Page 3 of Tempted to Touch (Straight No More #1)

FOR THE FIRST time in my life, I wish it were colder outside.

Because if it were colder, I could wear a hoodie, and if I were wearing a hoodie, I could just pull the hood up over my head, cover my face and march through that door incognito, hide in the shadows, watch Hayden get stood up, have exactly fifteen minutes of an identity crisis and then get back home and pretend nothing ever happened.

But it's fucking hell and a half outside and I'm wearing a muscle t-shirt that exposes more than it covers, my back cooled by a brick wall behind me in a narrow alley, staring at the bar's entrance.

The only thing that matches my fantasy is that I'm indeed lurking in the shadow, and the only thing that's getting cold is my feet.

For fuck's sake.

It's not like I have anything to run away from. There's no event about to happen, no part for me to play here. Hayden is 'meeting Nicholas', or so he thinks, and me... Well, I'm just going to take a peek.

My legs are less steady than I'd like them to be as I make the short distance to the door at ten past seven. I'm strategic like that. It's late enough for Hayden to start getting an idea that maybe his date—or hookup, I guess—is a no-show, but not late enough for him to leave.

Cue me.

Just as I reach the door, I spot a large group emerge from around the corner, laughing their way toward the bar.

Perfect. I pretend to make a phone call as I wait for them, and then enter right behind them, cosplaying as one of them, with my back hunched and shoulders slumped, trying to make myself invisible.

The joint is barely lit, thank fuck, and I immediately slip to the left, zigzagging my way between tall tables and promptly duck behind another group gathering by one of the walls, all the while pretending to scroll through my phone as if I have a purpose other than being de facto a crazy stalker.

Once I make sure I'm sufficiently blended into my bustling surroundings, I scan the crowd.

Or rather, start to, because my eyes immediately land on Mr. Jawline, standing by the bar against the back wall, towering over most of the people in his vicinity, as though some deeper part of me has spotted him before my eyes ever could.

And what a fucking feast for the eyes he is. Yeah, I'm not afraid to say it. Well... think it. I'd never fucking say it out loud.

He's wearing a black button-up, with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing different kinds of sleeves, ones permanently carved into his skin with mostly black ink, and damn, why is that kind of...hot?

Even with the barely-there lighting, I notice his face is no longer smooth, covered with a short stubble that somehow makes his jawline even sharper instead of washing it out.

Nothing about that man makes sense.

And maybe that's what I need to be right now—senseless.

Thoughtless. Operating purely on some higher sense or intuition, or whatever it is that currently has my legs moving, eating up the floor and bringing me closer and closer to a man that seems to have a magnetic field of his own.

It's not until I'm halfway there that Hayden runs a palm over his face and then turns his head, abruptly, his field of vision just about missing me as he glances toward the door.

My stomach does the thing and I duck behind the unsuspecting guy in front of me.

Jesus, Chris .

I'm such a chicken... But it's hard to be anything but when I don't really have a plan here.

Because what am I going to say? Sure, it's not impossible (though implausible) for me to randomly be at the same place at the same time as Hayden—it's a popular joint, even on weekdays, judging by the crowd—but I still don't have a clue how I'm going to justify being here alone, should he ask. Maybe this is a bad idea?

Hayden picks up his phone from where it lies on the bar top and starts tapping.

As he puts it back down, my phone buzzes in my palm.

I know what it is without looking, and that's how it's gonna stay—I don't have it in me to look.

I shove it into my pocket, my eyes glued to Hayden as I'm half-peeking from behind some guy's back.

If someone's watching me right now, they're gonna call the cops.

But that doesn't matter. What matters is, Hayden doesn't seem to notice me, taking another glance at the door before turning his body toward the bar and raising his hand to get the bartender's attention.

This is it. It's now or never.

Taking a deep, sharp breath, I let my legs carry me again, my step less than steady now, and when I finally stop right behind Hayden, the absolute worst fucking happens—my mouth doesn't work.

I open and close it three times, like a fish, but no sounds come out.

Okay, that's it. Abort the fucking mission.

By some miracle, Hayden hasn't clocked me yet, his attention still on the bartender who's busy fixing up someone else's order. I turn on my heel and dash.

