Chapter Two
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.
After grabbing a shower and a shave, putting on something presentable, and getting into a cab with Ethan and Rhett, we were here. At Wilde’s. At a gay bar.
I looked around, my heart pounding so hard it almost drowned out the thumping bass. So this was the infamous Wilde’s. The guys—especially Kieran and his husband—always had colorful stories from this place, which they’d tell at house parties after a few drinks, but I’d never actually been here until now. In fact, it had been ages since I’d set foot in anything that qualified as a club, and this was nothing like the places I’d been back in that era.
There were fewer women, for one thing, though I saw a few here and there. At least one bachelorette party, judging by the cluster of women—one of whom wore a fake bridal veil—laughing hysterically over margaritas at a booth near the back.
But for the most part, this crowd was male. Gorgeous. Dressed to flaunt every asset they had. Dancing. Drinking. Kissing. Male. All of them male.
My heart beat faster.
Even the employees were a sight to behold. The bouncers were as hot as they were intimidating. Ethan had said something about a couple of them being ex-Legionnaires, and I didn’t doubt that—they stood like they were used to standing in ranks, and studied every man who came through the door like they were ready for anything. Pity all three of them had wedding rings on, or I could’ve tried my luck there without moving into the rest of the club.
At the edge of the room, the bartenders all wore tux shirts and cummerbunds, and against a colorful backdrop of top-shelf liquor, every last one of them could’ve graced an ad for something strong and expensive. A stunning blond deejay kept the dancefloor lively, though I was pretty sure the men moving together on that crowded floor would’ve done just fine without him. Or maybe they would’ve given up on dancing and started fucking right there in the middle of the club—some of them looked like they were close to it already.
I swallowed. Ethan and Rhett had insisted this was the best club in Capitol Hill, Seattle’s gay neighborhood. Ethan said the men were hotter. Rhett said there were fewer illegal activities going on here. I took their word for it.
As I looked around, I couldn’t say one way or the other about Rhett’s comment, but I definitely believed Ethan. The men here were stunning. Absolutely stunning.
And intimidating as fuck.
It wasn’t just that most of them looked like they were half my age and had recently leaped off the pages of a menswear catalog or a porno. That part didn’t help, but it wasn’t what had me standing at the sidelines, wondering what the fuck I was thinking by coming in here.
They were all so…comfortable with each other. Physically. Those who weren’t dancing or making out stood close—some touching, some nearly so. Without flinching, they made the kind of eye contact I’d been terrified to make with a man ever since the first time a stubbled jaw and a wicked smile had given me a hard-on.
Jesus. I didn’t think I’d be comfortable enough to get that publicly intimate with a woman. A man? Forget it. I was definitely attracted to men, but I’d never gone further than fantasizing about them or staring at them on a screen or a page. How the fuck was I supposed to put myself on someone’s radar? And what was I supposed to do if I did?
There was no way in hell I could be that bold, or not freak out if someone was that bold with me. Not even if I would’ve sold my soul to be that guy pressed up against the wall with another man’s lips exploring every inch of his throat. Or the one at the bar who’d clearly made a connection with the guy next to him. That kind of eye contact was unmistakable even without a hand on a knee.
Those guys were all getting laid tonight. No doubt about that.
Me? I didn’t belong here.
Some of the guys here were my kids’ ages, for God’s sake. I was ninety-nine percent certain all three of my kids were straight, but I prayed like hell that if either of the boys weren’t and they hadn’t yet worked up the nerve to tell me, they didn’t walk in here while I was making a feeble attempt to get over their mother with some young leather-clad guy.
Yeah. This was a mistake.
“Greg?” Ethan touched my arm. “Why don’t we grab a booth, and Rhett can get us some drinks.”
“What are you drinking?” Rhett asked.
How about a huge glass of Get Me The Fuck Out of Here?
I swallowed. “Um. Uh…you said…”
“Kieran’s working tonight.” Ethan gestured toward the bar. “You want to try one of his Kamikazes?”
