Chapter Twenty-Two
Twenty-Two
Logan
I don’t get it. Zeke looks like every other average guy. His hair is dark and short, his clothes are posh, and his face is meh. There’s nothing at all special about him. In a room full of exotic dancers, he doesn’t stand out at all. What my little vampire once saw in him, I do not know.
With the nickname in mind, I wonder if Baby ever bit this dude, and then immediately hate that I even had the thought. Doesn’t matter anyway. That was years ago. And if he did, it was done in secret. I’m wearing my marks like a badge of honor.
The arm I have draped over Baby’s shoulder squeezes a bit, just because I can. It feels good, holding him like this in public. It’s a privilege that I get to, that somehow the universe thinks I’m deserving.
For a moment, anyway. The way he tenses under the touch has me loosening my hold on him not long after. I wish Baby weren’t so bothered by Zeke’s presence, but I can understand why he is. I don’t know the guy, but I’m feeling pretty imposed upon myself.
Baby ignores him as much as possible, but the way he does it is telling. He makes a valiant effort not to look at him, and it’s noticeable. At least it is to me. Everyone else is too busy having fun—catcalling dancers and laughing nonstop. They’re here to party.
It doesn’t feel like the three of us—the three guys—are.
Zeke looks at us here and there—at Baby, really—and while the look on his face gives nothing away, the amount of attention he’s throwing this way is off-putting enough.
We’re all packed in close to each other, the round shape of the table making it easy for him to sneak all the looks he wants.
“Ever been to one of these things before?” I ask him because it feels like I should—that I should be the one to acknowledge him first.
“To a strip club or a bachelorette party?” he asks, a hint of bitterness that says he likely didn’t want to come at all.
When all I do is shrug, deciding that the question applies to either one, he furrows his brow line like it was stupid of me to ask in the first place. “No.” He’s not making this easy.
“Hm.”
“Isn’t Oliver’s bachelor party also tonight?” Baby butts in, still avoiding the sight of the person he’s talking to.
Zeke takes a second—or two—to answer. “Yeah, it is.”
The tone has Baby curious enough to peek, that bitterness of Zeke’s more apparent. “You weren’t invited?”
Bingo. It’s so obvious that Baby’s right in the way Zeke’s jaw tenses, and even more so when he sips his drink to avoid answering.
“Why not?” Baby asks, not letting him get away with it.
Zeke shrugs, or tries to. His shoulders are squared defensively, making the movement awkward and fiddly. “They went to a strip club, too.”
“And what—they said no homos allowed?” Baby titters, enjoying the possibility that Zeke is being shunned in the same way he used to be.
It takes me a second to understand why Zeke wouldn’t be allowed to go with the rest of the guys, but it’s obvious once I remember. He’s not in the closet anymore.
“Just made more sense this way, I guess.” Zeke looks away, but when his eyes struggle to find a spot without any strippers, he ends up dropping his gaze to the table.
He might be out, but he’s still not comfortable with himself, with other people’s perception of him.
I kind of feel bad for him in a weird way.
Maybe I shouldn’t, but I can’t help but think about how much that would suck.
I doubt anyone in my life would care if I suddenly came out as gay—or whatever it is that I am. I mean, my coworkers have more important things to worry about. Friends from back home might be surprised, but… well, some of them might care. But my family wouldn’t.
I don’t think they would. I’ve told my mom about Baby, and she’s always said she’d love to meet him.
Hopefully, that happens soon. We’re going to his moms’ house the week of the wedding, so I don’t see why we couldn’t plan a trip a little farther away to see my family.
I gotta remember to ask him about it, and hopefully soon.
It’d be pretty cool. Looking at him now and picturing him in the house I grew up in—all decked out in a pink crop top that says ‘this bitch bites’ and a pair of skinny jeans, a bit of makeup on his pretty face, it’s something I gotta make happen. He’d stick out for sure.
But he always does, no matter where he is.
“So, how long have you two been dating?”
“A while,” Baby answers too quickly, and I watch in real time as Zeke clocks the discomfort at the topic.
“How lo—”
“What about you—any dudes interested in you since you publicly announced your gay-ness?” Baby cocks his head, his hair dangling off his forehead as if to emphasize the sass.
When Zeke pauses, Baby pounces. “Aw, well, that’s okay.
You could just toss some cash at one of the dancers here—they’re paid to like you. ”
He didn’t say it aloud, but we heard it anyway—Baby doesn’t think anyone could like him, not without some encouragement. It’s mildly unnerving how someone can look so sweet, even sound a little saccharine, and somehow be so spicy.
