Guys on Top (4 page)

Doug’s mood lifted. It sounded perfect, just what he needed. With Jairo, he’d have a companion to venture out with so he didn’t look like the lonely loser, but now that they were officially
not on a date
, there was no pressure. He thought about Wyatt and Beth. He loved the hell out of them, and felt a bit guilty that he’d been cross with them. They really did have his best interest at heart. And he owed them so much.

“What about Wyatt?” Doug said, wincing. “Can we just cut and run like that?”

Jairo laughed heartily. “Are you kidding? Your brother will be thrilled to see us leave together, it will make his night. He’ll spend the rest of the evening congratulating himself on his matchmaking success.”

Doug grinned, nodding. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, fuck it, let’s go. You want to ride with me? I can bring you back to get your car after.”

“You may not want to do that,” Jairo said, giving him a wink. “Like I said, lots of cute guys at Bernie’s. You might get lucky.”

Doug laughed. “Somehow I doubt that will happen. Luck and I haven’t exactly been best buds lately.”

Jairo smiled, his gaze traveling over Doug’s body, then meeting his eyes. “I guess we’ll see. But I have the feeling you’re going be very popular tonight. You ready?”

It had been ages since he’d been out socially, and just as long since he’d hooked up with anyone. But the very idea of it gave him a small tingle, anxiety mixed with anticipation. Taking a deep breath, Doug nodded. “I’m ready.”

****

Bernie’s Brew Pub was like a dozen other places Doug had been to: rustic dark wood with vintage posters framed along the walls, clusters of small tables and bench booths, and a long bar running the length of the building at the far end of the room. Two men played acoustic guitar on a makeshift stage, their gravelly voices belting out a popular ’90s ballad. A few tipsy patrons sang along drunkenly, but they were only a drop in the noise-bucket of cacophonous laughter and conversation that filled crowded pub. 

Though Doug had once frequented places like this, his long absence from the social scene had left him out of practice, unaccustomed to maneuvering a crowded bar on a Friday night. His shoulders bumped patrons as he dodged and weaved through bodies, struggling to keep sight of Jairo. 

A group of women exited a table in front of them and Jairo all but dove on it, beckoning Doug urgently with a wave of his hand. Doug reached the small table and sat across from Jairo, who smiled excitedly as though he’d discovered a pile of treasure. “We got a table!” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the noise.

Doug laughed. “Yes, I can see that.”

“I never get a table in here. See, you’re lucky already!” He glanced toward the bar, then back at Doug. “I’ll get us a couple beers, you hold the table,” he said conspiratorially.

“Okay. Got it.”

Jairo stood, then paused, eyeing his empty chair as though wary to leave it. He removed his light jacket and slung it over the back. “Don’t let anyone take my seat,” he said, then shoved through the crowd toward the bar.

Doug smiled as he watched Jairo retreat on his beer hunting mission. He glanced around the room, people watching. Not much had changed since his party days. Some patrons dressed casually, as he had. Others, who’d likely been here since happy hour, wore disheveled business suits, ties removed and jackets slung carelessly over benches. There was a third faction, those who’d showered and coiffed themselves up for the evening: women with perfectly styled hair and strategically form fitting outfits, and men who’d clearly ironed their jeans and spent more than a casual moment in front of the mirror.

Boisterous laughter caught his attention and his head turned toward a group of men clustered in the far corner beyond the bar. Two of them had commandeered the dartboard, but at least six other men hovered nearby, shouting friendly insults at the players. They all seemed to know each other, and Doug watched them with a mixture of envy and contempt. They were a good looking lot from what he could see through the crowd, tall and burly, somewhere around his age. He used to go out drinking with a big group of guys like that, but such activities had dwindled off shortly after college, when buying homes and making money had become more important than getting together. Weren’t these guys a bit old to still be venturing out in a big group like that? It was a bitter thought, fueled mainly by the sharp reminder that he’d lost most of his friends to Harry in the breakup. 

He subtly shifted his seat, trying to get a better view of the men.
They’re probably all straight, anyway
, he thought with a dose of sour grapes. Most with beers in hand, the presence of the group near the dartboard was loud and somewhat aggressive, lots of slaps on the shoulders and exaggerated laughter.

