by Lane Hayes
“Mr. Reynolds. Ms. Martin. Good to see you both.” Peter’s eyes drifted slowly over both of us. I was pretty damn sure he’d overheard me now, and I could feel a furious blush creep up the collar of my shirt.
His gaze seemed a bit more pointed when he looked at me. My flush of embarrassment in my inebriated state made me feel very sure at that moment that I was being judged. Embarrassment turned quickly to anger. How dare he? He had no fucking right to make any assumptions about me or decide he didn’t like me without knowing shit about me. I couldn’t trust myself not to say anything I’d regret. I peeled off a few bills to tip the bartender before I made my excuses and left Mel with our dickhead of a boss.
I headed toward the restroom. I needed to slow down my alcohol consumption and have something to eat. The evening was far from over. Unfortunately. I stood at the sink rinsing soap off my hands when I noticed a familiar form in the mirror. Justin?
“Hey there. What are you doing here?” I know my greeting was warmer than I would have aimed for if I hadn’t had a couple of drinks, but I couldn’t help it. He was kind of cute.
Justin’s face registered total surprise when he recognized me. His sweet, youthful face broke into a wide grin.
“Hi. I didn’t expect to see you here. How’ve you been?” He shoved his hands in his front pockets. Must be a nervous habit of his, I mused.
“Good. Well… what are you doin’ here? You here for business or pleasure?” Note to self, I thought… stop drinking. I was in high-flirt mode and seemingly powerless to stop myself. I didn’t want anything more with Justin. Not another night of hot sweaty…. I shook my head in an attempt to clear the cobwebs.
“I’m not sure actually.” He shrugged his shoulders in a boyish manner, still wearing that silly grin. “I’m supposed to meet someone, but….”
I smiled at his reflection in the mirror, reading him clearly.
“I’m at a work function. Sorry, hon. Have fun, though.” I turned to face him and gave him a platonic kiss on the cheek before I opened the door of the men’s room. Justin followed me out.
“Wait!”
I turned back and felt my equilibrium shift. I needed to sit. And eat. I held up a hand intending to say one more good-bye to Justin when I spotted Peter Morgan heading toward us. I was stuck. I remember thinking I should give a quick nod to each man and move back to the party, but that wasn’t what I did. Instead, I made eye contact with Peter before stepping back toward Justin, pulling him into my arms. He made a small surprised sound but didn’t push me away. I rewarded him with a light kiss on his lips.
Peter stopped short, and I realized later that probably had more to do with the fact we were blocking the path to the restroom rather than that he wanted to watch me grope another man. He cleared his throat and offered what might pass as a pleasant smile.
“Reynolds.” He nodded and then looked over at Justin, giving him a somewhat pointed look, as though he were saying something with his eyes. In my condition and because I was sure everything Morgan did was out of spite, I jumped to a negative conclusion and reacted in kind.
“Mr. Morgan.” I tucked Justin close to me hoping his face had lost that shocked look he wore when I kissed him. “I want you to meet my boyfriend, Justin. Honey, this is my boss, Mr. Peter Morgan.”
For a brief moment, Peter’s face was a picture of surprise before he caught himself and schooled his features to a barely interested glance. He held a hand out to Justin in greeting and again, I could have sworn something passed between them. Unreasonably, it made me angry all over again. I hated this man. I don’t know why I assumed the look they shared was meaningful, but my muddled brain was sure it also passed judgment, and that I wouldn’t stand for. I squeezed Justin and released my hold, taking his hand in mine for a moment.
“Honey, go on without me. Okay?”
“Um… sure.” Justin was a terrible actor, I decided. But thankfully he took the hint and shoved his hands back in his pockets, giving both Morgan and me a strange parting look.
I heard a small chuckle and looked up to see Peter Morgan’s eyes alight with laughter. At me? Fuck him! I could almost hear myself growl I was so pissed.
“Do not judge me! You don’t know me at all. I’m gay. Who I sleep with and how I spend my time in my private life is of no concern whatsoever to you! So spare me the disgusted, fucked-up, judgmental bullshit. I’m over it and frankly Mr. Morgan… I’m over you.”
