The club was darker than the High-&-Tight. Disco lights threw bright colors over every surface, but that was about it besides the backlit bottles glowing behind the bar.
This place was bigger and definitely more crowded too. Diego had said something about people coming from as far as Salem and Portland to dance here, which was crazy since Portland had its own thriving gay scene. On the other hand, I supposed it was a good place to go if someone wanted to dance and hook up but wasn’t out in their own town. Either way, the club was crawling with people and it wasn’t even nine o’clock yet.
“So.” Diego turned to me, multicolored lights fluttering over his features. “Want to do a shot before we hit the dance floor?”
“Just one,” I said. “Or I really will hit the floor.”
He laughed as he snaked an arm around my waist. “You’re not that much of a lightweight, are you?”
“Depends on what we’re shooting.”
“So, no tequila?”
“No.”
He flashed a grin, teeth lighting up under the black lights and giving him an almost demonic look. “Come on.” He tugged me with him. “And I promise, no tequila.”
At the bar, he shouted an order over the music. I couldn’t hear him, but the bartender arranged a pair of shot glasses on the bar and started filling them with rum and a couple of colorful liqueurs I couldn’t identify.
Diego paid for the shots—he’d insisted on the way here—and handed one to me. He clinked the tiny glass against mine, gave me a loaded wink, and pounded the shot. I hesitated, not because I didn’t want the drink but because I was too mesmerized by him to remember what to do with it. It came to me, though, and I threw mine back, grimacing at the intense burn. There was a mix of flavors—mostly sweet with a hint of something spicy—but it went down too fast for me to catch more than the alcohol taste.
“What the fuck was that?” I asked, eyeing my empty glass.
“A Portland Pounder.”
“And that is . . . ?”
Diego winked. “Booze. What more do you want?”
“Fair point.”
“Should we do another? And then . . .?” He nodded toward the dance floor.
I grinned. “Let’s do it.”
We did one more round of shots, and then Diego led me by the hand out onto the dance floor. And just like that, we were dancing.
Okay, I was trying to dance. I hadn’t done this in years, but that wasn’t why I struggled to coordinate my body to the beat. It was this man in front of me.
He moved easily and fluidly in time with the music. There wasn’t an ounce of self-consciousness in his movements or his expression, and even without the black lights making his teeth glow, his broad smile would have lit up the whole room.
I hadn’t noticed until it was gone, but most of the time, Diego carried a lot of stress and worry in his face. Deep crevices. Visible tension. The tightness of his jaw. The creases in his forehead.
Right now, all that was gone. Maybe it was the music, or maybe it was that shot he’d done at the bar. Whatever it was, I didn’t want it to stop. Not tonight. Not ever.
Tell me what it takes to make you smile like this, and I’ll do it forever.
I didn’t care that it was ridiculous to think about things like forever when I barely knew him and my divorce was still in the works. When I was in no position to think beyond next week. And really, I wasn’t thinking about forever. Not the real forever. Just the kind of forever that seemed possible when I was happy and high and couldn’t help wishing the night would never end. When it didn’t matter that drinking, dancing, and partying weren’t things that could be sustained for more than a few hours, especially after the age of forty. By the time the sun came up, I’d be passed out and sleeping like the dead, but right now, I was ten feet tall and bulletproof, and how long had it been since I’d felt like this?
Diego danced closer, gave me a wink, and then turned his back. For a few flickers of the disco lights, I was disappointed I couldn’t see his face anymore, but then he was against me. Leaning into me. Moving with me. Before I knew what was happening, my hands were on his hips. Almost in his front pockets. Suddenly I had no trouble keeping time with the music. Diego was like a conduit between me and the speakers—the rhythm flowed like electricity from his body to mine, and we ground and rubbed, and my head spun as the music carried us away.
It wasn’t like some pantomime of when we had sex. This was totally different. Here, in our clothes on the dance floor, orgasms were off the table. There was nothing to do but move together and absorb each other’s body heat. Oh, I’d be making him come later on, but right now, it was all about how in sync we were. How our bodies just seemed to fit together and move together and—
Okay, maybe it was a little like when we were in bed. But different too. Unique and familiar, and hot either way. It didn’t matter. It was hot, and it was addictive, and how are you here with me of all people?
Diego tilted his head back, and his lips brushed my cheek as he said over the music, “You know, I think we’re the oldest guys here.”
I scanned the room, and . . . yeah. I was pretty sure he was right. At least half this crowd probably still thought thirty was old.
It didn’t make me self-conscious, though. So what if we didn’t blend in? We’d come here to dance, and I’d all but forgotten there was anyone here at all until Diego’d said something. Hell, I didn’t care if everyone here was half our age. Diego and I might have been old men a little to the right and left of forty, but we could still hold our own. We’d still be fucking like rabbits when we made it back to our hotel. The younger guys could have each other—my libido was completely focused on him.
A few songs later, we took a break and found a table near the edge of the room. I pretended not to notice Diego limping slightly, and he didn’t seem to notice me gingerly rubbing the small of my back.
“I’ll go get us some water,” he panted. “Be right back.”
I was about to stop him and suggest I go so he could rest his leg, but he was already gone. I watched him on his way to the bar. His limp wasn’t as pronounced as I’d thought. In fact, I was pretty sure it was less out of pain and more because of the restrictive brace he was wearing under his jeans. I just hoped it was keeping the joint stable and his knee didn’t ruin his evening.
At the bar, Diego had barely flagged down the bartender before a twentysomething blond sidled up to him with a grin. From the way he smiled while he talked, he was obviously flirting. Diego seemed like he was being polite even as he shook his head. The come on, are you sure? was unmistakable, but Diego shook his head again and nodded toward me. As he did, I swore his mouth formed the word boyfriend.
My heart fluttered as the blond’s shoulders sank. With a sheepish smile, he bowed out and backed off, but not before throwing me an expression that said my bad.
I gave him a nod and pretended my pulse wasn’t soaring. I knew it hadn’t actually meant anything. Diego had simply used the most efficient means of fending off the blond. Still, it made me hotter than the dancing had. It tripped that same sense of possessiveness I’d had when I’d smelled my familiar soap on him. It wasn’t a feeling like I’d throttle anyone who hit on him. More like a swell of pride.
Yeah, that’s right. He’s with me.
I suddenly needed to take him out of here. Back to the hotel. Out of his clothes.
He wanted to dance, though. He was having a good time, and anyway, I loved watching him in this light. I loved how the colors glittered in his dark eyes and across the sheen of sweat at his hairline, occasionally hitting just right to light up one of his more prominent scars. He was the sexiest man in this room by far, and who was I to tell him we were done dancing?
So after he’d come back to the table, and we’d caught our breath and cooled off with some water, I was the one who led him back out to the dance floor.
And we danced.