I looked at the bar, and my God, there must’ve been some trick lighting in this place. Kieran had always been attractive—going to house parties always meant struggling not to ogle him or Alex—but something about the tux shirt, the light, the bottles behind him, the flirty grin…wow.
“Greg.” Ethan elbowed me. “Kamikaze? Or…?”
“Yeah. Yeah. A, uh, Kamikaze sounds great.”
Rhett took off toward the bar, and Ethan led me to a booth that was far enough from the stage for us to hear each other. A little closer to the cackling bachelorette party than I would have liked, but I’d live with it.
“This really is your first time in place like this, isn’t it?” Ethan shouted over the music.
I laughed dryly. “You noticed?”
“Relax.” He smiled. “If it helps, most of the guys here are after the exact same thing you are.”
I looked out at the crowd of undiscovered supermodels and porn stars. “Something tells me most of them aren’t looking for a guy like me. If they’re into someone my age, I doubt they’re after someone with my level of experience.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. I mean, yeah, there are guys here half our age. But…” He hesitated. Leaning toward me, he lowered his voice, and sounded uncharacteristically shy as he said, “You’re not a bad-looking guy at all.”
My cheeks burned.
He gestured out at the crowd. “And I’ve already seen a couple of them checking you out.”
I couldn’t make myself turn. “You’re shitting me.”
“Not at all.”
“How much you want to bet I could turn them off the instant I open my mouth?”
“Depends on what you’re thinking of doing with your mouth.”
My teeth snapped shut. Ethan chuckled. I was used to this side of him—he’d always been the brazen, uncensored half of that pair—but he was also one of two people on the planet who knew I wasn’t straight. And he’d only known since earlier this evening. I wished I could believe everyone in my life would be so relaxed about me coming out. Hell, Ethan hadn’t even been surprised, and he was already to the point he could joke about it as if it were no big thing. God, I wished I was at that point.
“Look, I’m serious.” He folded his arms on the table and locked eyes with me. “Greg, you’re a single man. You’re in a club full of horny, single men. All you have to do is get out there and break the ice with one or two, and you’re golden.”
“Yeah. Easy for you to say.” I fidgeted on the bench. Maybe I just needed a moment to collect my thoughts. Something to get me away from all these lights and all that skin. “I’m, uh, gonna hit the head. I’ll be right back.”
“Sure.” He gestured past the dance floor. “See that exit sign? Go past that, and there’s a hallway. Restrooms are back there.”
“Great. Thanks.” I got up and headed in the direction he’d indicated.
Halfway to the dancefloor, I met the gaze of a beautiful twenty-something with a smile that almost made me stumble. He lifted his eyebrows and beckoned to me.
Go for it. Go for it!
But I just returned the smile and kept walking. Maybe I’d find him when I came back. I had to escape for a second, though, or I was going to lose it.
I kept my eye on that exit sign like it was a lighthouse in a storm, and finally managed to shoulder my way through the throngs of people and slip past it. As soon as I was around the corner, the noise of the club diminished enough that I could hear myself think.
I stopped and leaned against the wall. Eyes closed, I took a few breaths.
What was I so afraid of? I’d been out of the game with women for so long, it wasn’t like I’d be that much less awkward with them, but men may as well have been an entirely new species for all the confidence I had in approaching them.
And the divorce was still a fresh wound. Three weeks ago, the thought of approaching anyone for sex had been an alien concept, because Becky and I—
The wall I was leaning on suddenly gave.
I stumbled back. “What the—”
“Shit!”
I almost caught the doorknob, but missed, and crashed into someone and the boxes he was carrying. He lost his balance. I lost what was left of mine.
Someone tried to grab us both, but we tumbled into a heap.
I quickly got off him—well, managed to get on top of a guy tonight after all—and scrambled onto my knees. “I’m so sorry. Are you all right?”
“You fucking idiot,” the kid who’d tried to catch us snapped. “Why the hell were you leaning on—”
“Hey.” The other guy sat up, dusting off his black Wilde’s shirt. “Take it easy, Evan. Just go unlock the van, okay?”
