Chapter 17
Chapter seventeen
Liam
The thing about running a bar was that it made you privy to all kinds of human behavior. Hookups, breakups, drunken confessions, and poorly thought-out decisions made under dim lights and the influence of top-shelf liquor.
It also meant I was usually the first to know when something was about to crash and burn.
Like Evan and Jordan.
I introduced them when Evan and Noah were off-again.
Which, let’s be honest, was most of the damn time.
I figured Evan could use a distraction, and Jordan was exactly that.
Tall, fit, all-American-boy good looks, curly golden-brown hair, and the kind of easy charm that made you feel like the only person in the room when he spoke to you.
But distractions only work if you let them.
And Evan? He hadn’t let it. He was still looking over his shoulder for Noah, still hoping.
He’d never say it outright, but I saw it.
Every time he scanned a room, every time he sighed at his phone, every time he showed up for brunch or trivia night without Noah.
Like maybe this time, Noah would come too. Like maybe he still would.
So, when it inevitably didn’t go beyond one night of dancing at the taproom, Jordan didn’t sulk. He wasn’t the type. He just moved on.
And, well…
So did I.
Or at least I pretended to.
The truth? I hadn’t really hung out with Sam since that night.
Pride night at the Taproom. The kiss. The flirting at Waffle House. That little string of moments that had almost felt like something more. Something… dangerous.
And then I texted him a smiley face. A fucking smiley face.
What the hell was that?
I think, subconsciously, I’d friend-zoned him.
Or maybe self-sabotaged it before it could become anything real.
Which was the plan, right? That was the whole point.
Liam doesn’t do relationships. Liam doesn’t date.
Liam fucks. Liam flirts. Liam keeps it light and fun and leaves before it ever gets messy.
But the thing is, we hadn’t even really talked since then. Just some vague likes on Instagram, a one-word reply to a group chat. The silence was loud, and I wasn’t sure if it was mine or his.
I probably messed it up. Maybe that was safer.
Still… I missed him.
And I had no idea what to do about that.
But if the distraction of Jordan didn’t work for Evan, it was definitely working for me.
It started casually.
A drink after closing.
A hand on my arm, a lingering touch, a familiar smile.
A laugh that stretched into something more.
And then a night.
And then another.
It wasn’t a thing. It wasn’t serious. Just fun. Two guys unwinding, blowing off steam, enjoying the kind of physicality that came without complications. Friends with benefits… actually, fuck buddies was the better terminology. No expectations. No strings. No messy feelings.
Jordan knew I wasn’t looking for something serious, and he sure as hell wasn’t, either. He’d made that clear when I jokingly called him a relationship guy and he snorted into his drink, sharing something about how monogamy wasn’t in his skill set.
Perfect.
We weren’t exclusive. We weren’t anything, really. Just two guys enjoying each other when the mood struck.
And it was good.
Until I started noticing Sam noticing.
It had been a long shift, but a good one. The kind that left a pleasant hum in my bones, that let me breathe lighter as I locked the door of Stag & Lantern, keys flipping through my fingers out of habit.
Then, that feeling.
The subtle prickle of being watched.
I turned.
And there was Sam leaning against his car across the street, arms crossed, like he’d been there for a while.
I smirked, stepping off the curb. “Fancy meeting you here.”
He raised a brow, smirking slightly. “You own the place, dumbass.”
I let out a low chuckle, slipping my keys into my pocket. “Right. Forgot.”
I moved toward him, but before I could get too far, someone came around the building and walked up behind me.
And Sam saw.
It was brief, barely there. A pass of his eyes, an inhale through his nose, the way his shoulders went the tiniest bit stiff.
I saw it.
And I felt it.
Jordan walked up beside me, hands in his pockets, his casual energy a stark contrast to the sudden tension between me and Sam.
I slowed my steps, but Sam just stood there, his car keys in hand, like he was caught between decisions.
“Did you need something?” I asked, keeping my tone light.
Sam blinked, finally breaking his stare. “Yeah, uh… ” He rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing down at his keys before looking at me again. “Was gonna see if you wanted to grab a drink somewhere. Thought I’d surprise you.”
Shit.
That shouldn’t have hit me the way it did.
I forced a smile, but it felt a little tight. “A drink, huh? I just spent nine hours pouring them.”
Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. It’s different when you’re on the other side of the bar.”