He’s allowed, I suppose—considering all the shit Baby dealt with in high school.
Zeke’s eyebrows fall, his gaze darkening, and I lean forward on instinct. It forces him to look at me, but my composure is calm. I don’t have to do anything for him to get the message. He relaxes his face instantly, leaning back in his seat to put more space between us.
It’s an odd and uncomfortable situation. Nobody is being blatantly rude, but the tension is impossible to ignore. I wouldn’t be surprised if their secret relationship wasn’t as secretive as they’d intended it to be. They have a past—anyone paying attention would see that.
“Yeah.” Zeke visibly relaxes, deeming whatever it is on his mind a good enough comeback to gain some dignity back. “That’s why we’re all here, right? But we both know I’ve never had to pay for it before.”
I roll my eyes. I can’t tell if these two think they’re being subtle, or if they’re just that fucking inconsiderate of the present company. It’s entirely possible that Zeke doesn’t care one way or another, but I doubt Baby realizes how much this back and forth is getting to me.
I don’t think Baby wants him—has any notion of rekindling the chaos that their relationship was—but he has feelings for him regardless. Ugly ones, disdain and contempt, but I’d rather he felt nothing at all. I annoy Baby. I’m the one who gets him all riled up.
Only right now, I’m being ignored. First, there was that fucking banana I watched Baby shove in his mouth, and now this dude. It’s rude. Kind of hurts my feelings. We’re supposed to be all boo’d up and rubbing it in this loser’s face.
I stand up expecting to have to demand the attention I want, but Baby saves me the embarrassment and asks where I’m going. Instead of answering—because truthfully, I have no clue—I hold a hand out. He hesitates, but it’s only a moment before he places his palm on mine.
Baby laughs as I tug him out of the booth, and I let the sound of it reassure me. He’s still a little pissy, complaining offhandedly about being manhandled, but that’s fine. I’ll take it.
There was no plan, but there’s a sign high up on the wall that catches my eye. Good enough.
I drag him along, my hold on his hand tight enough that we wouldn’t be separated even if that’s what he wanted. Some ladies howl at us, possibly mistaking us as dancers, but I’m on a mission.
“This is the bathroom,” he says dumbly once we’ve got the door shut.
“You’re so smart,” I tease as I lean over him, moving my forearms to the wall so I can cage him in. I almost wish I’d brought the cuffs with us—or even snooped around this place and found a pair, because I’m sure there’s a set somewhere.
“What are you doing?”
“What are you doing?” I counter, my forehead pressed lightly against his. “Should I have left you and Zack alone?”
“Zeke.”
“Whatever.”
He huffs, his warm breath hitting my chin, and the fruity scent of our drinks floats between us. “You’re jealous.”
“Should I be?”
He reaches up, looping his arms around my neck until his fingertips are tugging ever-so-slightly on the ends of my hair. I know the answer, but he wouldn’t be my brat if he gave it to me that easily. “Maybe. Not of Zeke, but there are plenty of guys out there who—”
I cup his chin, shutting him up with a sloppy kiss. This is going to be difficult—my options are limited without any supplies.
The kiss ends, but it didn’t do its job. He’s still got some fight in him. “We could go and invite the bartender to be our third—he’d probab—Logan!” He gasps as I force him to turn around in a hurry.
“Baby,” I whisper, my big hands trailing along his spine until I reach the exposed skin of his lower back. I keep the touch gentle, hopeful that what comes next won’t be so soft. “You haven’t been a very good boy tonight.”
His breaths come noisily, his excitement growing even though we haven’t done anything yet. “What are you going to do about it?” he asks, still brave enough to provoke me.
“I think…” I lean in closer, my mouth next to his ear as my hands slide around and over his stomach.
“You need to be punished.” I give him plenty of time to protest, to tell me he’s not down for that, but he says nothing as I tug his zipper down and over the bulge in his jeans.
He’s so easy to tempt, just a single kiss and a few words, and he’s already hard for me.
He’s my good boy, even when he’s bad.
His jeans are tight, giving me some resistance as I pull them down and over his hip bones.
I’d assumed that the blue band underneath was a pair of underwear, but with his ass on display, I now know that he’s wearing a jockstrap.
I slip a fingertip beneath the band and tug, letting it snap against his skin.
“For me?” I ask, my palm smoothing over the unblemished skin of his plump cheeks.