“Just bent down. Blood rushed to my head.” I grab the tequila. “You, on the other hand…” I nod toward the football team. “They’re right there. All sweaty and victorious. Go get your jock, Rox.”
“Tempting.” She grabs a tray. “But I’d rather win our little bet. I’m not giving you the satisfaction.” She winks and walks off.
Fuck. This is going all wrong. I’m supposed to be watching her crack, not the other way around.
I pour the tequila shot and set it down. My eyes drift across the bar.There.Brock is walking away from his table, heading for the men’s room at the back. He doesn’t look back at me. I don’t know why I thought he would. Maybe I expected a nod or something. But nothing. He just pushes open the door and disappears inside.
I try to go back to work. Pour another beer. Wipe down the bar. Make four Long Island iced teas. A girl in a tight black dress leans over to order, and for the first time in my life, I don’t even glance at her tits. My brain is stuck on the men’s room.
What would happen if I went back there? It could be a quick handjob in the stall. Fast. Easy. No one would know. I wouldn’t even have to look at him. Just close my eyes and pretend it’s someone else. Roxy would never find out. I could still win the bet. Three weeks of blue balls would finally be over. Win-win.
Fuck it.My body decides before my brain catches up, walking away from the bar.
“Gotta take a leak!” I yell to Roxy over the noise.
She looks up from making a cocktail. “Don’t be long. It’s getting slammed.”
“Back in a minute.”
“And Calvin?” She grins. “I’ll make sure no girl follows you in there. You don’t trick me that easily.”
“Don’t worry, Rox. Girls aren’t tempting me tonight.”
4
The men’s room has a few stalls, dimly lit from above. Someone tried to dress it up with dark paint and a mirror that fills half the wall, but it’s still a dive bar bathroom. The air smells like piss and the cheap pine cleaner they use on the floors.
I catch my reflection in the glass and barely recognize myself. My face is flushed. My eyes are too bright. My hair’s a mess from running my hand through it. I look like I just finished a marathon, and the last stretch was all uphill.
There’s a guy at the urinal, his back to me, taking a leak. The steady stream hitting the porcelain sounds loud in the small space and seems to go on forever. When he finally finishes, he shakes off, zips up, and heads for the door without a second glance. He doesn’t even wash his hands. Fucking gross.
The door swings shut behind him. Silence. Well, not complete silence. Music thumps through the walls. Voices. Laughter. But in here, it’s just me and my pounding heart.
I turn on the faucet and splash cold water on my face, watching it drip from my chin into the sink. My reflection stares back at me, wet, flushed, confused.
What the fuck am I doing here? I should leave. Walk out, go back to work. This is a mistake. I’m not gay.
I reach for a paper towel when a stall door creaks open behind me. The last one in the row, furthest from the door.
Brock’s reflection appears in the mirror. He’s leaning against the doorframe, watching me. His jacket’s off now, and the tight blue T-shirt underneath does little to hide the muscles in his arms and chest. Now I see his full frame, not just from the waist up, and fuck, he’s big. A wall of solid muscle. I’d hate to line up across from him on the field.
“Figured you might show up,” he says with a small smile.
I turn to face him, my back pressing against the sink. I want to say something sarcastic, something that puts me back in control, but the words won’t come.
“Don’t get shy on me now, Calvin.”
“I’m not shy. Just deciding if this is worth the trouble.”
“I’ll make it worth the trouble. Trust me.” He tips his head toward the stall behind him. “Come on.”
How does he make it sound so simple? So casual? As if this is something guys do all the time. Maybe they do. What the fuck do I know?
I stay rooted to the spot, my feet heavy as concrete. There’s still time to back out. Make an excuse and leave. That’s the rational thing to do.
But the ache in my balls and the throb in my dick override all common sense. I take a step forward, then another, and before I know it, I’m at the stall Brock holds open for me.
My arm grazes his chest as I brush past him.Jesus.His pecs are solid as bricks through that thin shirt. The contact sends a jolt straight to my dick, pressing hard against my zipper. He follows me in, pulls the door shut, and flicks the lock.
