“Let’s just have a drink then. See what happens.” He raised his beer at me and, with a groan, I returned the gesture with my bourbon.
He didn’t force conversation and he didn’t drink more than that single beer, but by the time I’d gotten two glasses into the second bottle, his proposition had started to sound like a better idea than it had when he’d first sat down. I tried to focus on him, but my vision swam, offering me two blurry versions of his face. His eyes looked good enough to drink and I thought maybe, just maybe, he would do.
Maybe Golden would show up and find my cock jammed into someone else’s mouth. Would that make him jealous? I swayed on the barstool thinking about it. It would make me jealous if I saw another man with his hands on Golden. I would kill the guy, to be honest. I’d wring his throat with my bare hands as a reminder to himandto Golden that I didn’t share what was mine.
And Foster Golden was—or would be—mine.
“Alright,” I mumbled, my mouth tasting like dry cotton.
“Hmn?”
“Alright,” I said again, my lips barely working.
“Out back?” he asked,
I nodded, slipping off the stool. I caught myself on the edge of the bar and fumbled around my pocket for my wallet. I threw a hundred dollar bill down for the bartender and slipped my wallet back into my pants. My head swam and I followed after the stranger, through the bar and past the bathrooms, out an emergency exit door and into the alley.
I liked alleys.
I liked thinking about Golden in alleys.
The door closed behind me and I pressed myself against the wall, the bricks digging into my spine and holding me up. Shit, I was really drunk.
“Do you kiss?” The man leaned close.
He was taller than me, slimmer than me. His breath smelled like barley and hops and mint, and I closed my eyes, unable to bring his face into focus.
“Not normally,” I slurred, a bit of a lie. I didn’t kiss, but I kissed one man.
“I’m feeling generous tonight,” he whispered against my ear. I rolled my head to the side to hear him better. The alley spun, fireworks sparkling and twisting on the backs of my eyelids. “So I want to suck you off before I…”
He didn’t finish speaking, but I reached up and tangled my hands into his hair, pushing him down to his knees. His fingers worked at the fly of my pants. He unzipped me, pulled my pants open. He flattened his hands against my stomach, dragging them down.
“Stop.”
His fingers hesitated, still touching, but not moving.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
I wanted to look at him, but I couldn’t get my eyes open. I couldn’t get my head off the wall.
“Too drunk,” I muttered.
“You’re not drunk.” He stood up, resting one of his palms over my flaccid cock and nuzzling his nose against my neck. “You’re drugged.”
“Hmn?”
“You’re drugged,” he repeated.
I tried to take a breath, but it was hollow and it rattled in my chest.
“Woulda done it,” I rasped. “Didn’t need drugs.”
“I’m not here to fuck.,” The man sank his teeth into my earlobe until he pierced the skin. A premonition of danger sparked in my chest and I managed to force my eyes open.
“The fuck…” I reached behind me for the gun at my back, but my movements were slow and sloppy and I couldn’t get hold of it before the blade of a knife stabbed into my stomach.
Fuck.
