But that’s it.That’s what I was missing.
And now I know what to do.
22
Sam
It takes me three days to work up the courage, plus I have to wait for Gran to go dancing with Eugene again.And then I don’t know what to wear.There’s this weird moment like a reflex when I take out my phone to ask Gray, but then I remember I blocked him.So, I end up wearing what I always wear when I don’t know what to wear: a polo and khakis and my good sneakers.
The Pretty Pretty isn’t busy tonight.I’ve driven past it plenty of times on patrol, and I’ve even been inside before—but only when I was on duty, and only when I had official business.Guys get into fights.Somebody has too much to drink and won’t leave.Or one time, Gray got roofied.
It’s different, though, tonight, because I’m wearing my civvies, and I have to stop at the front door to show my ID.I glance around while the guy checks it out, and when he hands it back to me, he’s got this look on his face like he knows what I’m doing—like I’m worried someone will see me.I smile and put my ID away and go inside because people will think what they want to think.
The club isn’t busy in the middle of the week, but it’s got a decent crowd.It’s got a big dance floor, and it’s got a bar, and lights on the wall that glow different colors.It smells like cologne and hot bodies and something sweet.Music is playing—something that’s got a heavy beat and no words—and it’s loud enough that the bass buzzes in my joints.It’s mostly guys in here, but there are some women too.
I stay by the entrance for a few minutes, checking out the space.The guys range in age—some of them younger than me, some of them a lot older.Mostly White, although there are a few Black and Latino men too.Some people are dancing, but I’d say more people are at the bar or in the booths, drinking and talking.A couple of guys notice me.They’re not shy about making eye contact, and it takes me a few seconds to realize they’re not trying to start something.Well, I guess they are, but not what I thought.
I head for the bar, and I can feel eyes following me.It’s not exactly a new feeling.When you’re in uniform, people stare, so I know what it feels like to have people watching me.But this isn’t the same.This is a different kind of interest.I try not to look, but I still glimpse faces as I move across the room.Some of them are open, interested.Others are more reserved.But I finally know what it means when somebody saysfresh meat.
The bartender is shirtless and wearing little black shorts that barely hide his junk.He’s got a lot of lean muscle: a broad chest, big biceps, defined abs.Tight little nipples.He shaves under his arms.And that makes my eyes wander, and it looks like he must shave his treasure trail too, and when I catch myself, the bartender is watching me, grinning.
He’s waiting, so I say, “Bud Light,” just to say something.
“Isn’t that butch?”he says, and he’s back with the beer in a minute.He doesn’t set it on the bar; he hands it to me, and he rubs my fingers with his thumb.When he takes my cash, he says, “Maverick.”
It takes me too long, and my face gets hot when I finally realize I’m supposed to say my name.“Sam.”
“Let me know if you need anything, stud.”And then Maverick moves down the bar.He’s got a great butt; he’s practically bursting out of those little shorts.That’s something I’ve never thought before, not all the way out loud like that.Maverick looks back and catches me again, and he smiles real big, and I take a drink of the beer because I have no idea what to do.
It’d be a good ass to fuck, I think.
It’s like I’m trying out the thought.Seeing if it fits.And I guess it does, because I get this image of squeezing Maverick’s fat ass, spreading him open, sinking into him.I fucked Gray so hard his head bounced off the wall.I drink some more beer.I could do that to Maverick too.
He looks over like he can hear me, and he smiles again, and that’s when I realize I’m at half-mast.
It’s not busy tonight.A couple of guys sit next to me and try to talk.They’re nice enough, but every time they sit down, Maverick drifts back.He doesn’t exactlydoanything, but he leans over the bar, he touches my arm, he smooths my shirt and says, “There,” like it had a wrinkle or something.And the guys who sit next to me leave, one after another.Some of them give Maverick dirty looks.
“I’m up for my break,” Maverick says the next time he comes back.And then he looks at me like he asked me a question.
“Oh,” I say.And I can’t help it; I smile.“Yeah.”
Maverick rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling too.“So, do you have a car or something?”
“Uh huh,” I say.My head’s bouncing like it’s on a string.“Yeah.”
He laughs for some reason and tells me to hold on.He says something to an older man, who takes Maverick’s place behind the bar, and then Maverick is pulling on a thin white tee that is so tight I can see everything underneath it, which I guess is probably the whole point.He comes over and takes my hand and leads me outside, and when we pass the bouncer, he says, “Maverick, just give a shout,” and I realize it’s because he thinks I might do something.
Maverick laughs at whatever he sees on my face.“We get some weirdos.Come on, where’s your car?”
He likes that it’s a truck.He says, “Very butch,” again like it’s a good thing, and he likes it even more when I open the back door and help him up.He’s got nice, long legs.They’re smooth and tan, even though it’s April, almost like a girl’s.Gray has some hair on his legs.Not a lot, because he’s not a hairy guy, but you couldn’t miss that Gray’s a man.At the top of those legs is Maverick’s thick ass.Those shorts look damn near ready to split.
He’s on me as soon as I close the door, climbing onto my lap, kissing me.He tastes sweet, like candy, and there’s a hint of weed, too, and that’s when I realize Maverick is maybe a little drunk and definitely high.He runs his hands over my chest, and he makes this little whimper like he found a new treat, and then he says, “Why aren’t you touching me?”
So, I slip my hands under his shirt and touch his belly.He’s so smooth, and the muscle under that skin is dense and strong.I run my hands up to those tiny nipples and flick them, and Maverick lets out a little breath and scoots forward.He starts kissing my neck, and that revs my motor, so I’m a little rougher with him, and he moans, “Fuck, yes, fucking work my tits.”
That gets me hard as a rock.
Maverick must feel it, because I can feel him; he’s hard too, grinding on me, and he starts fumbling with the button on my khakis.“I’m going to suck you off,” he says.“You can pull my hair.I like it.Tell me at the end that I can come, okay?”
