Chapter 5
“Jesus, I thought you’d died in there,” Roxy says, sliding a beer across the bar to a waiting customer. “I was close to sending a search party.”
“Sorry. Stomach issues,” I say, ducking behind the bar and grabbing a glass.
She squints at me. “You didn’t rub one out in there, did you? That’s cheating.”
“What? No. Of course not.” I avoid her eyes, wiping down the bar. “Just felt off for a second.”
“You do look a bit pale, actually. Are you okay to work?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”
That seems to satisfy her for now. She turns to take another order, and I fall back into the rhythm of the job. Pour, serve, collect money, repeat.
The bar’s gotten even more crowded since I left. Noise bouncing off the walls, bodies everywhere. But my head’s not in it. My hands feel clumsy, the glasses slippery. I keep glancing over at the football table. At Brock.
He’s laughing at something one of his teammates said, Heineken Zero in hand. Totally relaxed. Like he didn’t just have my dick down his throat ten minutes ago.
Is this how girls feel after hooking up with me? All twisted up inside, while I move on as if nothing happened? It’s a weird thought. It makes me feel like an asshole.
I try to catch his eye, but he doesn’t look my way.
Not once. I don’t know what I expect. A wink?
A nod? Something to acknowledge what happened?
I get nothing. And why would I? This is what I wanted, right?
No strings. Get off, get back to work. Mission accomplished.
He’s probably already erased me, placed me in a box labeled “dive bar blowjob,” and moved on with his night.
It shouldn’t bother me. That’s literally what I do all the time. Get laid, get gone. No attachments. So why do I feel so weird about it? Why is my stomach in knots? And the fact that it’s a dude making me feel this way makes it a thousand times more fucked up.
“Skylar,” Roxy says, appearing at my elbow.
“Huh?”
“The blonde. That’s her name.” She nods toward the high-top. “She asked about you again.”
“Did she?”
“She did.” Roxy grins. “And I may have accidentally told her you’re single and very well-endowed.”
“Rox.”
“Hey, I saw you talking to that football player.” She nudges me with her hip. “You send jocks my way, I send hot blondes yours. Tit for tat.”
I don’t even have a comeback for that. My brain is still too scrambled. I just shake my head and grab a bottle of gin. I need to pull it together. If Roxy notices anything off, I’ll never hear the end of it.
Around midnight, the crowd starts thinning.
One by one, the high-tops empty out. Clubbers head somewhere louder.
Some couples stumble out, hands all over each other.
The football team’s also packing it in. They down their last round of shots, stack the glasses, and start filing out, one after the other.
Not Brock, though. He’s still at the table, deep in conversation with another guy.
When Skylar’s friends finally leave, she makes her way to the bar instead. She leans forward, giving me a perfect view down her top.
“Leaving?” I ask, forcing a smile.
“My friends are dragging me to some club.” She smiles, teeth white under the bar lights. “But I was hoping you might be free later.”
“I’ve got to close up,” I say, hearing how flat I sound.
“What about after? I don’t mind waiting.”
“Sorry. Long night.” I gesture at the mess behind me. “Gotta crash.”
“Oh.” Her smile falters. “Well, maybe another night?” She pulls a pen from her purse and scribbles something on a napkin. “Here’s my number. Just in case.” She slides it across the bar.
“Thanks.”
“Have a good night.”
“You too.”
She gives me one last look before heading out. I watch her go and feel nothing. No regret. No pull. Just a weird hollow ache. Ten minutes in a bathroom stall with a guy has done what a lifetime of one-night stands never managed: it broke my programming. Killed my interest in the easy conquest.
I crumple the napkin and toss it in the trash.
“Damn,” Roxy says, leaning against the bar. “You actually turned her down. I thought for sure you were gonna cave.”
“Told you. I’m motivated.”
I don’t feel great about lying to my friend.
But what am I supposed to say? Sorry, Rox, I didn’t fuck the hot blonde because I got a spectacular blowjob from a giant football player in the men’s room.
Oh, and by the way, I think I might be less straight than I thought.
Yeah, no. That’s not a conversation I’m ready to have.
“You’re actually going to win this, aren’t you?” She looks genuinely surprised.
“Don’t sound so shocked.”
“I’m not. I’m just…” She shakes her head. “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.” Because right now, I don’t even know myself.
“I’m proud of you, Calvin. You proved me wrong.” She pulls me into a hug.
Her body presses against mine, all soft curves and floral perfume. I hug her back automatically, and all I can think about is how different this feels from the hard muscle of Brock’s body. His woodsy scent. His strength. How small I felt next to him.
We break apart, and Roxy puts a hand on my arm. “I’m calling it. You win.”
“Huh?”
“Our bet. You win. You just proved your point.” She laughs. “Three weeks of blue balls, and you still turn down a sure thing. I can’t compete with that. I officially concede.”
I’m supposed to feel triumphant. I should be gloating. I should be rubbing it in her face. But of course, I didn’t win by playing fair. I cheated. And it doesn’t feel like a victory at all.
“Roxy…” I start, guilt twisting in my gut.
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay you.” She pulls out her phone. “Fifty bucks, right? I’ll Venmo you now.”
“No, that’s not—”
“A bet’s a bet. You earned it.”
My phone buzzes a second later. Roxy paid you $50.00 for “your self-control is impressive.”
The irony is so thick I could choke on it. Self-control. If she only knew.
“Alright, now that’s settled,” she says, putting her phone away. “I need to know everything about that football player. The hot one with the dark hair.” She lowers her voice. “Did you get his number for me? You were talking to him for a while.”
“What? No. Just guy talk. Football stuff.”
“Since when do you care about football?”
“Since I work at a bar and have to talk to customers.”
“Well, if you didn’t do the work for me, guess I’ll have to do it myself.” She unties her hair, letting it fall loose around her shoulders. “This one’s too good to pass up.”
A cold knot forms in my stomach. “What are you doing?”
She checks her reflection in the dark mirror behind the bar and fixes her lip gloss. “You won the bet, Calvin. Now let me have my consolation prize.”
“Rox—”
“Why not?” She turns to me, hands on her hips. “He’s the hottest guy I’ve seen in here in months. And he’s an athlete. You know that’s my type. Clearly, my self-control isn’t as impressive as yours. So I’m going over there and see if he wants to celebrate.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Give me one good reason.”
I’ve got about ten, and I can’t say a single one.
“That’s what I thought.” She grins. “Wish me luck.”
And before I can stop her, she’s walking toward his table, red hair loose, hips swaying in those tight jeans.
Straight up to the guy who swallowed my load an hour ago.
The guy whose cologne I can still smell on my skin.