But he also knew it wasn’t that simple. He couldn’t pretend dinner hadn’t happened and he couldn’t act like they’d never met before or that he’d been so obtuse for the entire day.
“How long are you going to be in the bath for?” he asked, shoving his feet back into his shoes. He should change, but he knew if he didn’t get out of the room, he’d lose his nerve.
“Probably until the champagne is gone.”
“Would you maybe wait until later to finish the bottle? Can you give me an hour?”
“Only an hour?” Jace made a noise in his throat. “That’s no time at all, Callahan.”
His cock pulsed again, and he flattened his palm against it, pressing down to quell the quickly thickening erection growing between his legs.
“An hour,” he repeated.
The water splashed and before he could register the sound of Jace’s wet footfalls against the tiled floor, he was there in the doorway, a small white towel loose around his waist. He’d been right on the plane—there wasn’t a freckle on his body, at least not on the 99% of it that was currently exposed. Water poured down Jace’s chest and neck, his hair matted to his forehead and dripping down his throat. Jace had the champagne in one hand, the other barely holding the towel together in front of him.
“What then?” Jace asked, his eyes narrowed and unsure.
“I wanted you to come downstairs with me and have a drink.”
“We can drink here.” He held up the bottle.
Callahan stood up, feeling out of place for the first time in a very long time. He was over-dressed, over-worried, over-thinking. He tipped his head backward and looked up at the ceiling, taking deep breaths and counting to ten before facing back to Jace, who was still nearly naked.
“Come dance with me,” he said, holding out his hand.
Jace dragged his tongue across the front of his teeth and eyed Callahan wearily. His apprehension was not misplaced, and every doubtful glance felt like a tiny knife between Callahan’s ribs. He deserved those looks, he deserved that lack of trust. He deserved worse, but he didn’t think he could admit that out loud.
“I’m not decent,” Jace said.
“I know.”
Jace wavered, then set the champagne down on the nightstand and took Callahan’s outstretched hand. Jace’s fingers were pruney against his skin, and Callahan pulled him out of the bedroom. He pushed the table out of the way with his foot and then tapped the screen on his phone, which he’d lodged into the radio dock near the TV. A club beat started to play, barely loud enough to hear on the horrible hotel speakers, but it would have to do.
Jace pursed his lips, but let Callahan move their bodies closer together. Callahan’s cock was heavy against his leg, but even as he felt the damp press of Jace’s exposed thigh, he hoped his erection wasn’t obvious.
“What are you doing?” Jace asked, his words scratchy against Callahan’s ear.
“Is this okay?”
Jace’s nostrils flared in recognition of the ask, and Callahan held his hands steady just above the towel around Jace’s hips, swaying gently to the beat of the song.
“It’s different.”
Callahan sucked in a sharp breath. “Is different okay?”
“I don’t know,” Jace answered, his stare never wavering from Callahan’s face. Callahan could see Jace trying to figure out what the end game was, but Callahan would be no help because he wasn’t sure himself. He just knew he didn’t want what he’d had. He wanted something different.
He wanted Jace.
“One dance,” he said.
“Is that all?”
Callahan desperately wanted one dance to only be the start, but he was on thin ice. He had a lot of apologizing and explaining to do, and Jace had been drinking so he didn’t want much more than this anyway—a cautious acquiescence.
“For now,” Callahan answered.
That must have been the right answer because Jace’s body went soft, turned pliant, and he started to move with Callahan. It was a little bit awkward because Jace had to keep readjusting his towel, and in the end, Callahan turned him around and pressed his chest against Jace’s back.
