Eastshore Tigers 01 - Strong Side (9 page)

While he's taking notes, though, my phone chirps. With him occupied, I decide to check it and see a notification from my app.

One of the guys I messaged has gotten back to me already.

Flicking my gaze to Hawk, I make sure he's still busy before I open up the message. I don't know why, but I feel a little guilty looking at this here. As if I'm somehow betraying him.

The text is concise.
Dazzle @ 10 tomorrow.

Dazzle is the stupidest fucking name for a gay bar I've ever heard, but it’s the most popular one in town. And I guess having a name like that keeps the really straight people away.

I text him back, trying to get some details on what he'll be wearing or what he looks like so I can recognize him and not make an ass of myself. As I'm in the middle of it, though, Hawk's voice interrupts me.

"Texting your boyfriend?" His voice is a little rough.

"Hah. Funny. Haven't had one of those since high school. Just a, ah… Hookup. Maybe."

I feel like I've been caught with one hand in the cookie jar. Hawk is looking at me with a mix of surprise and something else I can't read. So much for this not being weird.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

- Jason -

I shouldn't care about Griff texting some guy, but for some reason it puts me on edge.

It's not like I give a shit what he does or who he does it with, but I did ask him over to help, not to sext. He could've turned me down if he had other plans.

The more I think about it, the more I can't focus on taking notes at all. Griff seems to pick up on my agitation, and puts his phone away. Even across the room, I can see it light up again.

"It's cool. Write him back. Not like I don't have shit I can be doing."

"I'm good," he says, and I can feel the weight of his stare even as I look down at my notebook.

He's probably wondering what the fuck crawled up my ass, and I wish I had an answer for him.

We work for a little while longer, but I can tell he's getting frustrated because I don't seem to be making any headway past a certain point. Putting the psych lesson in coaching terms made a big difference, but my brain is choosing to focus on Griff's phone now, and it doesn't help that I can see it light up again every few minutes.

"You should answer. Seems like this guy really wants to talk to you."

"Yeah, well. Desperation isn't a turn on for me." He reaches over and turns off his phone.

It feels like a small victory, but before long my brain is stuck on the subject again. What's going to happen after he leaves my dorm? Is he going to call this guy? Maybe hook up with him?

And why do I even care?

"This somebody you know from class?"

It takes him a minute to realize what I'm talking about, and I already want to take it back. I don't actually want to have this conversation, but I can’t seem to stop.

"Fuck no. At least, I hope not. It's just some guy from an app. I don't even know his name."

A few of the guys on the team use apps like that to get laid. I guess it shouldn't surprise me that the gay community has something similar.

I tried it out once, when I was feeling too horny for my own good. But I didn't really like the anonymity of it. It felt hollow. Worse even than picking somebody up at a club or a bar.

Maybe that's what's wrong with me. I don't want Griff to have to deal with the same kind of shit I dealt with. He deserves a lot better than some random hook up.

"You gonna meet up?"

He looks to me like I've just grown a second head, then shrugs. "Don't know. Probably. He's a good-looking guy, and I haven't been laid in a while."

Those words make my body heat up again, and I suddenly remember having him pressed against me in the park. Fuck. I've tried so hard not to think about it, and I definitely don't want to think about it now.

"You got somewhere in mind?"

"He wants to meet at Dazzle. Not really my first choice, but it's a pretty common place to meet."

Dazzle. It takes me a second to realize what that is, then I remember the few times I've driven past it. It's the largest gay bar in town, situated right between a dance club and a tattoo shop on the downtown strip. Music is always thumping in that place, and every time I've driven past it, I've seen a few guys going in and out.

For some reason, though, the idea of Griff going there doesn't really add up in my mind. It seems like it's beneath them. The whole casual scene, picking up some random guy to take home for the night. But fuck. We’re both in college. Isn’t that what college guys are supposed to do?

"You want company?"

The words come out before I even realize I've said them. Whatever’s making me so agitated has also managed to convince me that it's a good idea to go with Griff to this bar.

And now he's looking at me like I'm fucking insane. He isn’t wrong.

"You do know it's a… Gay bar, right?"

I shrug. "Yeah, so?"

Griff arches a brow. "Not exactly your scene."

Now I have to dig myself out of this hole I've created. I could go back on my offer, act like I was just joking. But there's still a part of me that won't budge on it.

"You're my friend," I say as casually as I can manage. "I can still be your wingman even if I’m straight, right?"

"Yeah, sure. I guess."

I have to keep digging. "Plus, you don't know this guy. He could be a serial killer or something."

That actually makes him laugh. An honest guffaw that I can tell catches him off guard. Finally, I'm off the hook.

"A serial killer? Really?"

"It could happen."

We spend the rest of the night arguing about the logistics of a serial killer who preys on random hookups at a gay bar before finally getting back to psychology. I've managed to dodge a bullet here, but I can't help thinking that I've just gotten myself into an even bigger mess.

CHAPTER TWELVE

- Derek -

It feels really weird bringing my straight friend to a gay bar.

Not that there aren’t other straight people here acting as wingmen or just enjoying some time out with friends. Despite the glittery façade, Dazzle is a pretty low judgment zone, so a lot of people who don't like regular bars come here because it feels less threatening.

It's pretty easy to spot the gay guys who brought along a straight friend, but I don't see any of them standing too close, or giving lustful looks, so I can’t imagine there's anyone else caught up in the same predicament as I am with Hawk.

