The night after I met Ethan, I go to Rogue's again, but this time I'm not scouting for a fuck. This time I'm waiting to see if Mr. Right shows up again. I get myself a small table close to the stage and wait. I sip my beer slowly, enjoying the live music.
Occasionally, someone tries to take the seat that I've deemed as Ethan's, but I tell them to piss off. Thank God Johnathon isn't here to mess with me. I nearly cream myself when I see Ethan pulling out the chair and wearing a smirk that matches his v-neck tee and well-fitted jeans perfectly.
"Thanks for saving me a seat. How's the set tonight?"
His voice is even sexier than I remember it. I stumble over my thoughts and try to gather my bearings as he raises his eyebrows at me, obviously waiting for an answer.
"Are you with someone? Did I take their chair?" he asks confusedly.
Son of a bitch, Jasper, get it together.
"No, sorry, I just wasn't expecting you. Set's good tonight."
Ethan cocks a provocative eyebrow and I find myself wanting to lick him more than ever. I grab my beer and quickly swallow everything the bottle has to give. I'm usually not nervous, but Ethan affects me like a prom queen affects a nerdy freshman—I'm sadly the freshman. I really need to get my shit straight and get back to being the prom queen I know I am.
I wave my empty bottle towards one of the waitresses and she stalks over like she is pussy on a platter and we're going to eat up. I'm incredibly annoyed by her meager swagger, I can strut better than that with a dick up my ass.
"What can I get you, boys?" she asks in a way too desperate moan.
"Tall vodka on the rocks," Ethan mutters off.
"Another beer," I say, handing her my bottle.
"Oh, shit," Ethan laughs and I reluctantly snap my head away from his bulge back towards the stage. I really need to get some control.
There is a drunk chick up on stage, tripping over the band's electrical equipment while she tries to take her shirt off. She looks young and stupid and Ethan wolf whistles loudly to encourage her. I bristle, pissed that these drunk, horny college girls can't keep it in their pants, or shirts, while I'm trying to work. Security shows up before the twins can come out to play, thank God, and Ethan joins the crowd in booing. To be a good sport, I halfheartedly yell a crude word at the security man as he walks by, dragging the drunk girl, and Ethan laughs.
Our drinks arrive and our waitress flutters her eyes in what I assume is supposed to be an attractive way. "Can I get you two sexy fellas anything else?"
We both quickly shake our heads to the negative. I try to disguise my laugh by taking a drink from my fresh bottle. We are both silent for a while, both of us enjoying the band, or perhaps just the awkward silence.
There is a break in music, and I ask, "So, how was your work day, hotshot?"
He shrugs and sips his vodka. "Fine. What do you do?"
A thrill of excitement shoots down my spine as he asks the question about me. I chew my lip nervously, not sure how he'll take my admission. I honestly don't think he'll take me seriously.
"I, uh, I'm an artist," I say, a bit self-consciously. I'm not usually insecure about my career of choice, but once again, Ethan seems to have the upper hand and I can't help but feel raw.
"That's cool," he says, but I swear I see him hiding a smirk behind his glass when he takes a drink.
"Thanks," I say back, a bit coldly.
"What kind of art?" he asks.
I don't know if he's patronizing me or honestly curious, I can't tell by his expression either way. He's staring towards the stage while talking to me. I don't know if I bore him or if he's uncomfortable or socially awkward, but it's really kind of rude.
"I draw," I say simply.
He nods. "Anything?"
"No, not anything. I'm not great at landscape or animals, but people generally interest me and the occasional freeform design."
He purses his lips and nods. His eyes don't move from the new band that is setting up and I sigh to myself and lean back in my chair. So much for conversation.
"So can you do tattoos?" he asks, interrupting my internal dialog about how good looks truly trump all.
I turn to give him a dirty look and I'm surprised to find that he is actually facing me. "Did I say anything about being a tattoo artist?" I ask rather curtly.
Ethan smirks. "Have beef with tattoo artists, do you?"
I did have beef with a tattoo artist once, and by beef of course I mean... never mind. "No, but I do have beef with ignorant assholes."
His smirk doesn't falter as he leans back into his chair. "So now I'm an ignorant asshole?"
"There is a big difference between a tattoo 'artist' and an actual artist. So yes, to answer your question, you are an ignorant asshole. You've offended me."
He snorts and rolls his eyes at me. "Don't be such a girl. If you would pull that tampon out of your vagina, you'd realize that I actually was complimenting you."
"I didn't once hear anything remotely sounding like a compliment," I scoff.
"Maybe you should let me explain."
"Maybe you should just spit it out already."
"Maybe you should stop being such a girl."
"Maybe you should stop being such an asshole."
"You do realize you are arguing with a lawyer, right? I can do this all night, Jasper."
I wonder what else he could do all night, probably a lot of things. His asshole-y behavior is really kind of pissing me off and turning me on at the same time, and that's not looking like a good combination. I can't exactly have angry sex with him and it sure as hell looks like we won't literally be kissing and making up anytime soon. Unfortunately for my cock, which is currently rather pissed off at me. Unfortunately for his cock too, because I am one hell of a lay.
"Are you going to come out with it or what?" I ask defensively. I honestly think he's mocking me; I really don't like being mocked. If he wasn't so excruciatingly cock-exciting, I'd leave his ass to pay for my drinks and find someone who didn't have a stick up their ass—no pun intended.
"Don't be like that," Ethan says, he sounds sort of desperate. "I'm sorry," he sighs, and he actually sounds like he is.
I peek over at him from the corner of my eye, and that's when I realize I've pretty much completely turned myself away from him. How I managed to hunch my shoulders up to my ears without even realizing it is beyond me. I guess he was getting to me more than I realized.
