Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Wyatt
Ihad no idea what possessed me to hit up Rory about going to a gay club, but we’d set a time for later, so now I had to show up.
“Dad, are you paying attention?” Harper asked.
Guilt flushed through me at once. She’d come over because I’d promised to show her how to sand and finish a dresser she’d found for her apartment at a junk sale.
The wood was quality, and we could turn it into a pretty piece with little effort.
Except my brain kept wandering to a certain piercer she worked with, who was far too young for me and had opened a whole locked box on sexuality I’d never bothered to sort through.
“Yeah, it’s fully sanded now. Did you decide what stain you wanted?
” I asked, nudging at the five different types I’d brought out.
Harper blew her bangs out of her face, which threw me right back to her doing the same at six years old.
Yet now she was twenty-one with blue hair, and was pierced and tattooed.
Piercing wasn’t her final destination—she wanted to be a vet—but it had been a worthwhile detour while she figured herself out.
And even if she did decide she wanted to work at Alchemy for the rest of her life, Susie and I would just be happy to see her thriving.
“This one,” she said, plunking down a nice espresso stain.
“Good choice.” That’d look great on the style of dresser and would also fit with the décor in her bedroom. “Ready to get to work?”
“Yep,” she said, unscrewing the cap and grabbing a paintbrush.
Harper dove right in, the way she did everything—so opposite from me.
At least until recently. We both settled into the rhythm of work.
Staining wood was a meditative practice for me at this point, but instead of my mind blanking out, it kept rolling in the direction of a certain guy I’d be seeing later tonight.
“You know,” Harper said, painting away. “You’re allowed to get back out there, Dad.”
I blinked and froze mid-paint. Nerves prickled through me.
She couldn’t see my thoughts, which was my only solace right now, because the ones I was having about Rory…
well, they’d been getting filthier by the day.
And a week out from having my dick pierced, I wasn’t in any place to even do anything about them.
No relief for the wicked…or horny, for that matter. “I’m making steps.”
Harper passed me a look. “Getting your dick pierced isn’t the same as dating.”
My brows wrinkled. “I thought you weren’t aware of what I got pierced?”
“Rory has a big mouth. I found out the next day at work, despite me shoving my fingers in my ears and shouting ‘la, la, la.’”
I snorted. That sounded accurate for Rory Brannon. I bit the inside of my cheek to avoid giving too much away on that front. “And what’s caused this sudden interest in my dating life?”
Harper shrugged. “Mom’s already dating Zack, and seeing her happy, well…I don’t know, I guess I realized how much you guys were both coasting for years.”
“Ouch, kiddo,” I said, leaning in on a few swipes of the paintbrush.
My heart squeezed tight. She wasn’t wrong.
Susie and I had been driving on cruise control for so long, and at this point I figured love was out of the picture for me entirely.
Dating seemed daunting as hell, and instead of trying to find someone new, I was getting my cock pierced and going to a gay bar.
When Harps said she wanted me to put myself out there, I didn’t think that was what she meant.
“I’m not trying to be a nag,” she said, finishing her section of stain. “I just…” She blew out a breath and looked around my apartment, which was far smaller than the house she’d grown up in.
When Susie and I had gotten our divorce, we’d agreed to sell it, give ourselves a financial cushion while we figured out where we wanted to go with our lives. Honestly, that had probably been harder for Harper than finding out we were splitting up. To that, she’d just said, “It’s about time.”
“You’re being a caring daughter,” I said. “And I’m working on it. You know I’ve always been slower with change than your mom.”
Harper lifted an eyebrow. “I mean, your piercing’s a pretty significant change.”
I shrugged. “A piercing, a tattoo—those just involve a little bit of pain. Not even in the same range as putting myself out there and discovering what a cringe old guy I am now.”
“You might be a cringe old guy, but you’ve got a lot to offer the right girl,” Harper said, a teasing glint in her eyes. “So if that means you need help getting on a dating app…”
I lifted my hands, brush still in one. “Nope. Hell no. I’m not having my daughter set up my dating profile for me.”
