“What happened to Fun Parker? The guy who came to us last summer? Who wanted to remember what life was like before his boring, stick-in-the-mud wife?”

Ben stretches across my bed, tossing the apple-shaped stress ball that he swiped from my desk into the air and catching it.

“Fun Parker remembered that he’s getting older and that after a night of drinking he feels like Dead Parker the morning after,” I say, turning my nice leather swivel chair to face him.

“But you really haven’t gotten the whole Ben roommate slash wingman experience yet.”

“We’ve been to plenty of bars together.”

“Not to the gay bar. It’s a whole new level of togetherness that I think we’ve been missing.” Ben tosses the apple to me and I catch it with my right hand and squeeze. It’s not working. “You won’t even have to drink. Think of it as another new experience. Carpe the life-after-Shelby.”

“Please tell me Zach never fell for your bullshit lines. I’ll have so much less respect for him if he did.”

“Do I have to break out the pout? ‘Cause I’ll break out the pout.” Ben sits up and hits me with the most pathetic look he can muster.

“Oh my god. If you can manage to leave me alone for another solid hour, then fine, I will go be your designated driver. Since I know that’s really what you’re after.”

Ben clambers off the bed. “I’ll go set the timer,” he says before closing my door behind him.

My employers allow us to work from home if we have a big project due. Sometimes they let us work at home on Fridays, just because. This Friday, it is both. If negotiating with Ben gets me one more hour of no distractions so I can enjoy my weekend without a pile of work looming over my head – worth it.

It doesn’t feel that long, but soon Ben sticks his hand through a crack in my door and waves the digital timer. “Time’s up.”

While I shut down my computer, Ben helps himself to my closet.

“I think if you wear your usual jeans and a sweater or a button-down, you’ll be fine. You’ve got that straight jock-ish vibe going for you. Ha! Jock-ish sounds like a disease.”

“Um, thanks?”

Ben, I notice, has changed into tight jeans and an even tighter light blue v-neck. He throws his brown leather jacket on top and shoos me out the door.

“You could have at least let me fix my hair?”

Ben gives me a funny look. “Because you’re worried you won’t pull someone tonight?”

I roll my eyes at him, but leave it alone. Actually, I won’t tell Ben this, but I figure this is as good a time as any to see if last Friday was a weird fluke or not. Was it just Mal or would other people of the no-vagina persuasion elicit a similar reaction?

I’m not sure what I was expecting as we walk into In Toto, but it’s basically like every other club in Fort Collins that I’ve been to, except this one has more men on the dance floor. Ben leads me to the bar and orders a beer for himself and a water for me.

“Actually, I’ll take Fat Tire as well,” I correct my order with the bartender.

“I thought you were going to be the designated driver tonight?”

“And I thought you wanted me to have the full Ben gay-bar experience? That’s going to require copious amounts of alcohol and brain bleach for you tomorrow morning. ‘Cause I’mma get my dance on.”

My ridiculous hip waggle that accompanied my goofy statement makes Ben roll his eyes. Good. Nice indication of what’s to come this evening. I grab both beers in one hand and Ben with the other, leading him out onto the dance floor. Pretty sure he thought I was going to sit passively in the corner while he prowled around. Fuck that. He was right before. There hasn’t been a new experience yet that I haven’t jumped into with both feet first, and hell if this is any different.

Ben grabs his beer and toasts against mine, then raises his head to the ceiling and lets out a whoop. He throws an arm around my neck and we get our groove on.

“You’re a pretty decent dancer,” a voice says behind me while long fingers slip around my waist.

If that’s a pick-up line, I think he needs practice. Ben’s eyebrows rise and I know he’s wondering how I’m going to handle this. The answer, for now, is keep dancing. Ben isn’t close enough to make me feel sandwiched in, or to notice that my dick has started to plump.

I still have my beer, and raise it to my lips. I used to hate club music, but right now the thumping beats are pulsing through me, heating my blood, making everything more intense, every throb more erotic.

Ben’s eye snags on something, or someone, over my shoulder. I turn my head to see a guy with dark purple hair swaying seductively, his eyes never leaving Ben’s.

“Go for it,” I yell in Ben’s ear, nodding in the direction he’s still staring.

Finally his gaze swings back to me. “Are you sure? I can handle this for you if you need me to,” he says, referencing my other dance partner, who now has a sizeable bulge pressed against my ass.

“Nah, I got it.”

Ben hesitates all of, who am I kidding – Ben doesn’t hesitate. I turn as he walks past until I can finally see the guy who has been behind me for a brief second before he’s plastered against my front. Still, I can tell with my hands that he’s long and thin, and his straight blond hair tickles my cheek as we no longer leave room for Jesus.

He jerks his head toward the bathroom and I spare a glance for Ben. He’s totally absorbed in the guy with purple hair, and won’t notice my disappearance. I let those slender hands pull me away from the dance floor and through the bathroom door. His hands weave into my hair and his mouth finds mine, sloppy and hot, as he backs me into a bathroom stall.

He kicks the door behind him closed, then leans back against it. My hands palm the cold door to steady myself as his movements throw me off balance. The difference of the cool bathroom from the muggy dance floor clears the lusty fog in my brain, and I begin to notice subtleties that make this suddenly feel wrong.

His eyes don’t notice me. Not really. They don’t look into mine to try to read what I want or need. The strong hands are nice, but they’re too rushed. They lack Mal’s slow confidence. And that’s when it hits me. I’m not comparing this guy to Shelby, but Mal. And even though it may have only been a one-time thing, I suddenly feel like I’m betraying that moment we shared by chasing after it again with some strange guy in a club.

“Is something wrong?”

I must have stopped kissing him when my mind started to reel. I’m sure I look like a fish, mouth gaping open and closed as I try to figure out how to get out of this situation I’ve so stupidly gotten myself into.

“This isn’t happening, is it?” He looks totally put out.

“Sorry,” I say, scrubbing the heels of my hands against my eyes. “Why can’t I get them out of my head?”

His annoyance turns to pity. “Oh honey, trying to fuck someone out of your system never works. The only thing you get rid of is a little jizz.”

I burst out laughing, and he pats my cheek before leaving me alone in the stall. “Good luck,” he says on his way out the door.

“You too.”