Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
CODY
The door to my stall rattles dangerously as my date’s meaty fists thump against it on the other side. “Code, come on! What the hell?”
“Just…just leave me alone, Scott,” I beg, trembling from my perch on the closed toilet seat. I’ll worry about the ick-factor of that later. My poor jeans…hopefully they’ll survive this ordeal. “Go—go find some other twink to maul.”
“I didn’t fucking maul you!” He sounds even more enraged at my choice of words, and I shake a little harder, now concerned that I might actually pee my pants if he manages to bust down the door. My poor, poor jeans… “We met on Grindr, for fuck’s sake. It’s a hook-up app! I thought you were down to fuck.”
I can feel my face flaming. Part of it is embarrassment at freaking out earlier, and part of it is from the tequila shots I’d had before that. I’m drunk enough that the world is blurry around me, but not so drunk that I’m ready to lose my V-card in the gross bathrooms here in The Fruitbowl. Especially not to some closeted wannabe football star, whose idea of a good time was to shove me in here and demand a blow job.
“W-well I’m not,” I reply with as much strength as I can muster, praying that Sylvia gets here soon. I texted her twenty minutes ago and I honestly don’t think I can face Scott again. Especially not while he’s so worked up. He’s much bigger and stronger than me. I know my odds of being able to hold my own if he gets physical are slim to none.
“You’re causing a scene,” he barks.
“No,” a new, smooth voice cuts in, raised above the thundering bass from the club’s music outside the doors, “I believe you’re causing a scene.”
“Fuck off, old man,” Scott demands.
“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’m here to make sure the person you’re harassing gets home safely.”
Wait…what? Where’s Syl?
Still unwilling to unlock the stall door, I force myself to my wobbly feet and climb on top of the toilet seat, pushing to my tiptoes so I can peer over the grimy top of the stall. Squinting, I try to focus my vision, seeing dark hair streaked with gray and the shoulders of an expensive-looking suit jacket.
Has the club sent a bouncer in for me? It doesn’t seem like that classy an establishment. In fact, the guy who checked my ID (because, yeah, even though I’m twenty-six, I look eighteen), was wearing scuffed jeans, a dirty black T-shirt, and a jacket that has seen better days. No way does this man work here.
My self-announced rescuer turns his head slightly, and then seems to catch sight of me. His eyes widen, and I wobble on my perch.
“ Cody?! ” he asks in bewilderment.
Oh shit ! I stumble in my surprise, falling and hitting the walls of the stall on my way down. At least they prevent me from dropping to the gross, sticky floor. What the hell is Dad’s best friend doing here?