When Ben texted last week to ask me out, we agreed to meet tonight at the martini bar in Old Town and then work our way out from there. I left work a little early so that I could have time to get ready, and it totally paid off, if I do say so myself. I’m in platform heels and skin-tight black pants. The sheer vanilla top shows off my nipples. It’s a look that always gets me hard, so hopefully it will have the same effect on Ben.

“Hi, you look incredible,” a voice to my left says, and I look up from the cocktail table at the front of the bar where I was daydreaming to find Ben’s eyes roaming over my body appreciatively. I’m pretty sure Ben feels the same way about my top that I do, because I see a flicker of motion in his rumpled slate slacks. “Wanna grab a booth?”

“Absolutely,” I say and let him lead the way toward the back, where it’s quieter and darker, and we can find a more comfortable place to sit. Fine with me, because cocktail tables and tall stools are hell on my ankles in these heels, and I say as much.

When we slide into the booth, I get a better look at him. He’s in a plaid button-down and a skinny black tie.

“You look nice too. Kind of like my fifth-grade teacher. Don’t worry, he was hot.”

Mr. Gallagher really was all sorts of hot and made my eleven-year-old self feel funny and tingly in ways I’d never felt before.

“Well, I am a teacher, although high school, not fifth grade.”

Sometimes I’m just too good. I wouldn’t mind getting hot for teacher. Play out my Mr. Gallagher fantasies, strip him down except for the tie and ride the fuck out of him. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

“Ah, well, that explains the teacher aesthetic, then.”

A waitress heads over to our booth and we each order drinks, me a grapefruit martini and Ben a vodka martini with an onion instead of an olive, which sounds nauseating.

“I’m glad you texted me. It’s about time you and I hooked up, don’t you think?” I say. “I had been hoping to see you over the holidays during Craig and Zach’s move.”

Ben frowns and I have no idea why. “I was busy,” he mutters.

Okay, then.

“Yeah, family obligations can be a real bitch,” I say, as if I know. I had to work over the holidays. The only reason I was able to help with the move is because it was the weekend.

“Not really.”

I wait. That’s all I get. Jesus, it’s not like I suggested he murdered anyone over Christmas. I’m totally at a loss, so I forge ahead. If at first you don’t succeed, at least entertain the fuck out of yourself.

“Well, the move was, unfortunately, the highlight of my holidays. At work, we’re already doing layouts for spring print ads, and I had this photographer who wanted to filter everything black and white. It’s a fucking ad for cupcakes. Great idea, if your concept for their brand is to be the leader in unappetizing baked goods.”

The waitress returns with our drinks and Ben asks her to go ahead and start another one for him. She looks to see if I want the same, but I wave her off.

Ben sighs and looks around like he’d do anything to get out of here. “So what is it exactly that you do? Obviously something about art?” he finally says, as if realizing he’s stuck with me. That’s fine. Design is a subject I could discuss for hours, even if it seems like pulling teeth for Ben.

“Actually, I’m a graphic designer. I love the work, although I’m still trying to find the right fit, style-wise. The firm I work for now in Loveland has a more sports and wildlife type clientele that doesn’t really fit with my aesthetic. The cupcakery is an incongruity.”

“I thought you were outdoorsy, kayaking with Craig and stuff,” he says, pulling hard at his martini. He’s already sucked the first one dry and has started on the second one.

“Yeah. My outdoor is more Backpacker and less Field and Stream. Guess which one our office caters to?”

“Huh,” Ben says and stops our waitress for another martini.

I am racking my brain trying to figure out where this whole date went wrong so quickly. He seemed interested when he first got here, but now he acts like he can barely be bothered to pay attention. When he starts in on his third martini, I’m only halfway through my first one.

“Did you want to get some food?” I ask, hoping that a man his size can down three martinis and still function. I guess I’m a lightweight, because the few sips I’ve had are already making my skin buzzy.

It’s apparently the wrong thing to say, though, because his frown deepens into a scowl.

“I thought we could go dancing. We didn’t get to dance together long enough last time.”

Understatement of the night. And at least we have found one area where we’re in sync. Ben might be grumpy for whatever reason tonight, but I can still remember the way his body moved, strong and sure despite his size, on the dance floor. We don’t have to become best buds. But I wouldn’t mind the snake he’s got in his pants rubbing against my ass again.

