”
Dread chills me.
I turn mine over, revealing to the table what I’ve known for several frozen seconds. My cards are snakes. I have three fucking twos.
The guys all stare at my winning hand. Once again, the crew goes terribly quiet. The silence when William dropped his nuptial news? It has nothing on this noise-less, heavy moment.
All eyes are on me.
My neck prickles.
I’ve screwed up everything.
I swallow past the dry spot in my throat, my heart thumping erratically as I finally meet Nate’s blue eyes.
His are strangely blank.
This is worse than I’d thought.
Then Luke breaks the silence. “Looks like Chandler’s getting hitched to his super-hot date,” he says, smacking the table and grinning.
Suddenly, everyone’s laughing, and they rhythmically bang fists on the felt and shout get hitched, get hitched, get hitched.
And Nate is no longer stony-faced. My date erupts into laughter, then into more PDA than he’s given before.
His arms slink around my waist, and he’s kissing my cheek, murmuring, “Perfect end to a perfect night.”
Holy shit. I did this . I gave him the great time he needed and deserved.
All I want to do is make him happy, especially since he’s rubbing his beard against my face. The whiskery brush sends a hot spike of pleasure down my spine, then his words send another. “And just think, afterwards,” he murmurs, “we get to consummate our vows.”
I go up in bourbon-fueled flames. “I’m getting married,” I shout to the room. “And I’m finally, fucking finally, getting shagged. This is the best night ever.”
The guys all laugh. “Nate, your new dude is a baller. This is the guy you should have married in the first place,” someone says.
A baller. I’m a baller.
“He’s so much more fun than your ex,” another puts in.
I preen.
“Hunter is the best date ever,” Nate declares as he wraps me in his arms without a word about what I just said. Maybe he didn’t realize that I confessed my dude virginity to him. Or maybe it’s just no big deal to him.
But either way, I got that secret off my chest and now we’re going to get hitched and bang all night long.
Everything is stellar.
We leave the VIP room and head straight for the blinking neon lights across the hall, the sign beckoning us with 24-hour weddings at The Extravagant Chapel .
But right before we walk inside, Bryan tugs Nate’s shirt, and says in a serious tone, “Buddy, maybe go to a twenty-four-hour drive-through instead. More private.”
Nodding, Nate taps his temple. “Ah, good thinking. I love you, man,” he says.
We weave through the casino, heading to a limo someone ordered. We cruise through the night, grabbing a marriage license along the way, making out more in the back of the car.
Making out so much someone says, “Get a room.”
Someone else says, “Go fuck your fiancé.”
That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard, so I crack up, and so does Nate. “He won’t be my fiancé much longer,” Nate says, then yanks me even closer.
Everything is bubbly and I can’t believe anyone is allowed to have this much fun in one night.
It should be illegal.
In the drive-through booth, a woman dressed like Frank Sinatra conducts the ceremony. Or maybe a man. It’s hard to tell.
We’re standing up, sticking out of the sunroof of the limo well past midnight in Sin City. The car sways a little. I think. Or maybe I’m swaying as the Frank look-alike clears their throat and turns to me. “And do you take Nate Chandler to be your husband?”
Well, this sure is a Risky Business kind of night.
I shrug happily. “Sometimes you gotta say what the fuck ,” I say but less coolly than I’d hoped, since I hiccup.
Frank turns to Nate. “And do you, Nate Chandler, take Hunter Colburn to be your husband?”
The football player laughs so loudly it echoes to the stars. “I’m saying what the fuck too!”
“You may kiss the groom and the groom.”
Nate presses his big, strong body to mine and kisses me fiercely—a hot, possessive kiss that makes me feel like tonight will never end. It’ll go on and on, and everything will always be this good, this fun, this sexy.
On the limo ride back, Captain Responsible hands me some ibuprofen, then gives some to Nate as well. Like good hubbies, we each grab a water bottle from the console, then knock the liquid back.
“You’re the best,” Nate tells Bryan, the ibuprofen supplier.
“And you have the best friends,” I say to Nate, then we stumble out of the limo with rings on and into the bright lights of the casino at The Extravagant. We say goodbye to all the guys, and it’s just the two of us at last.
I’m going to have sex tonight, and I want him to know the score.
I feel differently now than I did the day I met him in the summer. I hid my inexperience from him then because I hardly knew him. On the plane to Vegas, I downplayed it since I didn’t know if it’d turn him off. Even an hour ago, I wasn’t totally one hundred percent clear.
Now, though? Thanks to the night we had, I’m ready to confess it all.
He’s earned it with everything he’s done, from his blunt compliments to his do you like nightclubs question.
Or perhaps it was in the shower, earlier, when he’d been so unashamed about his own desire for me, his own arousal.
I refuse to be ashamed now about my lack of history.
Sex will be even better if this gorgeous, vulnerable, funny, caring man knows it’s all new to me.
When we’re in the elevator, I grab my husband’s shirt and flash him a huge smile that I hope is seductive and hot-as-sin. I gaze up at the blue-eyed guy who’s got on a matching ring. “Here’s the real deal. I’m not just lacking experience. I have none with guys. Zero. Zilch. You’re the first man I’ve done more than kiss. The first and only. And I can’t wait to sleep with you. I wanted you to know that. All my cards are on the table. As in, my ass. And my dick. They’re all yours. And I’ve wanted it to be you ever since I met you.”
For a few seconds, Nate looks starkly sober as he blows out a sharp breath. Then deliriously turned on as he declares, “My husband is so fucking sexy. And I can’t wait to be your first.”
When we leave the elevator, we wrap arms around each other and somehow manage to get down the hall and reach our room without falling or fucking on the floor.
We even unlock the door. What an accomplishment. Once it snicks shut, I undo the top button on my shirt, then another as I head to the bedroom, ready to screw. “Come and get me, handsome,” I call out on the way.
“I’m coming, you’re coming, we’re all coming,” he croons.
I unzip my trousers right as I reach the big king-size bed. He comes up behind me, kisses my neck.
I murmur, close my eyes in pleasure, feeling boneless. My head seems to be floating up from my body and that’s my last thought before I fall face-first onto the mattress and everything goes black.