“Then get on it, old man.” She stood up and surveyed our work. “Looks good.”
“If I haven’t gone on any dates in a month, I’ll set up a dating profile,” I said. Not something I looked forward to, but Harps knew me. The concept was uncomfortable, which meant I’d put it off as long as humanly possible.
“Deal,” Harper said, sticking out her hand. I shook on it, careful not to smudge the paintbrush in my other hand on anything. “All right, is it okay if I leave this to dry here? I’ve got a dinner to go to with my gaming group.”
“Why do you think we painted in my apartment?” I said, snagging her paintbrush and then heading over to my sink. I tossed them in and then grabbed the turpentine from beneath the sink. “Clearly another excuse to get my daughter to hang out with me again.”
Harper knocked her shoulder with mine. “You never need an excuse with me. But I still think you should get out there and date.”
“What about you?” I asked, needing to throw the attention off me. Truly, I hated attention and much preferred to chill in the background of most situations. “When are you going to bring home someone for Mom and me to meet?”
“Oh man, if this is leading into a grandkids talk, I’m so out,” she said, giving me a quick squeeze. “Love you, Dad. Go, get out tonight. Live a little.”
“Will do,” I responded.
She had no idea how much I planned on living it up tonight.
The Truck Stop had a nondescript sign out front, black text on a beaten-up white background, and I didn’t think it seemed much like the swanky club I’d imagined or had seen in countless movies. Granted, it fit the name plenty. My nerves had gone from simmer to full boil.
Bad enough I was going to a club on a Sunday night, which placed me way out of my comfort zone, but on top of that, this was a gay club.
And I was nursing a brand new interest in guys, not sure I was ready to get thrust into the chaos.
Entertaining this crush wasn’t a good idea either.
This was my daughter’s coworker, and he was over a decade younger.
The urge to pivot and head home reared in a big way. I’d found street parking by some miracle, so my getaway car was nearby rather than in a garage.
“You actually showed.”
I whirled around. Rory walked up the sidewalk, that easy stride was pure him.
The jeans he wore clung to his legs and were guaranteed to flatter his ass.
He’d styled his hair, a bit spikier than normal, which looked hot with his dark strands and all those tattoos.
His tank top was glued to his skin and dipped low on his chest, and he wore a red bomber jacket.
I felt a bit underdressed. I hadn’t been able to figure out what the fuck to wear, so I’d tossed on black jeans with no rips and an olive-green Henley.
“If I make promises, I keep them,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. The urge to reach out and touch him rose in a big way, but that would be weird. I was here as Rory’s pity hang, not because he was interested.
And fuck, when had I started wanting a guy to be interested in me?
“Duly noted,” Rory said, his expressive eyes flaring with heat.
I licked my lips, my mouth dry. “So, we don’t have to just start out dancing, right? We can grab a drink?”
“We’re an hour before the DJ shows up, so we’ll definitely be drinking at the bar,” Rory said, stepping by me.
His shoulder brushed against mine in what seemed like a purposeful move.
Not that I was sad. Even that small bit of contact lit me up.
“You sure you’re up for this? We can always pivot to a watering hole full of straights. ”
“You make it sound like David Attenborough’s about to start narrating at any moment,” I joked. Within minutes of Rory showing up, those nerves turned to adrenaline of a different sort, and I welcomed the change.
“Welcome to the horniest part of the documentary,” Rory said, gesturing at the building ahead. “Where virile males rut against each other in a primitive copulation dance.”
“What constitutes virile?” I asked. Fuck, if we walked in and everyone was my daughter’s age, I was walking back out.
“Down to fuck,” he drawled, the words dripping off those lush lips. “Come on. Follow me.”
With that, he stepped up to the door and slid inside.
I followed, entering to a wave of music.
How the fuck were people supposed to hear each other with all this noise?
The lights were dim in here, low-hanging ones illuminating a wooden bar on one side.
Booths lined the other side of the place, and farther back was open floorspace, all black linoleum, which was probably where the dancing would happen.
