Joe’s eyes narrowed. “Why would you think that?”
Scott shrugged. “You just seem d-different tonight.”
It was obviously the wrong thing to say. Joe’s shoulders noticeably bunched up beneath his T-shirt as he tensed.
“But no less h-hot,” Scott rushed out, eager to add anything that might erase Joe’s displeasure with him.
“Oh?”
Scott studied the floor between them. Unfortunately, there was nothing interesting there for him to stare at. His gaze soon migrated toward Joe’s boots. “You know d-damn well that you’re the hottest g-guy around.” Hell, even Joe’s footwear was making Scott desperate to come.
He saw Joe’s boots moving closer, but he couldn’t bring himself to look up.
“Have you been taking some sort of survey on the subject?” Joe asked.
Scott swallowed. As Joe stepped forward again, Scott dragged his gaze up to Joe’s well-worn jeans. There were a couple of rips on the legs, but the material around the fly seemed to have been put to even more use than the rest. It was faded and thinning, and Scott itched to reach out and run his fingers over it.
His courage failed him; his arms remained at his sides. Still unsure if Joe was pleased with him or not, he couldn’t work out what the hell felt so different about tonight.
“Well?” Joe asked.
A trawl through his short-term memory brought up Joe’s last question. “Guys who s-stand on the edge of the crowd and watch everything from the s-side-lines see things that men in the m-m-middle of all the action can miss,” he said, quietly.
“Such as?”
Joe moved even closer, but Scott kept his gaze at fly height. Joe was just as hard as Scott was; knowing that always made Scott feel a bit better about the world.
Scott cleared his throat. “Every man who w-w-walks into a club where you’re tending b-bar can’t take his eyes off you. You’re the first m-man they look at, the first one they ch-check out. After that, they m-measure everyone else against the standard you s-s-set.” Scott took a deep breath and pushed on. “They might leave with another g-guy, but I’ll bet you’re the one most of them are th-thinking about when they c-c-come.”
So what the hell are you doing with me?
The thought seeped into Scott’s mind unbidden, sliding along the all too familiar channels in his thought processes; the ones that were years old and would probably never disappear completely.
Scott shook his head, struggling to turn those thoughts around and force them to retreat. Joe wanted him. He’d made that clear in every possible way. Joe wouldn’t be with him unless he wanted him. He didn’t screw men he didn’t want. And he wanted Scott to believe that.
“I think you’re projecting, Scottie.”
Scott lifted his gaze slightly and frowned at the T-shirt material covering Joe’s abs. “W-What?”
A hand appeared at the edge of Scott’s vision. Before he could react, Joe’s fingers were already on his throat. His knuckles pressed against the underside of Scott’s chin, demanding that he tilt his head back and look Joe in the eye.
“Projecting,” Joe repeated.
Scott stared into Joe’s eyes, completely incapable of looking away without permission, or of making his brain work.
“You only think that because that’s what you did. Because you focused on me, you assume everyone else must have done the same,” Joe said. “I’ll bet just as many guys were checking you out.”
Scott tried to shake his head, but Joe caught hold of his chin, making that impossible.
“I’m right.” When Joe sounded that confident, it was hard to argue, but Scott fought against every instinct and made the effort.
“Maybe I’m not the only one who’s projecting?”
Joe grinned. That had to mean he wasn’t mad at Scott for disagreeing with him, didn’t it? Scott smiled his relief back at Joe.
Without any warning, Joe dipped his head and brought their lips together. Scott’s smile disappeared as the kiss instantly took complete control of his world. Without any hesitation, he tipped back his head, parted his lips, and gave himself over to Joe in every way he knew how.
Every one of his senses came alive. Gripping Joe’s biceps through his T-shirt sleeves, Scott let his thoughts slip away; the better to focus upon what he felt. There was no need for him to think about anything, no need for him to worry about anything.
