Peter and I have been best friends since college. He’s one of the most outgoing and likable people I’ve ever met but that’s only because of his incredible personality. He’s always been a source of happiness in my life, no matter what I’m going through, he’s always there to cheer me up, pick me up, or drag me out of the house just when I’ve needed it. We met in psychology class, became study partners and hit it off right away. He’s incredibly handsome, as most gay men are, with a sharp stubbly jaw, hazel green eyes that are more green than brown, and reddish hair, but one thing about Peter, the man has no filter whatsoever.
“So how was your asshole of an ex when he picked up Lyla last night?”
Using my straw, I take a sip of my frozen margarita as the warmth of alcohol settles in my body. “Pleasant as ever. He says he’s going to take me back to court if I don’t give him more time with Lyla.”
“You’re fucking kidding me. Did you tell him to go eat a bowl of alphabet soup and choke on a D?”
“Not in those exact words,” I reply with a laugh. “I told him he could do whatever he feels he needs to. It’s bad enough I have to let her go every other weekend when every cell in my body tells me not to. I still don’t trust him. Not after everything he did.”
“Shit, who could blame you? I still can’t believe the judge agreed to give him any visitation after everything he’d done.”
I shrug. “There’s not much I can do right now unless he violates the order.”
Peter nods, taking a long pull from his drink. Then we fall into conversation about work. Peter is a counselor at a local high school. He’s so good with kids, especially the older ones. He struggled a lot growing up. He didn’t come out of the closet until after college and his parents refused to have anything to do with him after that. The only family that didn’t turn their back on him was his grandmother but she passed away last year.
“Anyway, there’s this new football coach they just hired and, honey, he is so fucking hot. Like...Hemsworth hot.”
“Has he shown interest at all?”
“I don’t think he’s gay. But he is single and that’s all it takes these days.” He winks.
“You’re so bad.”
“All the time, baby doll. All the time.”
As the night wears on, the bar grows more crowded and the band really cranks it up. After sending a quick text to Steven to check on Lyla, I let Peter talk me into taking two more shots.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks, raising his voice so I can hear him over the music.
“Okay, fine. You were right. It feels good.”
“You don’t have to lasso the moon but at least be brave enough to dance beneath the light.”
He reaches for my hand, pulling me toward the dance floor. All I can do is smile and throw my hands up as I shimmy all the way there. The alcohol sings in my blood as Peter and I dance and sing along with the band. But after the second song, I need a break.
“I need some water,” I tell Peter. “You want anything?”
“Another ’rita!” he shouts.
“On it.” I head back toward the bar but skid to a stop when I lock eyes withhim.
It takes me a moment to find my footing and begin walking again but every step I take leads me to Asher. He’s propped up at the bar. A beer in one hand the other dug halfway into his pocket. He’s by far the hottest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, or even in this bar. Just like me, every single woman in here has her eyes set on him.
I try to appear unaffected as I approach but it’s hard to cover up how hard my nipples are right now in this thin top Peter suggested I wear without being obvious.
My eyes rake over his lean body. His hair is slicked back, shaved close on both sides and perfectly styled in a way that has me wanting to run my fingers through it just so I know how it would look messed up. The short-sleeved shirt he’s wearing offers a much better view of the colorful ink adorning his arms and hands, traveling all the way up to his neck. I open my mouth to speak, to ask what the hell he’s doing here, but the wicked smile he gives me has the words dying on my tongue.
“Nice moves,” he says casually, and it eases some of the tension in my shoulders. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Water please.”
He motions for the bartender, ordering me a bottle of water. I down half of it before replacing the cap. My mouth is still parched but it has nothing to do with dancing.
“My name is Asher. And you are?” he inquires, lifting a brow.
I tilt my head in confusion but when I register that flicker in his eyes, I realize his game. I debate whether or not to play along. The rational part of me screams to end this now before it goes too far but there’s another part of me, the intoxicated part, that wants to see just how far we can go without crossing the line.
“Marley,” I reply.
