“Come on,” Stefano says. “You’d better be hitting up Church Street tonight. Give us all the juicy updates tomorrow.”
My face heats up, and I ignore it. “Okay, I’ll do it, but I’m not making any promises.”
Adrian is falling asleep again, but he still manages to make an input. “Luke is gonna go out and get his dick wet, and I’m gonna go back to bed.” He hangs up.
“Oh well, you can’t argue with Adrian because he’s gone! That means youhaveto go out,” chirps Carl.
“You guys are such a supportive bunch,” I say, drinking the last of my whiskey.
Joking cheers ring through my speakers, then someone changes the topic, and we banter a bit more before signing off.
I set my phone down on the coffee table, staring at the melting ice in my glass. Even though I’m alone, going out tonight would be a good idea, even if I don’t meet anyone. Branding my recent seclusion as self-improvement doesn’t do much to cover up the fact that staying in all the time isn’t healthy.
Heaving myself up off the couch, I head to the bathroom and inspect my reflection in the mirror. I need to shave, get a haircut, and drink more water. To be fair, I’ve kind of neglected myself over these past few weeks.
After doing my hair, I give myself a once-over in the hallway mirror, smoothing out my dark green button-down, and then I’m off.
The walk to Church Street doesn’t take long, and I get in line for Teammate, my go-to bar in the gay area. I pay cover and go in, weaving my way through the sea of bodies toward the stairs, and I grab a beer to get myself going.
Upstairs, I settle on a stool next to an empty table, which gives me a wide view of the place, and I mindlessly scan the room.
And then I do a double take when my gaze lands on a guy leaning against the wall opposite me. He’s tall with broadshoulders that fill out his black t-shirt, and a muscular arm flexes as he raises his glass to take a sip.
Fuck me, he’s hot.
His eyes dart around the room as he lowers the drink before clutching it with both hands, and even from over here, the tension in his fingers is clear. I can’t imagine why he’s that nervous, or why he’s hanging around in a dark corner.
Checking him out like this is creepy, but before I can look away, he catches me, and a jolt of excitement shoots through my body. I keep my cool and give him a quick upward nod, hoping it comes across as casual.
A shy smile appears on his face and I return it, preparing myself to approach.
With a deep breath, I head his way, bristling nerves be damned. As I get closer, the guy steps aside and makes room for me. His eyes are a piercing blue, and his expression is genuine. I try to ignore the knot in my stomach.
“Hey,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’m Luke.”
He extends his right hand, still holding his drink with the other. “Erik.”
While we exchange the usual pleasantries, he keeps fiddling with a coaster, which is kind of cute. We make small talk, and it’s clear he isn’t too comfortable with it.
“So, are you from around here?” I ask, trying to break the ice.
“No.” Erik takes another sip. “I’m from Sweden.”
“That’s nice.” I wouldn’t have guessed that from his accent—he could pass for Canadian. Maybe he’s been here for a while.
Silence falls between us, and familiar awkward energy slowly creeps up from my stomach.
Erik tenses, running a hand through his tidy, dirty-blond hair, and I try not to stare at the bottom of his shirt lifting up.
“Sorry, I’m not good at introductions and stuff. I could blame being Swedish, but it’s really a me thing,” he says.
“Don’t worry about it, you’re fine,” I reply. He isn’t ignoring me or trying to shoo me away, so I keep things moving. “Do you want another drink?”
“Sure, let’s go.”
As we settle against the bar, I point to my glass. “Two more of these, thanks.” Without a second thought, I tap my phone against the card reader to pay.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Erik says. His tone is guarded—either he doesn’t get out much, or he’s great at playing dumb. There’s no way this guy hasn’t had someone buy him a drink before.