I turned on my heels, wishing I was wearing something amazing, like a long billowing great coat and cool boots instead of a monkey suit. Moreover, I wished I could have had a few minutes to prepare a speech plainly stating my distaste for him. While I made my way out toward the valet, I reran my words in my head and decided I sounded like a paranoid idiot. That made me angry all over again. I hated that asshole!
Halfway to the valet, I knew I couldn’t drive. I’d only had a couple of drinks but had ignored all of my usual tricks so I could drink without succumbing to total inebriation. I wasn’t too far gone, but getting behind the wheel wasn’t an option. It was Peter Morgan’s fault. Shit. I had to go back in there, down a gallon of water, and sober up. Or I could just take a taxi home. I stopped to consider my options, sparing a glance toward where I’d left my boss standing, probably planning my termination letter. He was still there just where I’d left him, staring at me and looking more like a GQ cover model than he had any right to.
I couldn’t do it. I had to go home. Retreat. Lick my wounds and figure out how I could avoid him from this point forward. I hailed a taxi and pulled at my tie. What a fucking mess of a night!
2
I TORTURED myself with thoughts of regret over my impetuous outburst. I should have kept my big mouth shut. I’m really not a confrontational kind of guy. Alcohol was surely to blame. The best course of action from a professional standpoint would be to fess up to my inebriated state that evening and apologize. I wasn’t sure I wanted to, though I had to admit that the very idea of running into him at work scared me. I had a fear of being stuck riding in the elevator with him, seeing him in the office kitchen, or hell, even in passing from my desk to a conference room. It was ridiculous. Happily, none of my fears were realized in the week after my spontaneous verbal assault. I learned through the grapevine that Mr. Morgan was traveling for business. Whew! I could only hope it was a long trip.
Why was I wasting a moment more thinking about him? I shook my head in an attempt to rid my brain of unwanted thoughts and refocus. It was time to move on. Spring had sprung, and DC was at its most beautiful. The weather was warming and the cherry blossoms were in bloom. It was time for a new start and the desire to be around my own kind was stronger than ever. I had had enough of blending with the hetero crowd for a while. I wanted to be carefree and not worry about how I sounded or how I looked. I just wanted to be me.
It was time to go dancing.
I picked Aaron up by taxi Saturday night, dressed to impress in light-colored designer jeans with holes in all the right places and a snug V-neck black T-shirt. It was my go-to hot club-wear. Aaron looked hot too. He had on a pair of ass-hugging black designer jeans and a peek-a-boo mesh top. He had used his glitter wand liberally, and his hazel eyes were well lined. I borrowed a little lip gloss and let him put the smallest bit of eyeliner on my eyes. He claimed I looked fabulous, and a glance in the mirror proved he might just be right. However, I wasn’t accustomed to wearing makeup, and I didn’t want to feel self-conscious tonight.
Aaron looked me over as we waited in line for entrance at Boutique. He licked his lips lasciviously and wrapped an arm around my waist. I felt him pull at my shirt, and gathered he wanted to whisper something to me.
“Relax, sweetheart. You look beautiful. But you’re too uptight.” He kissed my earlobe and pulled back.
I nodded in agreement. He was right. I did need to relax. I was still keyed up from work and that wouldn’t do. When we were finally granted entrance into the insanely crowded dance club, I felt a surge of ad
renaline as a thumping techno beat pulsed through my body. I kissed Aaron’s cheek and pointed to the main dance floor where a disco ball slowly turned, bathing the scantily clad handsome young men in a rainbow prism. He nodded and pointed to the bar, gesturing that he would join me after he ordered a cocktail.
Some nights the crush of sweaty skin against my own made me cringe a bit. Especially when I was sober and there was no sexual act involved. Tonight it was intoxicating and seemed to herald possibility. I wasn’t looking for a hookup. However, I wouldn’t be against dancing real close with a hot, sexy man. In fact, that was absolutely what I wanted. Aaron and I danced for hours. Sometimes we danced together, putting on a sexy show for the other boys on the floor, and other times we paired up with nearby partners.
