We turn into our parking lot, and I reach for our leftover containers in the back seat, but they’re an inch too far. I unclip the belt to reach for them and feel a hard slap on my chest that takes my breath away, right as the car comes to a complete stop in the middle of the lot.
“Bodie, what are you doing?” Bryce’s voice sounds frantic. “You could’ve been hurt or k—” His throat constricts, and he sucks in his lips.
“Bryce, we were going like ten miles an hour. There’s not another car in sight.” The combination of his bizarre behavior and his heaving chest have me genuinely worried about him. “What’s going on?”
He pulls into a spot and turns off the car.
“You just scared me.” The finality of the sound of his door closing as he walks away from the car feels nothing like the Bryce I know.
My chest is thumping with all the energy of a brewing storm, each beat of my heart like thunder trying to break free of it. I haven’t been this nervous in a long time—not even when exploring sex with Bryce. He’s taking me to a club tonight—a gay club. I’ve been invited to come once or twice but always had other plans with Amber. Now that I think about it, Amber wouldalways make plans for us as I was telling her Bryce had invited me. I guess now I know why.
Now that I’m going, it’s getting the best of me. I’m not a dancer at all. I’ve always felt like a buffoon between my height and size—at six foot three and pushing two hundred and five pounds, it’s difficult to look comfortable dancing with a woman as short as Amber. I’m hoping things won’t feel so awkward now, since Bryce is much closer to my height.
“You ready?” He surprises me, coming into the bathroom while I’m psyching myself up in the mirror.
“Yeah.” His hand strokes my arm just before he leaves the room. “Just a second,” I say, peeking out the bathroom door to see those tight black jeans and the sleeveless white shirt on him—his blessed, well-rounded ass looks downright bitable. He comes back and rests on the doorframe with puppy eyes, and I steal the kiss I need, letting his affection calm my nerves. I know he’ll take care of me.
“I got you.” He always knows.
Bryce takes a call from Kasey, another bartender at The Garden, who we’re going to the club with tonight, and I finish up and make my feet move toward the door whether my anxiety wants to or not.
Bryce does what he always does for me when I’m anxious and we’re in the car—he plays my favorite ‘loosen me up’ song. When he finally joins in on my awful, high-pitched singing and ‘MMMbopping’ away to Hanson, my heart feels like it might just burst out of my chest.
We make it to the club in no time and find Kasey waiting outside.
“Hey hey hey. Bryce, my man.” Kasey greets us with a bro hug when all I want to tell him is “No, he’smyman.”
Geez, when did that happen?
“Hey, Bodie, right?” I reluctantly shake the guy’s hand like a gentleman. My hackles are up, and I don’t understand why. Bryce has worked with this guy for months now.
“Yeah, Bryce’s best friend since childhood, and now, uh—” Fuck, why did I say that?
“Now what?” Kasey’s confusion has sweat breaking out at the back of my head.
“Now it’s more,” Bryce adds, taking my sweaty palm in his hand and squeezing.
“Awesome, man. Happy for you guys.”
He takes off, leading us into the club and straight to the bar. While I watch the crowded dance floor, Bryce and Kasey order drinks behind me. “He’s hot,” I hear Kasey say. I turn around to see why the fuck he would be pointing out hot guys when Bryce just told him we’re here together, only to find Kasey staring atme.
“Stay away,” Bryce warns Kasey as he sets his sights on me, handing me a beer while his hand finds its way to my hip bone—I love it when he grabs me like that. I reward him for his possessiveness, his lips tasting like the sweet ale he’s downed half of already.
Kasey’s friends start crowding around us, and we all fall into a thundering chatter over the music. Bryce introduces me to a few guys as his boyfriend after they give me a once-over from head to toe and back up, and I’m loving every second of him staking his claim on me.
I let my hands wander over his backside and under the hem of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin on mine. It grounds me enough to engage in the conversation.
“You’re a hockey player?” Recker asks. He looks like he should work in one of the tattoo shops Bryce frequents.
“Yeah. Starting goalie for the Charlotte Kings.”
“Never met a hockey player before. Is it true what they say about hockey players’ thighs?”
“Who and what exactly do they s—”
“Yes.” Bryce, who was talking to someone else next to us, answers Recker’s question for me and goes back to his conversation.
Recker looks at Kasey, and they fall into a laughing fit, probably noticing how zoned in on me Bryce has been this whole time.