It’s a soberingly cold but quick walk around the corner in Old Town from the martini bar to the gay bar. I only have a thin leather jacket, but I hold my head high and sway my hips like it’s summer and everyone’s watching. I have no clue what Ben really thinks of me at this point, but it is damn well not going to be that I’m a wuss.

Ben heads straight to the fiberglass lighting of the bar after we show our IDs at the door. I’m tempted to check over the bouncer’s shoulder, just to make sure I’m out with the right guy. Everyone says Ben is cheerful and funny, but this guy is a total self-absorbed grumpy asshole. But he’s an asshole that can dance.

As much as I think Ben really needs to get food in his stomach to soak up some of that liquor, I’m glad he chose to dance instead. I don’t think I could have carried that conversation for much longer. He tries to get me to take a shot with him, but I ask the bartender for a bottle of water instead. Pretty sure Ben rolls his eyes at that, but the man is a giant. I doubt he worries about feeling unsafe in bars or clubs. He pounds back two kamikazes. No doubt there’s a judgy look on my face.

“Let’s dance,” he yells into my ear, and I flinch back, both from the smell and the volume. It’s not loud enough in here to warrant that level of screaming. But dancing is the one thing we can agree on, so we head to the dance floor.

I turn my back to his front, and he slides against me. I can already feel his hard bulge as he grinds on my ass in time to the music. His fingers dig into my hips and I hold back a moan. I have already started to sweat, plastering my see-through top to my skin like translucent cling wrap, and his breath against my neck makes me feel even stickier. This is why I wanted to go out with Ben – the few minutes we got to dance when we first met, until he had to run after an upset Zach, leaving me lonely on the dance floor. Admittedly, I didn’t stay lonely for long. Still, I bet Ben’s amazing in bed. If he doesn’t have whiskey dick later, I’d be willing to find out – just the once.

Ben spins me around and anchors my front to his. His kiss is sloppy and tangy from the alcohol, but I don’t really care when our groins are rubbing together. Someone stumbles into us, and we break apart to keep our balance. Ben is significantly less sturdy than I am right now, and almost seems surprised when he opens his eyes to see that it’s me he’s been kissing.

“Imma get another shot,” he slurs, and I chase after him.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“It’s fine,” he spits out, like I’m the one who’s at fault for his acting like a freshman at his first kegger.

He orders another shot, then tastefully excuses himself to “water the dragon.” Dear god.

I sip another bottle of water at the bar and wait. After fifteen minutes, I decide to go in after him. All I can say is that he’d better not be with someone else in there. I don’t give a shit since I never plan on seeing Ben again, but rude.

I push open the bathroom door and find Ben leaning against the wall over the urinal. His head is on his arm and his dick still hangs out of his pants, but otherwise, he’s not moving. The man has actually passed out while peeing.

With a growl, I march over and shake him by the shoulder.

“Huh?” Ben groggily lifts his head.

“Come on, put it away and let’s go. I’ll drive you home.”

I have to help him get himself squared away, and he leans heavily on me on the way to my truck. Thankfully, I found a good spot right in front of the martini bar, and I don’t have to take Ben’s weight for long. I’m athletic and sturdy despite outward appearances, but Ben is six foot five of solid dead weight right now, and it gives the phrase “sleeping giant” a whole new meaning.

Ben’s apartment is on the other side of town, but it’s late enough that traffic is light, and it only takes about ten minutes to reach his apartment. I’m thankful that I only had the one drink and that I sipped it slowly. I learned the hard way in high school that I needed to keep my wits about me, so I never even make it to tipsy when I’m out in public with people I don’t know well.

After the move, I’m intimately familiar with Ben’s stairs and the fact that there’s no way I’ll get him up on my own. I can only hope that Parker is home. I knock and wait, pretty sure that I hear a television go on mute in the background. Thank god.

“Mal!” Parker says after opening the door. “What are you doing here?”

Parker looks yummy in sweats and a t-shirt. I shouldn’t notice how spectacularly they cling to his body, given how shitty my night has already gone, but I can’t help it.