I looked over at one point to see Aaron practically being mauled by a buff, tattooed muscleman who was struggling to get his hands in Aaron’s pants. The tight denim wasn’t allowing him access, and I noticed the groping was getting a little more insistent and rough. I knew Aaron well enough to know when he was enjoying an admiring dance partner. He wasn’t fighting this guy off exactly, but he also didn’t seem to be participating much. Something was wrong. Time to intervene.
I made my way over to my friend and set my hand on his neck, pulling his attention directly toward me. I saw that his dance partner had gotten a little further in his quest for skin than I’d thought. Aaron’s jeans were unzipped in the front, and I could tell his privates were certainly feeling the cool of the air-conditioned dance club. I swatted his assailant’s hands away and pulled Aaron’s body close to mine.
“Zip up now. We’re going outside for some fresh air. Don’t say one word! You hear?”
I know my voice was quavering with anger. How dare that prick take advantage? And what the hell was wrong with Aaron? It wasn’t like him not to defend himself. This guy was not his type. Once again I had a strong feeling something was up. I turned toward the muscleman. He didn’t have a hope of escaping my wrath in the tight confines of the crowd.
“Stay the fuck away from him. I see you anywhere near him and I will knock that smug shit-eatin’ grin right off your ugly face.”
The guy was probably six feet tall and outweighed Aaron by a good sixty pounds. I may not have possessed his musculature, but I was definitely taller than him and knew how to use my height to my advantage. He looked like he was going to protest, but he must have seen something in my expression that made him reconsider. He held his hands up in mock surrender and flipped me the bird. It took everything I had not to make good on my threat and go after him, but Aaron needed tending to. I made sure he was decent before I pulled him with me toward the side exit and into the cool spring evening. It was misty and wet outside, a stark and welcoming contrast to the close confines of the packed club.
“Are you okay?”
I was more than a little concerned about my friend. As far as I knew, he’d only had a couple drinks. That was nowhere near enough to incapacitate him. He looked positively loopy. I felt a sudden horrible chill as I realized there was a strong possibility that someone, possibly the muscleman who was literally undressing him on the dance floor, had slipped something into his drink. Oh fuck. I swiped my hands through my hair, forgetting about the copious amounts of gel I’d applied earlier. What was I supposed to do? Take him to the hospital? Take him home? I eyed him carefully. Aaron’s pupils were dilated, and he was unsteady on his feet.
“Aaron?”
He looked up at me quizzically, opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it in a fish-like manner and just shrugged. He blinked his eyes rapidly and then closed them dramatically as if all energy had simply left him. He walked the short distance to the brick wall of the dance club and leaned heavily as though he desperately needed its assistance to stand upright.
I looked up and down the alleyway. There were a few stragglers passing by, but all the action was on the main street a good fifty yards away. The side exit door reopened, and I looked up hoping to find a friendly face, but it was the muscle-bound dickhead who was surely responsible for Aaron’s current condition, making his way down the short set of stairs. He stopped short when he saw us and smiled menacingly. Oh shit. I hadn’t been in a situation like this in quite a while. I didn’t want to get into anything, but I would respond if necessary. I had three older brothers and had learned how to fight early. A fresh wave of adrenaline pulsed through my veins as my muscles tensed in preparation to spring, my hands curling into tight fists. I kept my eyes on him as he stalked toward me. He gave me an evil grin, then roughly brushed my elbow and made his way around me toward where Aaron leaned heavily against the brick wall.
“There you are, sweet boy. Come back and play with me.”
Aaron looked up and smiled wanly before closing his eyes again and leaning his head back against the bricks.
“What did you give him, you fucker?” I rounded on the muscleman and pulled at his thick tattooed arm forcing him to look my way.
He growled at me in warning like a feral dog and then set his hands on the brick wall, trapping Aaron’s head between his arms.
“Come on, pretty boy. Come dance with me.” His voice was low and husky. Aaron’s eyes fluttered open as though he was trying to focus, but he was too out of it. He closed them and sighed deeply.
“Get away from him!”
