1
Ellis
Two Years Ago
If I don’t get lucky tonight, I’m going to leave this city.
Never mind that I literally just got here this morning, ready to start a neweraof my life as a—ugh—junior sports agent. I don’t even know what possessed me to finally tell Dad that I’m going to move back to Tampa so I can finally take the job he’s been wanting me to take since I graduated college a year ago. I mean, I know he’s the founder of one of the most prominent sports agencies in the state, but does that mean I need to follow in his footsteps?
Apparently he believes so, and since I promised him I’d give it a shot after a year of traveling the world, here I am… back where I grew up, and ready to earn an actual income.
Except that I don’t want to be here, and I’m already dreading walking into the office tomorrow tolearn the ropesas Dad claims.
Point is, if I don’t find a hot guy to rail me tonight, then I’m taking it as my sign that this is a bad idea. It only makes sense.Ineedto get lucky tonight to at least fool myself into believing that moving back home was the right decision.
That, and I’m lonely and horny as fuck.
The gay bar I’m in is crowded, and everyone seems to be huddled in their little groups as loud music blares. I scan my surroundings, trying not to be annoyed that the bartender’s too busy to give me another shot. I’m exhausted from all the dancing and could use a drink.
I just need one cute guy to make eye contact with me. That’s all I need. Not to be too cocky, but I know I’m pretty. I’ve got the classic pretty-boy vibe, and I even wore a too-tight shirt that perfectly hugs my form.
“Jay!” says a deep voice from my left. “Another round for us, please!”
An arm pushes against mine, and I snap my attention to the guy. The bar’s crowded, yes, but that doesn’t mean he can invade my personal space, especially when he doesn’t even seem to realize I’m right here. Someone must push him from the other side because he makes a soft, surprised sound and stumbles a bit, almost knocking me off my stool.
“Ah, shit, sorry.” The guy places a hand on my back, steadying me.
Oh, and…all right.He’s hot. He can knock me off my stool anytime. He’s at least a head taller than me with slicked-back hair and gray eyes. The guy looks like an athlete, and his white button-down shirt stretches when he moves, pulling tight over his biceps. Actually, I’m pretty sure he is. I’ve been around enough athletes—thanks, Dad—to know one when I see one. Honestly, if I fished a bit, maybe I’d find out he was a star athlete. An unsigned one who I could take back to my dad and ironically prove that I can actually do the job he wants me to do.
The way his eyes dart across my face, down to my mouth, then to my tight shirt, something in my head clicks—target acquired.
I guess I wasn’t wrong to think that all I needed was a cute guy to make eye contact with me, because from the way his throat bobs, I think he’d take me home right now if I asked. I don’t outright ask though, because I’m polite like that.
“Just a second, Dee!” the bartender answers. He’s already pouring the vodka into at least half-a-dozen shot glasses.
“Wow,” I say. “He’s been ignoring me and almost everyone else for the past ten minutes. You must be special.”
The guy—Dee—blinks at me slowly. He parts his lips and stares at me for a good three seconds. I know because I count. Finally, he puts a hand up to his mouth and clears his throat, looking away. “What do you want? I’ll buy you a drink.”
“So forward. At least ask my name first.”
That makes him laugh, his eyes twinkling. “What’s your name? I’m Damon.”
I give him a smile that only makes his cheeks redder. “Ellis.”
“Here you go, Dee,” the bartender interrupts as he sets down a tray in front of us. It knocks against my hand and I scowl at him, but he goes right back to ignoring me and walks away.
“He’s a friend from college,” Damon explains. He smiles at me—and, damn, he has a saccharine smile. Despite towering over me with his height and bulk, this man radiates sweetness and kindness.
I’d like to see him lose it.
I watch as he takes a shot glass from the tray and hands it to me, and I take it without a second thought. When his fingers graze mine, I swear my skin buzzes. Holy shit. “He calls meDeebecause he knows how much I hate it, so ignore that.”
“Thank you,” I say. His eyes light up when I take one of the other shot glasses and hand it to him.
When I raise my drink to him, he gives me another sweet smile before knocking our glasses together. I keep my eyes on him as he downs his shot at the same time that I do. The vodka goesdown surprisingly smooth and leaves a tangy aftertaste on my tongue.
I’m not subtle as I stare at his lips, glistening in the aftermath.