I could’ve said yes. Could’ve gone with him, let him drag me to some dive with sticky floors and overpriced whiskey. Could’ve spent the night in his company, talking, laughing, letting whatever the hell had been bubbling recently just be.
But Jordan was here.
And Sam saw that.
His gaze flicked to Jordan, then back to me. His fingers clenched around his keys.
I wasn’t sure if I was imagining it, but he looked disappointed.
Like I’d just told him something he hadn’t been expecting.
And maybe I had.
“Rain check?” I said, keeping my voice casual.
Sam’s jaw tightened. His fingers flexed around his keys again before he sighed. “Yeah.” His nod was too quick. “Yeah, of course.”
And then, without another word, he opened his car door, slid inside, and pulled away.
I stood there, following the red glow of his taillights fade into the Havenwood streets, a weight settling in my chest.
What the fuck was that?
Jordan shifted beside me. “That was awkward.”
I forced out a chuckle, rolling my shoulders. “Sam is not usually this intense.”
Jordan shot me a look. “That wasn’t just intense. That was something else.”
I shrugged, shaking it off. “He’s fine.”
Jordan hummed like he didn’t quite believe me. “If you say so.”
I turned toward him, plastering on a grin. “So. Your place or mine?”
Because this was simple.
Easy.
And easy was the only thing I knew how to do.
Jordan’s apartment was sleek and modern, all dark wood and clean lines, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a catalog instead of being lived in. Everything had its place, its purpose, its carefully curated vibe. Nothing like the mess I carried inside.
The second the door shut behind us, Jordan was on me. Mouth to mine, hands everywhere, shoving off my jacket, and gripping my shirt like he couldn’t wait to tear through me.
I let him.
Because Jordan was hot. This was hot. And I was tired of thinking about what the fuck I was or wasn’t doing with Sam. And yeah, I’d been the one who answered a kiss with a goddamn smiley face. I friend-zoned him. Wasn’t that what I wanted?
Jordan’s lips were on my neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks, fingers dipping under my waistband, and all I could think was that this should be working. This should feel good.
And for a few heartbeats, it did.
His body was strong beneath mine. Lean muscle, golden skin stretched taut, hips bucking up to meet mine as he pulled me toward the bedroom.
My shirt hit the hallway floor, then his, our jeans tangled at our ankles.
Our mouths met again, frantic, wet, all teeth and tongue.
His nails scraped down my back as I pressed him to the mattress, the moan he let out guttural and needy.
He wanted me.
Wanted this.
So badly it buzzed off his skin, pulsed in every grip, every gasp, every arch of his spine. And I tried. I really fucking tried.
I rolled on the condom, taking my time this time, forcing myself to breathe. Jordan was already pliant beneath me, flushed and open, his body responding eagerly to every touch. I reached for the lube, slicking my fingers, letting the cool slide over my skin before I pressed them between us.
He gasped, hips lifting instinctively, already chasing the contact.
“Easy,” I murmured, even as my hands worked him open, slow and deliberate. He needed it. Needed the time, the stretch, the anticipation. I felt the way his body adjusted, how he relaxed when I didn’t rush, when I gave him what he needed instead of taking what I wanted.
He was eager. Desperate, even. Every small sound he made went straight through me, his fingers gripped the sheets as I prepped him properly. He trusted me with this part, with the vulnerability of it, and I should’ve felt grounded by that.
Instead, my mind kept slipping.
Firelight. Sam’s laugh. The weight of him against me on the dance floor.
Fuck.
When I finally lined up, Jordan was more than ready, his body opening for me as I pushed in, slow at first, letting him adjust inch by inch. I groaned low in my throat as the heat of him closed around me, tight and intense, his cry breaking open the room.
He clawed at my back, heels digging in, urging me deeper.
I set a rhythm then, building it carefully, pulling out and pressing back in, finding the pace his body responded to. It should have felt incredible. And physically, it did. The pressure, the friction, the way he met me with every thrust.
But I was chasing something that wasn’t there. Chasing nothing.
He sounded wrecked. Body clenching around me, hair wild against the pillows, lips parted as he begged for more.
And yet, it wasn’t right.
The weight was wrong.
The sound of his voice wasn’t the one echoing in my mind.
I saw firelight flickering over Sam’s face at Cedar Hollow. That flirty smile he wore at the pool, lazy and sun-warmed, lifting his drink like a toast to whatever bullshit we were pretending didn’t matter. His fingers brushing mine as we passed a bottle of wine around the circle.