Almost. Kissing.
Hendrix is ignoring me and politely not putting himself alone with me because I almost kissed him . . . when? He was fine after Halloween when our lips actually brushed. Beside the pool at Willow’s party, I had leaned in, but we’d been a lot less close to kissing then. Whatever the exact moment, at least I know why he is doing it now, and to say I’m heartbroken . . . Well, that’s a bit of an overstatement, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t close.
I thought things were good between us. Yeah, I had accidentally brushed my mouth against his, but that hadn’t been me trying to kiss him. It was just . . . happenstance because of our proximity. I enjoyed holding his hand that night more than the near kiss.
Not that I don’t want to kiss him. Oh, no. I have been daydreaming about his lips—and other body parts—since he walked onto the Rubies practice field. And on Thanksgiving, I had leaned into him, and I would’ve kissed him had he let me get any closer.
But—fuck! Hendrix is straight. He had told me that himself.
“Are we sure he’s straight?” I ask Aleks softly, begrudgingly using the coded language to help prevent eavesdroppers. Geez, this is so stupid. Half the guys on this plane probably know and understand what we’re saying if they are anywhere near our age.
My friend’s eyes light up at the prospect of gossip. “He did kiss me,” he responds in kind.
“So, why would he be weird about thinking I might have kissed him?”
Aleks shrugs. “He doesn’t like you? Or he doesn’t want you to catch feelings.”
Well, I’m pretty sure that ship is already at sea.
“Is that all Micah told you?”
He nods, giving me a sympathetic look, and I sigh. Abandoning the coded language, I try my best at a smile—the picture-perfect one I have carefully honed over the years—and change the subject.
“How have things been with Micah?” I ask. “Tell me everything.”
Despite Aleks clearly seeing what I am trying to do, he talks. He loves to go on and on about his life drama, and usually, I don’t have any issues engaging. Now, I can only manage to nod my head and “mhm” as he tells me about their not-dates and how great the sex is.
Eventually, we touch down in Los Angeles, and Aleks invites me to the club with him and some of the guys. I don’t have anything better to do, so I accept his offer, and we decide on a time to meet at Gemini.
The drive home is bittersweet as I remember the last time we went to Gemini. Hendrix had come home with me after his car didn’t start—today, his new Kia cranked just fine—and we had spent the afternoon together. God, I had so much fun that evening and the next day, even though Hendrix got too wasted at the club to remember anything that night, including the way we had danced together. Once he had a few drinks in him, he became a sultry little thing on the dance floor, grinding against me and nearly making me pop a stiffy in a very crowded, public space.
Is it wrong of me to hope he shows up tonight and lowers his inhibitions with a few drinks?
After killing some time at my house, I shower, dress, and head for the club, having made up my mind. I will find someone to take home tonight, and I will fuck my desire for Hendrix out of my system—or get fucked, if the right man catches my eye. Someone muscular, with narrow hips and strong thighs, maybe someone with grey eyes and a freckle on their left ear—
No. Bad Tahegin.
As usual, Aleks has a drink waiting for me at our table in the VIP section. It’s no use telling him that I can’t drink because I drove here—he’ll just tell me to order a car service home—so my only option is to discard it when he’s distracted. I don’t have to wait long because Micah sashays in wearing tiny-ass blue jean shorts—with matching blue hair—and a crop top, and my best friend is suddenly falling ass over tits to impress him. I’m all but forgotten as Aleks hands Micah a fruity drink, one with an umbrella and a straw, and then the pair disappears onto the crowded dance floor.
One by one, my other teammates find dance partners and join the throng of people. I’m left alone, surrounded by partially drank alcoholic beverages as well as the untouched one in my hand. It would be so easy to drink it, I think, staring down at the melting ice watering down the gin that Aleks always orders for me. Just one to take the edge off. To forget about the man living rent-free in my head.
No one would even know I’d be breaking my promise.
“Hey, you’re Tahegin Ellingsworth, right?”