Jairo returned with two overflowing draft beers. He set them carefully on the table and took his seat, wide smile in place. “How you feeling, Doug Crandall?”

“Good,” Doug said, taking a sip of the brew. It was dark and foamy, a molasses flavor lingering on his tongue.

“You look like Wyatt,” Jairo said. “But you’re definitely the prettier brother.” He cackled. “Don’t tell him I said that. Doctor’s ego and all.”

Doug smiled. “Thank you. This place gets pretty crowded, huh? Lots of guys here.”

“Yeah, isn’t it great?”

Doug lifted his glass in salute. “Thank you, Jairo, this is just what I needed.”

“Any time,” he said, clinking Doug’s glass with his. “Is it the best not-date you ever had?”

“Absolutely. We should not-date again sometime.”

“Deal,” Jairo said. As he took a sip of beer, his dark eyes widened, focused on something in the distance. “Oh my God. He is effing
gorgeous
.”

Doug followed his gaze, back to the boisterous group near the dartboard. The bar had cleared a bit at that end, lending a more unobstructed view of the men in the corner. Doug squinted. “Which one?”

Jairo gaped at him. “You have to
ask
? Him!”

Doug’s eyes trailed over the men, trying to guess which had caught Jairo’s eye. Behind the group at the dartboard, he could now see a few more men seated around one of the bar’s small wooden tables. But his eyes were suddenly drawn back when the current shooter finished his round, pulled his darts from the board, and then turned their way. He picked a half full beer off the small ledge that ran along the wall, and took a long gulp.

Clad in rough, faded jeans with work boots, a Boston Celtics tee shirt hanging a bit too loose on his broad shoulders, Doug’s first thought was that he looked straight. His second thought was that something about the guy made his pulse speed up. His body reacted with urgent excitement—which he found odd, as this man was pretty much the exact opposite of what he’d always considered to be his type.

His complexion was fair, the kind of smooth white skin that would most likely burst into flames in extended sun exposure. Silky brunette hair hung a bit long around his ears with a few rogue waves, but it looked more like he hadn’t gotten around to getting a haircut than a deliberate style. In fact nothing about him looked like he gave a damn about his appearance, yet Doug found the entire package sexy as hell. He reminded Doug of one of those sword swinging warrior characters in an action movie, usually played by a handsome actor who managed to stay gorgeous even with blood and dirt all over him. 

Unrestrained laughter bellowed from the fair-skinned guy as another man swiped the darts from his hand, muttering something in his ear. Doug melted further at the smile: strong white teeth, one front canine just slightly crooked. It was as though a jealous god had designed him with a few slight imperfections, lest he be too gorgeous to live. But to Doug, it made him more alluring still. Blue eyes crinkled as his cheeks dimpled under a barely visible beard shadow. The guy uttered a loud, vulgar curse and gave the other man a playful shove.

Yes, he could definitely be straight
, Doug thought again. Though there was nothing guarded about his boyish playfulness with the other man, and Doug sensed no underlying aggression or competitiveness. Not that all straight men behaved as such, but in Doug’s experience, they tended to do so when clustered in public groups.

“What an absolute doll,” Jairo said with wonder in his tone.

Doll
wasn’t quite how Doug would have described him. While undoubtedly pretty, this guy’s careless masculinity and crooked smile almost hid it—he could have gone unnoticed in his crowd of friends had Doug not been searching for the object of Jairo’s sudden lust. Doug’s eyes trailed the man’s body, straining to see more beneath the baggy clothes. His legs looked thick and strong, and while he wasn’t gym-membership buff, he had a solid upper body, the kind that likely came from physical labor rather than pumping iron.

“So what do you think?” Jairo asked, nudging him. 

A quick flare of competitiveness heated Doug’s blood. For a split second he wanted to shove Jairo away.
Back off, he’s mine!
  But when Jairo spoke again, he realized that they were, in fact, checking out two completely different guys.

“I told you I like blonds, and damn, he is beyond perfect.”

Doug turned to him. “Wait...which one are you looking at?”

“The blond!” Jairo said. “Sitting at the table there. Why, who were you looking at?”

“Him,” Doug said. “In the Celtics shirt.”

Jairo all but sneered. “
Him
? No, the guy behind him, sitting on the table.”

