I realized that I was not only frowning at him, but also sitting there silently, like I was ignoring him. I cleared my throat again, then forced a few words out.
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m here for the band.”
And then the pissed-off man with the magic eyes stood up, and he walked straight toward me.
BRICK
The guy sitting down the bar had a face that was driving me wild. He had those soft lips that could make me lose my damn mind, the kind of pink pillows I wanted to bite down on, making him moan and whimper and writhe beneath me. I watched his hands as he tapped the bar, and his elegant fingers danced across the chipped wood.
There was a lot I wanted to do to that guy, and one thing was damn clear. I might have my way with him, but I knew I wasn’t going to be the one to wreck that angel. From the scowl in his eyes, I knew someone else had gotten there first.
Maybe it was an ex-boyfriend, or maybe a cruel boss. Hell, it could have been a total stranger. All I could tell for sure was that this guy’s light had gone out.
And the more I looked at his smooth, peachy skin and his slim muscles, the more I felt like I wanted to light him right back up.
“Yeah, that’s right, I’m here for the band.”
He said it defensively. He said it like there was no other reason to be at the bar, even though I knew for a fact that Nuclear Rot had about as many fans in this city as I had toes. He answered my question like he was bothered that I asked it, and god damn if that didn’t do something to me.
I stood, crossing over to take the seat beside him. I nodded up to Lilith, indicating that I wanted another round for me and this stranger.
Lilith smirked at me, then poured the whiskey shots and slid them our way. “I should be telling you to go help the band set up, but I get the feeling you’ve got other things in mind.”
I gave her a quick nod and an apologetic smile, my way of saying that I would make up for it later, and she chuckled and returned to her magazine. When I turned back, the guy was still staring at me, and I took the occasion to spread my legs and give him a good look at my package.
He glanced down, then quickly back at his drink. Spinning it on the bar for a moment, he sighed and threw it all back with one fast gulp. He immediately winced and let out a haggard, hoarse cough, and I slapped him on the back, my hand landing with a thud between his shoulders.
He looked up to me, his eyes a little wider than before and watery from the stiff shot.
I gave him a cocky grin. “I always need a good drink before I’m in the mood for Nuclear Rot.”
He nodded again and glanced back at his empty glass. I started to indicate to Lilith that we needed another round, but he waved his hand in the air. “I’m good, I’m good. Driving tonight.”
I took our empty shot glasses in one hand, placing them behind the counter. “A couple of waters?” I asked Lilith. She slid me the waters, a smile curling up her mouth.
I knew how I could look when I was hitting on someone. And as this geeky stranger ran his tongue across his lips, I realized I was definitely interested in hitting on him. I came across as cocky anyway. It was one of my defense mechanisms, a way to let other people know I had my shit under control and that I wasn’t the kind of guy you could easily mess with. Once I was trying to pick a guy up, the cockiness amped up another couple of rounds. The thrill of it was intoxicating, especially when we both knew exactly what was happening, the implications louder than anything else in that noisy, dark bar.
“My name is Brick.”
He cleared his throat again. “Irving.”
I let my hand drift down between my legs, dangling it inches away from my cock. His eyes kept lingering down, then back up again.
He was afraid to look, and it was hot that he was afraid.
When that guy from the comic book store came in, I hadn’t let myself truly fantasize. He seemed so fragile, so anxious, and my body had shut down in response, not wanting to actually hurt him. But Irving? He glared at me just the same as I glared at him, and my gut told me that he could take what I wanted to give him.
“What’s this?” he asked, resting his hand on his bicep. I stared for a second. Then he nodded in my direction, and I realized he was asking about my tattoo. It was a faded old piece, something I got when I was still young and stupid. There was a fist with bloody knuckles, set against a wreath of flowers, with the words “keep fighting” in cursive beneath it.
“Bad advice,” I said, drinking from the water and wishing I had gotten myself another whiskey anyway, or at least a beer. “I got it when I was young.”
“You don’t like it anymore?”
I spread my legs a little farther, adjusting my crotch and finally earning a proper look from Irving. “Only fight when you have to,” I answered, glad to leave it at that.
He thought about what I said for a moment, biting down softly on his lip. “What happened?”
“Nothing worth talking about.”
