Chapter 6
Milo
The car ride is just as tense as the ride in Darlene was earlier. I’m so obvious with my crush on him it’s honestly painful. And who knows if he’s even gay? What if all the times I thought I saw him watching me, I was just seeing what I wanted to see?
Maybe he’s bringing me here so I see him dancing with a bunch of women and just get the fucking hint. I wish he would just be straightforward. That he would just tell me that he’s not interested. Sometimes I just need it spelled out for me.
I can barely think of his poor choice of vehicle, because he is sitting next to me, and he is dressed in the sluttiest little crop top I’ve ever seen.
I would feel stupid for my reaction, but I mean, come on.
His sleeves are long, the mesh gripping his biceps perfectly. It stretches across his chest, hanging off his pecs like it just can’t bear to let go.
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK.
Fuck.
I grip the steering wheel harder, knuckles blanching, as we pull up to a light, and I try to discreetly appreciate his body.
I was right when I first met him in the gym; he does, in fact, have a nice, hairy chest. All I want to do is cling to those dark curls and bury my face in the softness. I want to lose myself entirely to the beauty that is his body, to his defined pecs, to his soft abs.
But more than that.
His.
Happy.
Trail.
I want to trace the dark trail of curls that leads suggestively from his belly button to his shorts.
It turns out that I find hair on men incredibly attractive.
It also turns out that I enjoy a man who’s not blatantly ripped. Because Beau, he’s all muscle, but he has, like, a thin layer of fat over it. Like a cushion.
I want to just squeeze him. I want to grip his obliques and dig my fingers into his flesh, just so I can enjoy the give.
My fist flies up to my mouth at the very thought, and I bite down a little to keep from groaning.
He hooked his phone up to my car’s sound system and is kind of in his own world right now, thank all that is holy. So I’m able to have this little freak-out completely uninterrupted.
He just radiates this confidence that illuminates his stardom. It makes me want to gravitate toward him. Like the sun, he shines.
Downtown Minneapolis is busy on a Friday night.
We drive past Vibrant and pull into an open spot right on the street.
The air is crisp and cold when we get out of the car.
Beau has such a swagger in his step as we walk to the club together.
The bouncer takes one look at us, and a big smile spreads across his face.
“Milo Hall?” he asks, and I smile sheepishly. I nod a little, and he lets us both in.
I realize how different we look walking into this club but can’t find it in me to care. Beau looked so nervous earlier when he came out of his room, dressed like an emo kid at a rave. I couldn’t tell exactly why he looked so nervous; I just know that I hated seeing him so on edge.
We walk into the club together, and my senses are immediately assaulted by a barrage of smells and sounds as we step onto the floor.
The music is too loud for me to even think straight, but the way it moves within my body feels different.
It feels unnatural. The bass is rattling my ribs like it’s trying to shake something loose.
I clench my teeth to try and keep them from being shaken directly from my head.
All around us, there’s shouting. Or maybe it’s laughter?
Maybe singing? I can’t really tell one sound from another, only that there’s a lot of it.
Beau faces me and says something, and all I can do is smile at him in return.
He laughs, and I know that he knows I don’t have a single clue what was just said.
Lights flash through a string of colors: blue, then red, then nothing at all, just bodies moving and gyrating through the dark. Every time the lights flash, I catch pieces of people—a grin, a shoulder, a flash of eyes.
Then the lights catch on Beau. They catch on something on his chest that I can’t quite make out, something flashy. A necklace, maybe?
Wait…
Is that…?
He adjusts the mesh of his top, and I can finally make them out.
Oh fuck.
Fuckity fuck, fuck, fuck.
His nipples are pierced.
Pierced.
He’s watching me, so I can’t freak out properly. I want to throw my head back in exasperation. I definitely want to take them in my mouth and give a little tug, just to see what sounds he’d make.
Fuck, I’ve been reading too many romances.
He smiles at me, and I do my best to smile back, but I know it looks constipated.
I need a distraction. Any distraction. Something unsexy. Something boring.
He leans in much too close, and I hold my breath. I can feel his nipple piercings rub against my arm. This is neither unsexy nor boring.
“Let’s get a drink.” His voice tickles my skin, and I feel goosebumps cover my whole body. A shiver runs up my spine, then back down. Thank god I’m more dressed than he is. My nipples are rock hard, and all I want is to rub them against his body.
We walk over to the bar, my feet sticking to the floor due to spilled drinks and what looks suspiciously like vomit.
We wait in line, and Beau is just swaying to the music.
A smile breaks out across my face. He has absolutely no rhythm, but he clearly doesn’t care.