I was screaming like a banshee, and some passersby from the main street were beginning to notice the racket. I saw a large figure approaching in my peripheral vision, but I had to keep my eyes on Aaron’s creepy seducer. This guy wasn’t going to be easy to take down. I was taller, but he definitely had brawn on his side.
“Fuck off. This one’s mine.”
“No he is not! Get the fuck away from him!”
“And who’s gonna make me?” He turned, giving me a sinister look.
“I am” came a familiar voice behind me. “Back up, buddy. You heard him.”
“What are you…?”
Peter Morgan gave me a look that clearly told me to shut the fuck up. Surprise didn’t begin to cover how I felt seeing him standing in the misty alley, his large silhouette resplendent in the lamplight. He looked like a superhero minus the cape. What the hell was he doing in this part of town? How did he…? Questions would have to wait. I wasn’t turning down any assistance just then, even his. I kept my eye on Aaron, figuring I could concentrate on him if I had Peter’s help with the muscleman.
“Jay? I don’t feel so good.” Aaron’s voice sounded weak. He was inching his way down the brick wall into a crouching position. Muscleman backed away from Aaron, dually distracted by Peter’s sudden presence and Aaron’s proclamation. I would guess he was reconsidering whether what he thought was an easy lay was worth all the trouble it was turning out to be.
“Whatever, man. He’s all yours.”
“What did you give him?” I demanded. Now that I could focus on Aaron, I needed to know what he’d taken.
“Nothin’.” He gave me a smirk that doubled as a “fuck you” before stuffing his hands in his pockets and disappearing inside the club.
“Why you fucking…!” I jumped up and bounded toward the side door only to be stopped by a 210-pound wall of man. Peter gripped my arm firmly and pulled me back down the steps. I flashed him an angry look, and he held up a hand to stop my speech.
“Save it, Reynolds,” Peter said sharply. He looked at the side exit questioningly. “Where the hell is the bouncer? There should be someone out here.” There was no one but us in the deserted alley. He turned back to me. “Your friend needs you. You aren’t going to get anything out of that moron anyway.”
Aaron was now fully seated on the cold, damp ground, which had to be decidedly uncomfortable in his tight jeans. I nodded in frustrated agreement and went to Aaron’s side.
“Hey, honey. You okay?”
Aaron blinked up at me and offered a wavering smile before closing his eyes again.
“Aaron, please…,” I begged. My voice had taken on a p
anicky pitch. Shit. I was scared. I had no idea what to do.
“Did he have too much to drink? Drugs? He looks pretty out of it.”
“I don’t think he had that much to drink, and he doesn’t do drugs. Damn! I was wondering if maybe that fucker slipped something in his drink.” I pushed my fingers through my hair again in agitation. “I just don’t know. How can you tell?”
“Let’s get him out of this alley to start.” I studied Peter’s strong, handsome profile in the shadow as he looked over Aaron. He held his wrist in a firm grip, seeming lost in thought for a moment. “His pulse is strong. Do you need help? A ride or something?”
I looked down at my passed-out friend. Yes, I definitely needed assistance. Aaron wasn’t a big guy, but we had come by taxi. At the very least, we needed a ride. It was pretty un-fucking-believable that I was going to have to lean on Peter Morgan for any of this. Aaron was lucky he was passed out. He would certainly be hearing about this colossal mess when he came to.
“Well? Do you want to call someone else? I’m getting the idea that I’m not your favorite guy, but I’m here and I’m willing. Up to you, Reynolds.”
“My name is Jay,” I reminded him weakly. I saw a flash of humor light his dark eyes. I sighed. “Yes. I do need your help.” I explained about how we’d taken a taxi and was going into detail about how I’d picked Aaron up, when Peter once again held up his hand to halt my speech.
“Tell me all about it later. My car is close by. I’ll get it and then come back to pick you two up, okay?” He waited for my nod of agreement before he stood. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpanned. I turned my attention to Aaron, trying to coax him awake, so I could at least get him on his feet. It was hopeless. His head fell heavily to the side. Then suddenly his eyes popped open with a start. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and swiped at his face.