I should be thinking about the guy I'm here to meet. He actually texted me a picture of his face, and he’s pretty good-looking. Not a 10, but neither am I. And he's got a nice body, so that's really all that matters for some random hookup. At least, that's what I'm tell myself.

I almost decided to make up some sudden illness, but Hawk had a bug up his ass to get us here on time. I don't know what's up with him. Ever since I texted this guy, he's been distant and short with me.

He's not making any sense, and the fact that he's so uptight about this is stressing me out. It doesn't help that he walks into the place stiff as a board, afraid to leave my side or even look around.

"Nobody's going to come over here and molest you just for looking, man. Trust me, you give off the straight vibe loud and clear."

Fuck, now
I'm
getting snippy. This night’s definitely not going to end well.

"It's not that," he says in a gruff voice. "I just don't like crowds."

It's a shitty lie. We’re packed together like sardines in the locker room, and the halls of Eastshore College aren't much better. But maybe he just doesn't like the bar scene. There's a special kind of claustrophobia that takes place when you're surrounded by drunk people and loud music.

I'm not going to bug him about it. Truth is, I’m thankful for his company. I always feel like a perv doing this alone, and even if it's super weird having Hawk here, at least I have a backup plan if everything goes to shit.

Then again, what if everything goes well? What if this guy asks me back to his place or even just to his car for a quick fuck? Am I really going to be able to walk back to the dorms with Hawk like nothing happened?

"Show me the picture again?"

I fish out my phone and open picture of the guy am supposed to meet, flashing it to Hawk. Because this isn’t a weird at all.

"I think that's him over there," he says, nodding toward the bar.

Hawk’s right. It’s a dead ringer for the guy sitting at the bar, sipping on a martini.

"Last chance to bail," I say, glancing up at my friend.

"I'm good."

I just shrug and start toward the bar, trying to derail my natural instinct to turn right back around and leave. I must be one hell of an introvert, because we've only been here a couple of minutes and already I'm already over this place.

Either that or my treacherous mind is trying to tell me not to waste my time.

I sidle up to him and drop into a bar stool. Hawk stands beside me, his arms crossed over his chest like he’s my goddamn personal bodyguard.

"You Tommy?"

Tommy. What kind of self-respecting adult calls himself Tommy?

He turns in his chair, and to his credit, he has a killer pair of blue eyes and a great smile. He looks like the kind of guy who could get away with selling vacuums door to door. "And that'll make you Derek."

His voice is a little higher than I expected, and sitting in front of him, I can see he's wearing eye and lip liner. I don't have anything against guys who are a little more femme, but it's not really my type. Still, it's not like I'm here for a long-term thing. I'm not even going to see much of him when I’m standing behind him later.

I offer my hand, and he shakes it, then his attention turns to Hawk.

"I didn’t realize this was a two-for-one deal."

Agitation flares in me, a byproduct of whatever the hell has been building all night. I can feel a sense of possession wanting to creep in and take hold of Hawk as if he belongs to me, but I manage to tamp it down long enough to choke out a reply.

"He’s straight," I say, and it comes off as more of a warning than anything else.

Tommy sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. "Sad."

Tell me about it.

"Sorry to disappoint," Hawk says behind me.

"He just came with me to make sure you're not a serial killer or anything." Despite my mood, I can't help but smile a little at that.

Tommy takes it as a smile directed at him, and I know it really should be. If I'm going to do this, I need to give it the old college try.

Tommy and I get to talking, and he actually seems like a pretty nice guy. Whether he picks up on my mood or not, he manages to put me at ease. At first, he tries to include Hawk in our conversations, but I can tell it's making him uncomfortable.

After a few minutes, Hawk excuses himself with the Coke he ordered from the bar and goes over to watch one of the TVs that's currently playing highlights from the UF game.

As soon as he leaves, Tommy kicks up the flirting to 11. He touches me constantly, every time he talks. First on the hand and the arm, which I don't mind so much. Then on the knee and the leg. Finally, he goes for the thigh, and I tense.

He backtracks, and it takes me two beers before I loosen up enough to get over my fucking self. I'm the one who asked for this. We both know I'm here for a hookup, so I need to just calm the fuck down.

The next time he does it, I let him. His hand slides over my leg, and he slowly massages my thigh as he asks me about the classes I'm taking. I can feel a familiar twinge in my groin, and I know I'm finally starting to get somewhere when I suddenly see Hawk out of the corner of my eye.

"Have some fucking class, man."

My eyes widen and I just stare at Hawk. He's looking down at my crotch, where Tommy has his hand still firmly planted over my dick.

Hawk steps a little closer as if he intends to pull this guy off of me. What the fuck?

Tommy lifts both of his hands into the air. "Forget it. Not interested in boyfriend baggage." He looks down at me and makes that pouting gesture again. "Pity, too. You're a hot one. You ever want a three-way, you know how to find me."

I just watch Tommy walk away, completely stunned. The music is a distant, droning sound, and everything in the bar just blurs into a world of dark and light.

When I look up at Hawk finally, he's still watching Tommy, his jaw clenched hard enough that I can see the muscle working underneath his skin.

I stare at him, open mouthed, having no idea what to say until he finally turns to look at me.

"What? That guy was a dick."

I can't hold it in. I just go off on him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He seems genuinely surprised by my response, and his stricken look clenches around my heart.

"He was all over you as soon as I left."