“I was going simple tonight. White cropped T-shirt and jeans? Maybe the ‘Feral Queer’ shirt you bought me? I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it, honestly.” I shrug as I sit at the vanity to do a rushed version of my skincare routine. After applying toner and moisturizer that cost far more than I would admit to most, I get to work on my eyeliner. For the first time in months, I don’t hate the person looking back at me. “Definitely going with the ‘Feral Queer’ shirt tonight.”
“Oooh, Harlan is looking for dick tonight. Good. You need it, bestie. Fix your hair and get dressed.” I do just that while Penny orders an Uber, and within twenty minutes, we’re on our way out the door.
It’s hot and humid in the club, and it smells of sweat and cheap perfume. There’s barely room to walk as people dance and mingle, and the lights reflecting off the smoke from the fog machine make everything seem out of focus. The vibrations from the music snake their way up my body as we navigate the crowd. Pen grabs my hand, making a beeline toward the bar. I decided before we arrived that I wasn't going to drink tonight, so I order a soda from the bartender. The soft look of approval on my best friend’s face makes me feel lighter.
With our drinks in hand, we weave our way to the dance floor. It feels good to be sober and dance with Pen. I’ve been a shit lately, and she’s been more patient than I deserve. Working in London was never on my radar, but since Penelope arrived, it has feltgoodto go to the office. Little by little, I’m starting to fall in love with work again.
It doesn’t stop me from thinking about Dare and being back home in New York. I miss him like I’d miss a limb. The reminders of him are still plentiful, and they often hit me without warning. I’m still struggling to forgive myself for what I did to him. I don’t see a world where I will ever love anyone the way I love him. More than that, I don’t see a world where someone will ever love me as well as he did. Losing that—losinghim—was my fault. And if the stars ever align again, and I find my way back to him, I need to work on being worthy of his love.
“Harlan, are you ok?” Penelope’s voice brings me back to the chaos of writhing bodies around us. “You spaced out.”
“Just thinking about how lucky I am that you love me,” I shout in her ear before kissing her temple.
“That’s what best friends do. They love you even when you’re hard to love.” She hugs me before turning around to grind her barely covered arse against me. After long moments of losing myself in the music with Penelope, I feel someone move inbehind me and start to dance closely. Too close to be friendly. A hand moves to my hip.
“Is this ok?” I turn my head to see a hot guy, definitely older, with brown hair and beautiful blue eyes. I nod, and his grip on my hip tightens as he pulls me flush against him. The contact feels foreign but not unwelcome. “What’s your name?” His accent is distinctly American, causing my stomach to flip. Penelope has moved away from us a bit, getting absorbed into the group that had been dancing near us.
“Harlan,” I say into his ear as we move in time to the music.
“That’s a beautiful name. I’m Oliver. Are you here with anyone?” His voice is a caress, and I have to stop myself from grinding into him.
“Just my best friend.” I point in Pen’s general direction, and she winks at me. “I’m very unattached if that’s the real question.”
“I didn’t want to assume anything. You’re beautiful, Harlan.” It feels so good to have intimate contact like this, even if it goes nowhere. I’ve not been anywhere near a man since my last night with Dare. My hand, a few toys, and an excessive amount of porn have been my only bedmates. It’s been a matter of biology as opposed to genuine arousal.
“You’re American,” I observe. “I’m guessing West Coast?” It didn’t take long once I arrived in the States to pick up on the regional accents. Despite being born in Miami, Dare sounds like he’s from New York. Between uni, the team, and my line of work, I was immersed in the vast differences between states. I’ve always found the sheer size of America fascinating, if a bit overwhelming.
I feel him chuckle more than hear it. “I am American. I was born in Seattle but lived most of my life in California. San Francisco area. Are you from London?”
“Close. I grew up in Buckinghamshire. I went to uni in New York and moved back here for work a few months ago.” A bodybumping into me makes me realize we’ve stopped dancing. I turn to face him completely, but his hands remain on my hips, keeping me close.