With a huff, the kid—Evan, apparently—stomped past us, keys jingling in his hand.
I watched him go, then turned back to the guy I’d knocked over. “I’m really sorry about that. You okay?”
“I’m good.”
Our eyes met.
And my heart stopped.
I couldn’t put my finger on his nationality—Hawaiian, maybe?—but holy shit. His black hair was cut neat and short, his tan much too deep for someone living in Seattle, and those eyes…
I gulped. They were dark. Almost black.
He cocked his head. “Hey. You all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m…” I started to stand. “Sorry. I…guess I didn’t realize I was leaning on a door.”
Chuckling, he moved onto his knees and reached for one of the boxes he’d dropped. “It’s okay.”
“Here, can I give you a hand?” I reached for the second box, which had landed on its side. “None of this is breakable, is it?” Oh God, please tell me it’s not.
“No, it’s not breakable.” He rose. “Just a bunch of T-shirts.”
“Oh good. Do you, um, want some help taking them out?”
He seemed to ponder it for a moment, then shrugged. “Sure, if you really don’t mind.”
“It’s fine.” I chuckled. “I think I kind of owe you.”
The guy laughed, which did funny things to my blood pressure. “It’s okay. I’m surprised it doesn’t happen more often, actually.”
“Well, that’s encouraging.” I picked up one of the boxes. “So, where do these go?”
“This way.” He picked up the other and led me out into the hallway.
As he walked ahead of me, I couldn’t help staring. He was roughly my height and looked like he spent a good chunk of his time at the gym. Maybe he was one of the bouncers. They were well-dressed just like the bartenders, though, not clad in skintight T-shirts and jeans that held on to that ass like…
I shook myself and tore my gaze away before I wound up on my own ass. Again.
At the end of the hall, the guy pushed open the door with his hip, and held it with his foot so I could step out. Around the corner, Evan stood beside a van with its back doors wide open.
“Just put them in here,” the other guy said, and we tucked the boxes in amongst some crates and electronic equipment.
Evan bristled at my presence but kept his mouth shut. He handed the keys back and then went inside, leaving me alone with…
This guy.
He didn’t even have the lights and ambiance of Wilde’s to bolster his looks. Out here in the blanched glow of the streetlights, even with harsh shadows on his face, he was jaw-dropping.
After he’d shut the van and pocketed his keys, he extended his hand. “I didn’t catch your name.”
Probably because I didn’t make the greatest first impression.
“Greg.” I cleared my throat as I shook his hand. “Greg Douglas.”
He smiled. “Sailo Isaia.”
“Interesting name.”
“In a good way, or a bad way?” He narrowed his eyes slightly, but the effect was playful, not irritated.
“Good, of course. Just…not a name I’ve heard before.” And I realized my hand was still clasped in his. We both glanced down and quickly let go.
“It’s, um…” He muffled a cough, shifting his weight. “Samoan. Not very common around here, I guess.”
“I suppose not.” I paused. This was the point where we were supposed to go back inside and disappear into the crowd, wasn’t it? Now or never, sink or swim, nothing to lose but a little bit of dignity…
I swallowed. “Listen, I feel terrible for what happened in there. I don’t suppose I could buy you a drink to make up for it?”
“Much as I’d love to take you up on it”—he grimaced apologetically—“I’m on the clock.”
“Oh. Right.” My face was on fire now. “You’re…” I gestured at his shirt. “Right. Anyway…”
The grimace softened to a smile, which did nothing to help my disappointment over his understandable rejection. “I’m off at midnight, though. If the offer’s still open…” His eyebrows rose.
“Yeah, sure!” Way to sound cool and not the least bit eager, idiot. I schooled my expression and my tone. “I mean, I’m just here with some friends. I’d be happy to wait for you.”
“Sweet.” He motioned toward the doorway. “I’ll see you around midnight, then.”
“Great. See you then.”