“I do love to dance, though.”
“I didn’t know that.”
The news saddened Mason because it was just another thing he’d learned he didn’t know about Chase, and that bugged the shit out of him.
As the place started filling up, Chase and Mason headed down the street to Rage. The line arced out the door and stretched down the street. Mason noticed he and Chase were already getting eyed up before they even got inside. But the guys checking him out didn’t bother him—just the ones ogling Chase. And as they entered the bar, it only got worse. He’d never been in a position where he’d had to see so many guys having the hots for his man.
His man? That wasn’t really the case, but it didn’t change how he felt.
Chase guided him through the club, up a stairwell, and to the second floor, which overlooked a packed dance floor, illuminated with a range of green, purple, and blue lights that emanated from ceiling fixtures.
Chase found a spot for them next to the rail before turning to Mason. “What do you think?”
“It’s a cool space.”
Chase scanned Mason’s outfit.
Mason had noticed him checking out his clothes a few times, and considering Mason never really dressed to go anywhere other than the dairy, he felt self-conscious about it.
“Does this shirt look funny on me? You should have said something if you didn’t like what I picked out.”
“No, Mason. You look hot as hell. I’m just not used to seeing you in anything other than a pair of ripped jeans and a tee… and your boots. It’s strange seeing you all dressed up like this.”
“You think I’m hot as hell?”
“Of course I do. Now leave me the fuck alone about it. Everyone’s looking at you, this big beefy hunk of man that you are, and no one gives a shit about me.”
“That’s not what I’ve noticed.”
“Trust me, I’ve been here for a long time, and not as many people are as interested as you’d think.” His words were laced with the same insecurity Mason had heard from Chase so frequently.
“There you go again. Making it out like you’re not the amazing guy I know you are. Give me some credit for having good taste, at least.”
Chase grinned. “Fair enough.” But Mason knew he was pacifying him.
Mason took a sip of his cocktail when he noticed Chase’s was almost empty. “Why don’t we hit the dance floor before we get another drink?” Mason suggested.
“Really?”
“Why do you say it like that? I thought you said you like dancing?”
“I do. I just didn’t know that you’d want to.”
“Well, I do. Let’s get down there and let loose a little.”
“I’d like that. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you dance.”
“We need to practice for the wedding reception anyway, right?”
“Let’s do it.”
Chase grabbed Mason’s hand and guided him downstairs.
He liked how Chase was taking charge in his home turf. How he led him onto the dance floor and through the crowd. When he spun around to Mason, there was a sparkle in his eyes, partially from the overhead lights.
Chase rolled his shoulders and moved his hips to either side. Mason was about to laugh, but as soon as Chase’s face turned serious and he found the rhythm of the song that blasted in the background, Mason became enchanted. Chase moved confidently, not like the kid who was so nervous about looking stupid at school dances or scared of being the town gay couple.
It reflected the confidence Chase had found in his own life—a confidence he acquired on his own, without Mason’s help.
