Page 76 of King of Pain

When I get back outside, Chance has the top down and is leaning against the car—sunglasses on, collar popped up on his polo—looking like he just stepped out of an ‘80s music video. I can’t decide if I want to flick his forehead or finally grab a handful of that ass. Maybe both.

“Alright,Maverick. Where are we even going?” I ask as I climb into the passenger seat.

He shrugs. “I thought I’d leave that up to you, Beautiful.”

I laugh, shaking my head. “So impulsive.” Pulling up the navigation on my phone, I punch in a destination. “We’re going to Newport Beach. Fun town, good vibes, and I know a decent motel that won’t bankrupt us.”

He turns to me with a grin. “Do they have those vibrating beds?”

“Seriously?” I shoot him a look.

He wags his eyebrows. “What’s the point of a motel if the bed doesn’t shake?”

I look at him and laugh. “You’re a menace.”

“Yeah, but you love it,” he teases as he pulls out onto the road.

We settle into the drive and Chance insists I handle the music, so I sync my phone to the car and put on my best ‘80s mix—one that I’ve spent countless hours curating. Within minutes, we’re both singing along to “Take On Me” by A-ha. Chance hits the falsetto with perfect pitch and I miss it by a mile.

Snacks litter the center console: chips, candy bars, and an unopened package of trail mix Chance claims is for balance. The miles blur by, the vast desert giving way to rolling hills, the open road stretching endlessly ahead.

A couple hours in, Chance turns the music down and glances at me, a little uncharacteristically shy. “Hey, Ant?”

“Yeah?” I ask, shifting in my seat and giving him my full attention.

“While we’re there... would you, um, go with me to a gay bar?” He keeps his eyes on the road, his grip on the wheel bordering on white-knuckled.

His request takes me off guard, and I sit back, processing. I’ve never been to one. Fuck, the thought alone is enough to make mypalms sweat. But there’s something in his tone that is hesitant, yet hopeful and it tugs at me.

I know he’s asking for more than just a night out. He’s inviting me into his world. I think he wants to show me possibilities for myself, too. I think that’s why he waited until we would be out of town where no one will know us.

My heart rate is outpacing the RPMs of this convertible. My first instinct is to say no, to make an excuse. But then I remember how safe I feel with him. How much I trust him. How much I owe him.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. “I’ll go with you.”

Chance looks over at me, a wide smile spreading across his face. “Really?”

“Really,” I confirm, feeling the knot in my stomach unraveling from the warmth in his gaze and the smile on his face.

The rest of the drive passes in a mix of music, banter, and comfortable silences. I find myself relaxing, letting the miles strip away some of my nerves. I even work up the courage to search on my phone for gay bars in Costa Mesa, the biggest neighboring city to Newport Beach. By the time we arrive, the sun is dipping low, painting the sky in shades of pink and orange.

Chance pulls into the lot of the modest motel I plugged into GPS. The neon sign readsThe Breezy Inn. It’s just as I remembered it—charming in a retro kind of way, and I laugh at how fitting that is.

“We made it,” he announces, cutting the engine. “Let’s check in and start this adventure.”

I step out of the car, feel the salty breeze, and take a moment to close my eyes and inhale deeply. The ocean air is crisp and carries a sense of freedom.

I watch Chance as he stretches beside the car, his arms raised high, a satisfied grin on his face. There’s a pull from the center of my chest, one I’ve been trying to ignore since the day I laid eyes on him, but I’ve been failing miserably.

Maybe it’s the time we’ve been spending together, the way he’s bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun, or simply him being... him. Whatever it is, I just know I’m in trouble.

If I’m being honest with myself, this feels like more than just a road trip for me. It feels like an opportunity to explore. Out of town, away from anyone who knows me, maybe I can let myself see where this goes. The idea of stepping into a gay bar with him, something I would’ve shied away from back home, it’s less daunting here. With Chance by my side, I feel ten feet tall.

He’s been so patient with me, never pushing too hard, but always there—a quiet strength. I find myself opening up to him, little by little, like a plant instinctively reaching for the sun, drawn to the warmth that promises growth.

It all feels inevitable. Chance Sullivan is a force of nature, and I’m powerless against it. I know it. Shit, I’ve probably known it since the day we met. Every small gesture, every smirk, every gentle word—it all chips away at my resolve.

He catches me looking at him, his grin widening. “You ready to check in, Beautiful?”