Except I don't manage to get far, half a step to be exact, before someone who I'm convinced is the devil embodied body-slams me, just hard enough for me to lose my balance and stumble backward, until my back hits—

"Whoa," a familiar deep voice sounds somewhere above my head as I fight to regain my balance, just as the asshole in front of me throws a haphazard "My bad," before all but disappearing into thin air.

Lovely. Just absolutely, freaking lovely.

Well... I guess I'm doing it, then.

Turning around like I'm about to face my executioner, I make sure my back is straight and my head is held high.

"Before you start," I raise one finger between us as Hayden's face flashes with recognition, "Yes, I meant to come and say hello.

No, I didn't mean to fall all over you, and no, I'm not hurt, in case you're wondering. Also, hi."

Well, damn. Turns out I'm actually not that bad at handling crisis. Who knew?

It takes Hayden a moment to snap out of the amused shock—or is it shocked amusement?—that has his eyes growing huge and his mouth upturned into an open-mouthed half-smile. "Damn. Don't kill a guy's hopes like that."

I raise a brow. "Which part were you hoping for?"

"Not the hurt part, that's for sure."

"So tell me," I say before he's finished speaking, just to beat him to it. Unlike him, I have no justifiable reason to be here, "is it illegal to start fires on Wednesdays, or are you just enjoying tough Thursday mornings?"

I don't miss how his eyes dart to the door somewhere behind me for a split second. Then, he leans over and his voice drops. "It's illegal to start fires any day of the week. You should know that. Or do you need some education?"

I swallow and suck in my lower lip involuntarily at the sound of his last word. This guy must be a natural flirt. Fuck.

Okay, you can do it. Gather your wits, Chris. "I haven't decided yet. But I'll make sure to get back to you on that."

His eyebrows shoot up and he somehow manages to squint at the same time as he hums, as if trying to read me.

I'm not sure I'm ready to be read. Not when I'm not sure what's on the page myself. "I believe I owe you a drink."

It doesn't last more than a second, but there's an entire mental process happening inside his head as his eyes dart toward the door again and he checks his phone. Half a second of hesitation, and then, "I wouldn't say that you owe me, but if you're offering, I'm not gonna say no."

Chris 1—Nicholas 0.

A sudden wave of heat rolls through me as the words linger in my brain, because damn, is there subtext or am I imagining things? It's not even what he says, it's how he says it, with his voice a little bit rougher than normal, his vowels a little bit more sluggish. Deliberate.

Fuck. I need to stop overanalyzing. It's just a drink. Between maybe, potentially sometime friends. "Any special requests?"

Hayden puts one elbow on the bar top and leans over it. "Surprise me."

I look away instantly, trying not to focus on how the top of his chest pokes out of his shirt as he moves, and conveniently my eyes lock with one of the bartenders. I order two Old Fashioneds. When I turn my attention back to Hayden, another inch of his chest makes an appearance.

I have to stop noticing these things.

"How'd you do that? I've been trying to get her attention for like ten minutes."

Seven, actually. I kept track .

"What can I say? This face card never declines."

Hayden's eyes narrow again just as the bartender slides us our glasses and grabs the fifty I slide toward her in return.

"Interesting."

I keep my eyes locked with his as I bring my glass to my lips and ask, "What is?" before taking a sip.

"You're kinda cocky, aren't you?" He drawls in a tone that makes my stomach do the thing , but before I can defuse my own internal state with a joke, the guy, oh-so-casually and very bluntly drags his gaze down my torso and to my fucking crotch where he— god —lingers for a moment before looking back up. "I don't hate it."

Fuck. Fuck . This is getting out of hand. I've bitten more than I can chew. Quick, change the subject. Say something. Anything that doesn't involve cocks.

And then I say the one thing, the only thing worse than straight up saying ' You wanna see it ?'

"So, who is it that you're trying to get out your system?"

I facepalm. I fucking physically slap my palm over my goddamn mouth.

God, if you exist, please send an earthquake. Now .

Hayden turns his head about ninety degrees and looks at me sideways, those heavy brows twisting into S shapes like he's Google's default picture for the word 'confusion'. "What did you just say?"

"Nothing." I mumble into my hand still covering my mouth.

"Christopher?" The only, only thing keeping my legs in place and stopping me from bolting is that he looks more amused than he does angry. "Or should I say, Nicholas?"