1
FLYNN GODDARD
“I found someone else.”
Those words were the worst thing to hear from the man you’d been partnered with for the last twenty-five years. I didn’t need to be a genius to work out Chris was in love with his personal assistant, Stanton, a guy young enough to be his son. I’d never thought of myself as a bitter person, but I couldn’t stop staring at Stanton’s social media feed and the deliriously happy pictures he’d posted of himself alongside my ex. Stanton had vivid blue eyes that sparkled with excitement, stylish short brown hair, and flawless creamy skin. His curvy lips belonged in a makeup ad, and he was slim and shorter than my ex... my exact opposite. They’d already traveled Europe in the month and a half they’d been together—Chris had never taken me farther than his parents’ house in Nevada.
“Are you seriously doomscrolling through that Instagram again?” Brandt, my best friend of thirty years, sidled up beside me, staring over my shoulder and huffing. The pumping music of the club he’d dragged me out to hurt my ears, and it was hard to hear him over all the noise—yet he still managed to be heard when he groaned as he dropped his forehead on my shoulder in a rather dramatic fashion. “Flynn, you need to get over it. Chris left you. The douchebag and his spoiled brat prince don’t deserve your tears.” I smiled, even though my heart ached a little harder, and stared around the room.
The club was pure chaos, with people much younger than us dancing—or in some cases, grinding—below dark blue lights that made the dance floor seem like an underwater dream. On the far side of the room a DJ stood in a glass booth with men in blackSecurityT-shirts surrounding it, her pink and blue hair flying everywhere as she nodded her head with the beat. It was wild.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
“Did you hear me?” Brandt asked, making me sigh. He looked amazing tonight in tight jeans that made his ass pop and a powder-blue T-shirt that clung to his slim body. He liked to say he had a ballet build, and he wasn’t wrong. While I had thick muscles I worked on almost every day, his were smaller and tighter.
I shrugged, and he poked me in the ribs before waving out at the crowd of gyrating bodies—mostly young people who were kissing and groping. I hadn’t been to a club like this since my early twenties, and Chris and I’d only had a few drinks before we left. He’d never enjoyed places like this, and neither did I.
“Go have fun. Move that body. Find someone to fuck you.” Brandt grinned, flashing perfect teeth. His gray-infused brown hair was short and cut close to his head, and his lips were bright, as though he’d used gloss on them. His tan made him glow, and it was natural from his years of living in the sun. He enjoyed the outdoors and we often hiked together. Out of all my friends, Brandt was the only one who wasn’t settled down with a partner and kids—he lived life as though he was still twenty-one. “This is an LGBTQ-inclusive club, you won’t get into any trouble. Hell, most places you can do whatever you want these days. Things are a little different since the last time you were on the meat market.”
“That isn’t what I’m worried about,” I finally said, turning my back to the crowd and cupping my hand around a mug of beer as the bartender placed it in front of me on the bar top. She was fun to look at, with half her head shaved, and the rest of her hair coming down in a magenta swoop over the left side of her face. The glasses she wore matched her hair but had no lenses, and her septum piercing winked in the bright lights that hung above the bar. I passed her a twenty. “Keep the change!”
She smiled at me in response, leaving me there to wallow in my pain. There was a roar of laughter and approval from nearby, and I turned toward the noise. A beautiful Black woman with a cloud of short curls and a diamond stud gleaming on her nose stood on top of the bar. Her long silky red skirt and sequined bikini top glittered in the bright lights overhead. She poured a shot directly into the mouth of a young man while his friends slapped him on the back. The obnoxious hooting made me want to leave.
“Then what’s the problem?” Brandt plopped down on the barstool beside me and nudged my thigh with his knee. “I brought you out to get laid.”
“I’m too old for that.” I took a sip of my Stonewall Inn IPA and closed my eyes, appreciating the slide of cold liquid down my parched throat. I’d been shocked to see the Brooklyn Brewery beer on tap, especially since it had a name that was so clearly a reference to an iconic gay-history location. Brandt was probably right, things were different now than when I was dating twenty-five years ago—and maybe better.
“Bullshit on a gold-plated buttplug.” He stole my mug and took a sip of beer. “Why do you drink that trash?” He cringed so hard his eyes nearly crossed. “Get a gin and tonic.”
I grabbed my drink back from him, glaring.
“Anyway, you’re not too old—you’re forty-fucking-five. Young enough to get laid and get off.” He leaned an elbow on the bar and snatched my phone out of my hand, and I tried to get it back, but he kept it out of reach. “Now stop giving your ex the satisfaction of pining over his less-than-stellar cock and get out there and find someone to fuck. That is an order. I’ve known you longer than Chris has.”
I grunted and stared at the three women and one man behind the bar. The clothes they wore left nothing to the imagination, and the skirts on the women were barely big enough to be underwear. Times had changed since I was young, and I’d isolated myself from the world when I had Chris. Academia was its own universe, and often everything was too proper there. Outside of my work as a law instructor, I had a few friends and a comic-book store I enjoyed visiting.
“Fine.” Brandt huffed. “If you won’t go to the men, I’ll bring them to you.” He shoved my shoulder and left, and I spun on the stool to watch him walk into the crowd of young men and women. He stopped to talk to a few guys and pointed at me, and heat flooded my cheeks as I turned away to stare at my beer.
“Is he giving you trouble?” a masculine voice asked into my ear, and whoever it was took a seat on Brandt’s abandoned stool. I glanced at the man sitting there, who had a wide grin on a squarish jaw that was surrounded by a dark shadow of a beard, and he had the same color hair on his head, brown and floppy, giving him an adorable puppy-dog look, which I’d always found appealing. Chris had the same type of appearance when he was younger, and that thought only made me feel worse.
“Did he send you here?” I grumbled, turning back to nurse my beer. Right now I wished I had my phone so I could stare hopelessly at the many beautiful photos of Chris and Stanton. Chris had never looked that happy with me. I’d tried, but nothing I did made him smile anymore. Where did I mess up? What was wrong with me?
“Who? The guy hassling you?” The man glanced at Brandt again, mouth twisting.
“He wasn’t bothering me,” I said, the urge to defend my oldest friend springing forward, even if he was a relentless ass sometimes. “He’s my best friend, whose new life goal is trying to get me laid.” I snorted at how ridiculous that sounded after I’d said it.
“Really?” The man turned his back to the bar and leaned against it with his elbows while watching me carefully. There was something incredibly sexy about the way he was sitting, but I assumed he knew it and that was why he chose to do it. “You looking to get your rocks off? Because I am.”
I held back another snort. At least he wasn’t beating around the bush. I glanced at him again and noticed the small things, like his green eyes, supple mouth, and how flushed his pale cheeks were. Guys his age who flirted with older men—like me—were usually searching for a sugar daddy, something I definitely wasn’t.
“I’m a bottom,” I said with a shrug, smiling at the bartender as she stopped in front of me.
“Another, honey?” She nodded at my mug, her gold eyeshadow glittering under the bright lights. This was the only section of the club that wasn’t dark and sensual.
I hadn’t even realized I’d nearly drunk all my beer, and I groaned. This was getting tedious, and Brandt wouldn’t give up until I either went home or kissed someone. I turned back to the young man beside me.
“I’ll give you a fifty if you make out with me.” I scrunched my eyebrows together in thought. “Like I said, I’m a bottom, and I’m not your type, but it’s an easy fifty to make. I just need to convince my friend I had a good time with another man.”
He smirked. “My name’s Judge, by the way.”
