27. Jordan
Jordan
My throat goes bone dry and a chill that feels a lot like horror leaches into my bones. “I-is that what you’re wearing?”
Orion looks sheepish and flashes me that I’ve done something wrong, and I’m sorry look. “Yeah, but I can take it off if you want. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“Nah.” I wave him off. I’ve suggested he wear it more times than I can count. I’ve literally encouraged it, so of course it’s fine. “I don’t mind at all. Looks good on you, bud. Keep it on.”
He’s styled his hair a little differently tonight. Back off his face more and kind of swoopy. He was in the bathroom for longer than usual, so I guess he’s put some effort into getting ready.
He’s wearing black jeans, his good black leather belt, and my lucky shirt.
The shirt I never strike out in. Seriously, never.
That thing isn’t normal. It’s made of some crazy testosterone pheromone shit I don’t claim to understand.
I can’t explain it. I can only vouch for its success rate: one hundred percent.
Actually, it’s higher because I’ve had some epic threesomes thanks to that shirt, so more accurately, it has a strike rate of around one hundred and twelve percent.
And Orion is wearing it to Dorothy’s.
I don’t even know why we’re going to this fucking club.
The last thing I want is to expose Orion to gay men who are looking to hook up.
I don’t know why I suggested it. I guess I panicked about him spending time with Andy and started talking out of my ass, but even so, going to a gay club with a gay guy I don’t want around other gay guys is a terrible idea.
It’s a horrible idea.
It might be the worst idea I’ve ever had.
I wish I could go back in time and put a fucking muzzle on myself. Jesus.
Dorothy’s is unassuming from the outside but dimly lit in shades of purple, pink, and ice-blue inside.
There’s a long glossy bar along the far wall that disjointedly reflects most of what’s going on in the room, and there are a few tall tables dotted around with small groups of guys standing around them.
It’s still pretty early, so the dancefloor isn’t majorly happening yet, but something tells me that’ll change soon.
Orion steps a little closer to me, glancing around and gnawing on an imaginary hangnail.
“Don’t be nervous. You look fine,” I tell him.
Honestly, he looks more than fine. His jeans look like they were tailored to his exact dimensions, and my lucky shirt follows the contours of his chest about as closely as it’s possible for a shirt to do while still remaining decent.
Guys who meet him tonight won’t have any idea he has a sleeper build.
Seriously, all they’ll see is power that’s usually concealed on full display.
I should have hidden that shirt somewhere he couldn’t find it.
I don’t know what I was thinking telling him he could wear it.
Vivid lilac light bounces off Orion’s cheekbones and turns his eyes so dark they almost look black. His lashes are thick, lowered shyly one second and flicked in my direction the next. He looks at me with an expression I’ve never seen on him. A hot, liquid expression my brain reads as S-E-X.
“I know I look fine,” he says, taking care to wrap his lips around the words and expel them with precisely the right amount of air required to send a shiver up my spine.
Oh great. That’s just great. Orion has chosen tonight, of all nights, to find his sexual mojo.
It’s my fucking shirt, man. It’s not only making him look hot, but it’s giving him killer confidence as well.
That thing is going in the trash the second we get home.
“What can I get you?” I yell over the music.
“Vodka soda,” he yells back.
I’m not happy to be here, but credit where credit is due: the service is super friendly.
When our drinks arrive, the barman slides a couple of fireballs we didn’t order our way, along with the vodkas we did order.
I ask who the shots are from, and the barman points to a guy sitting at the far end of the bar.
I glare at the man, blinking in indignation. He raises his glass at us and smiles broadly.
The fucking nerve.
He has no way of knowing I’m Orion’s wingman, not his boyfriend. We arrived together, we haven’t spoken to anyone else, and we’re standing close to each other. It’s fucking rude to assume he can send us drinks.
I push the shots back across the bar firmly and ask the barman to send them back.
People don’t really talk about it enough, but a big part of being a wingman is ensuring the safety of your lead. You can’t just let him go around accepting drinks from strangers. That’s how people get their drinks spiked.
Orion looks a bit taken aback by my brisk reaction, but he doesn’t comment on it.