"You're a little... intimidating," I admit, dumbfounded. I'm rarely intimidated by anything. I turn in my seat to face Ethan again and he remains facing me, for once. Maybe we're actually going to have a conversation?
Ethan snorts and throws his deliciously muscled arms over his delectably muscled chest. "Don't be too intimidated, Jasper, I'm not even a real lawyer." He smiles crookedly and I'm pretty sure my boner hits astronomical limits. Gone are the intimidated feelings, replaced with ones lustfully driven. "Yet," Ethan adds, seemingly as an afterthought. I barely catch on.
I swallow thickly trying to clear my throat in an inconspicuous manner. "I want to hear my compliment now."
Ethan rolls his eyes, keeping his arms crossed over his chest. He leans further back into his chair. "Well, I was going to ask a small favor, which was a compliment, but I changed my mind."
His hand darts up to his hair in a movement that I don't see coming. It's quick and jerky, and his eyes dart away, giving me the feeling that he's nervous.
I don't get much time to think about that, or to inquire why he changed his mind. A ridiculously loud and tall blonde chooses that very moment to give him a free lap dance. I'm more disturbed when there is a tiny hand reaching deep into my hair and fisting the roots. I gulp, thinking someone has come to kick my ass, but instead, this freakishly small girl—woman? —squeezes herself between myself and the table, pressing her bony ass right into the semi I'm still rocking. My almost-but-not-quite woody disappears faster than my uncle Aro when an episode of America's Most Wanted comes on.
The tiny freak in my lap moans like she's in a porno or something then grabs onto my shoulder to add more oomph to her horrid grinding. Seriously, what is going on?
"Oh, my God," breathes the bony-assed bitch and she half turns her body, giving her blonde friend that's working Ethan over a thumbs up.
She apparently approves of what I'm packing. All I can think about is how good it would feel to have Ethan's much, much nicer ass pressed against my groin right this moment. Oh my God, I want to dirty dance with him like it's still 1987.
Thinking about Ethan's ass rubbing all over my dick is not a good thing right now, though. The harder I get, the more it encourages bony ass, and the more painful it becomes.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore and I shove her off my goods. "Seriously, your ass is bonier than a skeleton. Go give someone else your bone and grind."
Her mouth is hanging open and she looks shocked with me. Oh shit, did I just blow my cover? Do I even care?
No, I don't. That is until obnoxiously loud and tall pipes up from her post on my—Ethan's—cock. "I told you he was gay."
I try to remain calm, though what I really want to do is bitch slap both of them and tell them I slept with both of their boyfriends. I realize, of course, that I can't do that because that would give them a better shot at my potential victim's—if only for a night—cock.
I don't respond to them at all, instead I just grab my drink. That doesn't work out too well since my hand is obviously shaking and I down half of it in one go.
"Listen, I'm sorry but I can't, I have to work in the morning, but you enjoy the rest of your night," Ethan says and I nearly choke on my drink.
Despite how polite Ethan surprisingly is, the blonde gets pissed. "Screw you faggots," she hisses, loudly, and stomps away, dragging her miniscule friend behind her.
I bristle. The word 'faggot' is touchy for me. When used lovingly, I very much appreciate the word, because amongst homosexuals, it's almost an amusing endearment. But used maliciously, it makes me nauseous, it ruins it completely and makes me hate myself for ever using it in an affectionate way.
I want to grab the blonde by her hair and smash her pretty face in. But I don't, because I know that sleeping with Ethan is much better revenge than anything else.
"That was harsh," Ethan says, interrupting my thoughts.
I'm shocked we're in agreement. "Yeah, well, I'll get over it," I mutter.
Ethan looks confused momentarily, and it clicks for both of us. He wasn't talking about the faggot comment. "I meant you comparing that girl to a skeleton."
"Oh," I say awkwardly, only adding to it with an even more awkward laugh. "I think her ass bruised my privateers."
Ethan doesn't laugh, though I snicker at quoting him. "Probably not as much as you bruised her ego."
I want to say something about how the blonde was the one who said the most hurtful shit of the night, but I don't.
I'm surprised when Ethan talks again. "You know, I've been called gay before too, never really bothered me. I don't go out to get laid, chicks don't like being rejected, but now I'm curious. Why is it that you were bothered so much by her calling us faggots, and why didn't you seem interested at all in the girl on your lap?"
All I heard was that he was paying attention to me while the blonde gave him a lap dance. Okay, so that's not all I heard, but that's all my dick heard. My head was busy panicking. He isn't supposed to be so goddamn observant, I don't want him to know that I am gay yet.
I try to shrug nonchalantly. "It's a hurtful word, and haven't I already explained her ass was jabbing me? I was in pain!"
He doesn't look like he believes a damn thing I said, but he drops it anyway.
I'm used to taking it slow, straight men don't respond to dick-charms with a snap of your fingers. The whole key is moving at an easy pace. You have to be a friend first. Get them in your pocket, then get inside of theirs. Nice and slow.
From what little time I've spent with Ethan, I can already tell I'm going to need to take it even slower than usual. He's suspicious, too observant for my own good—he is going to make one hell of a lawyer.
The only way I can see myself getting into Ethan's pants is if I keep my secret for as long as possible. Call it deceptive or immoral or whatever, but I'm not going to pretend that I actually care about the guy. It's actually an inconvenience that I have to play nice for so long before I reap any benefits. My whole intention is to fuck, I sure as hell wouldn't be sitting there making friends with him if I didn't know what I had coming to me once I broke the barrier of friendship to more. When it comes down to it, I want to fuck him more than I want to be his friend, but I can't fuck him unless I become his friend first. I do what I have to do.