“‘Course I do, Gouldie.” Wyn slings an arm loosely over my shoulder. “How could I not miss all this?”
“How’s the new place?” asks Izzy.
“And how’s the new roommate?” adds Bridget.
Ordinarily, I love being out, and I love it when everyone’s attention is on me. I lap that shit up. Add to that the genuine care and concern in my friends’ faces, and I should be in heaven.
I’m not though.
I feel a little off tonight. Things are feeling too loud and too bright. I’m not finding it all that easy to focus on what people are saying. As much as I’m trying to steer my mind in another direction, it keeps veering back to the altercation, or whatever you’d call what happened between Stuart and me before I left.
Elliot.
Careful, boy.
I hear his voice and his words and see the way he looks when he says it. Unbearably stern. Horribly handsome. I don’t just hear it and see it. I feel it. I feel it in my dick, my balls, and all over my skin. I feel it under my skin too, deep under my skin.
“Who’s up for another drink? I’m buying,” I say.
All three of them look at me in a mix of surprise, sympathy, and despair.
“For God’s sake, Gould,” says Izzy. “This is exactly how you got yourself into this position. Just let us all get our own drinks, or better yet, let one of us buy you a drink for once.”
I know she means well, and moreover, I know she’s right, but it still makes me feel super uncomfortable and kind of panicked to find myself in a position where I can’t do nice things for my friends. I think I manage to smile and thank her, and while she’s at the bar, I make my way to the bathroom to adjust myself.
Careful, boy.
You’re playing with fire.
I try to take a leak, but my dick is too hard. It’s been perking up every time I think of the conversation with Stuart. It’s getting so uncomfortable that I’m starting to think maybe I should have stayed home. If you know me at all, you’ll know that’s very unlike me.
I have that drink and one Bridget buys for me. Everyone’s getting mellow, talking a little louder and more animatedly, and I’m finding it harder and harder to keep up. Every few minutes, I look at the time on my phone. Sometimes, time flies when you’re out. You look at your watch and wonder if you’ve entered a time warp or something. This isn’t one of those nights.
Seconds tick by like minutes.
An hour has never felt this long.
At around ten-thirty, Wyn taps me and says, “Wanna call it? We can make it back to your place by eleven if we leave now.”
“Fuck no,” I say quickly. “I’m getting us another round.” This time, I don’t take no for an answer. I stalk to the bar despite the chorus of protests behind me.
You’re playing with fire, boy.
And you’re headed for leather.
Nothing has ever affected me the way those words did. The way those words do. They feel big. Like something huge is approaching with the power to roll me. I should’ve been outraged that he said it. I should’ve been insulted and furious. I should think it’s funny. That’s what I should do. I should laugh my ass off. I don’t though. I feel paralyzed and electrified and scared shitless and so agitated that when I hand my card to the bartender, I can’t help noticing a slight tremor in my hand.
When I’m back at our table, I try to take my time with my drink. I take a sip, then set it down and try to wait a full minute before taking the next one. I’m not fucking well going to chug it just because of Stuart Wiseman. I’m out with my friends, and I’m going to enjoy myself and take my good goddamn time finishing my drink.
I lose my nerve just before eleven.
“You know what,” I say to Wyn, “maybe we should head out. I’ve got an early morning.”
Bridget and Izzy decide to stay, but Wyn bundles me into his car before I change my mind. He chatters about work for most of the drive. He's one of those people who really loves his job. He's a PA and usually I get a little kick out of how seriously he takes his work, but tonight I’m so busy trying to ignore the pit in my stomach that I’m hardly able to answer.
It’s eleven twenty-six by the time we turn onto Stuart’s street.
“Just apologize,” says Wyn. “Don’t make a big deal out of it. Just say you’re sorry. You can blame me if you want.”