“Um,” I say with extreme eloquence as I forcibly drag my eyes upward to meet his. “Ben got a little wasted and I’m not sure I can get him upstairs all by myself.”

Parker sighs and scrubs at a jaw that’s nice and stubbly this late at night. “Let me get my shoes on really quick.”

“Thanks,” I say and head back to the truck. Ben is asleep in the passenger side, having passed right back out the second I got him settled in the cab. I even had to hook his seat belt for him.

“Ben. Wake up.” I shake his shoulder, but his eyes barely crack.

Parker reaches around me, so close that I can feel the difference between his body heat and the cold night air, until he has his arms around Ben’s chest. Parker heaves him out of the truck, and I quickly get on the other side, each of us dragging half a body.

“Jesus, how did you get him to the truck by yourself?” Parker asks as we take the stairs, Ben barely kicking his feet out for himself, and getting his toes caught on a step more than once.

“It was close by, and he was a little more with it at the time. Plus, no stairs.”

We get Ben indoors and in his room. I go to remove his shoes, because there’s nothing worse than waking up with your ankles all stiff and sore from sleeping in your shoes. Parker stops me with a gentle and far too brief hand on mine. “He can deal in the morning. I think you’ve suffered enough.”

“Amen!” I say loud enough to stir a drunken snore from Ben.

“You have to drive all the way back to Loveland, don’t you?” Parker asks, leading me into the living room. “I can make you some coffee before you have to head back. Don’t want you asleep at the wheel.”

I’m about to say no, but as I sit down on the arm of their couch, a wave of exhaustion hits me. “Actually, that sounds pretty great. I didn’t realize how tired I am.” Too tired to pretend to be anything other than tired.

“Date didn’t go well?” Parker asks from the kitchen. I watch him prepare the coffee with efficient movements. You can almost guess he’s an engineer just by watching him. He probably has a process for every single everyday chore, one that maximizes output and minimizes effort.

“It was fantastic, if hauling around passed-out giants is your thing.” Parker shoots me a sympathetic smile before turning back to the coffee. I flop from the arm of the couch onto the seat and lean my head back. “Everyone says he’s supposed to be this super fun guy, so I don’t know if it was me, or if he just had a bad day. But wow. Tonight was … something.”

And I must really be tired to be oversharing, not flirting.

“Do you put anything in your coffee?”

“Just some honey, please.”

Parker brings over two mugs, held in one hand, and a honey bear and spoon in the other. We fix our coffees in silence, or I do, as he is drinking his black. He tentatively sets a hand on my knee.

“Ben has been off ever since Christmas. I’m not sure if something happened with his family, or if it’s because Zach moved out. But I can guarantee it wasn’t you.”

The hand is warm and reassuring, and moving in tiny but electric patterns. It’s so startling that I drip some honey onto my finger instead of into my mug. I bring my finger to my mouth and flick out my tongue, lapping at the drop. A gust of air rushes from Parker as if he was just punched in the gut.

Well, damn. Craig said that Parker was straight. When we moved Zach’s shit, he came across as straight. But he’s not looking at me right now like a straight man would, and most straight guys consider me off-limits – the penis and all. Unless I’m glammed up enough that it’s messing with his senses.

“How would you know it wasn’t me?” I’m awake now, and I turn my body toward him, resting a hand on his shoulder. His t-shirt is the kind of soft you can only get from years of wear. I can’t stop myself from stroking it. “I might be the worst date in the history of ever. Rude and selfish. I’ve been told I’m very high maintenance.”

Parker’s gaze meets mine and I feel my insides go liquid. Damn, the man is intense. “I’ve been married to high maintenance, and trust me, you are none of those things. You spent part of your holiday helping a friend move. You’re a good person, and you deserved to have a nice date.”

The hand that was on my knee squeezes to emphasize his words, except that in the intensity of the moment, his hand moved north, and his squeeze goes straight to my groin, making me gasp.

“I suppose it could still have a nice ending.”

My tongue darts out to wet my lips and his eyes track the movement. My fingers move from tracing tiny circles on his shoulder up to his neck.

