“You must, absolutely. You are my guests.”
“You don’t have to.”
His hand rests gently on my arm. A light, intimate touch. “I insist.”
And I give up. Immediately. His light touch on my shirt was all it took to convince me.
“Follow me.”
Seth walks ahead of us through the crowd, which seems to open up instinctively as he passes. I follow with my eyes the movement of his ass wrapped only in a pair of rainbow-coloured iridescent shorts, and then Paul elbows me.
“Fuck off,” I tell him without even looking at him, before this time physically following Seth towards a table that seems to have magically freed itself for us.
He signals for us to sit down, eyes glued to him, adrenaline returning to consume our thoughts and breaths. Then Seth leans over to speak into my ear. The hairs on the back of my neck immediately stand up, feeling him so close.
“What can I get you?”
He lifts just enough to allow me to stare again into his eyes, tonight made up in blue, glitter scattered across his sweaty face. My throat is parched, and my hands close into fists, hoping to hold back this senseless urge to touch him.
“But I must warn you. Cocktails are not my strong point.”
I wonder what it is and if he wants to share it with me.
“A beer will do just fine.”
“For me, a whiskey neat.”
“That I can do!” He smiles with his whole face, his eyes shining with a light that belongs only to them. “I’ll be right back to you.”
He walks away, my eyes on his movements, the line of his back, his ass, his lean but toned thighs.
“Nice little place, really,” Paul comments.
“Mm-Uhm.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“God, you like him!”
“Don’t talk shit.”
“I’ve seen the way you look at him.”
“Please, he’s not my type.”
“And what is your type?”
“I don’t have a type.”
“When was the last time?”
“Last time…?"
“Last time you… You know.”
“Two months ago.”