“Would you like to grab a drink and find somewhere to talk?” His expression is warm and open. I feel a barely noticeable flutter of eager anticipation in my belly. I’m even more grateful I decided not to drink tonight. Any decisions I make will not be influenced by alcohol, and it feels amazing to be fully present.
“Yeah, I think I’d like that.” I offer him a small smile, and he takes my hand. I look over my shoulder to check for Penelope, but she waves me off. Briefly, I’m reminded of the night in New York where I ruined my life. I was being led off the dance floor by another gorgeous man, and one stupid decision changed everything for me.
I freeze, pulling my hand away from Oliver’s when he gets up to the bar. “Are you ok? Did I make you uncomfortable?” The look of concern on his face eases some of my anxiety. I remind myself that this is different. A different club, a different man, extremely different circumstances. I’m sober. I’m single.
“Yes. I mean, yes, I’m ok. No, you didn’t make me uncomfortable.” Words are apparently hard. He’ll think I’m an absolute idiot if I keep talking. I feel myself blush with embarrassment, and he smiles softly.
“Ok, if you’re sure. Do you want to go to the café down the road, where it’s less crowded? We can get coffee.” The invitation to talk rather than find a dark corner helps eliminate the last of my nerves. I had planned to get fucked tonight, but the thought of doing that suddenly feels less exciting than what I had in mind earlier.
“Yes, that sounds perfect,” I offer him a genuine smile. “I’m just going to let my friend know where I’m going.”
After locating Penelope to let her know what I’m up to and confirming she is ok with finding her way back to my flat, Ifind Oliver by the exit. As we walk to the café, we chat about the differences between the UK and the US, and I find myself laughing and feeling lighter than I have in months.
The café is blessedly quiet and mostly empty when we step inside. The lighting is dim, with exposed bulbs hanging from the ceiling, offering a soft glow over the booths. At the counter, I opt for hot chocolate while Oliver gets black coffee and a pastry. With a hand placed gently on my lower back, he leads me to a corner booth next to a window overlooking the street.
“Tell me more about yourself, Harlan. What do you do for work?” Everything about Oliver’s demeanor oozes charm and kindness. I wonder if he realizes how attractive he is. Oliver is not my normal type. I love bigger guys—muscles, tattoos. Oliver is lean, with more of a swimmer’s build. His dark blue eyes seem bottomless, and openly curious as he waits for me to talk.
“I’m a designer and model for Lust & Lace. I went to school in Brooklyn to get my degree and was doing some small modeling jobs. Once I graduated, I started working for them full-time. Until last autumn, I was working in Brooklyn. There was an issue with my visa, and I had to come back to the UK, so I work out of the London office for now.” I obviously skip the part about Darío, not sure if I’m ready to talk about it. Besides, it’s probably not the get-to-know-you conversation people would expect.
“Modeling? I can see it. I’m familiar with the brand, though I don’t necessarily wear their products. I’ve bought them for an ex, though.” The impish grin is at odds with his pink cheeks as he smiles at me.
“If you’ve shopped for their products, I’m sure you’ve seen my arse at some point,” I joke. “Honestly, it’s my dream job. I’ve traveled a lot, which I always wanted to do. Enough about me, though. What brings you to London?” I find myself wanting to know more about this man, and I try not to let guilt outweighthe intrigue. I’m not doing anything wrong, despite the images of Darío currently playing on a loop in my head.
“Work trip extended for pleasure. I’ve always wanted to explore London, so when my business partner went home, I stuck around for a bit.” The conversation is easy between us as we talk more about his time in London and the work he does in public relations. We find ourselves talking about my job again, and I share stories about the places I’ve visited. I tell him about Fiji, Cancun, and the Seychelles, but I skip mentioning Cartagena. I’m not ready to share that part of my heart. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to revisit that city, even just in conversation.
He considers me before speaking. “I imagine that type of work makes having a relationship difficult.”
