Page 3 of Wedge

His face twists in a shy grin. “No worries,” he rumbles in a surprisingly deep voice.

Those eyes, green and gold in the flashing light. My chest does a slow, stupid roll. Must be the bass.

The song changes to a deep jungle beat, and Caleb moves into a hip-thrusting pattern I do my best to copy. I really am too old for this.

2

ADRIAN

Caleb’s friend is a terrible dancer. But I can’t look away.

Broad shoulders. A solid middle with just a touch of padding, the kind of body built for carrying things instead of showing off. The colored lights slide over his hair, picking out the gray mixed into the dark brown, and his hairline has retreated a little at the temples. And an ass I wish I was bold enough to grab. Clearly, a lot of squatting in this man’s life. He’s wearing a navy polo shirt tucked into worn jeans, giving the impression that he didn’t really intend to go out tonight. He is taller than my five-nine by a few inches. Yum.

The air is thick with heat and other people’s sweat, and I keep my elbows tucked in, the way I always do in a crowd. Making myself small. It’s a habit older than this haircut.

His hips move in a jutting pattern that loosely mimics what Caleb is doing, all enthusiasm and no rhythm. The guy misses a move, and that glorious ass brushes against my cock. Sweet baby Jesus, now I have a hard on.

Caleb switches to a grinding hip move and, fuck, I’m doomed. If this gorgeous guy grinds back on me, I may embarrass myself. I give him a quick, awkward pat on the hip, like a coach sending a player to the bench, and head off the dance floor to cool off. My dick is straining against the zipper of my jeans, nudging the waistband and threatening to make an appearance, so I adjust as I walk, digging into my pocket to shift it to the side. Better. Not great, but not going to get me arrested.

The crowd closes behind me like water. Near a pillar, a guy in a pale pink button-down is watching, and his eyes are nowhere near my face. I turn away and head for the bar.

It’s a long slab of black wood lit from underneath in violet, and Freddie is working it in a shirt so lime green it practically glows.

“Adrian!” Freddie booms. “What can I get you?”

“Club soda with lime, thanks.”

Same order as always. Nobody here has ever asked why. I like that. Not having to explain myself.

“You got it,” he says, turning to fill a glass with ice.

I press a cold palm to the back of my neck and try to breathe like a normal person. The bass thumps through the soles of my boots. Breathe in. Breathe out. Almost there.

“Buy you a drink?” a voice says in my ear, kind of slimy.

Warm breath on my neck. Cologne, and something sweet and boozy underneath. Every muscle in my back locks. I suppress a shudder and turn to look at the guy. It’s the one who eyed me moving my junk. Up close, his smile has too many teeth.

“Just getting a club soda, but thanks,” I reply, trying to use my brush-off voice. It comes out thinner than I want.

“I’m Tad. Love the tats,” he says, his eyes sliding over the rose on my collarbone, then lower to the phoenix on my stomach. He raises a finger, as though he is going to trace it. My skin is crawling, my gut sucking in to evade the touch. The bar is hard against my back. Tad fills the space in front of me. The music thumps on like nothing is happening.

“Please,” I breathe. “Don’t…”

Tad stares at me for a moment, hand hovering right in front of me. Then a big hand wraps around his wrist, forcing him away from me.

“The man said no,” Caleb’s friend growls.

The man said no. Said like it’s that simple.

Stephen has appeared at my shoulder, that navy polo still neatly tucked in, and there is nothing casual in his face now. Tad snarls like he is going to argue, but the stony look he sees finally makes him jerk his wrist free and slink off in a huff.

I let my breath out. I didn’t realize I was holding it.

“You okay?” The solid voice is kind.

I nod quickly. “Yeah.” My breathing is too fast, and my hands are shaking around the glass, so I pull it against my chest where he can’t see. “Thanks.”

“Adrian, right?” he says as softly as one can in a loud bar.