Lincoln made a very pleased sound at that prospect,nodding eagerly. “Such a valid point. Maybe we can check the upstairs first and then circle back down?”
“You don’t want to stop at the bathrooms before we go?” I teased, elbowing him in the ribs. “See if anyone is waiting there for you.”
“Oh, you mean Riot?”
I raised a brow. “Whatever happened with him?”
“He was okay at sucking dick behind closed doors but was not okay with my line of work.”
Sighing, I looped my arm through Lincoln’s and pulled him toward the dance floor. “Then he’s not worth your time.”
“I know.” He took a decent swallow from his glass and smacked his lips together. Sliding his free hand around my waist, he pulled our bodies flush and started to dance. I lifted my wine over my head so nobody knocked into me and spilled it, tilting my head back and relaxing enough to let Lincoln lead.
We danced through songs that bled together with the same beat, and finally, out of breath, Lincoln buried his face against my throat with a laugh.
“I wish I wanted to fuck you,” he said.
I laughed back at him, putting enough space between us to bring my wine down and finish it off.
“You really don’t,” I said.
“I know. I know.” His stare lifted over my shoulder, and he tracked someone across the dance floor toward the back stairs that led to the original private loft.
“What is it, boy?” I teased. “What did you find?”
“You’re an asshole,” he murmured, taking my hand and pulling me toward the stairs.
When we reached the top floor, I immediately recognized the man he’d spotted on the dance floor. He was exactly Lincoln’s type. A little too tall for his own good, kind of lanky like a baby deer who hadn’t grown into their limbs yet. IfLincoln had a type, it was pretty and awkward and this man checked both of those boxes.
“He looks lost,” I said softly.
“Maybe I should find him then.”
“I think you should.” I gave Lincoln a little shove toward the bar.
He spent less than five minutes chatting up the stranger and putting him at ease. Ten minutes in, the man leaned in close enough that Lincoln could have kissed him if he wanted, and I knew my best friend well enough to know he did. Another few minutes, which felt like a record, and then Lincoln took the man’s hand and walked him over to the place I’d set up camp against the wall.
“Who’s hosting?” I asked, admiring how up close the man Lincoln had set his sights on didn’t look like his bones were trying to jut out of his skin.
“He is,” Lincoln said. “Safety first and all that.”
“You text a friend anyway?” I asked.
“Yeah. Yes,” the man said.
Ah, there were the nerves.
I looked at Lincoln, unable to not smile at the way his entire face was lit with interest, then I pulled my phone out of my pocket and swiped it open to an empty message.
Holding it out for the stranger, I said, “Text me your name and address.”
He didn’t balk at the reciprocal safety measures, which made me feel a little better about leaving Lincoln on his own. It was far from the first time either of us would have gone home with a stranger from a club—or anywhere else for that matter—but it was the first time either of us had done so after my…
Well.
After my last trip here.
He handed my phone back and I looked down at the screen, confirming there was a real address there and a name.
