Chapter Two
Sawyer
I SIGH WITH relief once I close the staff’s bathroom door behind me.
The fabric of my underwear sticks to my skin as I make my way to the sink, where I grab a paper towel, unzip my pants and wipe the mess from inside my boxers.
Yep. That happened.
I don’t know what it was. Maybe the thrill of being watched. Maybe watching other people. Or maybe something else entirely, because it sure as fuck wasn’t Blake freaking Jacobs that made me come in my pants like a teenager, untouched.
Fortunately, I don’t think he noticed—he already thinks he’s better than anyone else. The last thing I’d want is to give him additional reason to gloat.
Not that I expect to see him in here ever again—I’m pretty sure I’ve made my point.
*
“You’re late,” Jesse calls out through the still-empty club once I show up for my shift at six PM sharp a week later.
“Wouldn’t you like that?” I pat him on the shoulder once I make my way over and we start our daily routine of stocking the liquor shelves, polishing the glasses and preparing the place for yet another night of unbashful shenanigans that begin as soon as first patrons spill inside at seven.
Not only did Blake not show up in the club again—I haven’t seen him at all lately. We hadn’t had any classes together this week, but he hadn’t stepped foot in his usual places around the campus. Knowing him, he’s avoiding me.
Now, if I were as full of myself as he is, I’d assume it has something to do with our impromptu encounter, but I’m sure it’s unrelated. I was tempted to ask Xander, our mutual—to Blake’s dismay, I’m sure—friend about it, but then I remembered—I don’t really give a fuck.
The club is a vibrant, sex-filled mass by nine, and after the initial wave of thirsty customers is all well and served, I lean over the bar top and slip into my usual routine of watching the crowd.
After a full year of working here, nothing shocks me anymore.
Not a single person will ever walk through the door and surprise me.
It takes me about half a second to establish who’s here to watch, who’s here to have fun, and who’s here because they were dragged by their partner against their will in a last-ditched effort to save what’s most likely a relationship on life support.
That never works, yet I’m always amused when people try.
A female-male-female trio walks in. By the blissed-out expression on the guy’s face, the intense gaze of the lady walking in front of him, and the tense, low-key pissed-off look of the one clutching onto his arm, it’s obvious who’s third wheeling tonight.
A familiar crown on black curly hair flashes in the corner of my eye, and before I can zero in, on no other than Blake making his way toward the bar, I can already feel my decent mood evaporate.
So much for an easy, blissfully uneventful shift.
He’s yet to notice me, his eyes darting between the other patrons like it’s the first time he’s seeing the human species and I can’t help but smirk.
He’s sporting a light pink polo shirt and a pair of gray slacks, looking as douchey as ever.
Hot, sure, but still—douchey.
His eyes are now fixed on some action playing out behind him as he walks forward, and I bark out laughing when he bumps into a bar stool a few feet to my left.
He grabs the edge of the bar and straightens himself. Our eyes meet then, and he runs his palms across the front of his shirt like his life depended on looking spotless.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, and he gives me an up nod.
I lift myself from the bar and cross my arms over my chest. “Well, well. If it isn’t Mr. Uptight.”
If he’s offended, he doesn’t show it, making his way to the stool directly in front of me and taking a seat. “How’s it go—”
“What are you doing here?” I don’t mean to sound as snappy as I do, but oh well. He’s invading my space, not the other way around.
Blake's brow furrows. “Excuse me? I have a right to be here. It’s not like you own this place.”
“Oh, yeah?” I lean one elbow over the bar top. “So you didn’t use my name to get in?”
He says nothing, just stares at me intently, expression still taut, and I can’t tell if he did or didn’t. It’s not like he can’t afford it. Perks of being a trust fund kid.
The silence stretches for longer than comfortable, so I ask, “Drink?” I’m not exactly dying to serve him, but hey. That’s life.
He nods. “Vodka tonic would be nice.”
I scoff. Even his drink is pompous. Figures. I take my sweet time mixing him his drink, making sure to leisurely walk over to Jesse for a quick chit-chat before I stroll back to Blake and slide the glass in front of him.
He reaches to grab it, and before I release it, I say, “That’ll be forty.”
He blinks at me once before lifting his ass from the stool, removing his wallet from his back pocket, fishing out a hundred and sliding it toward me. “Keep the change.”
My jaw clenches as I stare him down. Jesus fuck, how I wish I could just tell him where to shove it. Unfortunately, I’m in no poison to turn down tips, so I muster an openly fake smile. “Thanks.”