Blinking, I clear the fog from my brain and look up at the guy standing in front of me. He’s cute, in a nerdy-hipster type of way. Suspenders hang from his grey chinos, and his button-up short-sleeve shirt has triangles on it. His hair is styled up in an “I spent an hour on this” look. Thick-framed glasses cover his green eyes, sitting on a long, straight nose, and his smile is nice. “Yeah.” I grin and reach out to shake his proffered hand. “Always nice to be recognized.”
“I wouldn’t be a self-respecting gay man if I didn’t recognize the gay football players.”
I fight to keep my smile polite. “Actually, I’m bi.”
Nerdy-hipster face palms and chuckles. “Right. I’m sorry. I guess I’m just being optimistic about you potentially wanting to dance with a man. Me, specifically—if that wasn’t clear. Sorry, I’m a little starstruck.”
Looking at the drink in my hand, then back to him, I decide it is best to get away from the lonely table before I do something I regret, even if I don’t really want to dance with him. “Well, Mr. Starstruck, you know my name. Do I get to know yours?”
He holds out his hand, offering it to me as he half turns toward the dance floor. The smirk he sends me is—supposed to be?—sultry. “I only give it to men who impress me with their dancing.”
It’s a bad line, but I use the excuse to abandon the alcohol that shouldn’t be getting to me the way it is. I slide my hand in his, repressing a shudder when my body screams and revolts. It wants Hendrix. His hand has become a familiar presence in mine, so much so that I can tell the difference between his calloused palm and nerdy-hipster’s baby-smooth one.
I ditch the gin on the table and let the stranger drag me into a sea of grinding bodies. At least he leaves us on the outskirts of the dance floor instead of squeezing between everyone. The music is louder down here, the lights dimmed in favor of strobing gold, pink, purple, and blue. Almost everyone here is a big name in Los Angeles—music artists, movie stars, show hosts—but no one bats an eye as waiters and waitresses with suspiciously empty trays trade subtle handshakes below the waist with the patrons. Drug deals, if I have to guess. Thankfully, none of the recipients seem to be my teammates.
My heart isn’t in the dancing, and my eyes are—clearly—straying everywhere except for the man grinding his hips against me. He’s close to my height, but I’d prefer him shorter by a few inches, and no offense to him, he isn’t the type of man I would let fuck me the way I want. Not like—
He’s here.
My gaze sweeps over him at first but quickly doubles back to confirm that, yes, it is Hendrix standing at our abandoned table, a glass of something clear in his hand. His grey eyes are dark in the dim club, the lights occasionally catching across them, painting them vivid neon colors. A black shirt covers his chest, the sleeves pushed up to expose his muscular forearms, and those faded and ripped jeans look even tighter around his hips and crotch than usual. I know what he’s packing under there, and all things considered, the pants are doing a pretty good job of keeping him contained.
Our eyes meet because he’s already watching me, a scowl dripping from his mouth. It’s been a while since he gave me that frown, and my heart sinks at the thought that we have possibly regressed back to the way we were the first time we went head-to-head on the field.
Damnit, Hendrix, no. Don’t shut me out.
I suppose I have no one to blame other than myself. I’d been the one to pull him so close our lips brushed, the one to lean in that day beside the pool when he was only trying to be a good friend. I’d been the one to ruin that.
But, fuck, I hadn’t meant to, and if given the chance, I would beg for his forgiveness.
The man in my arms must get frustrated by my lack of attention because his hands find my cheeks, turning me to face him. He gives me another attempt at a seductive look before sliding down my front, extremely close even for a club such as this. When he rubs his way up to standing, he’s facing away from me with his ass pressed hard against me. Another night, another time, before I’d ever known the name Hendrix Avery, I might have been interested, but I can’t seem to put my heart into it.
Not when—I glance over at the table and, yes—Hendrix is still watching me, his gaze like dark static. I can feel it on me, braiding itself into my clothing until it dances across my skin, infinitely more enticing than the man grinding himself on me. It’s electric, and wanting to keep his attention on me, I find myself trying to show off for him. Closing my eyes, I grab the nerdy hipster by his waist and dance the way I had with Hendrix when he was drunk off his ass the last time we came here—with a few extra flourishments, of course.