“Oh man, if this is leading into a grandkids talk, I’m so out,” she said, giving me a quick squeeze. “Love you, Dad. Go, get out tonight. Live a little.”
“Will do,” I responded.
She had no idea how much I planned on living it up tonight.
The Truck Stop had a nondescript sign out front, black text on a beaten-up white background, and I didn’t think it seemed much like the swanky club I’d imagined or had seen in countless movies. Granted, it fit the name plenty. My nerves had gone from simmer to full boil.
Bad enough I was going to a club on a Sunday night, which placed me way out of my comfort zone, but on top of that, this was a gay club. And I was nursing a brand new interest in guys, not sure I was ready to get thrust into the chaos. Entertaining this crush wasn’t a good idea either. This was my daughter’s coworker, and he was over a decade younger.
The urge to pivot and head home reared in a big way. I’d found street parking by some miracle, so my getaway car was nearby rather than in a garage.
“You actually showed.”
I whirled around. Rory walked up the sidewalk, that easy stride was pure him. The jeans he wore clung to his legs and were guaranteed to flatter his ass. He’d styled his hair, a bit spikier than normal, which looked hot with his dark strands and all those tattoos. His tank top was glued to his skin and dipped low on his chest, and he wore a red bomber jacket. I felt a bit underdressed. I hadn’t been able to figure out what the fuck to wear, so I’d tossed on black jeans with no rips and an olive-green Henley.
“If I make promises, I keep them,” I said, shoving my hands into my pockets. The urge to reach out and touch him rose in a big way, but that would be weird. I was here as Rory’s pity hang, not because he was interested.
And fuck, when had I started wanting a guy to be interested in me?
“Duly noted,” Rory said, his expressive eyes flaring with heat.
I licked my lips, my mouth dry. “So, we don’t have to just start out dancing, right? We can grab a drink?”
“We’re an hour before the DJ shows up, so we’ll definitely be drinking at the bar,” Rory said, stepping by me. His shoulder brushed against mine in what seemed like a purposeful move. Not that I was sad. Even that small bit of contact lit me up. “You sure you’re up for this? We can always pivot to a watering hole full of straights.”
“You make it sound like David Attenborough’s about to start narrating at any moment,” I joked. Within minutes of Rory showing up, those nerves turned to adrenaline of a different sort, and I welcomed the change.
“Welcome to the horniest part of the documentary,” Rory said, gesturing at the building ahead. “Where virile males rut against each other in a primitive copulation dance.”
“What constitutes virile?” I asked. Fuck, if we walked in and everyone was my daughter’s age, I was walking back out.
“Down to fuck,” he drawled, the words dripping off those lush lips. “Come on. Follow me.”
With that, he stepped up to the door and slid inside.
I followed, entering to a wave of music. How the fuck were people supposed to hear each other with all this noise? The lights were dim in here, low-hanging ones illuminating a wooden bar on one side. Booths lined the other side of the place, and farther back was open floorspace, all black linoleum, which was probably where the dancing would happen. Only a few open stools were left at the bar, and Rory headed toward them.
Most of the people here were guys, though a few femme folks mingled in the mix. And these weren’t white-collar guys dressed in button-downs, or even blue-collar ones dressed in work shirts orcoveralls. No, some of these guys wore fishnet shirts, others no shirt at all. The man behind the bar wore a cute crop top and was closer to Rory’s age; however, there did seem to be a variety of ages, some younger and some older than me. I rubbed my beard for a second, as if it might offer a tether in this strange new world.
“Here,” Rory said as he stole a black vinyl stool by the bar. “I’ll buy you a drink.”
I shook my head as I nabbed the other one. “No damn way. I asked you out, so I’m buying.”
Rory’s eyes widened for a moment before the wording I’d used settled in. I licked my lips, not wanting to retract the statement even if I should.
“Hey, handsome,” the crop-topped bartender said, his gaze directly on me. His smile lit his eyes, and he was probably an attractive guy, but my attention was stuck on Rory. “What brings you here tonight?”
“New experiences,” I said. “But I’ll start with two beers.”
He arched a brow, his lips curling with his grin. The flirtiness wasn’t too different from straight bars in that sense, except it was usually women flirting with me for better tips. Rory scooted in so our knees pressed together, and I welcomed the contact. Honestly, the amount of touch from him was more than I got on a regular basis, and I basked in every interaction.
The bartender quickly brought over two pints and placed them in front of us. He pushed a napkin my way as well, which had a number scrawled on it. “If you want some new experiences later.”
I blinked. Well, maybe this was a little different.
Rory snatched the napkin and shoved it under his beer. “Whoops, did that have something on it?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek to hide my amusement. The bartender was down the opposite end and hadn’t seen Rory’s move,but I didn’t mind his little display in the slightest. Was he jealous? He didn’t have a single thing to worry about. Still, my heart thrummed faster at the thought.
