Page 77 of King of Pain

I roll my eyes to cover up the way my insides melt at the nickname. “Yeah, let’s go. And stop calling me that in public, would you?”

He just laughs, slinging an arm around my shoulders as we head toward the neon-lit lobby.Despite my grumbling, I don’t pull away. Maybe I don’t want to. Maybe I don’t know how to anymore.

As the door swings open and the warm glow of the lobby greets us, I make a silent promise to myself. Whatever happens on this trip, I’m going to let myself feel it. No overthinking. Norunning. Just me and Chance, and whatever this pull between us might lead to.

TRACK THIRTY•TWO

We Don’t Have To Take Our Clothes Off

Chance

We step up to the front desk of the motel, the small lobby warm with soft golden lighting and the lingering scent of sea salt and old wood. The woman behind the counter offers us a bright smile as she taps on her keyboard.

“Welcome to The Breezy Inn. How can I help you gentlemen tonight?”

“Hi, um, we don’t have a reservation, this was kind of last minute, but we need a room with two beds for two nights,” I say, giving her my name. She types for a moment before her eyes flick up at us, apologetic.

“So, here’s the thing,” she says. “Even though it’s January, we’re pretty booked up for the weekend, and all we have left are rooms with one king bed.”

I look over at Ant. “Oh, okay. Do you recommend anywhere else—”

“It… it’s okay. We’ll take it,” Ant blurts out, cutting me off. His voice is tight, his fingers fidgeting against the edge of the counter.

I blink at him.

He’s nervous, but he’s choosing this.

Oh, I’m so fucked.

We get checked-in, get our key, and head down the hallway to our room. When I push the door open, I nearly snort at the decor. The walls are adorned with pastel seashell prints, the furniture a tacky mix of wicker and navy-blue cushions.

“Oh. My. Fucking God,” I say, dropping my bag on the chair. “This place is one Hawaiian print curtain away from being Frank’s wet dream.”

Ant cracks-up, shaking his head as he sets his bag by the dresser. “Shut up, at least it seems clean.”

I stretch my arms over my head. “Fine, but I’m starving. Feed me, Beautiful.”

Ant snaps his head my way and gives me a look that, if I’m not mistaken, is laced with lust.

“I want to take you to Bluewater Grill,” he says, shaking off whatever that was, and pulling out his phone. “It’s right on the water. Best seafood in Newport.”

“Alright then. Let’s go. Let’s call a car so we can both drink.”

We both change into nice jeans, and when Ant steps out of the bathroom in a skintight black T-shirt, my jaw drops. It hugs his chest and arms in a way that should be illegal. He’s never worn anything like that in front of me.

“What?” he asks, brow furrowing.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. “Just thinking I might need a bib to keep from drooling on myself all night.”

Ant rolls his eyes, but he’s pink at the ears.

“They’ll give you a bib when they bring out your lobster. Let’s go, Sullivan.”

Dinner is incredible. We split lobster and crab, swapping bites between plates, and I’m obnoxiously moaning at how good everything tastes. Ant looks relaxed, more himself than I think I’ve ever seen him, and it makes me happy that I decided to spontaneously spring this trip on him.

“So,” he says, pushing the last bit of crab toward me. “I looked up some gay bars in Costa Mesa. There’s one called STRUT that looks like fun.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You wanna go tonight?”