Page 45 of Try Me
Considering the lack of greeting, the offer caught me off guard. “Uh, sure.”
Chet upnodded Errol and then brushed his fingers over my elbow and indicated the nearest bar. I stumbled forward a step at the unexpected contact and shot a look back over my shoulder at Errol. “Am I interrupting anything?”
“Not at the moment, no.”
Fuck. Not exactly the answer I was hoping for. The lingering sidelong look suggested Chet read it on my face, too. I tried to school my expression as I shrugged. “I don’t think I’m staying long. I’m pretty beat and probably had enough to drink earlier.”
Still, when he dropped a hand low to my back, urging me up to the counter, electricity crackled up my spine and lingered. He wedged in alongside me, half his body pressing against me as he leaned in to shout his drink order to the bartender and then asked me for mine.
Someone beside us moved off, and Chet filled the leftover space, angling toward me. “So. Did you get left behind at Elixir, get lonely and desperate?”
“Everyone was pretty wasted and…” I took a swallow of the beer the bartender handed me, then stared down at the foam. No answers there, sadly.
“And?” Chet canted his head. The intent movement of his eyes over my face gave me the feeling I realized I’d been searching for all night. Off-kilter and dizzy. And it had nothing to do with the beer.
“You were right about John,” I confessed.
Chet threw his head back and laughed. Jesus, he was sexy when he laughed like that. Full-throated, deeply amused, and genuine. I was supposed to be annoyed right now, though, and set my jaw accordingly.
“It’s not funny. My dad apparently implied that…actually, I don’t know what the fuck he said to John. But it was something along the lines of me being single and available.”
Chet sobered. “Really? That’s fucking weird. And he’s never said anything to you?”
“Nope. Not a word.”
“So what, John tried to slip you the tongue out in the parking lot, grabbed your crotch on the dance floor?” He waggled his brows teasingly.
I rolled my eyes. “No. Nothing like that. Doesn’t matter, really.” Or at all, because Chet was all of a foot away from me and might as well have been wrapped around me, the way I responded to his proximity. Every atom in my body strained toward him.
“No?” He took another swallow from his cup and stepped closer, extending his arm just past me to set the drink on the bar, one hip brushing mine. I felt the contact like I’d slammed into a wall of heat. “What’d you come here for, Farrow?” His eyes smoldered, the words a knowing echo of the ones he’d said over a month ago. And they still had the same, ball-tingling effect on me.
“Hey, hey! It’s the Hardy Boys, together again!” Barrett stumbled into me with a sloppy grin. He was shirtless, glitter streaking his collarbones. And hammered. “Are you solving the mystery of what happened to Mr. Pynchon’s charm?”
“Negative. That’s a cold case file right there,” I assured him as I steadied him with a hand on his forearm.
“Mmm.” I caught a whiff of oranges as Barrett leaned against me and reached up to poke the corner of my lips. “God gave you a solid right hook for a mouth, and Isoappreciate it.” Then he whirled and pointed at Chet. “You owe me a dance. But—” He whirled back to me. “I’ve just opened up a special slot on my dance card for a Rich, Preppy Asshole who just might get drunk and rebellious enough to do something his daddy wouldn’t approve of in a gay bar.”
“Wow, that’s a hard offer to resist,” I deadpanned, but when he tugged my hand, I stumbled after him rather than answer Chet’s question about what I was doing there in the first place.
“If you find my suave, please feel free to toss it in the lost and found with Farrow’s stupid fucking ties.” Chet waved sarcastically when I glanced back, then upended his cup with an eyeroll he knew I wouldn’t miss.
Barrett lasted one heart-hammering, ass-shaking song on the dance floor before he appeared to decide I wasn’t going rogue and randy enough for his liking. With a syrupy smile, he looped his arms around my neck and leaned in close. “Listen,” he said as soberly as he probably could. “If you end up ditching some more of your clothes out here, make sure someone takes a pic. I want to confirm you actually have nipples. Is your dick really molded plastic, or do they give Ken dolls a little more definition nowadays?”
“Squeeze it and see,” I suggested with a smirk.
“Ahhhhhhh!” He howled with delight. “I wasnotexpecting that. You’re redeemed. For now.” He pumped a fist in the air and bopped deeper into the mass of revelers, leaving me surrounded by shirtless strangers.
Through a break in the crowd, I spotted Chet, head thrown back, eyes closed, body swaying to the music. Errol was plastered so tightly against him anyone hoping to pry them apart would probably need a chisel. Jealousy and desire spiked through me in silvery threads. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. I let the undulations of the crowd carry me closer like an incoming tide and told myself I’d watch for one more song, then leave.
Errol got bolder, spinning and looping his arms around Chet, their bodies moving in perfect synchrony. It was sexy. Erotic. Infuriating. When Chet finally caught me staring, he smirked, but when Errol leaned in to try to kiss him, he turned his head at the very last moment. Relief flooded through me.
Turning away, I weaved through the crowd in the direction of the restrooms. I had no game plan, just let instinct and my dick direct me. Because that’d led to so many other smart decisions before.
Chet caught up to me in seconds, his hand on my back just as before, silently guiding me toward the recesses of the club where the spinning strobes didn’t reach.
As soon as we were out of the way of foot traffic, he bullied me toward the wall and boxed me in, forearms framing my head, face close to mine, lips way too fucking tempting when they tipped into a knowing smile.
“I’ve noticed you enjoy shoving me up against inanimate objects,” I said.