When Doug finally spotted the object of Jairo’s desire, he couldn’t believe he’d missed him. Not because he found him as alluring as Jairo did, but because he seemed to be doing his best to stand out. Seated on top of one of the small tables with his feet rested on a chair, he was the focus of several young men and a couple of women who hovered around, vying for his attention. A shock of blond hair fell across his eyebrows, framing a perfectly symmetrical face. He sported a fading suntan, like he’d just returned from someplace warmer. Spring in Boston didn’t turn anyone that color. His hair was short on the sides but longer in the front, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to look like a businessman or a surfer. A salmon colored gauze pullover seemed strategically chosen to show off his tan, one side threatening to slide off his left shoulder, exposing more tawny flesh.

Doug might have thought the shirt too feminine, but even seated, he could see the guy was tall and well built, the long sleeves fitted just right to hint at toned arm muscles. In contrast to the work boot wearing dart thrower that had caught Doug’s eye, the blond was almost
too
handsome, his good looks so obvious they bordered on generic. And one glance told Doug this guy was well aware of his attributes, each detail calculated to accentuate his superior hotness, including his decision to perch himself there on the table, above the crowd and on display, a king surrounded by his loyal subjects.

“Oh,” Doug said. “Yeah, I see him now.”

“Shit,” Jairo said. “I think I’m in love.”

Doug shrugged just slightly, but Jairo caught it, and widened his eyes. “What? You don’t think he’s hot?”

“Oh, he is,” Doug said. “It’s just a bit obvious, don’t you think?”

Jairo laughed. “Obvious? Whatever. You’re kind of a cranky dude, Doug.”

“I’ve been told.”

“So you really like the guy in the tee shirt?”

“Yeah, he’s cute. You don’t think so?”

“He looks straight,” Jairo said. “And like he might need a shower.”

Doug chuckled, then glanced toward the group of men again. His messy tee shirt dude had wandered over to pay homage to the blond god, who whispered something in his ear. While tee shirt guy didn’t appear as impressed as the rest of the men gathered there, Doug felt a stab of disappointment as he watched his potential love interest move to the bar, order a drink, then deliver it back to the revered blond.

“Damn,” Jairo said, also watching the display. “I was gonna offer to buy him a drink.”

The suntanned blond hiked his salmon shirt back over his shoulder, then accepted the drink from Doug’s crush, ruffling his brunette locks like he was a puppy who’d performed a trick.

“He’s
so
hot,” Jairo said, his jaw slack.

Doug rolled his eyes. “Just go talk to him, Jairo.”

“You don’t mind?” Jairo shot back, as though he’d been anxiously awaiting permission.

“It’s fine,” Doug said. “Just go, you’re getting drool all over the table.”

“You’ll be okay here alone?”

“
Go
,” Doug said.  

Jairo wasted no more time. He stood, smoothed down his shirt, then wandered over to the table of men, leaning over to speak with the blond. Doug was slightly awed by Jairo’s balls, as he himself had never been too adept at cruising guys. He’d always envied those guys who could just walk up to someone and express their interest without fear of rejection.

In an attempted to appear comfortable with his sudden aloneness, Doug rested one leg on Jairo’s empty chair, leaned back and pulled out his phone. He scrolled through his text messages. There was one from Wyatt, wishing him good luck with a little winky emoticon. He chuckled. Wyatt probably thought Doug and Jairo were in bed together by now. He was tempted to text his brother back a photo of Jairo enthusiastically courting another man, but didn’t have the heart.

Still keeping his phone out as a prop, Doug glanced over at Jairo, impressed, and a bit surprised to see he now had the blond’s full attention. The others who’d been hanging around had eased back a bit, in their own conversations now as Jairo and the blond spoke very closely, their body language intimate.

Huh. Jairo the naughty nurse has got some game
.

The acoustic band broke into “Closing Time” by Semisonic, and it was so bubblegum perfect Doug wanted to draw a cartoon love heart around Jairo and his sexy pick-up.

As he tore his eyes away from Jairo, they locked onto the gaze of another. It was his scruffy, blue-eyed crush in the Celtics tee shirt. He leaned against a wooden beam, facing the band, but his head was turned, eyes directly on Doug.