He opens his mouth to say something else, but I’ve had enough of him already, and something tells me he’s going to be a giant pain in the ass for the rest of the night, so I turn on my heel and walk away before he can utter a word.
I walk up to serve some other customers despite them being in Jesse’s section. He quirks a questioning eyebrow, and I mouth, “I got this,” in his direction. He gives me a thumbs up and disappears in the back to take his break.
Once Jesse returns twenty minutes later, I can no longer justify hanging around on his side of the bar and, reluctantly, I make my way over to mine.
Blake’s eyes are fixed on me, just like they have been this whole time. I can physically feel the hole he’s burned in my skull. He hasn’t touched his douchey drink.
“Alright,” I bang my palms against the bar once I’m in front of him, causing him to jump in his seat. “Why are you really here?”
He looks up at me from under his thick eyebrows and blinks a few times. “Honestly? I’m not sure.” He lifts his glass and brings it to his mouth, puts it down without drinking, and sighs. “To watch, I guess.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Watch me, that is?”
He lets out a scoff, which I’m not sure is genuine. “No. God, you’re full of yourself.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Whatever floats your boat, golden boy.” He takes a sharp inhale, but I’m faster. “Why don’t you go watch, then?”
He drops his gaze, and even in the dim lighting, I can see his cheeks turn pink. “I’m going,” he says to the floor.
His eyes dart to me for a split second before he gives a quick nod, more to himself than to me, it seems, before he rises to his feet, turns around and strolls in the direction of one of the hallways, disappearing behind the brass door, his untouched drink still full and forgotten.
What a strange guy.
Content with having him out of my hair, I get back to work.
It’s a slow night and there’s no line, so I busy myself organizing liquor bottles on the led-lit shelves, wiping glasses that don’t need wiping, and cleaning the bar top that doesn’t need cleaning.
Half an hour later, I’m bored out of my mind, leaning against the wall, my legs restless.
Blake hasn’t returned, nor did I see him leave.
I run a quick mental debate before concluding—might as well find out what he’s up to. For entertainment purposes.
I walk up to Jesse. “Gonna go take a break. You’ll be alright?”
He smirks, swiping his gaze across the almost-empty bar before looking back at me. “I think I’ll manage.”
I make my way to the main room and into the hallway Blake disappeared in, the same one I walked him through last week. I pass a few doors on my way but keep walking. Of course, I have no way of knowing where he went, but something tells me I might just have an idea.
A few rooms later, I find him right where I expect him—in the space that witnessed our bizarre encounter, my embarrassing reaction, and, presumably, Blake’s newfound curiosity.
I stay near the entrance, slide my hands in my pockets and observe.
Blake stands on the opposite side of the room, shoulder leaning on the wall, cheeks red, and eyes focused on the action in front of him.
Gay couple, of course.
The corner of my mouth curls up. He’s so deep in denial he can’t see straight anymore. Pun intended.
The guys on the sofa are performing some BDSM-lite extravaganza, attracting a decent crowd, and I have a hard time watching Blake, people coming and going, obstructing my view time and time again.
His chest rises and falls visibly, and his hair is tousled like he’s been repeatedly running his fingers through it.
The back of a head attached to a tall, lanky guy comes into my view, getting smaller and smaller as he walks until he stops next to Blake.
I straighten.
Blake’s body jerks once he notices him.
The guy’s mouth moves like he’s saying something, and after that, Blake shakes his head.
Lanky boy takes a few steps back, raising his palms in a placating gesture before he walks away and disappears into the crowd.
I relax against the wall again.
Blake’s eyes dart in the direction where the man disappeared a couple of times before he too relaxes and focuses back on the guys giving a show.
He sucks in his bottom lip and scratches his arm, his body restless.
I step on my toes, peer above people’s heads and shoulders, and notice a bulge in the front of Blake’s pants.
I chuckle inwardly. Yeah. Definitely not interested.
Now that I know what he’s up to, it would be a good time to leave. It would be a smart thing to do. So obviously, I don’t.
Instead, I push off the wall and shoulder my way through the crowded space until I stand a few inches behind Blake.
He doesn’t notice me initially, his attention focused on the occupants of the sofa. I nudge him with my elbow, and he jumps, his head jerking back. Once his eyes land on me, his shoulders slump, and he slouches against the wall. “It's just you,” he says, relief in his voice.