I’m thankful for that because I don’t want to explain the nuances of the wingman-lead relationship to him right now.
It’s more important that I focus on making sure he has a good time because that’s one of the wingman responsibilities everyone knows about.
We find a table and start talking shit, and within a few minutes, it feels exactly like any other night out.
It’s great until some shirtless guy strolls over and introduces himself as Thomas.
He has a slightly fancy, possibly British accent and tells us he doesn’t answer to Tom, even though neither of us asked if he did.
I don’t like him off the bat.
He homes in on Orion straight away, looking him up and down.
And I don’t mean in a discreet way. I mean in the most obvious, lecherous way ever.
He checks Orion out so hard that his chin drops all the way to his chest before popping up again.
When his eyes finally meet Orion’s, he smiles like a fucking idiot and says, “Nice.”
I feel like I’m going to hit him if I’m around him much longer, so I down the last of my drink and ask Orion if he wants another one.
I fully expect O to come with me to the bar to get away from this astronomical douche, but instead he stays where he is, giving me a grateful flash of teeth as I head to the bar.
It’s officially the worst night ever.
On top of that, it’s gotten busy since we arrived and there’s a line at the bar now. I keep glancing back, ready to wave Orion over as soon as he looks at me, but the poor guy has been sucked into a conversation with Thomas.
I can’t blame Thomas for being into Orion because Orion is awesome. I nudge my way to the front of the line, looking back in time to see Orion raise his hand to his lips in an adorable attempt to half-hide a laugh.
I have one of those moments I’ve been having a lot lately, where I see Orion through the eyes of a gay guy who doesn’t know him.
A guy who’s never met him. A guy who hasn’t been friends with him for years.
Someone who hasn’t known him since they were kids, so all he has to go on with Orion is how he looks.
When I see Orion like that, it’s hard not to notice how attractive he is.
I’ve always liked the way he looks. Years back, when we were getting to know each other, he asked me what I liked about him, and I told him I liked his face.
He thought I was joking, but I wasn’t. At least, not completely.
I’ve always liked his face, but seeing him through the eyes of a stranger attracted to men really drives that point home.
Orion is gorgeous.
Kind of boyish and playful. Kind of serious.
His eyes are alive in a way most people’s aren’t.
They’re so full of good things that they shine as though there’s a light on inside him.
He has this little line near the corner of his mouth that makes him look like he’s about to smile at any time, when really, if you know him like I do, you know he’s just as likely to frown.
His lips are puffier when I look at him through the eyes of a stranger.
Since I fucked him, they’ve looked a lot puffier through my own eyes too.
It’s not that I regret fucking Orion. I don’t. I stand by my decision in a big way. He’s my best friend, and he needed help with something, so of course I was happy to help him.
I don’t regret it at all.
It’s just that I do regret flipping him over midway through.
I was fine hitting from behind. It felt good.
Better than good. I was having the time of my life drilling into him, actually.
His ass was really sweet. Sweeter than I thought it would be.
Muscular and smooth with exactly enough meat to give it that jiggle I like to see when I pound.
It was snug and warm inside.
Nice and tight.
Real nice and tight.
There was a novelty I wasn’t expecting. A rippling heat. A major buzz I got from doing it with a dude that surprised me. I told myself an ass is an ass beforehand. I told myself it was no big deal and that it wouldn’t affect me much or anything like that.
I was fine when he was on his hands and knees.
I thought I’d be fine when he was on his back too.
I didn’t expect him to look like that. Completely laid bare. More authentic, more real, more Orion than I’ve ever seen him. It made me feel like there was so much about him I didn’t know. Like I’d only ever scratched the surface of knowing him.
Looking into his eyes as he lay there, spread open for me, did something to my brain chemistry.
I’ve had a lot of sex in my life. I know some people think that’s a bad thing.
They think it makes it less meaningful or something.
But that isn’t true at all for me. I find sex very meaningful.
I see it as a way to connect with someone, to share an experience that transcends the here and now, and I think that’s beautiful.
It’s just that I’ve never had sex with someone I was already connected to.