He slowly leans down, his eyes blazing into mine, until his lips touch mine and he closes them. His kiss is gentle but powerful, like he’s putting everything he has into it, and it’s working. My cock is pulsing with desire, but it’s more than that. It has been years since someone’s kiss took my breath away and made my chest feel weightless and soaring. I thought that it was only when I was younger and inexperienced that I had those sensations, but here he is, making my skin tingle everywhere his touch lingers.

And it lingers everywhere. Since our lips met, I’ve felt him everywhere. He caresses my jaw and my neck, runs a hand along my thigh, dips under the hem of my shirt to touch the skin of my back. I gasp for breath, but his lips don’t stop. They trail kisses and nips at the corners of my mouth, on the tip of my chin, in the hollow of my throat. Good lord, I don’t know that I have ever been this worked up from just kissing.

“Tell me what you like,” Parker whispers below my ear. “Tell me what you want.”

“Anything,” I whimper.

Damn. This isn’t anything I was expecting tonight, and believe me, I was expecting at least quick and dirty with Ben.

He runs a finger along the outline of my cock in my pants. “Are you okay with me touching this?”

Never mind the fact that straight boy actually wants to touch my cock, I pull away to see the concern and feeling in his eyes, and I’m struck with why he’s asking. No one has ever considered my nonbinary-ness, if that’s a word, before during sex. Ever. And the fact that he’s so fucking considerate, even when this turned on, almost makes me lose it right there.

“Oh god, yes. I love my cock. Touch it. Suck it. Do whatever you want to with it.”

The words fly from my mouth in a desperate rush, followed by a mental prayer. Please don’t let him freak out before I get to experience this moment. Maybe that’s selfish and I should pull away and ensure that this is what he wants, very much like what he’s doing with me. But damn, the man is an adult, as my cock continues to affirm with jerks and nods trapped by my pants.

That seems to be all the assurance Parker needed, because he drops to the floor and settles between my legs, his fingers scrabbling at my pants until he works them down to my thighs. I had to go commando because the skin-tightness would show off panty lines, and thongs wedged up your ass crack while dancing are no fun. My exposed dick bounces against my shirt, leaving a string of precum attached.

Parker pauses for a beat to stare at the whole length of me, and I have no idea what he sees at this point. My eyes are probably as soft as my dick is hard. He must like whatever he sees, because he rumbles out something that sounds a little like a growl before attacking the head with a broad swipe of his tongue.

“Fuck,” I want to shout, but control myself to a whisper, as my hips jerk off the couch.

Parker’s tongue swirls around the head, and then he sucks me down. His enthusiasm makes up for his lack of skill, and I encourage one of his hands to join the party with my own, so that he will stop accidentally choking. I don’t mind a little gagging myself, but I am assuming this is his first blow job, and I don’t want it to go south.

With the tightness of his fist pumping the base of my cock, squeezing that swollen vein so good, and his dripping wet mouth slavering over the top, I can’t hold back.

“I’m going to come,” I whimper, tapping at his head, but if anything, he goes after it with even more vigor.

“Fuck,” I shout, then throw an arm across my mouth to shut out any other noises that want to escape. My cock throbs, releasing streams of cum onto Parker’s tongue with each pulse.

There is a slick wet thwacking sound, followed by Parker groaning around my softening dick, that lets me know he has followed my release with his own. I can’t believe this man, who we all thought was straight, just got off with a dick in his mouth and a load down his throat. The thought almost makes my dick twitch and rally.

“Be right back,” Parker says with a scratchy throat. I can hear water running, and then Parker returns, already put back together himself, with a washcloth to clean me up. It is so tender and unexpected, I don’t know what to say. I’m probably staring at him like some freak exhibit at the zoo, because he quickly deposits the cloth back in the bathroom.

“I can reheat your coffee and put it in a travel mug, if you want,” Parker says, grabbing our mugs and taking them to the kitchen while I get redressed. He seems to busy himself so that he can avoid uncomfortable eye contact.

“That’s okay, you’ve done more than enough.”

Now that it’s over, I’m sure he wants me out of his hair. He’s bound to have some thinking, or questioning, or freaking out to do.

“You really turned my crappy night around, though, so thank you,” I say.

Before I can overthink things, I stroll into the kitchen and give him the softest peck I can manage, then leave him to freak out in peace.