“What do you want, Surfer Boy?” I don’t hold back any of my displeasure in seeing him. Not that I think he’d take the hint anyway.
“I’m here to hang out, bestie.” He bounces his eyebrows. “Coach’s orders.”
“Absolutely not. I don’t have time for this. I need to get out of my fucking head and rest so I’m ready for when we get back on the field. Braiding each other’s hair and making friendship bracelets isn’t going to help our game.”
His blue eyes light up. They’re fucking incandescent. My heart stutters.
“Pebbles!That is a brilliant idea. I am definitely making us friendship bracelets.”
Oh no. No. Nopeeee. Abort. Because I wouldn’t put it past Surfer Boy. He’s already got enough bracelets on. He’d go home and make some with, like,Jed + Shane BF4Eor some shit.
“I don’t do jewelry.”
He arches a brow, and his gaze drops to my pecs, then darts to my ear. Okay. Small lie.
“I don’t do bracelets.”
“Yet.” He smirks. “Maybe that’s exactly what you need. Mr. Grumpy Wumpy needs some bro-love.”
God help me. What did I do to deserve this? I need to find a way to get rid of this guy. Maybe a quick beer, then I can shake him. Except I have a feeling Michaels has sucker fish tendencies and would be nearly impossible to get rid of.
But… Maybe not a beer here. A beer out. At a place where he’ll want to leave quickly, maybe even right away. A grin spreads across my face and his fades. I hold back my snort. He’s probably in shock from never having seen me smile before.
“Fine, Surfer Boy. You want to becomebesties? Let’s go grab some beers.” He eyes me warily as I grab my keys off the kitchen island counter. “Or are you having second thoughts?”
That puppy grin slides back into place. “Nah, no second thoughts. Just thought you maybe got possessed for a minute there. You, like, smiled.” He does a ta-da motion with his hands, like something magical happened. “I hadn’t realized you knew how to do that.”
I know how to smile. The world just hasn’t given me any reason to in a long time.
I brush past him into the hall. “Follow me.”
“Am I driving or you?” He hurries to my side.
“Me. I know the perfect place for us to go. It’s one of my favorite bars.”
I bite back another smile. Pretty Boy has no idea what he’s in for. It really is one of my favorite bars. It just so happens to be a gay bar. If he doesn’t go running when we get to the door, one beer and getting hit on by Alfonso should do the trick. Alf is the bartender and picks up half the people he serves. Me included. Been there, done that. I don’t like to do repeats if I can help it. That and you don’tpiss where you eat, you know? Would get messy if I kept hooking up with the bartender at the place I like to pick upotherguys.
I park my Range Rover in the parking garage, and we head down the block to the bar. The city lights are bright in the night, life rumbling all around us. The thrum of vehicles, an occasional honk of an angry driver, and chatter spill onto the block as doors open and close. It’s finally feeling more like spring now. I wear a light leather jacket, but the bite has gone from the air.
“So, why’s this one of your favorite bars?”
Hmmm. What to admit. “The atmosphere,” I go with. Which isn’t a lie.
The staff are awesome, and the bar itself is this eclectic mix of decor that shouldn’t go together yet does. It’s like it’s taken all things that shouldn’t belong and made a home for them, and somehow it fits. Suppose there might be a message there.
We pause beforeCox and Company, the rainbow neon sign that says “Gay Bar” making it impossible to miss what clientele this place serves.
“Here we are,” I say chipperly.
The lights of the bar reflect off his impossibly wide eyes. I smile to myself. Got him?—
Michaels bounds forward and, before I can blink, disappears inside. I gape. Or…don’t got him.
I shake off my stupor and follow him. He’s mid planting his ass in a seat at the bar. Alf is already bee-lining for Michaels like a hound on a fox. Fresh blood—or so he thinks. And Shane Michaels is p-fucking-retty.
I amble toward the bar, passing tables, stools, and chairs of all different designs: from wood to leather to fabric. I’m pretty sure they’re sourced from a resale furniture shop inProvidence where part of the proceeds go to charity. It’s cozy and charming, and some of the bad of today fades.
The ceiling is covered in rainbow streamers and glow lights and pinatas. Yes, pinatas. And every Friday they set one up to kick off the weekend with a bang. The pinatas are filled with condoms and lube packets. Go figure. The floor above the bar is the club area.