I mean, don’t get me wrong, I have no rhythm.
I have two entire left feet. But the difference is that I kind of care too much about what people think of me.
Despite this, I do some little head bops as we wait for our turn. He just puts me in such a good mood.
The bartender, a very attractive man with a name tag that reads Miguel, smiles and leans suggestively across the bar. “What’ll it be, guys?”
Oh, I don’t really drink. I didn’t exactly think about that coming up when Beau invited me out tonight.
“Got any kind of mocktail for this guy?” Beau slaps a hand down on my shoulder, a winning smile on his face. He sees me looking at him and winks.
I raise a brow at him, a little confused as to how he knows I don’t drink. He leans in close again, and I let out a tiny shudder. Fuck, I like having his breath against my skin.
“You’re driving, man. No drinks for you.”
Oh.
Duh.
He orders himself a shot and a drink. Miguel obliges with a smile. I wonder if he recognizes us.
Throwing back his shot, Beau grabs my hand and pulls me toward the dance floor. The music pulses, lyrics bleeding into noise, bass rattling my bones. There is no standing still. Someone is always touching me, brushing past me.
The room is so hot. Hot in a way that feels alive, as if it’s breathing with us. The smell is pungent, assaulting my nose. It smells like spilled liquor and perfume that’s started to sweat off.
While Beau and I bump and grind to the music, looking as awkward as two fully grown men dancing alone at a club can look, I watch him.
Fuck, he looks so free.
I’m deep in my head.
But then there’s this guy. This guy dressed like a total slut, dancing across from me. He’s just losing himself to the music. Swaying his hips and bouncing around on the balls of his feet, he makes me think maybe I can buck up and handle this night. Like maybe I could actually try to enjoy myself.
Despite how absolutely overwhelming the environment we’re in is.
And just when the sounds and smells are becoming a bit too much, I feel a presence join our group. I open my eyes, not remembering closing them.
A man—a giant, really—has stepped between us, snaking his hand into my back pocket and pulling me flush against his body.
He’s huge, maybe six-five or six-six. I’m not the biggest man on our team, but my six-one frame is nothing to sneeze at.
I don’t hate the touch, but it’s not the one I really want.
I look up at the stranger. His jaw is soft, but with strength defining it.
Holy shit, my parents are going to flip if this gets out.
“Hey, man,” Beau says, giving the ginger giant a warning glare. “You kind of just stole my date.” My eyes bug out of my head.
The man throws up his hands in defeat but still manages a winning smile.
“My bad.” He chances a glance at me, giving me a wink, and I blanch. “From where I was standing, it looked like he was dancing alone.”
He walks away, and I watch his retreating form. Once he’s out of earshot, maybe half a foot away, I reach out and yank Beau in close, pressing my lips to his ear.
“Beau?”
“Yeah?” He’s still bopping along to the music.
“Are we at a gay club?”
“It’s technically a gay-friendly club.”
I groan, rubbing my fists into my eyes, utterly exhausted. It’s coming to me now. I think I’ve heard some of our teammates mention this club, not always kindly.
“Do you have any idea what people would say if we were seen here? If we were caught here? Together?” I gesticulate wildly between us.
He steps back, his face falling. Literally all the sunshine that had been beaming from his smile dims, his frown taking over his whole face. His eyes droop a little, and his cheeks puff. He looks so dejected, and I immediately want to take everything back.
“Am I embarrassing you?” he asks, voice so low I can barely hear him over the music.
The words hit my face like a physical blow. I watch the light leave his eyes, and my stomach drops.
I’m not sure exactly what it was about what I said, but I know immediately that I’ve done something very, very wrong.
He wraps his arms around himself protectively, as if he wants to make himself small.
I reach out my hand, looking to comfort him, and he kind of flinches away. What was it he asked? Was he embarrassing me?
“Oh, Beau,” I start. He keeps his arms wrapped around himself like a shield. I hate this. “No, Beau, you’re not embarrassing me.” I sigh. “I embarrassed myself. I’m not… I mean, I’m…” I look around, suddenly remembering we are, in fact, in the middle of a very crowded club.
I want nothing more than to take him into my arms and comfort him, but this isn’t the place.
This isn’t the place, and he doesn’t seem to want touch.
“Let’s get out of here, okay?” I try again.
He looks up from the ground, head tilting, eyes almost comically large. How can such a big man look so small right now?
I take a deep inhale, taking in his scent.
Sweat and cedarwood.
“One more dance?” he asks, voice near silent in the cacophony of sound.
“One more.” I nod and reach out my hand to him. He nods and takes it, his eyes lighting up significantly.
I pull him to me, and we dance.