Page 2 of The Call of Azure (Unexpected Love #3)

Liam

I don’t know why I can’t ever tell them no.

James and Hazel are my employees. Surely it would make plenty of sense for me to turn them down when they start insisting that I spend too much time on my own, and it would be good for me to spend a night out on the town with them.

It would certainly be the professional thing to do.

The thing is, they’re more than my employees, they’re my friends - I think - and friends aren’t exactly something I have a lot of.

Going out with them is the only time I ever do anything that could really be considered “friendship” adjacent, and it’s not like I ever end up hating it the few times a year I begrudgingly agree to accompany them.

It’s just not something I’d ever choose to do if they didn’t pressure me a little.

Because well…it’s not a part of my routine, and straying outside my routine makes my brain feel like it’s itchy or on fire and more than just a bit unsafe.

I don’t know if they actually enjoy my company or if their invitations are simply extended out of pity.

We get along well enough at work, but I don’t believe there’s any way my presence enhances their nights out in any way whatsoever.

I’m pretty sure the fact that they have to spend so much more time planning than they normally would actually makes their nights worse, but I don’t want to tell them no and hurt their feelings.

That they go out of their way to make sure I feel safe and welcome isn’t something I want to ignore or take lightly.

Very few people in my life have ever done anything like that for me.

On the nights they ask me to join them, they know we can’t ever go anywhere too loud or crazy, and they’re always good about choosing places with clear paths to all the exits and without heavy-hitting bass.

They’ve never taken me anywhere I’ve felt pinned in or overwhelmed.

Nowhere that will make me panic and get lost in the past. They don’t know much about my past aside from the fact that I don’t want to relive it.

They’ve never directly asked, but I’m sure they’ve noticed my dog tags occasionally slipping out of my shirt at work.

Couple them with the way I keep to myself and strongly dislike loud noises of any kind, and it’s not a big leap to assume they’ve made some educated guesses.

While we go out rarely enough that we’ve never repeated a venue, no matter where we wind up, I’m always able to find a slightly quieter spot in the corner or at the bar to spend my time building a light buzz and watching them have fun.

Once in a while, they convince me to join them in a dance or two, but they know I don’t really care for much touching or attention, so they go on their own.

They make sure to come back often to squeeze my forearm or pull me into quick side hugs while they talk about the music or the drinks or the people they’re trying to pick up.

The nights we spend out together aren’t my favorite thing in the world, but they’re not terrible, and I know that it’s probably healthy for me to pretend to act like a normal person from time to time.

I’m secretly grateful that they do this for me, that they try so hard to make sure I feel like a regular human now and again.

If they do it just because they pity me, that’s okay.

I’ve always been content to accept whatever morsels of kindness I’m offered.

Just like always, tonight I’m satisfied to sit and observe from the sidelines.

I’m not here to find a hookup or get lost in the rhythm of the music and press of bodies against mine.

I’m here to watch them enjoy themselves while reminding myself that for some folks, that’s actually possible.

Just like always, I’ll make sure that they get into the right rideshare or that I have the address and info of the people they’re going home with at the end of the night.

I’ll try to keep them safe. I plan to do more than that while I’m here, of course.

I’m not miserable, and I’m not a monk, so I try to take advantage of these rare nights out.

I enjoy sampling new, too-expensive drinks and studying the attractive people who walk past me on their way to the bar or as they stumble and laugh with their friends while they head to the dance floor.

While I’m not looking for someone to go home with, I can certainly appreciate the assortment of sexy shoulders covered by only thin, silken fabrics and thick thighs encased in leather and denim on display.

Their memories, and the fantasies of what they might feel like unclothed and pressed up against me somewhere private and safe, will certainly accompany me into the shower when I get home tonight.

Even though it’s packed and energetic here, the live jazz band isn’t overwhelmingly loud or harsh, the drinks are unique and creative, the lighting is warm and inviting instead of flashing and blinding, and the bodies moving together on the dance floor seem to have landed somewhere closer to sensual and seductive rather than writhing and chaotic.

As I let the artificial relaxation of my alcohol-triggered dopamine release wash over me, I have to admit, they’ve chosen a good spot this time.

There are plenty of people here I would consider taking home if I were the type of man who took people home.

That’s not who I am though, especially these days.

I wake up too early to take someone home with me.

I’m sure that no matter how the rest of the night went, they’d only look back and remember our encounter with misery and frustration if I made them wake up at four thirty in the morning to send them home so that I could head to work.

Especially since they’d likely have only slept for a couple of hours at that point after a night on the town and an afterparty with a stranger.

Accompanying someone else to their home is out of the question too.

Finding myself stuck in someone else’s space with their bed and pillows and potentially weird water pressure and white noise machine that they leave on all night to help them sleep, even though, for some reason, the track they’ve chosen is one filled with terrifying rainforest frogs and thunder, would pull me way too far from my normal routine.

Even if I felt like joining them for a round of hopefully not terrible sex, awkwardly taking off while we’re still sticky to avoid spending the night by accident doesn’t sound like a good time.

I’m sure it works for some people, but in the past, I’ve always enjoyed the calm moments after sex when we’re both sated and sluggish just as much as I enjoy the actual sex, so skipping those would likely leave me feeling a bit unfulfilled.

In truth, even if I didn’t let logistics get in my way, I don’t often have the desire to have sex with anyone other than myself these days anyway.

People look at me, and they have expectations.

They see a guy who’s six-six and 250 pounds of muscle, and they want me to claim and control.

They want me to be rough and forceful and demanding, to give and take until their eyes roll into the back of their heads.

Even if they don’t want it rough, they want to lie back while I make the decisions and do the work.

That’s fine sometimes, of course. I don’t ever want to be the type of lover who doesn’t take care of their partner.

It would just be nice if, once in a while, folks took a minute to ask what I want, too, rather than assuming and expecting.

I’ve had a couple of longer relationships in the past, and when I eventually worked up the courage to ask those partners for what I wanted, none of them were unequivocally turned off by it.

They were even willing to go along with it from time to time for me.

I don’t think it would ever have been any of their first choices, and they wouldn’t have wanted it all of the time, but they gave me enough that I didn’t feel they were ignoring my needs.

I’ve never managed to find anyone whose desires really match my own though.

In truth, I’m not sure anyone out there fits that description, but I haven’t actively dated or looked for a serious sexual partner in years, so what do I know?

While I was ultimately able to open up enough to ask previous partners for what I needed, I’m just not comfortable telling a one-night-stand stranger that I prefer to be passive in bed.

That I want my partner to take control so completely that for just a few moments I can simply…

let go. I’ve found that most folks who are interested in picking me up for a good time are likely to find that disappointing, so it’s easier to just go without or offer what they assume they’ll get from a man like me.

Even if I were to find myself in one of my rare “Liam wants to take control in bed” moods, and I managed to psych myself up enough to relax in someone else’s space, it’s not safe for me to spend the night with another person.

No one wants to find out that the man they’ve brought home in anticipation of a few rounds of good sex and maybe a nice nighttime cuddle is someone who frightens them in the middle of the night when they wake to find him covered in sweat, screaming and crying as he fights to rouse from yet another nightmare.

I learned that lesson the hard way years ago.

But even though having sex with someone from the club isn’t in the cards, I still enjoy watching everyone all dressed up and on the prowl.