Only a few open stools were left at the bar, and Rory headed toward them.
Most of the people here were guys, though a few femme folks mingled in the mix.
And these weren’t white-collar guys dressed in button-downs, or even blue-collar ones dressed in work shirts or coveralls.
No, some of these guys wore fishnet shirts, others no shirt at all.
The man behind the bar wore a cute crop top and was closer to Rory’s age; however, there did seem to be a variety of ages, some younger and some older than me.
I rubbed my beard for a second, as if it might offer a tether in this strange new world.
“Here,” Rory said as he stole a black vinyl stool by the bar. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
I shook my head as I nabbed the other one. “No damn way. I asked you out, so I’m buying.”
Rory’s eyes widened for a moment before the wording I’d used settled in. I licked my lips, not wanting to retract the statement even if I should.
“Hey, handsome,” the crop-topped bartender said, his gaze directly on me. His smile lit his eyes, and he was probably an attractive guy, but my attention was stuck on Rory. “What brings you here tonight?”
“New experiences,” I said. “But I’ll start with two beers.”
He arched a brow, his lips curling with his grin.
The flirtiness wasn’t too different from straight bars in that sense, except it was usually women flirting with me for better tips.
Rory scooted in so our knees pressed together, and I welcomed the contact.
Honestly, the amount of touch from him was more than I got on a regular basis, and I basked in every interaction.
The bartender quickly brought over two pints and placed them in front of us. He pushed a napkin my way as well, which had a number scrawled on it. “If you want some new experiences later.”
I blinked. Well, maybe this was a little different.
Rory snatched the napkin and shoved it under his beer. “Whoops, did that have something on it?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek to hide my amusement. The bartender was down the opposite end and hadn’t seen Rory’s move, but I didn’t mind his little display in the slightest. Was he jealous? He didn’t have a single thing to worry about. Still, my heart thrummed faster at the thought.
A tap on my shoulder had me turning around. A tall, built guy who looked to be about my age stood behind me. “Hey, can I buy you a drink?”
I lifted up my beer. “Already got one.”
“He’s with me,” Rory all but snarled.
The guy’s eyes crinkled with his grin. “If you both want some extra company, I’m at the other side of the bar.”
Heat rose to my cheeks. Well, damn. People didn’t even beat around the bush here.
These guys weren’t afraid to shoot their shot.
“Thanks,” I replied on automatic, even though there was no way I’d be taking him up on the offer.
Not while I was here with Rory. And besides, my cock was out of commission, since the piercing had the residual redness I’d read meant I needed to wait for sex.
I took a gulp of my beer. Why the fuck was my brain even contemplating the logistics of his offer?
“Sorry, I probably should’ve warned you better,” Rory said, jostling his knee against mine. “This is one of the spaces we can be direct, so people don’t waste time.”
“I mean, I’m flattered,” I said. “Coming out of a marriage where we didn’t have sex for the past few years, I’m not feeling high on the desirable scale.”
“That’s a damn waste,” Rory said, his voice dropping an octave lower. He scanned me up and down in a hungry way that made me shiver. “I wasn’t lying when I said you’d get swarmed here. You’re hot, and you’re in your prime.”
That struck me square in the chest. I’d raised a kid, and for so long I’d been feeling like my life was over, as if I’d reached my twilight years, but I was only thirty-seven.
And the way Rory stared at me, how the guys here hit on me, caused excitement to pulse through my veins again.
The feeling that had been elusive for so long…
the glimmer of potential. Like different paths still waited for me. I’d been craving that for a long time.
As much as I wanted to toss a self-deprecating comment back, I met Rory’s gaze instead. “Thank you.”
His brow wrinkled. “Why are you thanking me?”
“For showing me that my life isn’t over just because my kid is all grown up.
” I took another sip of the beer, enjoying the smooth glide.
The music in the background formed a steady thump, thump, thump, and someone bustled near the dance floor, setting up equipment.
Normally, I wasn’t much of a dancer, but tonight I wanted to keep indulging in something wild, something different.
And I knew who I wanted to dance with.